“In the words of John F. Kennedy, ‘conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth,’” an earnest voice spoke from the television.
Snofrid glanced up from her Natto to find the station airing a rerun of a speech by the New Global Union leader, President Sebaster Leathertongue. His spryness reminded her of a fox, but she didn’t trust his ‘flawless’ image. Only 26 years old, he’d been nicknamed the Divine Hound, for he was a mixture of almost two dozen nationalities and was as handsome as a Greek sculpture.
The address had been filmed in an outdoor stadium with rows of policemen securing the stage platform and a roiling audience of wildly cheering and sobbing people. A black gasmask screened all but Sebaster’s soft green eyes and his bespoke navy suit gave a nod to his well-heeled upbringing.
“This administration does not tolerate conformity,” Sebaster went on, planting his blucher shoes apart in an alpha pose. “Terror is unacceptable. War is not absolute. People of the world, we are united in suffering, and what is suffering if not a means to overcome frailty? Loved ones have been lost, but in grief, we cannot lose sight of ourselves or of our purpose. In all desolation, we must take comfort in the certainty that storms always break. The sun will shine on humanity again. History has consistently proven our resilience. Humanity will endure as a civilization and as a species.”
Her phone jingled. “Television off,” Snofrid ordered. She found a message from Desya:
Be home in five.
Jumping to her feet, she buttoned on a red parka that was hanging on the coat rack. After carting her dishes to the kitchen, she jogged onto the plaza platform.
Storm clouds muted the sunshine, draping the buildings in wind-whipped rain and lackluster shades. With one hand on the pistol in her pocket, she perused the shops that bordered the main street: The Tradehouse of Exotic Teas, and beside it the Alaskan Fur Emporium, and a couple of platforms down was the Sun Wheel Cafe.
“Hi, Sno!” a girl in a violet scarf called from across the platform. “Hey, where’s Lycidius? I haven’t seen him in weeks. Is he finally single now?”
“I’m not sure,” Snofrid called back.
She perked up at the sight of a Brute jeep making a turn for the house. Desya cut the engine outside the garage and grabbed his rifle off the console as he slid from his seat.
“Sorry, Sno,” he puffed. “It’s been chaos out there since Remus. I would’ve tried to get off if I’d known Lycidius would skip out.”
“Don’t apologize,” she urged. “I was fine on my own. The robot showed me where things were stored.”
“Yeah, that’s the butler-maid, Threearms.” He put a hand on her back and steered her toward their shop, the War Lobby. “I got listed for another shift tonight, so Lycidius will pop by around six to help you close things up. But I’ll show you the ropes.”
“I would imagine the shop is beside the point right now.”
“I think you’d be surprised how fast Hatred Day blows over, Sno. Everything will be fine in two days tops. It’s best to go on as normal.”
She fixed a doubtful eye on him. “Even with the death of Remus?”
“Yeah, Neko filled me in on the leg. But they can’t prove he was possessed by a Spectral and they’d need evidence before cracking down on anyone.”
“Maybe, but from what I can remember, humans usually blame us when something goes wrong,” she said, walking around a beheaded snowman. After taking a moment to reign in her anger, she added, “Desya, there’s something we need to talk about. Yesterday, I ran into a Swangunner on the metro and he forced me to play machinegun-tag. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t hidden under the city.”
Desya stalled in his tracks. “Was his thumb hacked off?”
“Yes.”
“If you ever see him again, hide and call us.”
“Why? You know why he wants to kill me, don’t you?”
“Hang on.” He did a quick sweep of the area, then changed directions and headed toward the house. “The guy who tried to shoot you is Lucian Lozoraitis. I don’t know how much you remember about Gehenna’s pecking order, but the kingpin goes by the code name, the Warden. Lucian is the Warden’s youngest brother.”
“Shoot me,” Snofrid cursed. Immediately, she realized that if Lucian Lozoraitis was a warlord, she was little more than a blade of grass in his backyard. No wonder the passengers on the Speedrail Metro had been too afraid to put up a fight.
