“Oh I did. I did notice that. Kind of hard to miss. Violet skin. Silver hair. Some kind of—” she leaned closer to him, “multi-hued eyes, whatever kind of evolutionary phenomenon would select for that eye color. Intriguing. I’ve never seen that one, even on a Druiviin.”
“It’s rare for a Yasao. And by the way, thank you for making me feel incredibly self-conscious.” He grinned like he didn’t hold it against her. The jab was an unexpected one on a Druiviin.
Holly laughed to hear it from him. “Strange choice for a name, though.”
“My real name is unpronounceable for humans.”
“Oh, right. That’s very thoughtful of you, to make it easier for us human idiots.” She was trying to be rude a little. It was a test. If he failed it, she’d win by getting him to leave her alone. If he passed, he’d put up with her teasing and moodiness enough that maybe he’d pass for a friend. But he was having nothing of her crap, it seemed. He thought she was funny. And to be fair, he’d made her laugh as well.
“You aren’t idiots. Just morally . . . less advanced than us Yasoan and Centau.”
“Druiviins, you mean.”
He laughed. “Good one. Yasoan is what we call ourselves. It means ‘the creative people.’ Druiviin is a name you’ve given us. It means something else. I think ‘grapes’ in one of your many old languages. So,” he tilted his head, “kind of offensive. We don’t call ourselves that. Although, I do love the wines you make from grapes.” He held up a glass that he must have brought over, and toasted her before sipping it.
Holly sighed. She’d heard this stuff a long time ago, but didn’t have any Druiviin friends at the moment. Basically her friends vanished soon after her prison sentence began. There weren’t very many Druiviins or Centau in prison, because Odeon was right. They were slightly more advanced when it came to moral codes. Or at least, they were better at not getting caught and maybe they tended to pick crimes that were harder to pin down, like oppression. Gilding their moral superiority in kindness and gifts.
“So why Odeon? Your name, not like, some kind of metaphysical question. That sounded weird.” She laughed.
“The word sounds beautiful. It’s artistic and musical, like me.”
“Hmm. Well, thanks for introducing yourself, it was lovely to meet you.” Perhaps he’d take the hint and leave so she could get back to mulling over Xadrian and his offer.
“Why are you meeting with Xadrian?”
“You know Xadrian?”
“Yes, I see him in many places I frequent and I’ve learned that he’s not always, what is the idiom? Above the table?”
“Who is, right?” Holly wasn’t sure what to say. “But thank you for the warning. I have to be going.” She scooped the file up and headed for the exit. As she reached the door and pushed it open, she heard Odeon beside her.
“Allow me,” he said, pushing the door open for her, carrying the bags weighed down with his musical instruments.
“Thanks, but not necessary. I can do that myself,” she said, scowling. She got to the outer door herself and opened it.
“Thanks,” Odeon said as he slipped through in front of her.
You’re not welcome, she thought to herself. “Well, goodbye,” she said again, wondering if he’d get it that she wanted him to leave her alone. The Druiviin seemed nice enough, but after having been married to Graf for so long, sometimes she didn’t trust her own judgment especially about the motives of other people. Graf had loved to undermine her confidence in all things—so that she depended on him alone. That’s what the prison therapist had said, anyway. It was one reason she felt unsure about what Xadrian wanted to hire her to do.
She should just do the job to prove to herself and to that dead bastard Graf that she could do it.
If the Druiviin would just leave because she’d been slightly rude to him, that would make the decision for her. The truth was, she should just be point blank about it. Apparently he couldn’t read her the same way she couldn’t read him. Except that it bothered her that he thought what she was doing with Xadrian was any of his business. Although, it was a nice complement to not have someone staring at her in horror because she’d killed her husband (in self defense). It was nice, for a moment to have someone not know that about her. There weren’t many people in her life who didn’t know.
She headed up the street, back in the direction of Meg’s condo. Odeon fell into step beside her, slinging the straps of various his instrument cases over his shoulder.
“Are you an undercover cop or something? Why are you following me?” she asked, taking that point blank approach she’d been considering.
Odeon laughed. “No.”
