The Chronicles of a Public Bus (part 2.12)

Friday, 22:00, route 31

As the bus rumbles towards the apartments, headlights chasing away the immediate darkness, Martin trains his eyes on the far-away black of night, eager to test himself and discover what cocktail of vampire abilities he has developed.

A tendril of spearmint-flavored air twists past his nose, and he tilts his head to shoot Divinity a look of acknowledgement. She responds with a snarl and a wrinkle of her nose.

“Just because you have a good sense of smell doesn’t mean you can just ruin my fun. I was hoping to surprise you.”

“Maybe you should try chewing gum with a little less mint,” Martin replies, turning to the front window. “And if you are interested in whether or not I have night vision, you may have to wait. Everything looks the same as it usually does, but like it's under a blue filter.”

“Doesn’t that just prove that you have night vision?”

Straining his neck to see further, Martin puts a hand up to block out the bus's interior lights. “Perhaps. I’m sure Drake will text Willow once we’ve finished running through the symptoms checklist, and she will in turn text you with our results. There’s no need to rush.”

“But I want to watch! This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“And you will be kept up-to-date every step of the way,” Martin says. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this is your stop.” With a gentleman’s calm, he gestures at the apartments, holding statue still as the bus slows.

Divinity scowls at him before attempting a dirty look at Willow and Drake, but they are absorbed in a conversation about Marie and the male lead in the school musical, and Divinity can only glare at them in distaste. The bus doors squeak open, and Martin pushes her outside.

“Have a lovely night,” he says. “Thanks for paying for my ticket.” Divinity’s boots crunch on the snow-covered sidewalk, and he quirks up his lips, enjoying the subtle sound.

“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you.” Divinity’s mouth opens like she’s about to say more, but the bus doors hiss and close, covering up the words, and Martin won’t bother adjusting his hearing to listen. He smirks at her outrage and turns to look out the front window again.

As the bus turns onto the next street, Martin leans forward, gripping the handrails to keep himself mostly upright. In the distance he spots a blur of white hovering above the road, likely a cloud of snow blown from a tree in someone’s yard. However, as the bus draws nearer to the white spot, he realizes that whatever it is, it’s not moving. Rather than a cloud suspended in thin air, in fact, the silvery blob stands on two black, stilt legs, and it shimmers in the moonlight, wavering between opaque and translucent.

Then the object writhes, and Martin’s eyes widen in realization.

He’s looking at a bird, obviously something from the heron family, though he’s not sure which species. A slight breeze ruffles its huge, white feathers, and as the bus draws closer, it uncurls a long, swan-like neck to peer straight through the windows.

“Willow,” Martin says, “Willow, I think there’s some kind of spirit on the-

The bird shrieks, and Willow snaps to look. Her conversation with Drake drops dead. Outside, the bird unfurls its gigantic wings, and a blast of wind blows the ashes of conversation into the night.

“What is that?” Drake whispers, voice wobbling as he reaches for a handhold. The bus screeches to a stop, and Willow nearly topples into him. She wears painful alarm on her face, eyebrows bent into jagged lines and eyes glued to the bird.

The bus lurches one final time, and she springs into action.

“Open the front door,” she shouts, untangling herself from Drake, “and once I’m off the bus, keep going!” Willow marches to the front of the bus, shoving Martin into a seat with one hand. When she reaches the spluttering bus driver, she grabs him by the collar and snarls. “Do it now. It can’t hurt you or your other passengers, and it looks strong enough to go fully insubstantial.”

“Miss, I don’t think what you’re proposing is a wise idea.”

Willow gives the driver a shake. “Do it or I’ll break one of the windows! That thing is more than likely after me, and you don’t want it picking apart the whole bus to get its meal.”

“Willow, what are you going on about?” Drake asks. “You didn’t do this with that snake.”

Instead of answering, Willow drops the driver back into his seat and kicks out the front doors. Her image blurs as she steps outside, and though Martin can only see her back once her transformation finishes, he senses enough beastly power that he gulps in fear.

The bird screams again, and it gives one whooshing downward flap. It lifts off the ground, sending wind spiraling through the neighborhood.

Willow leaps up and bounces off the bus’s front window. She flies at the bird, and before Martin can register her movement, she strikes. Her heel bashes the bird’s skull, and the white neck snaps down like a whip. The body follows after, landing in an explosion of snow.

A moment later, Willow lands as well. She heaves up a section of the bird’s neck and stomps on another, and the bird squawks in agony. However, it is not finished. The bird finds footing for its stilt legs and pushes up, Willow still hanging from its neck. She swings back and forth, trying to gain momentum for a flip, but the bird shakes her off. She crashes into the someone’s yard, kicking up a spray of glittering snow.

Immediately, Drake rushes to the front of the bus. He presses his nose to the glass, and his breath stains the window with fog. “Willow.”

Her black hair is a beacon as she rises from the ground, and Drake repeats her name in mindless worry. She claps her hands together in prayer, and the dusty snow turns to wisps like the smoke of burning incense. Then her figure bursts into a blue-green flame, and she charges the bird again.

She aims straight for the neck, and she hits her mark at the crest of her leap. The bird crashes back into the grey road below, its feathers flying. Willow delivers a barrage of punches to the bird’s head before scurrying under a wing. She disappears from view, and Drake squeaks.

“Please be okay,” he pleads. “Please, please, please be okay.”

A moment later, Willow reappears. She is hunched over, the bird’s spindly legs draped over her shoulders. The legs bend in odd places, and in one spot, they’re even twisted together. For a minute or so, Willow struggles to position the bird, pinning down its feet when it starts flapping. When at last it seems to give up, she folds the legs over at their proper joint and holds the knees to her face.

She lets out a long breath, emptying herself of air, and then inhales fast and deep. The bird’s silhouette flickers, and it dissipates into a wisp of light that flows into Willow’s blue-green spirit. She slumps over as the bird spirit winks out of existence and begins staggering back towards the bus.

“What did Willow just do?” Martin asks.

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Drake replies, peeling himself off the window. “We should help her first.” He runs into the street to meet Willow, and she collapses into his arms. Martin can almost hear her whisper a joke about Julius Caesar as Drake half-carries her back to the bus.