The Key

Just as he turned away, she darted through the patch of light. The golden aura from the gas lamps turned her wings from silver to gold. She remembered a time when the lamplight had seemed so enchanting. Artificial and alien, yet strangely lovely. So very different from the moonlight of her homeland.

She no longer found the light beautiful.

Her breath quickened. She forced herself to focus on the next shadowy corner, her last hiding place before she would make an attempt for the key. The slightness of her form had been an advantage when she'd slipped through the bars of her cage. But her small size seemed to offer little advantage now. The key was, after all, almost as big as she was. Would she even be able to lift it?

The warlock’s back was still turned; she had to move. She wasted no more time and darted toward the next hiding place. This time, she did not stop to catch her breath before emerging again. She was certain that he could hear the beating of her wings and the staccato hammering of her heart. With a suppressed cry, she fluttered toward the pocket of his robe and dove into the heavy velveteen fabric.

He reeked of sulfur and brimstone, the scent so strong she nearly choked on it. She was drowning in the dusty fabric, in the stench of him. She reached blindly with both hands for the small brass key. Once. Twice. A third time.

His pocket was empty.