by Eli Constant
My pants suddenly feel really, really, tight in the waistline. I frown. I’ve just gotten back into a size 14 with a 12 in sight and I was already one-tracking it back to a sixteen. And from that size, it would only be a short fall back to an eighteen. But I just don’t have it in me to actually care right now.
I always say people need to grieve however suits them. And, dammit, I grieve by eating.
The food a reassuring weight in my stomach, I head to my room. It’s early for me to go to bed, but listen to my body and recognize the exhaustion inside. It’s nestled right next to the warm happiness, but it doesn’t ruin it. Not even a little bit.
Pulling off my pants, I decide to sleep in the black tee shirt. I’m too lazy to dig through my drawers for something else and my favorite nightgown is waiting to be washed. Amazingly, I’ve forgotten about my hair until I walk into the bathroom and do a double take at the woman staring back at me.
I look more like Liam than I’d ever imagined. Still me, of course, but my skin is paler. My hair is like I’ve been caught out in a snowstorm and stood perfectly still until every single flake has settled and clung perfectly to each individual strand. My eyes are what fill my vision though, growing until they are all that can be seen in the mirrored glass.
They are bright orbs, glowing with blue-green fire and shot through with sterling metal flecks- like silver coral living in shallow, perfectly-clear waters.
I’m transfixed for some time. It’s then that I remember Mei commenting on my ‘contacts’ as well as my hair. Mei might have been easily fooled into thinking my new looks are a trick of hair dye and contacts, but the rest of the world might take a closer look and get curious.
I close my eyes and reach inside myself, the way I do when I must quell the shimmering or work with unwilling souls, but I reach further than ever before. I go deeper to discover what to do. It’s not just about quieting my power now; it’s about hiding what I have become. I have to cover what I am. I debate using the cameo broach in my jewelry box to prick my finger, to let a few crimson drops loose to increase my power.
But I find the answer before I resort to blood. It is there, this little urge to draw myself inward, like I am packing myself within a suitcase to only reveal what I want to the world. The sensation is not unlike standing in a shower, water rushing down my body in warm, wet waves.
When I reopen my eyes, the old me is back.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Yet find myself also yearning to see the new me again. The one that looks so much like Liam. The one that brings me closer to my heritage, despite the very fact that it could get me killed.
What’s more unsettling, is that I much prefer the mutation of me, than the real me.
Before I can fall asleep, another knock at the door forces me back up. As I walk towards the apartment entrance, I mentally pray that it’s not Darryl. I don’t think I can deal with him right now. I want someone to rail at, to hurt the way I am hurting. Binge-eating had only helped a little. Seeing Mei and contemplating friendship had only helped a little. Then Liam. My hair. The pain. Jim. So much shit in so little time. The tiny bits of good were nothing compared to the mountain of bad.
I’m almost ready to get into a screaming-match with someone when I open the door.
It’s not Darryl though; it’s Steve. He’s taken over protective detail and he wanted to let me know. Every now and then, I’m reminded that humans aren’t all genocide-loving, sadistic asshats who want to kill me.
When I head to the bedroom this time, I stop. I realize that I don’t want to sleep in there. I don’t want to imagine Jim’s apparition stood in my bedroom, dying, asking for help.
So, instead of going to the bed this time, I head to the couch and I snuggle down among the throw pillows that are not nearly as good as food to comfort me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight.
I’m woken up early the next morning by a phone call. It’s the hospital, wanting me to come in for a recheck. They said something was abnormal in my bloodwork. I don’t understand that. Why would they let me go before all the blood tests were complete and they had results? I asked what was wrong, but they wouldn’t say what.
The nurse was so nice though, so polite on the phone. I couldn’t imagine that it could be… And they wouldn’t have let me go so easily before if they’d done the test. So everything must be fine.
I drive to the hospital after speaking with Steve, who’s apparently been stationed outside my house all night to make sure I was safe. He said he’d stick around in case someone tried to nose about the place, at least until Max and Dean showed up for work.
