Oddwings

By Anthony K Parsons

Carolyn's work week is pretty boring, as a newspaper receptionist. The only highlight is lunch at the local diner, crushing on the waitress.

But this weekend? Carolyn doesn't know it yet, but she's in for a wild ride. Between the stabbing, the kidnapping, the other worlds, and the wings growing out of her back, she and her crush will be anything but bored.

The only question now is can they survive it all long enough to figure out what it means, and can they find out who and what Carolyn really is?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthony K Parsons
• Release date: Sep 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463987025

Anthony K Parsons

Anthony K. Parsons was born in the US Pacific Northwest, so naturally he lives in Iowa now. He received a degree from Grinnell College in Cultural Anthropology, so naturally he mostly worked in newspaper circulation management. He's always wanted to be a writer since he was a small child, so naturally, he wrote his first novel in his early 40s.Anthony's demographics are fluid and confusing, but most of the world sees him as a straight white man. Unfortunately, he's sick to death of hearing about straight white men, so he writes escapist fiction with as much diversity as he can manage, and really hopes he doesn't misrepresent anyone's experience.Anthony currently resides in Iowa City, Iowa, with his lovely wife and as many cats as they feel they could take in a fight, if it came down to it. As of this writing, that number is two.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I grew a pair of wings out of my back on Tuesday. At least I think it was Tuesday. Looking back, that was probably the moment when I completely believed in what was happening. I’d started coming to terms with it before that, and I like to think I was handling things okay by that point. But there was still a little part of me that assumed I was the victim of a new reality prank show, maybe? When I first grew my wings, that little part fell in line with all the rest of me.

I should probably back up a bit. My name is Carolyn Villegas, and I’m a… something. Not human. I’m not sure what to call it. Apparently, there’s not a name for it yet, because there’s never been one of whatever I am. Maybe that means I get to name it?

Let’s back up a bit further. Until a couple of weeks ago, I was Carolyn Villegas, a twenty-three-year-old receptionist for the Bushnell Picayune, in Bushnell, Iowa. I went to the well-respected liberal-arts college in the aforementioned town, and got a degree in anthropology. So, naturally, with those impressive credentials, I became a receptionist for the local newspaper. It’s slightly less glamorous than it sounds.

I guess it really all started on a Friday, in Cate’s Cuckoo Diner. The Cuckoo is an institution in Bushnell, and it’s been a prime lunch spot for the town since before I was born. The older clientele love to tell me that. It’s the sort of place you imagine when you think of the word diner. The booths are all puffy foam with red vinyl coverings, patched up here and there with red duct tape. The wooden chairs at the tables are sturdy and comfortable, worn smooth and shiny from decades of butts in the seats. And the counters and tabletops are all done in a yellow laminate that was very popular back in the 1970s. But it’s all clean and tidy, and full of the smells of decades of comfort food, served with a smile. It’s a good place.

Oh, and there’s over a hundred cuckoo clocks on the walls. Everything from old antique European clocks to corporate branded clocks where the ‘cuckoo’ is a bear holding a beer, to those really elaborate multi-level ones where every hour they act out a whole little play in the different windows and tracks. Mercifully, only one of them is running, and it’s on the wall right behind the cash register. Supposedly they all used to be going at the same time, but the cacophony of cuckoos every hour was too much for anyone to take, so the owners finally let them all wind down and become showpieces. The one that’s still running is your typical little log-cabin type, with a bright red bird that pops out to tell you when the hour arrives.

On this particular day, I’d come in for lunch with my coworker, Gina. She handles the books for the Bushnell Picayune, and her desk is right near my reception area. Business isn’t terribly fast in our office, so we chat a lot. She’s older than I am, and she has two adult kids and one grandkid. Outside of the workplace, I suspect we’d never have met, let alone become friends. We don’t have a lot in common. But she’s nice, and we see eye to eye on enough things that we can be friends. Work friends, at least.

Today, we were finishing up our lunches and talking about my favorite waitress, Rebecca, who happened to be working during our lunch break.

I’ve got nothing against Rebecca, Gina was saying, in a tone usually reserved for someone saying, I’m not racist, but…

I’m just saying that life is probably pretty tricky for someone like her. I love Rebecca! I mean, I knew her back when she was a boy. I’ve always tried to be supportive. But it would really be simpler to find yourself a nice young man. Or even a nice young woman! Not—

Gina saw the look in my eye, and cut herself off. Which was for the best. We didn’t normally fight, but I took issue with her referring to Rebecca as anything other than a woman. Still, she’d stopped herself this time. She was trying. The first time the topic had come up, long ago, Gina used the word He-she. That conversation had gone very, very poorly.

