by D K Girl
She laughed. Azrael did not. A rebellious egg fleck made a break for it down her throat, and Kira’s giggle turned into a cough and choke. Azrael’s gaze didn’t leave the screen.
‘I believe I could always speak,’ he said. ‘The knowledge was mine, not yours.’
‘Fine. Then why have you been a boring mute since you . . .’ Since you got here? Since you were born? Since you were made? She couldn’t choose one, so she let it slide.
For the first time in about thirty minutes, he looked away from the TV. She was sitting very close to him; if she were to lean ever so slightly, her knee would touch his leg.
‘It was as though the words could not make it to this tongue.’ He peered at her as if the answer were in her irises somewhere. ‘I don’t understand. I do not know why it was difficult, only that it is not now. I have done this before. I am certain.’
She had a mouthful of cold sloshy egg, but it seemed the wrong time to swallow. Wrong time to move at all. She’d taken the faux skin off her limb, but the metal was nowhere near him. So what was with her belly flipping? The egg demanded to be swallowed. Kira looked away, trying hard not to gag on the sliminess. It was the egg and champers, that was the culprit. It was making her breathe a little weird, too.
‘You said you don’t know who you are.’ She waved a piece of toast towards him.
‘I do not.’
‘I thought you were a robot.’ Kira screwed up her face. ‘Fucked if I know now though. You’re kind of confusing.’
‘A robot.’ Blank stare. ‘My name is Azrael. Is that a robot name?’
Kira shrugged. ‘Blake just called you that. The others kept calling you gallu. Dumb-ass name, it seemed more like your, I dunno . . . your breed or something.’
Azrael the gallu was distracted by a dazzling bracelet set. Conversation over. Good chat.
A knock at the door interrupted Kira’s attempt to stuff a whole piece of toast into her mouth. Azrael glanced up from the sale on chandelier earrings, but she shook her head.
‘Nope. Not me, I didn’t order anything. I never want to see another bubble again.’ She burped to prove the point and got to her feet in a graceless move that saw the toast slide off the plate and land butter-side down on the rug. Whatever. She’d paid a shit-tonne for this room; the cleaners could deal with that.
The cool of the tiled floor snapped at her bare feet. She probably should have put the faux skin back on her arm before she answered the door, but again, whatever. Two female room attendants stood outside, a cart between them, a white cloth covering its contents. They didn’t say anything. Just stood there with grins about as genuine as Azrael’s first attempt had been.
‘I didn’t order anything else,’ Kira said.
‘Complimentary.’ The word kind of burst from the nearest woman. She had not a blonde hair out of place and make-up a supermodel would be proud of. The two of them pushed the cart towards Kira, and she stepped out of the way. It was either that or have her bare toes squished. The second woman, with creamy caramel skin and dark hair wound in an intricate braid, closed the door behind her.
‘Guys, I said I didn’t order anything.’ Kira moved to block their path, but the meals-on-wheels team had other ideas.
Braidy-lady shoved the cart forward. It slammed into Kira, knocking her off her feet. Her butt hit the marble floor, and she slid across the polished surface like a failed ice skater. The women turned their attention to Azrael.
‘Jesus, Az,’ Kira shouted at him. ‘Turn the hell around.’
He still had his eyes fixed on the TV, and they were almost on him by the time he reacted. Kira learned a valuable lesson in that instant. Azrael the gallu could get drunk. He stood up and turned, clearly trying to face the attack that came at him from behind the couch, and clearly failing. Like someone who’d just been on a merry-go-round too long, his legs went one way while his top half went the other. He tripped over his own feet and fell backwards. The coffee table didn’t stand a chance, shattering beneath him and littering the mauve rug with midnight-black shards. He must have landed on the remote, because suddenly the shopping channel was being shouted at them.
‘You are kidding me!’ Kira cried.
The only advantage of Azrael’s inability to stand on his own two feet was that the two woman were as surprised by it as he was. They faltered, Braidy-lady still behind the couch, Supermodel Susie halfway around the shorter edge of the L-shape. Kira pushed herself to her feet. The cart had a small bain-marie and a couple of dinner plates on it. Judging by the smear of tomato sauce and clinging bow-tie pasta, this was the remnants of someone’s dinner. Grabbing one of the plates, Kira flung it, Frisbee style. Her artificial arm was strong. It could make things move like a motherfucker through the air, something she’d discovered throwing a ball for one of the Facility guard dogs. Broke two car windows and pissed everyone off for a week.
