by Colby R Rice
"No," Xakiah said quietly. "I'll get it. But I'm taking you to the manors, first. All right?"
Moss coughed again, leaning heavier onto him. "You're too good to me."
"Not nearly good enough. Come. I will carry you."
Hoisting his Vassal into his arms, Xakiah called forth his Echo. The pet appeared, and as it opened the darkness for the three of them, Xakiah looked back at the pez-head of Mikhail Beige, wishing that Vassal would've allowed him to take the knife to him. His Vassal was suffering, and it was Beige's fault.
Moss' body got heavier, forcing Xakiah's angry thoughts away from the traitor. Beige and his buyer will wait. Vassal needs me.
The Echo stepped to the side and bowed, and Xakiah walked his precious cargo into the shadows, leaving Beige's body behind them.
Hot water poured onto Zeika's head as she scrubbed, taking the first real shower she'd had in days. She'd washed up while on the streets, but full-on showers had turned fable weeks ago. She had dreamt of the day she'd finally get a proper dousing.
But not like this.
She felt a sob crawling up her throat, but she held it back. She couldn't stall for much longer. She'd already been in for nearly 20 minutes, scrubbing and scrubbing with the excuse that she really wanted to be clean for him... so that he had no reason to go back on his promise.
She didn't move until Sal knocked on the door. He said nothing, but the gesture was clear. She breathed out as evenly as she could, leaning her head against the tiles.
It's just flesh. Just once. Then he'll let Mama and Baba go.
Focusing on that final thought, she shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried off, careful to not strain her bruised knuckles. She looked to the boudoir on the other side of the bathroom, where he had placed the things he wanted her to use. Deodorant. Lotion. Perfume. She'd already used a razor at his request, stripping away the markings of her own puberty.
She'd done a bit of looking around before getting in the shower. She'd found that the boudoir was well-kept, stocked underneath with dozens of beauty packages just like the one she'd gotten. The ottoman of the boudoir was plush... but the top of it was slightly worn and concave, as though many had sat here before her.
It's just flesh.
She was done preparing, and wrapping the towel around her body, she opened the door.
Sal was sitting on the bed, waiting for her, nothing on his face but amusement as he watched her step into the room.
"You seem tense. Do you need a moment?" He was smiling, smug.
She looked up him, wrath in her eyes. "No. Thanks for asking."
"Of course. It's what a gentleman should do."
She gritted her teeth, almost clenched her fists-- until Baba's pained and paling face illuminated back in her mind. Sal would look for any reason to go back on his promise; it was best to not give it to him.
He regarded her for a moment, and it was then she saw another current of emotion in his gaze: worship, adulation, others she didn't understand. Only one other had ever gazed at her like that, and Sal had taken him from her. She looked away, afraid that her thoughts of Johnny would come out of her eyes and ruin everything, much as they always did.
Sal's gaze lingered, seeming to savor her for a few moments more. Then, without a word, he rose and walked over to his bed. He leaned over it to fiddle with something on the wall above the headboard. Zeika craned her neck to see that he was picking up a flat stone, about half the size of a single subject notebook. She frowned. It was a serenity rock, sitting on a polished wooden ledge, like some kind of fucked up feng-shui to bless his treachery. She didn't doubt that he had deflowered more than his share of Civilian girls under its peaceful watch.
He walked over to her, and Zeika wiped her mind clean of her hateful thoughts, focusing on his advance. He took her hands in his and placed the serenity stone in them.
"What is this?" She asked. She winced internally at the sound of her voice. It was meek. Powerless.
"It is a gift that can never be taken. Only given."
The rock was warm, and she could feel its heat seeping into her hands as she looked at it. Still, all she could think about were her parents in that cold cellar. The sickness in her stomach forced the warmth of the rock back. She didn't give a damn about "the gift". She didn't want it or anything else he had to give her. All she cared about was that her family was safe.
At the thought, the rock went cold, and the tickling sensation in her hands was snuffed out.
Sal raised an eyebrow and waited. He looked from the rock, to her, and then back to the rock. After a moment, he shook his head.
"Impossible." He turned away with a furrowed brow, lost in thought. He began to pace, hands on his hips. "Utterly, incomprehensibly impossible. I was certain." He was grinding his teeth; she could see it, even from where she stood. But his composure never broke, and after a minute, he looked up at her and held out his hand.
Zeika walked over, and keeping as much distance between them as she could, she gave him back the rock, getting one last glimpse as he put it into the top drawer of his nightstand.
He sighed, defeated. "Not as special as I imagined." He looked her over, his admiration gone. "And yet still beautiful enough to barter." He leveled his gaze with hers, waiting.
Whatever he had wanted before, however she had failed, his gaze said it was now time for her to offer consolation. The deal was still on, and if she didn't want it to expire, she had to hold up her end of it. So she lowered her eyes in submission, just as he'd want her to, and turned away from him. With trembling fingers, she began to unwrap the towel.
"No. Face me."
She did, and looking away, she dropped the towel.
She could feel his smile on her as he surveyed her, circled behind her, his gaze burning a path across her body. When she felt the tip of his nose graze her neck, she knew that it had begun. Hot sick slid up her throat and she held back tears.
It'll be over soon. Think of Baba...