“Then why are you following me?”
“I’m not following you. What’s your name? I would have said it there, ‘I’m not following you, your name,’ but I haven’t learned it yet.”
“Yes, there’s a reason for that, Odeon Starlight.”
“And it is?” He sounded genuinely curious.
“I don’t want you to know it. And I don’t appreciate you following me. You don’t get to know where I live, because you’re a stranger.” Again, point blank. It was for the best—the race and cultural-barriers couldn’t be trusted.
They came to an alley and Holly debated going down it and then running, to get away from Odeon. Her gut began to roil. She remembered the gun, whose discomfort she’d gotten used to. It was still there, digging into her skin.
Holly had her back to the alley as she turned to face Odeon. The street wasn’t as busy as usual, though foot traffic had increased as the morning turned into afternoon.
“Could you do me a favor?” Holly began, only to have Odeon answer immediately.
“Anything,” he said, pausing pointedly like he wanted her to fill in the blank where her name belonged.
She laughed and began to ask him to get lost, when his eyes widened in alarm.
“Look out!”
He stepped around her and pushed her away. She charged forward from his push and only barely caught herself, avoiding falling flat on her face. When she recovered, she spun to see two people fighting with Odeon. Two humans—a man and a woman—in suits.
“Run away!” Odeon called. He’d dropped his instruments onto the pavement and was grappling with the man. “They’re after you!”
“Like hell I’m going to run,” she said, dropping the folder and stepping into the fight. She had the gun, but there was no way she’d use it. These people looked like they were unarmed, though violent.
Odeon seemed like he had the man handled, so Holly squared up to the chick, who’d been taking wild punches at Odeon’s back as the man kept him busy from the front. She was blonde with bright red lipstick, hair in a ponytail, and a tattoo of a cephalopod on her neck. Her eyes were hidden by sunglasses. Holly stepped in and jabbed sharply at the girl, doing a one-two and preparing to deliver a wider, more powerful punch with her right arm. The chick just laughed and dodged, which made Holly’s face burn.
But it also got her adrenalin going, which made her feel stronger and quicker, as long as she kept control of her rage and channeled it.
She stepped back and reconsidered her opponent, who seemed more trained than Holly, and while Holly had learned some T’ai Chi in prison, it wasn’t a fighting style. It was meditative. She had the strength and the grace, but she was more used to prison fights. Fights with chairs.
Whoever these two were, however, there was no way she was going to give up.
She waited in a defensive stance for the chick to make a move. When she came at Holly with a spinning back-kick, Holly blocked it. But the woman kept coming, with another kick, then another, and another until Holly was up against the wall of the tower. And then the chick pulled out a knife.
I see her game, Holly thought, putting on a brave face. The knife would be a problem.
It was then that Holly realized her mistake. They wanted her. But they also wanted the folder, which she’d dropped in order to fight—the blonde chick’s ga
ze kept darting to where it lay on the ground.
Which made her realize that Odeon was right—they were after her. For the folder.
Her opponent shuffled to the folder, preparing to pick it up, her knife up on guard though to ward off Holly.
Holly kicked the knife away, moved her balance to her kicking foot, and then swung her other leg at the girl’s head. She connected and the chick fell over. Wow, that was stupid. Why didn’t they wait until they’d beaten her and Odeon to go for the folder?
Holly looked down the alley and saw Odeon doing surprisingly well against his opponent.
A sharp pain in her side made her dance away, as she gasped and spun to face her blind-side. It was the woman—she’d recovered from the kick and had retrieved her knife. “Bitch,” Holly said.
Holly reacted, swinging wildly with her fists, charging the woman hard and fast, knocking her knife hand back, connecting with the chick’s gut, her jaw, her cheek. It was a flailing mess, but soon, the woman knew this wasn’t going to work out for her and her tall male companion.
“Let’s go!” The woman screamed, then turned and ran back up the alley towards Odeon and the guy he was fighting. When she reached her partner, she grabbed his arm and yanked him along, away from Odeon. They both bolted.
Holly collapsed against the wall and touched her side. Her fingers came back sticky as blood seeped through her jacket and blazer. She sucked in through her teeth. “Shit.”