Rich red tomato sauce sprayed into the air, and the smell of garlic hit her nostrils hard. But not as hard as the plate hit Braidy-lady. Right in the middle of her back. It would have knocked most people for six, winded them like all hell, but she didn’t so much as glance to see where the attack had come from. She just kept going, lifting a leg to clamber over the back of the couch. Supermodel Susie made it round the couch and launched herself at Azrael. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her movements were stiff and jerky, but she landed the strike. Azrael had made it to his knees by this stage, but Supermodel Susie straddled him and he went down again as if she were made of lead.
‘Shit, balls, shit.’
Kira grabbed the smooth silver handle of the cart and ran with it, aiming for Braidy-lady. The chick had been one-upped by her own skirt. The form-fitting pencil design was definitely not suitable for clambering over the high back of a leather couch. Cart met leg. The woman screamed, the sound rising over a beer ad blasting out of the overworked speakers, but Kira’s attempt to stop her only helped her. The momentum sent her over the back of the couch and tumbling with all the grace of a boneless gymnast onto the seat before she hit the ground, right where Supermodel Susie sat astride Azrael, pinning his arms up over his head. Braidy-lady joined the party, leaning in underneath her companion and planting her hands on Azrael’s head. It was one screwed-up game of Twister.
‘Fuck’s sake, Az. Do something!’ Kira shouted over a toilet paper commercial, scanning the room for something she could use to beat the room attendants from hell with. Azrael writhed beneath them. The bitches were average size and weren’t using any particularly brilliant ninja moves to keep him down, yet there he was, nailed like a butterfly on a really dodgy pin board. He was wide-eyed. Crazy wide-eyed. She hoped Blake had lodged those ceramic sea-greens in there nice and tight. Way things looked, he might lose them.
‘Az, come on! Snap out of it!’ Kira screamed over the sound of the TV.
Cutlery had fallen from the cart when she’d rammed it up the woman’s ass. A steak knife lay on the floor. Kira grabbed it, then just as quickly dropped it. She was kidding herself if she thought she could stab someone. Even if that someone was perched over her sister’s expensive toy like a crow on a mouse. Instead, Kira went for the body slam. She dashed around the couch and slammed herself into the woman astride Azrael. Supermodel Susie landed on top of Braidy-lady. Kira struggled to take a breath, winded by the impact. She wasn’t ready for the retaliation, and it was a doozy when it came.
Hands laced around her throat, and she was shoved up against the side of the couch, her back arching over the seat, Braidy-lady’s face just a few centimetres from hers. Her breath was foul. Blood poured from the woman’s nose. Her grip was all sorts of wrong. It was going to crush the cartilage in Kira’s throat. It was definitely making her see stars. This was not how she’d seen this day ending. Black spots grew like mould on her vision. Kira clung to the woman’s wrists. The skin there was slick with sweat but cool, as if she’d been sitting under the air-con too long. And there was no chance in hell Kira would dislodge the iron grip.
H
oly shit, Kira thought. Death day is here. Again. Last time, dying had smelled of smoking brake rubber and her dad’s voice telling her to hold on, that it was going to be okay. This time she smelled nothing, and an earnest salesman was telling her she really needed a crystal-encrusted veil for her big day.
It was not going to be okay. There was no breath left. No light. Sounds grew muffled, distant, as if they were coming from the floor below.
Rain sprinkled on her face. At least, something wet did, maybe not rain; Kira was too busy trying not to die to work it out. Something dampened her skin, light like the hydration spray she had in her make-up bag. Maybe it rained in the afterlife. Or they had hydration spray. Kind of handy for hell she supposed.
Hell. Well that wouldn’t have been her first choice, but caring took too much energy. She just wanted to drift down, into the quiet dark. Kind of peaceful, this blackness. When she’d killed her dad, it hadn’t been serene like this. It had been heat and rancid smells.
A second later, she couldn’t feel the woman’s hands on her throat anymore. Goodbye cruel world. An additional second later and the world slapped her in the face. It bloody well hurt. Kira took a rushed breath, blinking against light that was determined to blind her. She sucked in more sweet, precious air, breathing like a B-grade porn star.
