Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel

by Colby R Rice

  "Ryan? Dear?" She asked again. She was standing a few feet away from him, but her milky eyes searched far above his head.

  Ryan sputtered into his cloth and began to jerk around in his chair. Xakiah cut him a warning look, and the kid froze.

  "Ryan apologizes, Mrs. Moreno," Xakiah started as gently as he could. "He's trying to speak with his mouth full."

  "Oh!" The old woman started. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't know Ryan had company! You startled me."

  "My apologies, Madam. I'm Xakiah. A friend." Xakiah walked around Ryan, took her hand, and kissed it. "Very nice to meet you."

  The old woman giggled, putting a thin bony hand to her cheek. "You rascal! I haven't blushed like this since I was a teenager! Ryan, you're so rude! Why didn't you introduce me to your friend?"

  Xakiah pulled out Ryan's gag and glared at him, shooting off various warnings at once. Ryan got the point.

  "Sorry, grandmama. I-- I thought you were sleeping. He's a friend, uh-- from school," Ryan stuttered, tears in his voice. He looked back at Xakiah, at the methodical gaze. He cleared his throat and swallowed, trying to sound more upbeat. "You know what? You can have mine if you're hungry. He's m-making another one anyway, and you haven't eaten yet. You can even take it in your room. You know, put on your tunes, or something."

  "Oh, well thank you, dear. You're always so sweet. Would that be all right, er-- Xakiah, was it? I don't want to be rude."

  Ryan looked at him with the most desperate of silent pleas.

  "Of course, Madam," Xakiah said. "To your pleasure. It's your house."

  "Oh, no need to be so formal-- ooh!"

  The grandmother giggled as Xakiah picked her up. The plate of food, too. He walked her into the next room and laid her down on the bed.

  "Oh my! You're so strong! Thank goodness my husband's not alive to see that. He'd be green with envy, the sweet old fool."

  Xakiah chuckled and tucked the old woman in, adjusted the pillows, and then set her bed tray up. He put the plate of meat pastry in the middle, fork and knife on the left, and the cloth napkin underneath, folded into a perfect equilateral triangle. Something was missing.

  "Drink?" He asked.

  "Milk, please. Oh, I love milk. Check my little fridge by the dresser. There should be some inside. Cups are on top."

  The fridge was exactly where she said it'd be, but as he walked up to it, he couldn't help but notice the fascinating "old people stuff" lying on top of the dresser next to it. The dark wooden top of her dresser was partially draped in a doily cloth, and on it sat a variety of medicines, vitamins, and knick-knacks. A feather duster. A variety of lipsticks and blushes. A couple of busts strung with pearl necklaces and topped with wigs. And dentures, sitting out in the open. He cocked his head. The fake teeth hadn't been touched for a long time. None of the stuff had, actually. He could tell by the film of dust that had started to collect there.

  He shrugged off the strange shrine and retrieved the milk, pouring a glass for her before he set it down on her tray. She was already digging into the food.

  "This is delightful! What did you say this was, dear?"

  "Burek. Very well known breakfast pastry from my countries. Serbia. Croatia."

  "Oh! And where are those places?"

  "Gone, like all the rest. Relics of the old world." He set the cold milk carton down on the nightstand next to her. A wireless radio headset laid there, unused. Ryan had mentioned "tunes", hadn't he? "Would you like some music?"

  "That'd be wonderful, dear, thank you. The Frie Dreinder Symphonies Collection, if you would."

  Xakiah smiled, slightly surprised. He had Dreinder's entire volume on his own shelf. They were the best string orchestra that had debuted since the Collapse, and they were a Civic orchestra, no less. Some Azures balked at this, but not him. Even in the old world, he'd always known the poor to play with the most passion.

  "You have good taste," he said, adjusting the headset's frequency.

  "Don't I? But they make it so easy. Dreinder's like a classical dream!" She shifted as Xakiah pulled the covers over her. "Bless you, child! You are the most considerate friend Ryan's ever invited over. Who are your parents, if I may ask? I must send them my regards. They raised such a lovely boy."

  "Dead."

  "How tragic. I'm so sorry to hear that. Family is so important."

  "It is. Sweet dreams, Madam."

  "Goodnight, dearie."

