Page 23
Three times.
For one glorious heartbeat, all four of her feet leave the ground. She’s airborne. Only by a few inches, but she’s flying.
“Lucan—”
Before I can finish, the wings wobble. Maple lets out an indignant squeak as she tips sideways, tumbles through the grass, and lands with a soft thump on her belly.
My own stomach drops with her.
Maple sneezes, shakes the dirt from her snout, and gives the prosthetic wings an experimental twitch. Instead of trying again, she lets out an annoyed little growl.
“Oh no,” I murmur.
She twists her shoulders, wriggling violently beneath the harness. The steel supports clank together. She throws herself onto the grass, rolling from side to side in an obvious attempt to take the wings off.
Lucan winces. “She doesn’t like them.”
“Or…” I say, trying to sound more optimistic than I feel. “Maybe she just needs time to get used to wearing them.”
He watches Maple continue her dramatic wrestling match with the harness. “Maybe.” His brow furrows. “Or maybe they’re too heavy.”
Maple confirms his theory by flopping onto her back and kicking all four legs in the air with surprising determination.
“Oh, Maple…”
With one final, furious twist, one shoulder strap slips free. Before either of us can react, she wriggles completely out of the harness and springs to her feet.
The prosthetic wings lie abandoned in the grass.
She spins toward them, nostrils flaring, and takes one enormous breath.
“Maple, don’t—”
FWOOOSH.
A stream of bright orange fire engulfs the leather.
“Maple!” I yelp. “Bad girl!”
I sprint across the enclosure, frantically beating at the flames with my coat before stomping out the last flickering embers beneath my boots. A thin ribbon of smoke curls into the air. Heart pounding, I scoop up the prototype and inspect it with dread.
The leather is blackened around one edge. A buckle has warped from the heat.
Disgruntled, Maple huffs and marches toward her shelter. She disappears inside, her tail swishing irritably behind her.
Lucan steps beside me and carefully lifts the scorched prosthetic from the grass. His thumb traces the blackened leather before he gently tests one of the warped hinges.
After a long moment, he lets out a quiet sigh.
“Looks like I’ve got more work to do.”
The quiet disappointment in his voice makes my heart sink.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be.” He manages a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “This was just a prototype, after all.”
I look back toward Maple’s shelter.
