Forever Here

by Harold Wall

  that regarded him with such savage anger were not even close to human.

  "How can I be normal?" she demanded, and other voices screamed with her from the frayed edges of another world, furious and discordant.

  He stood, using every advantage he had, hoping he could hold his strange, changed daughter to the world. He looked down at her, face calm. "By choosing to be."

  "You think it's that easy?"

  "Did you listen to what I just said?" he said mildly. "It won't be easy. But do you think you're the first person to be changed into something you don't want to be? To feel like you

  don't belong anymore? Sweetheart, welcome to the world, where everyone's got an opinion on you, and they won't all be good."

  "I could make them good," she said fiercely.

  "Compulsion was your father's tool, too."

  She flinched. "I'm not him!"

  "Not yet," he said, and then he held out his hand. He let his emotions drift from his control; his worry that she would make the wrong choice, his sorrow for what she had lost, his

  hope for what she had gained.

  And his heartbreak too. That was always there.

  "Take them," he said quietly. "Freely given, sunshine, truly felt."

  Her fingers were featherlight on his: the feelings withered into shadows of themselves, and he saw her face change as she experienced his emotions. Like sunrise in winter, she'd

  told him. Like the only real warmth.

  My daughter, not by blood, but by choice. A demon, not by choice, but by blood. A wonder and a horror.

  And no way of knowing which would triumph.Celia

  woke up slowly, confused. It wasn't morning because her room was dark, and something was rattling on her window like the wind was dashing pebbles against the glass. Must

  be raining, she thought hazily, eyes inching open. Her skylight revealed only a night as plush and clear as indigo velvet.

  She sat bolt upright.

  It wasn't the wind dashing pebbles.

  Shoving back the covers, she headed over to the window, thoroughly grumpy. Her clock said two a.m. and her inner psychopath said it was going to be murder o'clock if this wasn't

  really, really important.

  She elbowed it open.

  Riose was there. Even in the woolly shadows of deep night, she knew his silhouette.

  "What do you want?" she hissed.

  His face was a blur, unreadable. "I can't sleep."

  For Riose, that was quite a statement. His ability to sleep anywhere could make a narcoleptic look like they just weren't trying. But that didn't do anything to mitigate her unease.

  "So why are you here?"

  "I need to talk to you. Please." His voice had a rough edge. "Cee..."

  She stepped back so he couldn't see her face. Her emotions were a jumble. Aspen's advice echoed in her mind.

  She could go back to bed, stay angry, burrow down into the covers, and ignore him.

  Celia pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, which ached miserably. She felt hollowed out, like she could sleep for a thousand years and still be tired.

  No. She was going to do the right thing. Riose deserved that.

  She leaned back out. "Wait there."

  Celia dressed hastily, then slid along the hallway with the stealth of a ninja on a nightingale floor. Her mother was probably asleep, like any sane person would be, but there was no

  point getting sloppy. Billy had learned that lesson for the both of them when he tried to sneak his girlfriend into his room last year.

  Their mother hadn't shouted. No, that would have been tolerable. Instead, she very sweetly assumed that both of them must be bored to be so awake at night, and it was her duty

  as a parent to distract them from such paralysing tedium. By five a.m., Billy and his girlfriend had endured sixteen games of Risk, which Celia suspected was her mother's way of

  pointing out the game that Billy had been playing. Her mother called it a night when she annihilated the pair of them for the sixteenth time, smug in the knowledge that neither

  wanted to do anything but sleep.

  Shortly after that, surprisingly, they broke up.

  Celia was too wise for such madness. Inviting boys into her bedroom was a swift road to a Game of Life marathon, with additional subtext. Being caught outside was much less

  fraught.

  She closed the front door behind her with a snick.

  Riose was waiting. The shadows masked him, revealing little more than slices – the angle of his cheekbone, the knots of his knuckles, clenched in a fist. He was carrying a

  rucksack, which was odd.