‘What do I do?’ someone male and frantic shouted. ‘Leona, what do I do?’
The shout was near-deafening, coming from the blur crouched right beside her. Kira blinked and rubbed at her face, trying to get a clear look. Someone, the shouter, put an arm around her shoulder. He was shaking, and his voice wobbled as he asked her to get up.
‘Fuck off,’ Kira slurred, attempting to push the blur away.
‘Just show him she’s all right.’ The reply was strained but measured. Female.
‘Can you get up?’ The shouter stopped shouting, going for a hissed lower tone, but still sounding like he wanted to shit his pants.
Kira squinted, her vision clearing. The guy doing a shitty job of helping her to her feet suffered from a horrendous bowl-cut hairstyle with a fringe that hung low into his eyes, but it was what was beyond the styling disaster that held Kira’s attention. Azrael held a woman in a bear hug. An orange blob.
‘Oh my god,’ Kira said. ‘You are fucking kidding me. What are you doing here?’
The tan queen wriggled in Azrael’s grasp, her feet a few centimetres from the ground. The very same one Az had knocked senseless in the alleyway at the pub. She looked neither drunk nor leery now, though, in her royal-blue velour tracksuit. She held what looked a hell of a lot like a bubble wand in her right hand. Weird-ass time for blowing bubbles.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to get down now,’ the woman said.
‘Please, miss.’ The boy gave up trying to get Kira to move. ‘Could you please tell your friend we aren’t here to hurt you?’
He was super young, couldn’t have been more than fourteen, Asian, great cheekbones, and eyes so dark brown they seemed black. His pale skin was dotted with angry acne. The hairstyle was bad enough, but the clothes were just sad. High-waisted jeans with a faded T-shirt emblazoned with some K-pop band tucked into them.
‘Kira, are you well?’ Azrael said, not seeming to notice the woman’s heels slamming into his shins.
‘I’m okay, Az.’ She levered herself to her feet. Being upright made her head spin. ‘You can put her down. Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?’
‘They are what’s going on.’ The woman pointed over Kira’s shoulder.
The blonde lay directly behind the couch, while Braidy lay closer to the windows. Neither of them was moving, and both were covered in what sure as hell looked like bubbles. Not bubble-bath froth but large translucent orbs, the type kids blew with a slippery solution out of a colourful bottle, the type where the bubble wand was the size of a butterfly catcher, minus the net. The type just like the one the white-haired mess was holding.
‘Shit, are they dead?’ Murder wasn’t great for low profiles. Kira sat down on the edge of the couch; standing made her want to puke.
The boy and the woman, Leona apparently, answered at the same time, both looking mortified it had been suggested.
‘Of course not,’ Tan Queen Leona sniffed.
‘No, no, no,’ K-pop boy squeaked.
‘What the fuck was their problem?’ Kira pressed her fingertips to her temple, as if that could stop the world rocking.
‘They have suffered a strong possession, quite unlike one I’ve seen before.’ The woman gave Azrael a sideways look, her expression too hard to read. ‘We have subdued them and now will exorcise the spirit within.’
Exorcisms? This little soiree was fast turning into some Alice in Wonderland moment.
‘And you’re doing that how?’ Kira indicated the bubble wand. ‘With killer bubbles?’
Chances were she was still unconscious. Or dead. Maybe death was down the rabbit hole after all.
The woman patted at some of the wayward strands of her hair, adjusting one of the multiple glittery clips. ‘I’m really not appreciating your tone –’
‘No?’ Kira said. ‘Well I didn’t appreciate being strangled, either. We all have burdens to bear.’
Azrael walked over to the woman lying nearest to the windows.
‘You’re very rude.’ Leona might as well have tsk-tsked. ‘You should be giving thanks that the Maiden’s grace saved you.’
‘Maiden’s grace? Did your fucking Maiden just grace all over me?’ Kira wiped at her damp cheeks. ‘It’s from those bubbles, right? Do I need to get a shot or something?’
‘If you had considered your decision to walk around with a bright one at your side,’ Leona jabbed a finger towards Azrael, ‘then this conversation would not be necessary.’