  He fit the soft, padded headphones snugly over her ears, and turned on the music. He adjusted the volume so that it wasn't too loud, but loud enough. She didn't need to hear what was coming next. He left the bedroom, eased the door closed behind him, and walked back to the kitchen.

  "She's lovely," he said to Ryan. He went back to the kitchen counter and grabbed the cheese grater. "Very kind."

  "Please..." Ryan whispered. "Please don't hurt her. I don't know what you want, but she has nothing to do with it."

  Xakiah forced a smile and sat in the chair across from him, the cheese grater on his knee. He looked at his watch, then at the stove, where the meat was still simmering. Ryan stared at him, confused.

  "I... don't work on an empty stomach," Xakiah explained.

  Ryan shot him a crazed look, as though what he'd just said was ridiculous. Truly, was it that hard to understand that mercenaries needed to eat too?

  "Look man," he started. He was shaking his head, near tears. "I don't know what you want, but I didn't do anything--"

  Xakiah held up a silencing hand. "I told you. I don't work on an empty stomach. If you'd like to talk, fine, but let's talk about something else. Football?"

  Ryan blinked.

  Xakiah shifted, uncomfortable. "Oh. Apologies. I believe you people around this way call it 'soccer'. So amazing how the world changes and yet doesn't, eh?"

  "You want to talk soccer."

  "Why not? Everyone loves soccer."

  "I just... Azures talk about you a lot. The goliath of the Alchemic Order. They never said anything about you liking normal stuff, though. Like, you know, soccer."

  Xakiah chuckled and looked off. "Killing is my profession, not my pastime."

  "But you seem to enjoy it."

  "A man should take pleasure and pride in his work, no matter how much others may misinterpret that pleasure."

  A pause hung between them as Ryan stared at him, his look unreadable.

  "So," Xakiah spoke again, smiling as he broke the silence. "The goliath, huh? What else do those hypocrites call me?"

  Ryan looked stressed. "Necrosis. Chemical Cotch. Stealer of men's souls. Kitchen killer... Didn't know why until now. Something about all this got you goin'?" He threw a glance around the room, indicating the cottage kitchen.

  Xakiah shrugged, not having to think about it. "It has everything I need. Knives, fire, graters..."

  Ryan's terrified eyes flicked to the cheese grater in his hand. Oops.

  "Oh. Sorry," Xakiah muttered awkwardly. He put the grater on the table. Usually, he would say things like that to scare the target, but he wasn't trying to this time. He was just all thumbs with tact; it had never been a strong suit of his, and he'd known it for years, but this was the first time he truly regretted it. He cleared his throat. "What I was trying to say was--" What was he trying to say? "--it surprises me that more housewives don't take up my profession."

  Really? Was that what he was trying to say? Great. Charming.

  To his surprise though, Ryan actually laughed. "Well, yeah, but you haven't seen my ex-girlfriend. Especially around sorority rush time."

  Xakiah smiled tightly and got up, letting out a long breath. The meat was done, and it was almost time. He looked at the stove. Then back at Ryan. Well... the meat wasn't quite done. It could be more done, right? He liked his meat brown, didn't he?

  He walked over to the stove and turned the fire down to the lowest setting, forcing the sizzle into a simmer. It'd be at least another ten minutes before it was done do
ne. In the meantime, he could take the edge off his hunger with an apple or something, maybe ask some gentle questions to see what Ryan really knew. No need to shed blood so quickly.

  He looked in the refrigerator and rummaged around, feeling both relieved and annoyed at his hesitation. It was a new uncomfortable feeling, one he hadn't felt since his first kill. He could have just killed Grandma Moreno, or hurt her, slowly, to get information out of Ryan. But it all felt so senseless, inducing all that misery over the transgressions of one Azure. He'd been annoyed that she'd been there, annoyed that he'd had to cook for her too, put her to bed... but it was all for the better, perhaps. He wasn't in a hurry to hear Ryan scream for mercy--

  He stopped. He'd just moved the assortment of gourmet cheeses and seasoned tofu when they'd caught his eyes... the pints of strawberry yogurt. Rows and rows of them, even. His favorite flavor. But that wasn't the weird thing. The brand was Dukat. Croatian. And it hadn't existed in over a century.

