by S. W. Clarke
When we’d finally gone around the circle, I sat back. Nobody except Marcus had any enthusiasm about being here. This was going to be a long night, especially since the only Other I was really interested in had said the least.
But as the leader of this motley group, I did have one power.
I pointed my marker at the ogre. “So, tell me what it means to be mortal. Let’s start with you, Grunt.”
Chapter 16
Grunt didn’t answer.
Well, he did. He grunted, though whether in amusement or in disgust, I couldn’t say. Probably a bit of both.
That was all, and as my hand returned to my lap and the room once again fell into an air-conditioned silence, I began to consider the crime of how low-paying social work was.
This job was hard.
“Do you remember where you were when the gods left?” I asked him. “Or what you were doing?”
This time he didn’t even grunt. He didn’t even move to show life; he just remained with folded arms, determined to sit out his hour and be done.
“I remember,” Marcus the wendingo offered with a hand raised so high his whole furry arm nearly went straight. He rocked in his metal chair, creaking it on the tiled floor. “I was in Antarctica, sleeping after a rare and luxurious meal of a full-grown male seal. It had been a wonderful day for hunting, clear and blue, which made for lots of seal sunbathing …”
On and on Marcus went, detailing his whole day leading up to the GrandExodus. After he’d caught himself a slow, lazy seal and had a decadent meal, he’d had a lovely nap for the next four hours, keeping his head in the sun and his body in the shade for optimal cooling.
Every time I tried to get a word in, he just kept on going, his massive paws pressed together as he made eye contact with everyone in the room.
Finally, I just conceded and let him tell his story. To my surprise, a demigod had crashed from the sky and broken right through the ice not far from Marcus’s home just after the gods’ message. “Though I still don’t know which demigod it was,” he said, “except that he was very large and very fiery.”
And then, at the most interesting part of his story, Marcus stopped. He went quiet, hands clasped in his lap.
When I glanced at my watch, ten minutes had elapsed. I sat up. “Anyone else besides Marcus?” I tried to meet eyes with Grunt, but his didn’t move from their stare into nothing.
And no one else would offer anything. Anything at all. I had to keep the conversation going somehow.
Finally, I said, “I’ve never been an Other or immortal. But one of my first encounters with what it means to be mortal coincided with the day I became a teenage mother.”
That was the joke I’d always made about my relationship with Percy: that I’d become a teenage mom without the nookie to go along with it. It had gotten a few laughs, but sitting here in this community center, I began to wonder if the part about being a teenage mom was really a joke at all.
Truth was, my heart did ache for him. And not like it would for a partner or a friend. It was a different kind of ache—a deeper, permanent one.
Marcus’s hands went to his chest; he was totally gripped already. “Really? You had a baby?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “Sure did. I’ll tell you, the day he hatched I about fainted.”
“Hatched?” one of the pixies said.
I cleared my throat. It wouldn’t do to tell them my baby was a dragon. “Not all of us humans give birth like dogs,” I explained. “Some of us lay eggs.”
All three pixies and Marcus nodded without a hint of disbelief.
“How old were you?” Marcus asked.
“Fifteen going on thirty.” I gave a small smile. “I was terrified of taking on the world and convinced I had to. and I’ll tell you, becoming a mom hasn’t just made my own mortality more of a reality—it’s changed how I think. Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about my child. The smallest wound—physical or otherwise—hurts me.”
I didn’t know why I was saying all this. That didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Actually, it was because it was true.
Put a lid on it, Tara.
This wasn’t my therapy session. I was on a mission.
And yet every time Marcus asked a question about my child, I answered. Until he said, “And where were you, Tara, when the gods left?”
That was when I paused, went stiff. As soon as he asked, my brain sought out the answer … and short-circuited. My palms and armpits began to sweat, and a bird had suddenly taken residence in my chest, trying to find its way out.
No, that was just my heart.
Where was I when the gods left?
The moment the question was asked, a black veil was drawn across that part of my brain. I encountered only a sensationless void, a whole lot of nada.
I stared at Marcus. “I’m not sure.”
“Hm.” He nodded slowly. His gaze shifted to the ex-werehyena. “How about you?”
I was still stuck on my own malfunction. Surely I’d been asked this question before, but I couldn’t even remember being asked. It was like I’d blocked out everything associated with that day.
I only knew one fact: it was the day my entire family was murdered. The next morning I’d found myself in a field in Texas with the certain knowledge that a coven of vampires had killed them.
I didn’t know how. I didn’t know why. I only knew they had done it.
My neck and cheeks heated as my eyes fell on Grunt. The Scarred had killed my family. The organization he was a part of.
My hands clenched, fingernails digging in. An unexpected, feral part of me wanted to tackle him. Wring his neck, just like I had wanted to do to Peter the ex-vampire.
Just like I wanted to do with every member of the Scarred I’d encountered.
Patience, Tara. Patience.
It was at that point I realized that Marcus the wendingo had actually become the leader of the group. And he was doing a far better job than I had; already the three pixies were involved, and the ex-werehyena. People were beginning to engage, to talk.