Odeon ran up to her, breathing hard, his silver hair disheveled. “You’re hurt,” he said.
“Yep. Just a scrape, though. I should be fine.”
“Can I help you home?”
“I’m fine,” Holly insisted. Suddenly feeling woozy. The wine, the fight, the blood oozing out of her.
“They could come back.”
Damn. He was right. She still had the folder. They wanted the folder. “Did you, did you notice a tattoo on the guy?”
“Yes. They were Coalition tattoos. On the neck. Four circles, interlocked.”
“Why did they jump us?”
“They want you. That’s why I came with you—Xadrian attracts trouble wherever he goes.”
Ohhhh. Xadrian.
“Fine. You can walk me home. And by the way,” she said as she began to walk back toward her sister’s apartment, “Thanks for having my back. I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t been there to warn me, but it’d probably be worse than a scrape.”
11
Back in Meg’s apartment, Odeon moved into the space like he owned it. Like he was as comfortable there as if it were his. Holly suspected he’d be comfortable anywhere.
“This is a good space, I can feel it in my bones,” Odeon said, moving from plant to window, to another tall houseplant in the corner, touching them as though he were a gardener. To his credit, they were some kind of native Druiviin variety of plant, with clusters of green lanced leaves all over.
At the kitchen sink, Holly took off her jacket and lifted her shirt. The edges of the gash in the fabric were sticking to her skin, and pulling it away tore slightly at the wound, causing Holly to gasp in pain. “Ouch, God,” she breathed.
Odeon came to her side. “It isn’t just a scrape,” he paused. “I still don’t know your name, my friend.”
Holly pulled a cloth from a cabinet and ran hot water over it, then pressed it against the cut, making her breathe sharply between her teeth. “I guess,” she said through clenched teeth, “having my back like that, means you’re not one of them. Or some kind of evil dick that’s out to destroy my life, right?” she laughed, even though she wasn’t trying to be funny. She was serious.
“No, I’m not here to ruin your life,” Odeon said, sounding a bit confused. “I came to help you. Xadrian is a person of questionable character. Him and I have similar tastes in things. I see him often. Where he shows up, things happen. Usually once he’s left and the bad things happen to whomever he was speaking.”
“Not surprised. My name is Holly. Holly Drake. And thanks, again,” she said, rinsing the cloth and then dabbing at the cut more, “For having my back.”
“Certainly, Holly Drake,” he said. “Can I help you with that?” He put his hands in front of him like he was going to cast out devils. Holly narrowed her eyes at him.
“What? What’s your plan? I’m not sure I like the looks of that,” she said, pointedly looking at his hands.
“It is just a Yasoan thing. Nothing weird, I promise,” he stepped closer. “Let me show you.”
“Just don’t try to do an exorcism or something. I’m not into that religious fanatical crap. No offense if you are,” Holly said warily.
“Of course not.” He touched her skin with his fingertips around the opening the blade had sliced in her skin. And then he began to hum. At first it was so low-pitched that Holly could barely hear it with her ears. It was a vibration in the air, as he hit inhumanly low notes. And then it rose slowly, to more audible frequencies, and then it dropped back down. Holly watched him in fascination, her brow furrowed, her jaw open. It was strange and awkward and she nearly laughed at him, and then out of nowhere, her pulse relaxed and every muscle in her body seemed to thaw as the ice of fear, rage, and distrust fled from her. At that same moment, she felt like collapsing from weakness as though she’d just run a two hundred meter sprint and had expended every spare ounce of energy. She began to fall.
Odeon caught her. He’d stopped humming.
“Holly Drake,” he said, helping her to the couch. “I should have warned you. The healing song can drain your energy reserves. Let me get you a bandage and something to drink.” Once she was on the couch, he went to the fridge and returned with a glass of fermented tea and a plate of carrots. She took the tea and sipped it. Odeon put the carrots on the end table. “Where are the bandages?”
“No idea. Check all the cabinets. I just moved in and don’t know where my sister keeps things.”
Odeon searched through the kitchen. “Maybe the bathroom?”