Bright one. Clearly she didn’t know Azrael all that well.
‘Leona,’ the boy cried. ‘She’s moving. She’s getting up.’
The ‘she’ he was referring to was Supermodel Susie. And she wasn’t just getting up, she was up and running. Barefoot with a clunky, awkward lope, like one of the walking dead smelling dinner, but it had speed behind it. Her trajectory was odd, though. She wasn’t bolting for the door or even one of the other rooms. She was headed across the apartment towards the windows.
‘I’ve got this,’ the boy said. ‘I’ve got this.’
The boy didn’t look as if he had anything. He rifled around in his pockets. Then he pulled his hand free and flung something from his grasp. Tiny pellets of metal. The dude must have had some muscle behind the swing, because the pellets moved like a swarm of angry wasps across the distance between where he stood and the bolting woman.
She was only about two metres from the window.
‘Jesus,’ Kira whispered.
Surely windows at this height were shatterproof? She’d bounce off them like a tennis ball. Bit of a concussion, a fractured cheekbone or two.
‘Vail, careful. They are too fast!’ Leona whipped the wand into the air, producing a stream of shimmering bubbles. She hurled them towards the woman. A bunch of translucent drones on high speed, but the pellets the boy had thrown were already there. Several of them hit the fleeing woman, and she arched her back, looking as though she might fall. She didn’t. She jerked herself back into position. Ahead of her the remaining pellets struck the window, and a giant spiderweb of cracks bloomed across it. The boy’s scream rose high.
The woman didn’t bounce like a tennis ball. She hit the glass and, weakened by the damage already done, the window shattered. Supermodel Susie flew out into the perfect sunny day without a sound. The kid screeched and hollered, either distraught or sickeningly excited about sending someone out a window. Leona shouted at Kira. Telling her it was time to go. They needed to leave. That a possession that strong probably would have killed the woman anyway.
Probably. A twenty-five storey fall wasn’t a probably.
Azrael knelt beside the remaining woman. He cradled her upper body against his c
hest, gaze shifting between Kira and the gaping, jagged hole in the window.
The only coherent thought that came to Kira’s mind centred on how warm the breeze was. The rest was a twisted mess, a half-numb jumble of things that were way too fucked up to deal with in that moment. Someone threw her jacket at her, and she managed to catch it. She didn’t recall getting into the elevator. A sobbing boy clung to her most of the way down. She had a vague recollection of Leona telling her to hold him, look after him, while she dealt with getting them out of the hotel unnoticed. Whatever that meant. They weren’t exactly an inconspicuous group, even for this town. But the elevator ride made for a very comfortable trip down the rabbit hole. None of that falling down a dirty hole in the back garden crap.
Falling.
Holy shitballs, what the hell had just happened?
She pushed back the thought. Held the kid a little tighter. He clutched a handful of tiny silver pennies. His weapons of choice, the things he’d thrown at the so-dead-now woman, were just coins. Kira had no idea who he was, who the crazy-haired tan queen was either, but here she was anyway. Blake was going to lose her shit. Blend in, Kira. She couldn’t have drawn more attention if she’d flashed her clam in the foyer. Kira sought out Az. He was huddled in the corner of the elevator. Emerald-greens lifted. And he didn’t need to touch her for her to tell what he was feeling. Shell-shocked. Scared.
Ditto, Kira thought. One arm still wrapped around the sniffling kid, she touched her fingers to her neck. Bruises were a given. She kept her eyes on the elevator’s number display and didn’t look away till Leona ordered them out of the elevator and into the underground car park.
Blake - 15
Blake pushed herself onto her elbows intending to sit up, but Cym was having none of it. Her hands still trembled but nothing like before. And her heart wasn’t trying to break her ribs any longer.
‘I would not recommend standing just yet.’ He leaned in close, tilting his head and shoulders to the right. It seemed an awkward angle that puzzled her until she spotted the camera in the corner of the room. Cym was attempting to shield her. ‘You have been unconscious for some time. I convinced them it was due to hypoglycaemia. Your undernourished state lent credence to my diagnosis, but the fault is entirely mine. Your cardiac arrhythmia was quite alarming. Clearly, I exceeded a reasonable level of one of the stimulants and felt that sedation was –’