My stomach’s a bit uneasy as I grip the steering wheel, but that’s probably because of my food binge last night. I can’t help but smile thinking about Mei delivering the food and potentially hanging out with her. Maybe we’ll go to the movies. I haven’t been to a movie since before Adam died. I can’t face going alone. Some people like it— sitting alone in a chair, no one to draw focus from the storyline, a huge bucket of popcorn in their laps. That’s not me.
When I pull into the parking lot, nothing seems amiss. Not a single sign that there’s anything going on inside the hospital apart from the normal, everyday stitching-up and nursing.
So I retain the smile. I walk through the sliding automatic doors. I wave at the security guard who does not wave back. That is the moment the smile dies.
In slow motion, I see two men dressed in black business suits and red ties stride through a set of doors directly in front of me. The jackets are tailored and do nothing to hide the shoulder holsters. From the short distance between us, I see the badges clipped to their belts. PPA.
I stand still, waiting for the inevitable.
So they had tested my blood after all, the normal precaution even these days, and the 24 to 48 hours it takes to get the results back had come and gone. There was talk a few years ago that a company had produced an instantaneous test, but it was so expensive that it turned out impractical, at least for small underfunded hospitals like ours.
That, of course, only delays the inevitable in my case.
“Ms. Cage, we need you to come with us.” The taller of the two men, all short-cropped ginger hair and amber freckles, spoke in a voice better-suited for a fatter man, like the words had to work their way out of a thickened throat with syllables sometimes getting caught in the double chin jowls.
“Why? What have I done?” I back away a step, but I know that neither my words nor my actions can save me now. This is the end I’ve always feared. A burning death. Instinctively, I call my power. I feel so many spirits around me, floating about the hospital which hosts death seven days a week. They will support me. I focus on my new gifts, feeling my fingers go painfully hot.
I won’t let them take me. I’d almost rather be taken by reanimated corpse, long past its humanity.
The other man chimed in now. He was short and dark, like midnight walking through the white-washed hospital. “Don’t play coy, Ms. Cage.” He says my name like it’s acid burning his tongue. “Your kind is the reason this world’s gone to hell. You’re the reason we even exist.”
“Humans were committing atrocities long before The Rising.” I spat out. “We didn’t start the war. We didn’t spill the blood that sent the necromancer gene into overdrive. That was all you.” I don’t even care that I’ve just outed myself. I just didn’t care. Jim was dead. My dad was dead. My grandmother was dead. I was tired of hiding and being scared. I was tired of only trying to do good things in the damn world and still fearing for my life every minute! Shit, they already knew what I was. If you’re going to go down, go down with a fucking fight. I look down, see the sparks begin to jump about my fingers, ready to strike.
Midnight doesn’t respond to my outburst. Maybe I’ve hit a nerve. Or maybe he’s not smart enough to think of a comeback. I’m going to go with not smart enough.
I reach for more of my power, that of blood, that of decay, and I send the tendrils of them towards the two men in fron
t of me. I feel the heat of the liquid rushing through their veins, the vitality that gives them life. I can kill them, then restart their hearts with the lightning bolts springing form my hands.
I can kill them. I can fight.
And then I’m being doused with something I don’t recognize. Both men are spraying it from small devices in their hands. It is acrid and stings my skin. I can still feel my power; I can still see the faint glow of my body trying to come alive with it, but that is all.
“What the fuck did you just do?” I use a dry piece of my sleeve to wipe the smelly substance from my eyes.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, bitch.” Midnight takes out his gun and shoves it into my back. “Stand fucking still and don’t try anything else.”
Ginger Hair slides my purse off my shoulder to set on the floor, and grips my arms at the elbows. He pulls backwards, using a modicum of gentleness which surprises me, until my hands are planted above my buttocks. It’s a few quick, practiced moments later that find me handcuffed and being escorted from the hospital.