“We dug up everything we could on the Lozoraitis brothers a few years back,” Desya went on. “Their organization has deep roots and it’s all backed by silver. They quit Europe eighteen years back and it took them less than two years to get established here before they started expanding across the west coast. They’re packing more than Swangunners now.”
“Why does he want to kill me?” she demanded.
“It’s a long story, Sno. I don’t—”
“Desya.” She grabbed his arm. “Tell me.”
“Okay…uh…Lucian has this thing about respect. You earned a nod the first time you stole oranges from his bike. He thought you were cute, so he started calling you mieloji and hired you to do deliveries. You became friends and for a while it was great because he saved our skin more than once.” He paused, then pulled off his beret and dusted it off. “Last year, he got engaged to some Brazilian dancer, but she didn’t want kids, so he tossed her. That’s when he made a move on you. Things got bad when you told him you weren’t into him. Atlas finally stepped in and sent some guys to give him a scare.” Desya wiggled his thumb. “They cut off his thumb as a warning to back off. Not even stiches could fix it.”
Snofrid’s mind staggered in heated confusion. Lucian had tried to kill her over a thumb?
“Lucian mentioned he came after me because I was unprotected,” she said. “I’m guessing that means Atlas and I aren’t on good terms?”
“I’m not sure, Sno. You’re more secretive than a newt.” Desya shrugged. “You know, at first I thought Lucian had something to do with you going missing, but when I checked in with a contact who works at his club, she said you weren’t with him. I wasn’t too surprised because Lucian hasn’t bothered you for weeks. I thought maybe he’d decided to leave you alone for good, but we’re gonna have to deal with him now.”
“What does that mean, Desya?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She decided that any plan to strike back was idiotic. Lucian was a linchpin for the Swangunners. They were civilians. If he wanted to hurt her, she’d need an army of her own to stop him. “Lucian said Atlas had hired guns. Was he dirty?”
Desya shook his head. “I don’t know that either. He was a boss in the Aracnid Munitions Company, but I think he got his stacks from other investments.”
“Do we know anyone who can do a background check?”
“Lycidius checked him out a few weeks back, but he told me he came up clean. It could be drivel though. He could’ve paid to get his record wiped. The guy has the stacks.”
Snofrid swept back her hair, unsatisfied. She still had nothing. Desya’s account left her with the same questions on the same shadowy bluff of uncertainty.
“It’s okay, Sno,” he comforted, rubbing her back. “Don’t stress about it. I’ll talk to Lycidius later and we’ll figure something out.”
“No. I don’t want you doing something that gets you hurt or killed. I think we should leave the city sooner than planned.”
“We will if we have to,” he promised. “But first, we’re gonna sort through all our options on how to deal with Lucian.”
“All right. But please, let’s leave if none of our options pan out within a day or two.”
“Two days tops. The Moonlentar Express docks tomorrow morning. We can grab supplies and be ready to leave in a tick.” They strode into the garage and he slid open the genkan door with a nod. “Chin up, Sno. We’ve run up against worse and we’re all still kicking.”
She regarded his eyepieces, through which she could see the hazy outline
s of his eyes. “Is that the truth, or just something you made up to make me feel better?”
“It’s the truth, Sno. I swear.” He rotated to enter the kitchen and then doubled back. “Oh, and I checked in with the Hematic Inborn Cell. None of them know why a Commander would be in the city. If you want, I can—”
“Don’t worry about the Commander,” she said quickly. She no longer wanted to waste energy on the Commander, not after refusing Hessia’s offer. Yes, there would be consequences, but at this point, she had to choose her battles. “We’re leaving in less than a week anyway,” she added. “I do have one question, though—about Lycidius. Did we have some kind of falling out before I lost my memories?”
“Uh…” Desya scratched his head, “not that I know of. Why? Has he been acting weird?”