All except for Grunt. For the next forty-five minutes he remained stolidly in his seat, his mouth closed and his eyes staring into nothing.
I wondered what went through that small brain. I wondered if he thought of anything at all.
When the hour had ended and everyone began to depart, his eyes finally did find something to look at.
Me.
They flicked up, flinty and dark, and bored straight into mine. I knew that expression—it was portentous, full of promise.
Grunt was onto me.
↔
The moment the session ended, Grunt was out of his seat. I didn’t even know an ogre could move that fast, but he was first through the door and into the hallway.
Box of frogs. I’d hoped to drop the cop’s tracker on him on our way out.
Meanwhile, Marcus the wendingo blocked my view, gazing down at me with bright eyes and peppering me with questions about my life as a teenage mom.
I grabbed my bag and set a hand on his furry arm. “Marcus, you should go into social work. You’d do the GoneGod World a service.” And then, before he could respond, I slipped around him and passed with the other Others through the door and into the hallway of the community center.
Grunt had already made his exit; he passed by the outdoor window, heading down the sidewalk.
I cursed, began dodging folks so I could be first out the main entrance, my bag bouncing along with me.
“Wait!” Marcus called from the entry to the room. “You forgot your easel.”
“Consider it a gift to start your new career with,” I called back as I pressed the door open and came onto the street.
Grunt had disappeared.
I fast-walked down the sidewalk the way he’d gone. When I came to the end of the building, an enormous hand grabbed me and yanked me into an alley.
Small, angry eyes glared down at me from within an enormous face, his bald head shining under the stree
tlamp.
Grunt.
He thrust me into the shadows of the dead-end alley, stood like a sentinel with crossed arms some two feet away. “I knew you’d follow me.”
I fixed him with wide, shocked eyes. “Sir, that is totally uncalled for. You see, you forgot to fill out your end-of-session questionnaire.”
“I know you’re not the teacher,” he ground out. “What do you want?”
I straightened my cardigan, glancing at the street. “Well I don’t know what you—”
Grunt grunted. “Don’t play with me, little girl. I’m the only one in there you stupid humans would be interested in.”
So the gig was up.
“All right.” I set my bag down, unzipped it. Grunt’s eyes followed every movement. “Now listen, I don’t want to fight you. We can go our separate ways without any injuries to your person.”
He rolled his eyes. “Injuries to my person?”
I gripped Thelma inside the bag. “That’s right. All I want to do is talk to you about an organization I hear you’re a part of.”
His eyes narrowed. He knew what “organization” I was referring to. “Who are you?”
“Like I said in the class: my name’s Tara Drake. I wasn’t lying about that.”
“And what do you want to talk about, Tara Drake?”
I remained unmoving, as though appeasing a rattlesnake. “Where I can find Valdis.”
He burst into laughter. Unfolded his arms, cracking all ten knuckles. “You don’t ask a question like that and come away unscathed.”
I straightened, lifting Thelma out and letting her cracker fall to the asphalt. “All I need to know is how to get in contact with him.”
Grunt shook his head. “You think that thing’s your protection? Humans and their delusions. Listen here: I’ll go easy on you, Tara Drake. Concussions aren’t usually fatal, but you’ll learn your lesson. Well, if you can remember this moment at all.”
I reached down with my free hand, ripped at the join of my skirt until it was parted to my thighs. That would give me some space to breathe. All that was left was for me to wait.
If I knew anything about ogres, it wouldn’t take long.
He backed to about six feet away. “You amuse me, so I’ll give you a chance with that piece of leather. Ready?”
I nodded once.
He started forward, a seven-foot mass of muscle. Not running—walking. That was how confident he felt.
When he’d taken two steps, I jerked Thelma up, aimed an overhead crack at his small eyes.
He inclined his face, took it on the forehead. “Oh no. I’ve got a cut.” Thrust out at me with his open hand, reaching for my throat to press me up against the wall.
I ducked to a crouch, grabbed Louise from my purse before he trampled it. Then I threw myself out of the way of his bulk, shooting Louise out at his calf as I tumbled past him.
A tear in his jeans sounded through the alley, but he didn’t seem to have noticed. He only turned, reached out with one enormous hand and took hold of my leg.
In his grip, my ankle looked like a bird’s bone. He could probably break it just by squeezing.
I wasn’t about to find out.
With gritted teeth, I thrust my captured foot at his shin, drove my tiny, determined kitten heel into his leg. To that point I’d never seen the benefit of heels, but Ferris had insisted before I’d left his mobile workshop.
“Trust me,” he’d said as he effortlessly replaced the plastic heels of the shoes I’d picked up from TJ Maxx. “It’ll be like a steel-toed boot, but more stylish. You young humans like style, right?”
I’d one-shoulder shrugged. “I suppose. I’d rather have a steel blade in my hand, though.”
Ferris smiled wryly up at me. “Listen, if you ever become a ninja, you’ll understand the benefit of having everything on your body work to your benefit. Even your shoes.”
“But he’s an ogre,” I pointed out. “What’s a kitten heel going to do against an ogre?”
