by Talis Jones
Yosef glances over to the spot she’d just abandoned and sighs. “Nyx, how many times do I have to tell you not to turn the floor into a canvas?”
“As many times as I choose to do it,” she shrugs with a toss of her long pin-straight black hair. “It’s just chalk and Frocket can mop it up after dinner.”
Frocket huffs but smartly keeps silent.
Just then Castor slips out of the tiny kitchen with plates of lasagna lined up one arm and begins to pass them around the table. “Where’s KJ?” he asks, placing a plate down in the empty spot.
“Karter will be down when he’s finished,” Yosef replies. “I assure you that the smell of your cooking will have him working twice as fast.” Glancing over at me he adds, “Maddy, no headphones during dinner.”
Castor tries and fails to hide a pleased little smile at the flattery while I frown and slide my headphones from my head and instead turn my attention to our chef. Perfect curly hair, scar-flecked dark skin, ex-military turned street fighter thanks to losing his pension due to a dishonorable discharge all make him someone to look twice at. Only Yosef knows the details of that discharge but I’m pretty sure whatever Castor did was honorable because that’s just who he is. Besides, the truth is that he’s a giant teddy bear and our self-appointed cook and my brother in arms. I think we all love him most even if he does have a habit of picking up strays either for keeps or to be rehomed. I’m glad I was for keeps.
“Why were you in prison?” Frocket lets slip suddenly.
I raise my eyebrows at her, a forkful of pasta hovering in front of my open mouth. “Excuse me?”
She bites her lip trying to figure out how to reverse time. Impossible. “I mean, you’re not that old so you would’ve just been a kid and kids don’t go to prison and you’re kind of spooky pale besides your freckles which I don’t know if that’s related at all or if it’s just because of your red hair but then what kind of prison would make you pale or I guess lack of sunlight might do it but by now surely you’d have tanned but we’re like a rainbow and you’re, I don’t know, a cloud…You’re just different somehow,” she forges on with wild eyes looking as if they’re begging her mouth to shut up.
Silence hovers around the table, even Yosef is gaping at the kid, then I laugh. It isn’t really funny, or maybe it would be but she’s a stranger asking dangerous questions so I laugh anyway and then it turns into that hysterical type of laughter that becomes out of control and embarrassing and your abs hurt like they’re being stabbed but you just can’t stop. My eyes pass over the others with laughing tears in my eyes and I see what she means. Castor is the darkest of us, then Yosef, Nyx, Arcas, KJ, and finally me. And she’s right, I might as well be the cloud for as pale as I am except she’s surely the palest because I at least have my freckles. If I’m a cloud then she’s a ghost.
Finally getting my laughter under control, I take a last steadying breath. I went years without the sun and you never realize how simple a torture than can be until they throw you in a cell and you learn to endure it. “Just a ginger. What’s your excuse?” I say flatly in answer then turn back towards my lasagna with determined gusto. Slowly everyone else does the same.
I finish my plate in record time and stand to wash it in the sink when Yosef places a hand on my arm. “I have some things to discuss with the group,” he says though it’s really an order for me to sit back down and I do.
“Sorry,” Frocket murmurs.
I turn to say…something, probably a quick “No worries,” but Yosef beats me to it.
“We all have a past and our past is our own. You are always free to ask, but the next time your babbling brain chooses a question that is not only blatant prying wrapped in an insult I will take this knife, place it in your gut, and leave you in a gutter,” he says calm as you please. “Understood?”
Frocket’s face loses what little color it holds at the threat and she nods before finding her voice. “Understood.”
I eye the knife he made appear in his hand like magic and remember he’s more than just smart. He’s lethal. Not that he ever lets you go long without a reminder. Frocket’s questions might’ve been unexpected and a bit rude, but even I don’t think it was intended as an insult and I don’t really like the kid. She was just curious, a stupid kid who spoke without thinking, and even if it did bring up painful truths about my past that only Yosef really knows about, it doesn’t warrant her dead in a gutter.