“You could say that.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him.” Desya thought for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not trying to make up any excuses for Cid, Sno, but I should tell you he’s a pretty extreme guy. It took you guys years to get on friendly terms. He’s probably just frustrated over the whole memory thing. It’s hard for me, too.”
Snofrid didn’t buy this excuse. If Lycidius truly wanted to be her friend, all he had to do was treat her nicely. “Okay, thanks Desya.”
“No problem. Oh, and just a note; you always called me Dez. Not that I mind my name, it’s just weird hearing you say it.”
Snofrid wandered the snowy plaza after Desya returned to work. This time, she carried two pistols—one open carry, one strapped under her parka—in case Lucian Lozoraitis made a second appearance. All throughout the shopping center, people were frantically stocking up on survival gear in fear of more bombings. That or the fear that Hollowstone would become militarily reinforced. The humans called it Martial Law.
After eating wagyu steak at the Cosmopolitan Lounge, she took a stroll down the lamp-lit sidewalks, and, in a store window, noticed Lycidius tailing her at a distance. She couldn’t mistake his tawdry red hair, or his ominous jackal-head gasmask. From the way he remained in vantage, talking on his phone, she knew he wanted her to see him. In a similar way, she wanted to see him, too. With subtle urgency, she tried to repress the uninvited response arising within her. She again felt a compulsion towards him, but this time, it surfaced stronger. And this time it stirred her senses until she found herself experiencing an acute attraction towards him.
Immediately, she convinced herself the attraction wasn’t real. It was nothing more than a different person’s yearnings hemorrhaging so heavily into hers that they only seemed to be her own.
Continuing down the sidewalk, she tried to put him out of her mind—he lingered there, in a corner she consciously ignored. She browsed a few gun stores with nearly empty shelves and then bought an apple cider to go. Just as she stepped onto the icy street, Lycidius cut her off. She dropped her cup and it burst open against the asphalt, the boiling liquid melting holes into the snow.
“My presence earns a loud reaction,” he observed, and hunkered down to retrieve the cup.
“My reaction wasn’t a compliment,” she assured, recovering from her start. “You scared me.” He’d appeared out of nowhere, like a hitman. “You were following me since I left the Cosmopolitan. Why?”
“I already explained why you need to be looked out for. That Lucian almost shot you yesterday proves it.”
“Well, I might’ve been able to avoid it if you would’ve told me about him. Hundreds of people could’ve witnessed me getting injured and healing and then all of us would’ve been outed.”
“Had I known he was still an active threat, you would’ve been told. But really, you were never supposed to go off on your own. Either way, we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”
This hardly excused him, but she felt reassured. “Good. I think it’s for the best. Not just because of Lucian, but Remus too.”
“Without proof a Spectral possessed Remus, people will get over it. They always do.” Lycidius chucked the cup into a trash incinerator. “Let’s go. Neko is waiting at the mansion and has a dog’s patience.”
“Wait.” She reached out and touched the arm of his jacket. His eyes shot to her hand, and instantly, she let go, as fast as if she’d touched a hot stove. “W-what? What did I do?”
“Nothing,” he snapped. He swung back, his anger plainly directed towards himself.
She guessed that he disliked being touched. Still flustered, she had to recall what she was about to say. “Um…I thought Neko couldn’t look at me until tomorrow.”
“That was the original plan,” he replied. “It changed when Lucian showed up.”
Exhilaration strengthened her resolve: with the restoration of her memories, her muddled tragedy of a life would be ordered. Whole.
As they once more hit the pavement, a wistful feeling fell over her. It was as if she was walking with the wind, her steps light and natural. This had happened before, she was sure of it—she and Lycidius strolling this very sidewalk, exactly like this. All was the same, down to the pedestrians clearing a path, reluctant to breach Lycidius’s personal space. Their behavior was similar to the way people had regarded Lucian on the metro—with tremulous caution. She couldn’t understand the lengths they went to avoid crossing paths, but granted there were sinister traits about Lycidius—his monstrous eye for one.