  Without saying anything, he turned, and started walking.

  Puzzled, Celia fell in beside him, but kept a careful distance. Under the bluish light of the witching hour, familiar streets became shapeless and alien, her feet clumsy on an invisible

  surface. She kept blinking, as if the darkness would somehow recede. When they turned a corner into a lit street, she sagged with relief.

  She risked a sideways glance. His face was set and severe, eyelashes lowered to veil any emotions she might have discerned. "Ri, where are we going?"

  No answer but his footsteps. This was a new world, a waiting world. The buildings were dark, the roads deserted and she felt exposed to anything that might be watching.

  And things were watching. She felt that too, prickling down her spine.

  Something rose on the darkness, a faint, throaty snarl. She made a noise in answer, a stupid whimper that came unbidden. Celia knew, suddenly, what the rabbit must feel like

  before the wolf's jaws close on its neck, quivering beneath hot breath.

  "What is that?" she said, voice too shrill.

  "They know what I'm doing. They don't like it," he said shortly.

  "What...what are you doing?"

  His teeth had the muted gleam of moonstone. It was not a smile. "Showing you our secrets."

  "I can see why they're angry."

  He sighed. And then he stopped, and for the first time, his eyes met hers. In them, darkness, deep and still as a well. "They're not angry, Cee."

  The question lay on her lips. He saw it, and then he did smile, but it was crooked.

  "They're afraid."

  "Oh," she said softly, and some of her fear dulled. "Then I guess we have something in common."Like

  everything the Furies touched, the house was coated in secrets thick as dust. Long after midnight, Sunny wound down the spiral stairs into the basement, which was far larger

  than the exterior of the house implied. The lights flared on, reflected in the sheen of the dark wooden floor like gold moons under water. Around the walls, cabinets held an array of

  weapons, all of which she knew how to use. Had known.

  Here, at least, she felt at home.

  It was quiet, everything in soft muted colours like a cocoon. She needed that desperately.

  Her feet made barely a whisper of sound on the boards which gave a little under her feet. It was old wood, full of memories that drifted up from it, a faint gold mist tangling around

  her ankles that no one else could see.

  This was what being a demon meant – seeing everywhere the touches of human hands, human emotions. The world was a vast, whirling clamour, halfway between hurricane and

  sandstorm. She had tried to tell Kurt, but her words became clumsy, as useless as explaining technicolour to someone in a sepia world. Places like this empty of emotions were

  almost holy to her now.

  The cabinets swung open and she drew out a quarterstaff. It was an unusual choice – solid in her hands, without the flashiness of knives or the precision of a gun.

  It was about as far from a sword of stars as you could get. And that suited her fine.

  It had been a very long time since she'd practised. Six long years in a world where there was no need for such mortal instruments. Demons fought their battles with other weapons,

&
nbsp; existing in ways so strange that she'd barely been able to grasp them. For a time, she'd convinced herself that she'd gone mad – the demon world that warped and flexed with every

  passing thought could not be real. So it must be her who had broken, and if she could just claw her way out of her mind, her prison, it would all be all right.

  She couldn't, of course, and it wasn't.

  The anger filled her up, warm and acid and comforting as mulled wine. She put it to use; for the first time in four years, she swung the quarterstaff in the old patterns, beginning to

  step through the moves.

  She was rusty, but her body remembered. Her arm muscles protested at the apex of each swing, the staff looping back and forth in slow motion. The move that looked so serene

  now could crack a man's skull like a watermelon at full speed.

  Well. It would if she could just get the staff to move how she wanted. She imagined that her target was all those staring, squeamish shapeshifters, and suddenly the air whistled

  under her blows. You want to run? Run, then, but run for a better reason! Run because I'm hunting you, because you're afraid of me, not what I can't help being.

  Run, leave me, like all the rest.