  He looked on the second shelf, his eyes going wide. The fridge was like some strange time capsule, stocked with products he recognized but hadn't seen for decades. Tomislav beer. Prodavka jams. Bajadera candies. They were all Croatian brands, all from the old world that had burned in the Collapse. His world.

  The meat. The onions. The cheese. The pastry. Hadn't it all been stacked so conveniently at eye-level, right towards the front of the fridge? It was why he hadn't noticed the rest of the items before, he'd been so hungry and also eager to get the assignment going. But as he looked now, he could see that everything in their fridge had been placed so perfectly... as though he'd been expected.

  Feeling calmer than ever before, Xakiah rose to a stand and closed the door. Ryan must've known something was wrong, because he started to quake in his chair. Xakiah walked up to him and held up the yogurt for him to see.

  "Your ex. Did she shop for this?"

  "It-- it's not poison, sir. I swear it."

  "Answer the question."

  "No, she didn't buy it! She's a selfish bitch who never bought me anything, ever! I haven't seen or spoken to her since the break up, I swear!"

  Despite the chill that had set down in him, the strangest of hopes began to rise in Xakiah's chest. He knew then what this hope was: that maybe Ryan wasn't innocent after all. Maybe he actually was in league with Beige and had been expecting this day to come. Maybe he'd prepared for this day, where he'd have to die for the councilman as a loyal dog would for its master. Maybe he'd been arrogant in his preparation, researching his executioner and arranging the contents of the fridge like a greeting card, to have a final laugh even as the trigger was pulled.

  And yet as he considered all of this, he saw that Ryan's fear was real. There was no indication of foul play. Not from him, at least.

  "Who bought this?"

  "G-mama. I-- I mean, my grandmother. She does the shopping. But p-please don't hurt her. It's just yogurt, man."

  Xakiah looked at him hard, unbelieving. "Your blind grandmother. She does the shopping."

  "We have a home attendant," Ryan explained, trying his best to sputter the words out as quickly as possible. "Comes around every Sunday to help her shop!"

  The home attendant. Was she in on it too? Had they all been expecting him?

  "Where did they buy this then?" Xakiah growled. He was done playing games. He held the Dukat carton closer, nearly crumpling it in his tightening grip. "Where did they buy a yogurt that no longer exists? From my country that no longer exists!"

  "I don't know, but grandmama wouldn't ask for that! Maybe there was a mistake!" Ryan shook his head maniacally. "Or maybe she was expecting company! I dunno, man! This is a no-dairy house! I'm lactose intolerant! We both are!"

  Xakiah paused for a moment. Then he turned and went into the grandmother's room, knocking first.

  "My apologies for disturbing you, Mrs. Moreno," he began softly, trying not to make a terrible mistake. "But I just--"

  He stopped short. The burek was half-eaten, covers were thrown back, and the headphones were on the bed, a soft symphony emanating into the sheets. His eyes darted to the only other exit in the room, which was the window near the bed. Its dusty frame was still sealed shut and unbothered. Cobwebs still formed sticky hammocks at its corners. No fingerprints. No one had touched it... and yet the grandmother was gone.

  The Ninkashi was standing up, a deep growl rumbling from belly to tongue, the sound rippling through its slick skin. Zeika staggered back against the brick wall that had closed behind her and forgot the gun, her eyes instead darting up and down the alley, looking for something, anything--

  The trashcans.

  She sprinted, barreling down to the end of John Street. A second later she could hear the Ninkashi lunge and then gallop after her, crashing into the ground and wall in clumsy swift pursuit. Ten feet from the cans, Zeika jumped headfirst, reaching out. The creature tackled her, and they hit the ground and skittered like rocks, right into the garbage. The cans fell, spilling waste and rot everywhere. The Ninkashi tumbled away, and Zeika reached, snatching a metal lid, bringing it up just as the monster leapt back onto her.

  She slammed the lid into its shattered face, saw the spray of blood-- and the monster struck back, its stinking knuckles pounding into her eye, chest, sides. Zeika bit down against the dull blows. She braced her two legs and arm against the monster and pushed up, lifting it as far away from her body as she could. With her armed hand, she hit the thing again, this time with the edge of the trash lid.