“Have you decided where we’re moving to?” she asked, as they passed a vendor selling holographic newspapers.
“The Satar Stronghold. We’ll stay there until we find a permanent location.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s in Alaska.”
“Alaska?” Bewildered, she halted, then hastened after him. “Desya can’t stand the cold.”
“There’s less trouble in ice caves and glaciers,” Lycidius clarified. The wind picked up and he raised his chin, as if he enjoyed the breeze on his face. “It’s short-term and Desya has survived worse. You don’t need to complain for the man.”
“Complaining and concern are different things,” she pointed out. At his sudden curtness, she said, “Even without memories, my instincts have been sharp. I get the feeling you dislike being around me, and I can only guess it’s because I’m a vagrant.”
Sunlight reflected in one of his eyepieces, giving the appearance that it winked. “If that bothered me, you wouldn’t be living in my house. Who told you I don’t like being around you?”
“No one. It’s obvious through the way you act.”
His hands flexed in his pockets. She expected him to respond, but he struck the pedestrian button too hard at the crosswalk, tapped his boot impatiently, and then treaded across the street.
She followed in his wake, guessing she should change the subject. “If you have family nearby, they could be an option,” she suggested. “Staying with our kind might be safer than tramping into the wilderness.”
“My family doesn’t live close. And they wouldn’t welcome two vagrants.”
Snofrid was mindful that she’d earned no welcome. Still, she felt a sting at his bluntness.
“My adopted brother lives in Norway,” Lycidius went on, fingering a silver ring on his left hand. The ring had a seal depicting an upside-down tree. “You called me heartless once,” he reminded. “If you met my brother, you’d find new meaning in the word.”
Snofrid took this as an admonition—moving in with his brother wouldn’t be a smart idea, even if she wasn’t a vagrant. “I think I’d prefer to brave Alaska,” she said.
Lycidius was no longer paying attention. Not to her anyway.
She stared at him with a feeling that mounted the steps of unease and slowed her stride. He walked without watching, his fingers swaying, as if he were counting secret numbers. The way the cords in his neck protruded made her think he was arguing with someone. Not me. Not even someone in their general area. The idea seemed farfetched, but the person he was talking to would have to be invisible.
“No,” he said to no one in particular. Then he glanced
her way. “The Moonlentar Express docks tomorrow morning,” he said. “My contact will fly in on the train. He has our new identities.”
She ended the conversation with a short nod.
At the mansion, she traded her wet boots for house slippers and then went into the kitchen where Neko was loitering near the irori hearth.
“Hi, Neko.” She greeted him with a smile and his mouth twitched. His features were tenderer than his aloof character. His doughty scowl endured, but he possessed a unique air that, on second glance, might be considered approachable. Due to his willowy build and wide, hooded eyes, he appeared far younger than his true age. The great size of his feet was difficult to overlook. Paired with a lean frame, they put him a bit out of proportion. His white trousers were spotless—pressed to perfection—and he wore a metal chest-harness overstuffed with roots, plants, serums and other medicines.
“At last,” he huffed, turning on Lycidius. “The distance from the Cosmopolitan should have been a two-minute walk.”
“You waited six minutes,” Lycidius said, shrugging off his bomber jacket. “You’ve survived worse.”
“Never by choice,” Neko insisted. He pulled out a zabuton cushion at the table. “Go on and sit down, Snofrid.”
“Thanks.” She seated herself, her stiff joints thawing in the room’s warmth. “How are you?”
“I’m a little closer to death than the last time I saw you. Other than that, little has changed.” He fiddled with his harness. “So…I hear you plan to leave?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“I see.” Neko’s mouth tucked down. He handed her a vial of blue liquid from his harness, his hand juddering a little. “Drink this, but take heed not to spill. It’ll stain your skin for thirty-four days.”
Snofrid read the label, De-Fogger Draught, and knew it would make her mind more visible to him. Taking the vial, she drank it down and sucked in her breath. “Oh, that’s sweet.”
Hatred Day Page 8