Perhaps to stave off the potential reality of Yosef’s threat I toss out, “Don’t bother asking because I won’t answer.” I flash a quick empty grin. “Just figured I’d save you some time and collect a life debt while I’m at it.”
Castor snorts. “Life debt,” he chuckles under his breath.
I fidget in my seat waiting for everyone to finish their dinner when Yosef’s hand suddenly weighs on my knee to still my bouncing leg.
“You’re going to start an earthquake,” he murmurs, answering my unspoken question without even looking.
I let out a sigh and try to still my twitchy limbs. “Sorry,” I whisper back.
“So, is this about the diplomat?” Nyx opens curiously, pushing her plate aside.
“Someone please explain to me who this diplomat is,” I latch on curiously.
Yosef stacks his plate atop mine and places his tablet in its place. “Charles Versailles Osman IV is a diplomat newly arrived from the Eurasian Union.” For the benefit of Frocket and my unschooled self he explains, “Across the pond the countries of Europe and Asia have formed a special group called the Eurasian Union devised of diplomats representing each country and it is this group that negotiates many things including relations with anyone outside of the Union.”
“Anyone being us?” I guess.
He nods. “The Rochester Alliance has managed to cling onto an alliance with the Eurasian Union and this alliance has been the lifeline that has allowed us to stabilize and develop while our less fortunate neighbors continued to fracture and collapse. Normally the R.A. sends a delegation as well as utilizes diplomats of our own in residence on their territory to negotiate, but for whatever reason this time the Union has decided to send one of their own to us.
“They’re going to be scrutinizing our every move making sure they haven’t been lied to about the loans, the trades, the people, anything. All this means the R.A. is going to be hell to do business in for us with a less than above board income.”
Yosef stands up, his hands braced on the table and stares each of us down raising the little hairs along the nape of my neck. “Until the diplomat leaves, we all need to be the perfect law-abiding citizens. No fights, no pickpocketing, no card games, no pranks, nothing. No jobs, moves, or words that your sweet Mother Mary wouldn’t do, and stay the hell away from the foreigners.”
“We need money,” Nyx protests. “For food and electricity if not for anything fun.”
“Heaven forbid you wear something less than designer,” Arcas mutters sarcastically.
Yosef nods and resumes his seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “We’ll use the funds in the Rolling Bones’ reserve for now and I’ve got a job I’m working on that will require all of us. One job, everyone gets a cut plus a tithe to the crew. One organized job executed cleanly that will pay more than a dozen of the jobs the cops will be looking out for.”
His gaze sweeps over us once more and though some may think he is asking for agreement or volunteers, I know he’s looking for loyalty and obedience.
“I’m in,” I shrug. “Frees up more time for me to spend on my death traps.”
Yosef’s lips quirk up almost into a smile and I pretend not to notice. “Anyone opposed?”
No one is stupid enough to speak against his plan especially because so far it’s a sound one and joining the Bones is pretty much a blood oath in itself. With that done we help clean up and drift towards our own tasks, our thoughts already putting the diplomat behind us. Except I just can’t quite help myself from wondering all of the different ways a re
al diplomat with power could help us or break us.
“Did you get a read on anyone?” Yosef asks, meandering over to my side by the window. It’s dark and there isn’t much to see, but I like the city lights.
My shoulders tense then release at his question knowing he wouldn’t ask it if there were anyone around to hear or wonder. “I wasn’t really paying attention,” I confess.
“Maddy,” Yosef murmurs and I turn to look at him. “Your gift will never get stronger if you don’t practice.”
“Maybe I don’t want it to get stronger.”
He gazes down at me and for the millionth time I wish he wasn’t so difficult to decipher. “After all you’ve been through you’d think you’d know to use every advantage you can hold.”
“I don’t want this one,” I snap.
“No, you just don’t like who gave it to you.” Yosef steps closer until all I can see is him. “Next time, remember your promise. Next time, I want you to read every damn soul in the room, sear it into your brain, and report it to me.”