  The monster's teeth crushed in, and it spat and screamed, and Zeika swung again, and again and again-- and on the last blow, she thrust her legs and arm outward, throwing the Ninkashi completely off her. The monster rolled, its movements more sluggish now as it tried to get to its feet once more. Zeika was already up, gripping the lid, ready to slam it home. She screamed and lurched towards it, feeling something more savage fill her up as she focused all her thoughts on its demise.

  The bellow of the shotgun threw the monster back, at the same time blowing chunks of flesh from its side.

  Zeika stumbled to a stop and looked just in time to see Franz pump the shotgun again and fire. The Ninkashi flew back, this time hitting the wall and crumbling. It twitched, its energy drained, and Zeika finally allowed herself to breathe as she fell back against the opposite wall of the alley. She watched it happen again-- strangled, desperate breaths as the monster rolled over and began to cough.

  Did these things ever die?

  "Oh no you don't," Franz muttered, pumping the shotgun again. He walked up, put his boot into the creature's gaping chest, and aimed at its head. The monster screamed in a high and bloody rage not known to this world. The shotgun's own roar was louder, and in the next moment, all was still.

  "Cough that up, you rotty bastard." Franz took his foot off the creature and backed up as blood began to pool from the mangled head. The ichor shimmered, darker than human blood, and yet brighter, as though laced with gold.

  Zeika, bloodied, shocked, and trembling, was still hunched against the alley wall when Franz grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and dragged her back inside. The wall closed up tight behind them.

  "Someone was bound to hear that racket," he muttered. "Better lay low fer a while." He threw her to the ground, tossed her Beretta at her feet, and then stepped over her.

  Manja ran over, hugging her. Zeika hugged back, but her voice was stuck. Her body still shivered.

  "Lovely evening for a stroll, ain't it?" Franz said, chuckling. "Thanks for distracting him for me. Couldn't have clocked him good as I did if you hadn't. Nice team work, sugar."

  Zeika looked at him, poison filling her up. "You son-of-a-bitch."

  "Scotch?" He filled a glass and smiled.

  Any other time, Zeika would have said no, but this time she walked over and grabbed the liquor without question. She knocked it back, gulping and not stopping until it was empty.

  "A bit o' moonshine always helps the double-deali
ng go down. You're tougher than I thought, missy."

  "You almost killed me--"

  "You almost killed yerself. The kid too. I told you going out there was suicide, but you thought you knew better. Always knew you were a hard learner."

  Zeika's hands shook as she set the glass down. "He told me... he told me they hunt during the day."

  "The cop? He tell you his dick was made of sugar cane too?" Franz scowled. "These things are animals, and when animals are starving, they adapt. They move into shallower waters, change their hunting patterns. Don't ever ask an Azure what a starving animal would do. That's Civilian territory."

  Zeika rubbed her face, knowing her former plan was dead. There was no way they would make it to the Island like this. She thought the Ninkashi had been neutralized, and it wasn't a variable she'd prepared for. They needed a soft and silent smuggling, but with those things back out there, they wouldn't make it to the border, or even across it, not without serious firepower. And even if they did make it to the edge of the demesne, no smuggler was going to risk his neck-- literally-- just for a few Azure bills. Not even for a few blue thou. It was a minute before she could look Franz in the face.

  "All right, then. Tell me." She rubbed her shoulder. "What would a starving animal do?"

  Franz smiled. Wide. "I thought you'd never ask."

  Kenneth Taitt lived pretty large for being a Civilian of the Fifth Demesne. Victorian-style house, hanging garden, brick walkways. Not as lavish as a typical Azure home, but by Civilian standards he was royalty. But he wasn't here. He wasn't anywhere, actually, and hadn't been seen for weeks, according to his neighbors.

  Caleb had checked his mailbox and seen at least a month's worth of mail crammed in. Some letters had even spilled onto the ground. Bills and junk mail, mostly. There were a few letters from the Prime Minister's office. They'd looked like unanswered invitations to some Azure-Civic balls happening in the 52nd Demesne. Caleb had pocketed one of these for later. Illegal, but he was already on trial for murder. He wasn't going to lose sleep over a little mail theft.