  Faster and faster she stepped, treading an almost circle in the basement, lost. So lost she didn't notice the figure who came lightfooted down the staircase until he interrupted her.

  "Your balance is off."

  She stopped midmove, stung. "It is not." She eyed the man who sat on the bottom steps, hands linked loosely between his knees. "But my control isn't what it used to be."

  "Agreed," said Blue Malefici, who had discovered her in Delhi, scrabbling among the rubbish for food. "And your balance is off."

  She sniffed to show him what she thought of that. "Why are you here?"

  "To see if my latest acquisition was worth the trouble. And to check on Aurenna."

  "Like you care."

  Those cold, bright eyes were unnervingly focused on her. "Not in the way you mean. Blind sentimentality is not my strength."

  "I always thought you saw it as a weakness," she remarked, knowing he wouldn't be offended. Kurt and Aurenna never seemed to enjoy their conversations with Blue like she did,

  and she'd always wondered why. Talking to Blue was like a fight in itself, and she revelled in the back and forth, the feints, the evershifting ground. He wasn't easy, but he was

  interesting.

  He nodded. "I did. And most of the time it is. But – emotions have their uses. As I imagine you know very well."

  She stiffened. "I didn't ask for this."

  "Yet here you are. The only demon to ever return to our world. No one can teach you how to be what you are. You will have to learn for yourself. One can only hope you don't have

  a fool for a teacher. I've given you what you need to begin."

  "Which is what, exactly?"

  "A secure home, time, and the people who, contrary to all logic, common sense and my sound advice, love you."

  She slammed the quarterstaff onto the floor. "You think I'm safe here? Every shapeshifter in the place treats me like poison."

  Blue flicked his fingers; suddenly the staff twisted from her grasp. It pinwheeled so fast it became only a dark blur, suspended midair in a way that could only be magic.

  Something vampires didn't generally possess.

  His voice was ice and emptiness. "I said secure, not safe. I am not going to shelter you from the reality of what you are, or what the world is. Learn to cope, or die."

  Sunny stared. "How are you doing that?"

  "You aren't the only one who has powers past what they were born with." Just as quickly, the staff jolted to stillness, and fell; she caught it just above the ground.

  "How did you cope?" she said slowly.

  "I accepted them. Eventually."

  She waited, knowing his stillness was that of decision and not silence.

  "Accepting the power was simple. But power is not free. And if you cannot accept everything else that comes with it, then you will never be more than a pawn in the game." Blue

  stood, still taller than her by half a foot. But she no longer had to look up so far to meet his eyes. "Somehow, I don't think you'll settle for that."

  "No," she whispered. "But I'm afraid."

  "Of what?" There was no sympathy in his face. The first time she'd met him in Delhi, she'd been five, and awed by the bright blue of his hair and eyes, which had seemed to her an

  echo of the painted gods gazing down from the temple walls, his expression as distant and uncaring.

  "What I might become." The shadow of her parents stretched over her; the demon king, who'd sold his wife for power. And her mother, who'd given up what remained of her soul

  for revenge. Against them, those dark wavering figures, she set Kurt and Aurenna like talismans, hoping she could be better than her bloodline.

  "Then you're a fool." He stalked past her, picking out a quarterstaff of his own. It was six foot long, made of shiny black wood that reminded her of obsidian. "You can become only

  what you choose to be. Competent, for example."

  He didn't wait – he threw a vicious blow at her and she had blocked before she realised. Her body, faithful, remembered the moves, his strategies, his speed, but now she found

  that she could match him.

  They danced back and forth, all her focus on their fight. She was herself again, someone capable, strong, someone who defied the odds and defied the omens and defied the whole

  damn world because she could.

  Sunny realised she was smiling.

  Blue apparently took that as a sign that she wasn't working hard enough. The pace picked up another notch and impact after impact slammed through her wrists, her back, her legs.