Midnight, for his part, scowls as we walk, but says nothing. He’s holstered his gun, but hasn’t snapped the fastener closed. He wants to be able to draw it quickly.
“Where are you taking me?” I’m sat in the back of an unmarked, black Crown Vic. Midnight is driving whilst Ginger hair is typing on a computer mounted to a metal arm that branches out from the dash. The Bonneau police department has similar. I’ve seen it on a ride-along with Terrance. “I said, where the hell are you taking me?” I’m not hopeful they’ll answer, no matter how many times I ask.
But Ginger hair surprises me. “To one of our field offices in Charleston, Ms. Cage. This town isn’t equipped to handle your kind.”
“The disposal of your kind,” Midnight snarls. Good for him, he finally found a comeback.
I have fifty miles to escape. And no matter how hard I reach for my powers, I cannot get them to respond fully to my urgings. I am used to my power being wild at times, but this has never happened before. I’m still damp with whatever they sprayed me with. So I can’t rely on my gifts. I have to figure out how to get out like a normal person.
A normal person trying to get out of a damn cop car.
I shift in the seat, feeling the lump of my cell phone in my back right pocket. I still don’t have Terrance’s number plugged in. Who could I call? I didn’t know Kyle’s number. Liam had given me a card. It would be in my purse though, sat between the two PPA agents in the front seats.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, I realize there’s not a damn thing I can do. Hopelessness washes over me like so much stifling soil. I am being buried alive. Even that would be preferable to a death by fire.
Thirty minutes into the drive. I close my eyes. I block out the world and what is coming.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to use my gifts for good. But that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter at all.
Forty minutes into the drive.
My body decides now is the time to cry- to cry for Jim, to cry for my situation, to cry for everything. Tears are streaming down my face in a great waterfall, escaping from between my tightly-knit eyelashes. Is this it? Do I really have ten more minutes to live? Maybe longer, if they need to prepare things for my ‘disposal’? God, I think. It’s Friday. I thought I was just running into the hospital for a quick check. Tomorrow is Mrs. Grayson’s funeral. The body’s not prepared. God, god. Who will contact Mr. Grayson? Who will let him know that his wife won’t be ready for burial? I can’t even call Dean to tell him what’s going on.
I know, even if I’m not there, that Dean and Max will follow my directions, picking up the flowers, getting the room ready for the service on Saturday.
But I’ll be dead by then. This thought does nothing to slow the tears.
That’s the thing about dying, you always leave unfinished business.
Forty-five minutes into the drive.
“What the fuck?” It’s Midnight’s voice. My eyelids part quickly. We are near the junction of roads 52 and 78. There are no other cars to be seen, strange on a weekday morning. I scan the road ahead.
And then I see him. And the sight causes my tears to finally stop.
Liam, standing like a pale, ash-hued angel in the center of the road. He has wings- great, unfurled, translucent things that glint in the sun.
He holds a hand out in front of him, his mouth moving, murmuring words I cannot hear.
And then the front of the PPA vehicle is lifting into the air, the front end tilting upwards. It continues to rise until it is balanced on its rear end. It does not move. It is a statue cemented to the road.
Midnight and Ginger hair are yelling, one uselessly clawing at the steering wheel and the other fumbling for the radio. I can’t see Liam now, not the way the car is positioned. Soon though, the door beside me clicks softly and swings open. I slide out, Liam supporting me under the right arm since my wrists are still cuffed. “How did you find me?”
“My job is to keep you safe, Victoria. You are never far from my sight.” Realizing my clothes are wet, he pushes slightly away from my body.
I want to yell at him—both for stalking me, but also for taking so damn long if he was so close this whole time.
“I had to take care of things at the hospital first. Your records have been erased. Memories expunged,” he says, and I could kiss him right then for saving me.
He smirks, but I don’t even question how he knows what I’m thinking this time. He can read my mind. By this point, that’s damn clear. “What about the PPA? They’ll have sent the report. They know their agents were sent to investigate a possible necromancer.”