“That’d be a good spot for something like that.”
“Or maybe she just doesn’t keep bandages around?“
“She should. She’s a detective, likes to be prepared and she has a daughter.”
“Some detectives are lazy and unprepared.”
“True. Not Meg, though. She’s the other kind of detective. Thinks about shit. Plans ahead. Keeps back-up plans stacked high in that head of hers.”
“Found them,” Odeon’s voice came from the bathroom. He swept gracefully out of the bathroom and to Holly’s side. He pulled a butterfly bandage out, studied it, then studied the cut, which had stopped bleeding. Then pulled out two more. Holly looked down at her side, she still had the shirt gathered up in her hand.
“That’s a good bandage for this. It’ll hold the edges together as I move and that will help it heal. What was that thing you did? I’ve never seen it before. Heard about it. And I kind of thought it would heal the cut all the way, but it’s still there.”
“It’s a healing song. But for humans, it only increases the rate of natural healing. We can’t coerce your body to do it faster, the way we can for Yasao. We try, but your bodies still insist on being slow.” He laughed as he applied the bandages. His touch was gentle and deft, as though he’d spent time working in a hospital and knew his way around a body. Holly found it oddly . . . comforting. She wasn’t sure why but the Druiviin didn’t make her nervous, especially after all she’d been through with Graf. Maybe it was because he was a Druiviin and not a human.
Holly wanted to change her shirt, but she was still slightly exhausted from his song. “Why am I so tired, then?”
“I think it still made your body work hard. The bleeding stopped. So perhaps, I suspect, it made some of the healing processes go quicker. Your blood clotted and stopped its own bleeding. So there is some effect on humans, and we’ve known that for a long time. It’s why the healing spas and resorts on Itzcap are full of healing and singing Yasao and why humans like to go the
re. We have an effect on you, just not so drastic.” He stood up, inspecting her. “Would you like me to get you a shirt?”
Holly wanted to say yes, but the thought of asking him to do anything more embarrassed her. She wasn’t great at asking for help and the thought of sending him on errands made her recoil in horror. “Thanks, I’m OK now. I’ll get one in a few minutes.”
She grabbed a carrot and began to munch on it. “Thanks for getting me this.”
He sat down in the nearby armchair. “Holly Drake. This man Xadrian, he’s very dangerous.”
“Oh, I think I understand that.”
“Are you going to take the job he asked you to take?”
Holly started. “What?”
“The job. Stealing the valuables?”
“I didn’t tell you about that. How did you know that’s what he asked me to do?”
“I heard him,” Odeon said.
“You were playing music,” Holly said in a tone that sounded more accusatory than she meant it to.
“Yes, but I can hear more frequencies than humans. You know this. It’s why Yasao love music. Our sounds can heal.”
“I just—” Holly shrugged. “I don’t remember that kind of stuff. And I’ve never put it all together. Like, applied it. I’m not thinking, ‘oh that Druiviin over there can hear my conversation, so if I don’t want them to, then I guess I’ll need to speak sign language.’ I’m surprised Xadrian didn’t think of it.”
“He might have,” Odeon admitted. “Xadrian has known me for a while. He knows that I don’t work for anyone and that my main interests don’t run parallel to his. I doubt he sees me as a threat, because I’m not.”
“Then what are you?” Holly glanced out the window at the other end of the living room. Meg would be arriving home soon with Lucy in tow. If Holly didn’t want them to see that she’d been stabbed in the side, she’d need to change her shirt soon.
Odeon shifted in the chair, sitting back into it. “Good question. I am just a Yasao interested in the other races. I want to understand them—not the Centau so much as the Constellations and you humans. And you, you have pain in your eyes and a story that you wear upon your face. It’s a mixture of aggression and suffering. And I felt sure that you would either need my help or want it. I followed the song that pulled me to you, and I trust that song.” He said it all so plainly and matter-of-factly that Holly found herself nodding, though it sounded ridiculous to her. “And I wanted to warn you that Xadrian is asking you to do something very dangerous.”
The Colossus Collection : A Space Opera Adventure (Books 1-7 + Bonus Material) Page 7