  He was starting to wear her down, as he always did. A blow landed hard on her shoulder, and Sunny's grip slid on the staff as her fingers loosened in reaction. She countered fast,

  spinning the staff in a series of moves that caught him on the shin and chest, moves she could never have done before.

  A thrill went through her. Maybe she could beat him this time, maybeShe

  was outstretched, on the apex of a defensive move, and he nudged her foot with his own.

  To her horror, her leg went from under her and Sunny hit the floor with an almighty thump. She landed badly, pain wrenching through her back, and she instinctually kicked out in

  the hope of bringing Blue down with her.

  He'd moved. Of course.

  Blue hauled her up with no regard for her gasp of pain. "So. We can both agree that you were faster and stronger in that fight. Why did I beat you?"

  She glared. He seemed totally unmoved. "My balance was off."

  "I see. Were you worried about devouring my soul?"

  "I'd probably starve," she muttered sulkily.

  His lips curved. He thought she was funny. That was the humiliationsoaked cherry on the sunken cake of defeat. "Did that fall hurt?"

  "You know it did."

  "And what was your first reaction?"

  Then she understood. And something released inside her chest, a tension she hadn't known was squeezed like a fist around her heart. "To kick you."

  To behave like a person, Not a demon.

  "Oh," she breathed.

  "We'll both have to live with the disappointment. Not least because I was thinking very hard of that travesty I call a brother in the hope you'd erase him from my existence." He

  scooped up both weapons and put them back into the cabinet. "Your footwork is appalling, your grip is weak, and any adequate assassin could quickly halve the number of demons

  walking the earth with one wellplaced tripwire. Ensure you train with Schrader. I will be dropping in, and next time I won't go easy on you."

  The next morning, after two nights full of drama and empty of sleep, Celia narrowly convinced her mother that her red eyes were due to clumsy eyeliner application rather than midnight
marauding. She fled the house before any more questions came, straight over the road to Sunny's.

  The door was opened by Aurenna, who looked at her as like they'd never met. "Can I help you?"

  "Hey, Ms Ravija," she said cheerfully. "Sunny around?"

  "Have we met?" Her frown was ferocious. Those gold eyes bored into her like a hawk's.

  Thrown, Celia managed, "Uh, yeah. When you moved in. Kurt – Mr Schrader introduced us."

  "I think I'd remember that," she flashed, voice acidsharp.

  She didn't know what to say.

  "Aurenna," came Kurt's voice, but very gentle. "It happened."

  He held up his hands as he came down the hall, as if he needed to show her that he was unarmed. From the way Aurenna bristled, he'd been right to. "Let me guess. More of these

  socalled memory problems I have?"

  "More of those," he agreed. His weariness said that they had done this before. "Celia offered to show Sunny round. She's one of the neighbours."

  "I know just what our neighbours are," snarled Aurenna. "They're fooling no one."

  "Look at her," he commanded. "Stop being angry at me, and look! She's a teenage kid, that's all."

  Aurenna's gaze swung back to her, and this time she looked – really looked, top to toe.

  Confusion seeped into her eyes like mist. She pressed her trembling fingers to her temples. "I don't...I don't remember... Why can't I remember?"

  "You will." He made a motion, as if he wanted to hold her but thought better of it. "Give it time, Renna."

  "Don't call me that!"

  He sighed. "My apologies. Again."

  "It starts to ring hollow after a while," she bit back. "I think...I think I need to sleep. Celia. Nice to meet you." She pushed past Kurt, who flattened himself against the wall. Celia

  had never realised someone with so much physical presence could suddenly become so small, as if he wanted to shrivel into his own shadow.

  The silence felt awful. So she said, "Mr Schrader...I have this feeling you're going to apologise. Please don't."

  He looked at her, face as still and stern as a marble sculpture. Then he gave a flimsy smile and said, "Busted."

  She wavered then spoke before she could bite back the words, "This is probably interfering. But it's kind of a genetic trait. Moving is really tough, and Sunny's mom seems like