“They send their reports virtually, from the computers in their cars. If I am not too late, then we will take care of that issue here and now. Otherwise, it will be a more difficult, but not impossible, issue to resolve. Go wait in the car.”
“What car?” I circle around, doing a 360 until I face Liam once again. “There’s no other car here.”
Liam walks to me swiftly and kisses me gently on the forehead. “Open your eyes, Victoria.”
“They are open,” I sound like an indignant child.
“No, they are not.” He turns back to the PPA vehicle, still raised towards the sky with Midnight and Ginger hair scrambling inside.
I look again for this invisible car, all the while thinking that Liam may be powerful, but he’s also a crazy-ass fairy. “Liam, there’s nothing here.”
“You have to get a better handle on your gifts, Victoria.” Liam does not look at me, but he waves his hand minutely and then I see it. My Bronco. The keys to which are in my purse. A groan of metal has me looking back at the black sedan. It’s lowering slowly towards the pavement. The men inside are wide-eyed and full of fear.
As soon as the tires touch down, both doors rocket open. Midnight is holding a gun with shaky hands; Ginger hair is holding an identical weapon with firm, unmoving hands. “You will put your guns away,” Liam says as he moves to Ginger hair, who is closest to him. “I mean you no harm.”
Ginger hair looks confused for a moment, his hands lowering a fraction and then rising.
“I mean you no harm.” Liam’s right hand moves to rest on Ginger hair’s forearm.
The confusion in his face comes back, but he lowers the gun and puts it in its holster. “You mean me no harm.”
Liam nods. “Yes, good.” He looks past Ginger hair to Midnight. He has already put his gun away. Liam did not have to place a hand on him. I wonder why that is, but my curiosity is not enough to keep me standing there rather than heading quickly towards the safety of the Bronco.
It’s a bitch to get the door open. Even harder to lift myself enough to slide onto the seat. To re-close the door, I hitch my foot beneath the lip of the door and yank quickly inwards, moving my leg out of the way before the door makes contact.
From the passenger seat, my arms uncomfortably pulled behind my back with hands beneath my buttocks, I continue to watch as
Liam sits in the seat Ginger hair has vacated. He types on the computer for a while, a determined look on his face. Eventually, he places both palms on the laptop’s screen and closes his eyes. Moments later, he is standing outside the vehicle again with my purse held in his grip, motioning for the two agents to be reseated.
And then, as if it has all been a dream, Midnight and Ginger hair smile and wave to Liam before driving away in the direction of Charleston.
I do not even wait for Liam to be properly seated before word-vomiting all over his perfect white suit. His wings are gone, drawn back into his body like they do not exist at all. His appearance is human-handsome again. He slips my purse onto the seat beside me after taking out the keys. I feel a buzzing against my thigh. A phone call, but I can’t answer it now. There’s too much to ask of the man seated next to me. “How did you do that?”
“All Fae have different gifts. I am able to manipulate intention and memory.”
“So…” I lose my words, like they are not strong enough to push out of my mouth.
“So, they will not remember you. They will believe that they came to address a positive Necro-genetic test only to find, by way of the secondary handheld test, that the laboratory center had made a mistake that caused a false positive. The patient was cleared and sent home and they’re on their way to Charleston to catch the ten o’clock symphony.”
“And the hospital?” I manage the question with a squeak, my voice breaking. Relief is tickling across my skin, electricity that reminds me I’m still alive and I’m going to stay alive. At least for now.
“They will remember your stay, your release. Your records are the same as they were, save for the test was negative.”
“So, in the system, I’ve passed the Necro-genetic test? I can get that for my records?”
“Yes, I suppose you could if you wanted to,” Liam starts the Bronco and begins to drive.
“I want to.” I think about what it will be like, to have a piece of paper in my possession that is proof that I am not a Necromancer, even though it is a lie.