Ignoring that last near slip-up, I said, You don’t pick your crushes based on what’s simple, Gina. Heart wants what it wants, right? I lowered my voice, leaning in and grinning, And my heart wants Rebecca to be my girlfriend and get married and adopt a bunch of babies, okay?

Gina held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. Okay, okay. You’re going to do whatever you want to, anyway. She’s such a mom.

I watched Rebecca as she took another table’s order. Honestly, I’m impressed that a trans-person is so accepted around here. I mean, I know it’s a college town, but it’s also the rural Midwest.

My lunch partner gave me a level gaze. As someone born and raised in Bushnell, I’ll assume you meant that in the nicest way possible. You know living in a small town doesn’t make us all gun-crazy bigots with a cheek full of chaw, right?

I smiled. I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just… I let my eyes follow the waitress as she headed by to the kitchen. She always wore her dark hair down, usually pulled back from her face with a simple hairband. She was facing away from me, but I could clearly picture her eyes, bright blue pools that you could swim in. Her eyes were always smiling, no matter what her mouth was doing. That made me think about her mouth. Her lips looked so soft. Sometimes I wondered what it might be like to—

Snap! Snap! Gina was snapping her fingers in front of my face. Hello? You in there? It’s just what?

I blushed. Had I really just zoned out daydreaming about her? I had clearly been single for too long. It’s just that I sometimes get tired of the world worrying about the anatomy of the people I date. Why can’t I just find a person attractive and interesting and want to get to know them better?

Gina took a drink of her iced tea. That seems fair. She paused, as if having a new thought. You know, there might be a way to get to know her better.

I rolled my eyes, knowing what was coming.

I know it’s a radical approach, but you could ask her out? It’s just crazy enough to work.

I pushed my glasses up and tried to give Gina my best glare. It didn’t work. Gina’s too old and wise for such things. She says she likes to reclaim her youth through my young person’s drama. I leaned forward in my seat, putting my elbows on the table, and started ticking off points on my fingers.

"If she’s single, if she likes girls, and if she would even be interested in me, you’re forgetting one important thing."

You’re a chicken.

I nodded. I’m a huge chicken! I grabbed a leftover french fry out of the red plastic basket and nibbled on it thoughtfully. Besides, if I did ask her out and she turned me down, we could never come back here for lunch. Gina started to protest, but I held a hand up. "Ah-ah! If Rebecca rejects me, we can never come here for lunch again! And you love this place. Do you want to spend every lunch at the McDonald’s out by the highway?"

Don’t you dare! said Rebecca, walking over to our table. What’s wrong? We’ll fix it, no need to threaten us with McDonald’s. She smiled at both of us. She had a great smile.

No, no, it’s nothing like that, I stammered out immediately. We love it here. We were just… being silly. Being silly? Was that really my excuse? I felt my face getting really hot. Gina was clearly trying her hardest not to laugh.

Yeah, we’re perfectly happy, she said, Though I would love a piece of coconut cream pie, if you’ve still got some? And the checks please.

Rebecca winked at Gina. You’ve got it, hon. She turned to leave, then turned back around. Oh! Abraham’s takeout order is just about ready, Carrie. Is there any chance you could take it to him on your way back? I’m the only one waiting tables today, so I can’t really leave things unattended.

Sure! I said, smiling brightly. For the record, I hate being called Carrie. Unless Rebecca calls me that. She’s the only one who is allowed. Seriously. You’ve been warned.

Thanks, sweetie! I’ll bring it out with the pie. She headed for the kitchen.

I leaned in and softly asked, How much do you think she heard?

Gina smirked. "I don’t know, Carrie, why don’t you ask her? And while you’re there, ask if she wants to adopt all those babies."

I groaned, and put my face in my hands. Ugh! What is wrong with me? I probably just need to g—

I was cut off mid-sentence, as my entire body exploded in a ball of fire.

Chapter 2

Obviously, I wasn’t literally on fire. I just don’t know how else to describe it.

There was the barest moment of my fingers and toes starting to tingle. But that was hardly for an instant before it shot up my limbs and into my body, and turned into a… heat. Heat is the best way to explain it. But it was so much more than that. It felt like something was moving through me, and into me. Like a swarm of ants, each wearing little red-hot coals on their feet, crawling in and out of me.