His voice is velvet but his words are an icy caution not to disobey him again. Despite his darker path and cold facade my gift hums to trust him and I do. Four years and I’m pulled ever closer. “I will,” I nod.
He holds my gaze with his beautiful eyes, cutting my lung capacity in half, before finally turning away. Suddenly I find something to say. “Frocket didn’t seem surprised,” I tell him quietly.
“About what?”
“About the diplomat,” I clarify.
He nods then leaves me to my solitude by the chilly window overlooking cold, bright lights in a city that is mine but would kill me if it knew I existed.
Four
“Blackbirds chime at the death of day…”
My mind sways to the music as I skate down the sidewalk, avoiding pedestrians with the ease of a dancer as my eyes scour the display windows. Why is Christmas shopping always so difficult? Stone and steel buildings adorned in fake garlands and fake snow and fake cheer tower over all us little people. As if the decorations could soften the blaring screens flashing and braying their wares everywhere one looks. Religious or not, ‘tis the season of salvation whether for souls, business, or both.
Catching sight of a dazzling ad for the latest glossy, self-driving, electric engine, two-seater, luxury vehicle I swing myself to a halt glad that city management melts the snow down each morning to keep its streets as dry as possible or else no skating for me until Spring and wouldn’t that just sting. The model selling the car makes it seem like the answer to your woes, your empty purpose, your lack of real joy, the missing unnamable something that keeps you up at night questioning your existence. I snort and keep rolling down the walk.
Yosef and KJ could afford that car, probably would’ve had one like it if they’d stayed home, but Yosef was too ambitious and KJ was his friend and so they’d left their families behind to set out and do great things. Supposedly. As far as I can tell all they’ve done is use their money and genius to buy a small, abandoned cathedral, form a crew, and stake a claim in the city’s underbelly that isn’t to be scoffed at. Now what do you get people like that for Christmas?
A groan of frustration slips out of me and an Android trying to lure people into the spa that owns her pounces on the opportunity.
“Feeling stressed?” she smiles sympathetically, stepping into my path. “Tension left ignored will continue to grow and in turn shorten your life span by years. Massage is an ancient practice that can reduce stress, restore balance, and often even lengthen the human life span. Here at Lotus, we are offering a two-for-one special just for the holiday season! Do you have a friend or significant other who may also benefit from this revitalizing offer?”
I keep my eyes trained on my toes giving no indication that she exists. With Arcas as my friend it feels cruel, but it’s the only way to get a sales bot to leave you alone. An Android selling coffee once caught me in a bad mood and instead of ignoring them I made the mistake of responding. Sarcasm escalated into yelling and short story shorter, it tazed me and I pissed my pants. Castor had to come down and bail me out of mall jail but at least it wasn’t Yosef. Talk about a walk of shame.
Finally I give up on trying to buy the crew something new and head to an antique shop on the corner that always has weird stuff. Switching my skates for sneakers, I wait for the automatic door to slide out of the way then step inside the surprisingly spotless treasure trove.
I guess it’s my official tradition to wander the shelves looking for bizarre knickknacks and have them guess what it is. Barbie dolls, yo-yo’s, tuning forks, books, crockpots, jewelry, clothes, pumpkin carving kits…some things look like older versions of familiar objects but some things, like the skipping toy I got Nyx last year who mistook it for an archaic pink garroting device, are just hilarious. Who would waste hours skipping in place with a ball and chain around your ankle? Hilarious. Then again, I might’ve borrowed it from Nyx to do just that a time or two…or five… Until I saw it covered in blood like someone had been bludgeoned with it, anyway.
After an hour in this shop with its hawk-eyed owner following my every gesture, I’m finally down to just one last person on my list: Yosef.
“What are you looking for, exactly?” the owner, Darrow, asks politely.