“He’s still got squishy bits, hasn’t he? Aim for the squishy bits.”
As my metal heel drove into Grunt’s leg, the pain registered on his face. His grip loosened, and I knew I’d have to tell Ferris he’d been right after I got out of this mess.
In the moment I had before Grunt saw past the pain, I yanked my foot back and thrust high this time—right at the seam between his legs. Those were the squishiest bits of all. And boy, did that pain ever register. Grunt roared, making my ears ring in the alley.
Doesn’t matter if you’re human or Other, one thing’s universal: if you’re a male with jangled jewels, your hands will go straight to clutching them.
Chapter 17
I’d never seen an infuriated ogre. I decided in that alley if I ever saw one again, I’d be prepared.
Grunt shot a fist out, slamming it into the brickwork and blowing shards of brick over us.
That’s right: he’d crumbled bricks with one punch.
I scrambled backward as he charged me, kicking off my heels and finally feeling the solid ground under my feet. The GoneGods knew I’d need it.
He lunged at me with a yell, and I rolled aside; I felt the air displace as his fingers grasped for me, narrowly missing.
Keep your eyes on him, Tara.
You wouldn’t expect it, but an angry ogre wasn’t just powerful—he was fast in a space like this.
A moment later I was up on my feet. I arched backward as Grunt’s fist poured through the air to erase my whole head. Instead, his knuckles slammed into the wall.
I grabbed his forearm, ducked under and swung around behind him, latching myself to his back. Lashed Thelma around his neck and pulled her just tight enough to cut off the oxygen to his carotid.
With any luck he’d be out in fifteen seconds.
He roared, spinning in the alley as I rode him like a spider monkey. His arms reached back for me, but he didn’t have the flexibility.
That was an ogre’s weakness, it seemed: they weren’t good at getting to those hard-to-reach places on their backs. Not with such massive traps.
Five seconds passed as we dosy-doed around the alley. Ten seconds. Only five more to go.
And then he started backing up.
I glanced behind us; in a second, he was going to make me one with the brick wall.
GoneGodDamn, he was too clever for his own good. I’d definitely underestimated his intelligence.
I leapt off, landing light on my feet and sprinting toward the trash cans and the fence. In a second I’d leapt up onto the lid of a can, glancing over my shoulder.
Grunt was clutching his neck, breathing hard. Staggering toward me. He didn’t seem totally convinced anymore—probably on account of lack of oxygen to the brain.
I glanced over the fence, found a car parked on the other side. So I straddled the fence, cracked Thelma and Louise—one against the trash can, one against the wall. “Now hold it right there,” I called out. “You’re lightheaded, your firehose probably hurts something godawful and you’re not thinking right, Grunt. I’ve got the advantage.”
He took another step, but it wasn’t with total conviction.
“Come any closer and you’ll receive a lick to each eye,” I said in my most authoritative voice, snapping the whips again. “And trust me, this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken out an eyeball.”
I’d meant it as a bluff, but something inside my head niggled at me. Maybe I had taken out an eye before.
“I’ve held back, human, because I fear your mortal law more than I fear you.” Grunt lifted the metal lid off the nearest trash can. “I don’t know who you are, and killing you could be a lifetime in jail for mere satisfaction.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Satisfaction?”
“If we were back in the old world, I’d be sucking on your marrow right now.”
A chill froze its way up my spine. All the same, I lowered my chin. “You aren’t sucking on anything of mine, let alone my marrow. Anyway, shouldn’t
that be my line?”
This was the worst porno ever.
Without another word, Grunt wound up the lid like a frisbee, and it glinted under the streetlamp as he threw it straight at my head. The aim was perfect. The spin was precise. If I didn’t move, it would cleave my head from my neck.
I threw myself onto the roof of the car on the other side of the fence, and the lid went spinning through the air above me, crashed into the wall and went clanging to the ground a few feet away.
GoneGodDamn. I didn’t want to know what that ogre could do given a little more space to work with. I suspected the only reason I’d been able to take him at all was because he was constricted.
Grunt’s heavy footsteps sounded on the other side of the alley. When I raised my head over the fence line, he had already disappeared around the corner and left for who knew where in the city.
That was fine. He had a police tracker in his jeans pocket, courtesy of one spider monkey clinging to his back.
I climbed back over the fence, landed in a crouch in the alley. I picked up my purse, lifted out my phone and dialed Ferris. “Is your guy on him?”
“Yes,” he said. “He just contacted me; he’s following the ogre toward the Garden District.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Aubert. Well, it was. I didn’t much trust anyone in a position of authority, let alone ones who carried guns on them all day. That kind of stuff just went to the average person’s head.
“Good. Meet me at IHOP in twenty.” I stood, slipping the phone back into my purse and fluffing my hair.
No, the truth was, I’d always been a solo actor when it came to hunting the Scarred (if you counted me and Percy as a unit, which I did). Five years I’d been hunting them. And I wasn’t letting that ogre disappear into the night without my own tracker—one gnomish ninja following him down the street.
↔
I limped out of the alley on one broken kitten heel, Aubert’s number already dialed on my phone.