No, that sounds gross. It was like lightning. Slow lightning, shooting through my arms and legs into my center, and just staying there, pulsing through my body. It hurt. It was such...terrible pain. I don’t remember if I screamed or not, because almost immediately I blacked out.

When I woke up the pain was completely gone, and I had this memory of… something. Like waking up from a dream, as soon as you’re awake, it slips away from you. I was laying on the floor, with Rebecca’s sweet face staring down at me. Her hands were on my shoulders, gently shaking me awake. I remember thinking her hands felt pleasantly warm. Gina’s face was hovering over Rebecca’s left shoulder. Both looked worried.

Carrie, are you okay? Rebecca practically shouted into my face. Then, over her shoulder, Could it be a seizure?

She’s never had any at work, Gina said, And she’s never mentioned having epilepsy, or anything like that. Carolyn, can you hear us? Are you okay?

I pressed down the urge to roll my eyes at these two making such a fuss. But then I saw beyond them that the dozen or so diners were also looking over with concern. I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I feel fine now. I just had a wave of…something…hit me. Probably light-headed or something.

Everyone just sort of paused then, as though trying to gauge if the emergency had passed. Rebecca’s arm moved around my shoulders, helping me sit up. My cheeks flushed. Really, I’m okay. Whatever it was, it’s over. Can I get up now?

It took a bit of convincing, but eventually they let me get back into my chair. At my insistence, Rebecca still brought the pie and Abraham’s lunch order. Gina ate her piece of pie in silence, watching me sidelong the whole time. She looked almost suspicious of me, for some reason. Like I’d made myself pass out, maybe? I just sat and tried to collect myself.

Lunch is on me today, Gina said, and got up to go to the counter. Leave her a tip? I nodded, and she went up to the counter to pay the bill. As I fished tip money out of my purse, I noticed Gina and Rebecca talking at the register, one or both occasionally looking over at me as they did. I rolled my eyes, but honestly, I couldn’t really blame them. I was still kind of shaken up over whatever had just happened.

Gina came back and we collected our things and headed to the door. As we were heading out, Rebecca asked, Are you going to the hospital?

I shook my head, Nah, just back to work. Really, I feel fine now. Don’t worry so much.

Rebecca sighed. Alright. But tonight, I’m going to call and check on you, okay?

I blinked. Y-you don’t have to. I mean… do you even know my number?

Rebecca grinned, and held up a small slip of paper. Oh, Gina gave it to me. We’re going to work together to keep an eye on you. She winked, and I quickly looked away.

Okay! I said, far too loudly. Bye, then! I hurried outside. As Gina followed, I rounded on her. What the hell? You gave her my number?

The moment she was outside, and the door closed, Gina burst into giggles, nodding. I figured out what your little episode in there was all about.

Huh? You did?

She nodded. It was clearly Cupid, hitting you with a freaking cruise missile of an arrow. Bam! Right between the eyes. So I’m helping Cupid out. I told Rebecca that I was going to try my hardest to get you to the hospital, but that if you were just too stubborn, we’d have to keep tabs on you. She’s got first shift, tonight.

I narrowed my eyes, But you didn’t even mention the hospital to me.

Gina’s eyes widened in mock shock. Oh, no! I guess that means she’ll have to call you tonight, to make sure you’re okay! What a shame. Then she smirked, and said, You’re welcome.

I gave a huge sigh, and started walking back to work, not waiting to see if Gina followed. I’m pretty sure I did a good impression of someone mad at their friend for meddling in their love life. And I’m confident that the little girl inside of me, bouncing up and down, yelling, She’s going to call tonight! Rebecca’s going to call tonight! didn’t leak out at all. Probably.

Chapter 3

The walk back from the Cuckoo to the Picayune is only a few blocks. Bushnell is a town of about 9,000, not including the college students, and the entire ‘downtown’ is really just six blocks by eight blocks, so everything is close by. And Bushnell Financial Services, LLC, is just two doors down from the paper. I sent Gina back to the office, telling her I’d be back in a few minutes, and headed into the tiny office building wedged between a paint store and a kids dance studio.

The door opened to the sound of tiny wind chimes. I’d bought them as a sort of bell for the door, a few years ago. Despite Abraham’s complaints that he had no need for such a thing, he’d hung them on the door anyway.