I put back the angel tree topper and give the man the biggest, frustrated sigh I can muster. “I don’t know and that’s the whole problem. Yosef is impossible to shop for and it’s almost Christmas!” I fling my hands up, exasperated, and Darrow flinches at how close I come to smacking a box of glass ornaments off a shelf.
Like most people in the Alliance, I can’t nail down his true age but for some reason I always feel like he should have spectacles perched on his nose even though in the R.A. they’d likely just be a fashion accessory and nothing more. Darrow fidgets with the row of Christmas-style mugs before answering.
“Yosef Bones?” he asks innocently.
“I roll with him,” I shrug, hiding a smile at my joke.
“Nice to know you all celebrate the season,” he smiles a bit nervously.
“My idea,” I share. “And every year they complain and every year they turn into kids around the Christmas tree.” I can’t stop the smug look I know is on my face.
Darrow gives a little cough I’ll bet hides a laugh. “Are you looking for something special? Something practical? A gag gift?” It seems he’s decided to return to safer, more professional waters.
“I honestly don’t care,” I tell him. “Just something. Usually I can find something that stands out to me for one reason or another, but I’ve hit a block.”
“What did you get him last year? Perhaps we can find something similar or completely different.”
Letting my eyes roam the shelves full of forgotten times, I say, “I got him a straight razor shaving kit from like the 1940s or something.” Remembering Yosef’s face I turn to Darrow, “He loved it.”
Darrow’s throat bobs noticeably as he swallows nervously and I realize he probably thinks if my Yosef is the Yosef he’s thinking about then it wasn’t used for shaving the ol’ five o’clock shadow. He could be right. I dunno, I never asked.
“Perhaps something a little less useful this year,” Darrow murmurs to himself. “Follow me,” he says suddenly.
We twist around objects and displays back to the front counter and he slides behind it while I wait to see what he’ll show me. Gingerly he removes an ornately carved, wooden box from beneath the counter and places it before me. “Just arrived last week.” With steady hands he flicks his fingers and wrists this way then that too quick for me to catch when suddenly a secret drawer pops open.
“Whoa,” I breathe fascinated.
“It’s a puzzle box,” he explains. “Very old, this one. Perhaps this might be to his tastes?”
I slowly reach out and brush a finger along its polished edge. “It’s perfect.”
“And there’s even a prize inside should he figure out how to open it,” Darrow
adds. “Of course you can always replace it with another item you might prefer.”
He spins the box around so I can see what it holds and pulls out a fine gold chain with a pair of praying hands hanging from the end. I’m not sure Yosef prays, but he knows I do. I doubt he’d ever wear it, but maybe it’ll at least be a reminder of me should life part our paths.
“I’ll take it,” I grin, reaching out my wrist to reveal the tattoo there where my tiny I.D. chip and thus money waits to be scanned for payment.
My shopping out of the way, I hug my bag of gifts closely and roll into my last stop. I don’t bother swapping footwear this time. Yana looks up from her client and gestures towards an empty chair with her head. I place the gifts down carefully then let my coat slide off my arms onto the floor before straddling the chair to wait my turn.
“Should be the last session,” Yana states, jolting me out of my doze.
“I hope so,” I laugh. “I like you but damn it hurts. You’d think with all of the advancements we have now that they could make this easier too.”
Yana chuckles and preps her station, bringing up my design on her tablet. “Did you hear my last client screaming and crying? No, because he, like every other sane person, chose the numbing injection.” She pauses. “Do you want one this round?”
“Nope,” I decline swiftly. Even if it weren’t for my past giving me a strong aversion to injections, I’d want to feel every bit of this tattoo. I need to. Some might argue a tattoo is a bajillion teeny injections but it’s just different. It doesn’t alter my system. Not that a little numbing juice would do much or for long, but it’s just…it’s different. I didn’t get the chip embedded into my arm without a fight and the only reason why it’s still there is because without it I wouldn’t be able to do anything here on my own. Ironically the cost of independence is a little bit of freedom.