The place looked the same as always. Abraham’s office was an old little building, with cherry wood furniture buffed to a glorious shine, and rich carpet with a purple and red paisley design. Unfortunately, visitors seldom got to see that, because the entire office was filled with piles of papers, books, and folders. They were everywhere. The room was like a tiny city, with skyscrapers made out of old account ledgers and loose documents. It always gave me the urge to start stomping around like Godzilla. But there was always at least one clear path leading to the desk, off in the corner, its own suburb of Paper Tokyo.

The desk was empty, but a few seconds later, Abraham came out of the back. The short, old gentleman was dressed in a dark suit, the same suit he always wore. Only the ties ever changed. Today it was narrow and blue, with a silver, nondescript tie tack. His thin white hair was in disarray, as usual, but he smoothed it back and gave me a broad smile, the lines at the corners of his eyes creasing. Carolyn! Good to see you, my dear. What brings you by?

Abraham Finch is an old family friend. Despite living halfway across the country from my family, he’d been their financial advisor and accountant since I was a little girl. Back then, he traveled more often for work, and whenever he was out on the West Coast, he’d make sure to pay us a visit for an afternoon, or take my parents out to dinner to catch up.

Abraham was a large part of why I ended up at Bushnell College. He had a lot of insight into finding the best scholarships — the ones specific to Bushnell — that others didn’t know about. And it was something of a comfort to my parents to know that, going so far away for school, I’d still have a familiar face nearby.

Ever since I’ve moved out here, he’s looked out for me. We go out to dinner once a month or so, to catch up. Back when I was still in the dorms, if I came back from a break before they opened again, he’d let me stay in his guestroom. In some ways he’s like a surrogate grandfather, but at the same time, I wouldn’t say we’re friends. He’s very private and reserved, and formal. But I like him. And I owe him a lot.

Including lunch. I held up the plastic bag, holding the to-go container. I come bearing food, while carefully walking between paper stacks to meet him at his desk. He took it eagerly, sat down, and opened it up. Turkey sandwich and potato chips. His usual.

I took up a spot half sitting on one uncluttered edge of his desk. Seriously, how do you stay in business without a computer? How could someone in the twenty-first century walk into this place and say, ‘This is clearly the office of someone who should be handling my finances!’? I smiled to take away the sting of the tease. To be fair, this wasn’t a new topic for us.

The old man gave me a sideways glance as he unfolded a paper napkin and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. Well, walk-in traffic isn’t a major revenue stream for me anyway, he said, and no one can argue with my results. They say all great artists have their own quirks, right?

I laughed, "Ah, so you’re a financial artist, are you? That explains a lot."

Abraham grimaced. If those kids at the sandwich shop can call themselves artists, surely I can! He took a bite of his lunch. After swallowing, he asked, So, what’s new in the world of Carolyn Villegas? That was Abraham’s version of ‘What’s up?’

I shrugged. Well, I passed out at the Cuckoo during lunch today. So that’s new, I guess?

Abraham, about to take another bite of his sandwich, set it back down. Oh, dear! Are you alright?

I nodded. I’m fine. It was really kind of freaky, and it hurt for a second or two. But it was over as quickly as it began.

Abraham gave me a level gaze. He looked very serious, very grave. It made me a little uncomfortable. Carolyn, tell me exactly what happened.

I tried to remember it. Well, I was suddenly hit with this surge of pain. Really intense pain. But then I passed out, I guess. And I think I remember dreaming something? Is that even possible? I have this vague memory of some sort of… forest, I think? And the silhouette of… someone. I sighed. No, it’s gone. The next thing I remember, Rebecca and Gina were waking me up. And I felt fine by then, no pain or even dizziness.

Abraham stared at me in silence as I spoke, his face still very still, his eyes strangely intense.

But as soon as I finished talking, he said, in a surprisingly upbeat voice, That’s very interesting. If you’re sure you’re fine, then I guess that’s that. But if you feel anything else strange happen to you, call me, alright? I’ll drive you to the doctor anytime you need.

I nodded at him slowly, trying to understand his reaction. I will. You have a good lunch. I’ve got to get back to the paper. I threaded my way through the streets of Paper Tokyo, towards the door.

As I put my hand on the handle, Abraham said, Oh, wait, I almost forgot! I turned around to look back at him.

Are you interested in a job?

I blinked, Here?

The old man chuckled and shook his head. No, no, not here. This is strictly a one-man operation. But I have a contact who is looking for someone with a background in the social sciences. Something to do with ‘corporate culture’ or something. He asked me to keep an eye out for promising graduates, and I immediately thought of you. He