The slightest backdraft whispered around her ankles as his clothes fell to the floor behind her. Warm, gentle fingers glided up her stomach, stroking the skin over her breasts. She reached up and gently moved his hand away.
"Please. You promised to let them off your estate before any of this happens. You promised me. Half a mile."
The gentle stroke dissipated as he grabbed her arm and spun her around, his grip like a vise. With wide eyes, she saw a dark swelling emotion crashing around in his face-- one she understood as rage. Heart hammering, she staggered back, confused by the transformation, until his hand tore its way across her cheek. She stumbled back as swells of pain radiated through her face, and before she could regain balance, Sal had a hard grip on her arm again and was dragging her to the bed.
"Never fails. You little civvies always spoil the moment with your petty demands." He sighed, almost as though he pitied her. "I don't need my powers to handle the likes of you, and I tire of your mouth. I'm going to put it to better use."
"LET GO OF ME!"
He threw her onto his bed, and when Zeika tried to get up, he hit her again and grabbed a fistful of her hair.
"Peace on you, child. No one's going to hear you." He smiled, darkly. "You think you're enough for a trade? You're worth nothing, and so you will get nothing. And when I'm done with you, you can join your family."
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She screamed, tears rolling down her face. "GET THE HELL OFF ME!"
He balled his fist and slammed it into her right eye, knocking her back down into the sheets. The blow was so hard it nearly snuffed the consciousness from her mind. She breathed, fighting off the warm pulses of darkness as her senses tried to shut down. She could feel Sal's bare chest against her breasts, his hands holding her wrists down on the silk sheets, wafts of peppermint-laced air as he bit down on her neck-- and as Zeika screamed, Sal's weight was lifted off her.
She sobbed and crabbed backwards into the wooden headboard, her fear com
pounding as she took in what was happening.
The sheets had wrapped themselves around Sal's body, changing and turning into links of iron as they pulled in different directions. As the metal tightened around his limbs and throat and lifted him higher off the bed, Sal's body spasmed. The eyes that bulged halfway out the sockets were glazing over, and drool poured out the corner of his mouth as the silver tendrils of shredded pillowcase tightened around his throat.
STOP IT! Zeika's mind screamed. Stopstopstop--
But whatever was happening wouldn't stop. She'd lost control, couldn't even recognize her powers as they seeped out of her body on their own.
He was trying to scream, but with every jerk of his arms, the metal sheets tightened, cutting his voice in half. Zeika trembled, and it was all she could do to not piss the bed as she watched. Then, it was over. The smell of shit and copper wafted into the room. He was dead, his terrified pleas extinguishing in his inflamed, blood-filmed eyes. Lifeless. And somehow, his body was already beginning to shrivel. His face puckered in unnaturally, like a drying, rotting fruit--
Zeika heaved, throwing up everything in her stomach onto the sheets. Corn, beef, potatoes, swimming on a white downy tide.
Gritting her teeth, she rolled over until she fell out the bed and hit the floor. Her legs were numb, and it took everything in her to stagger to her feet and put one foot in front of the other.
Dead. He's dead, and I killed him.
At the thought, she collapsed, falling to her knees. "I'm so sorry."
No response. The man's body was now only a tangled and bloody mass of broken bone and flesh, contorted in a web of fabric. The metal had turned back into cloth, and it could barely hold the pieces of him together as his parts dripped crimson through the sheets.
Bits and pieces of the truth flurried around her mind, hitting her one at a time. She hadn't just killed a man. She had killed an Alchemist. An Azure. His brethren would wreak vengeance beyond that which could ever be wreaked for a Civilian. They wouldn't care that it was an accident. They'd kill her. Then they'd kill her family. No arrests. No trials. No law.
It would only be a matter of time before Sal's wife came back from wherever she was, or before someone noticed his absence from one of his business meetings. Whatever she was going to do had to be done fast.
Dawn approached. Silence reigned as three vans rolled along through the dark as slowly and as gently as they could. No headlights. It was too risky.
In the last van, Zeika sat against the tire well, listening to Baba's dry heaves weave into the slow rumble of bouncing metal. Under the dimness of Mama's flashlight, Zeika squinted, her fingers working nimbly to clean his wound. One of the captives mopped Baba's head with a cold wet towel. Another fed him small gulps of water, helping to ease the heaves. The six bodies around them sat silent and calm, watching her work. With the painkillers, Baba was already looking better, calmer at least, but he'd need antibiotics once they got back to the Protecteds. That is, if the APs weren't still blocking off for smugglers and Ninkashi.
Only an Azure would have been able to move beyond the borders as freely as Sal had, but one of the captives had claimed to know a secret pipeline back in. The captives had shown themselves tightly-knit and loyal. They had helped her clean, and clean good. Bleach, scrub brushes, vacuuming, and burning. But also, scavenging. Sal had a few safes hidden around the house, ones that Zeika opened and emptied. The prisoners had been efficient, collecting what they could from his stores, packing quickly, leaving quickly.
The rumbles of the van were becoming less severe. They were slowing down. Zeika leaned down and kissed Baba on his head before turning to sling her duffel bag over her shoulder.
"Don't ask us to do this. Don't." Mama looked at her with pleading eyes.
"We don't have a choice. Baba is sick. Manja is on the circuit, and the Ninkashi are still out there. She needs you."
"Where will you go?"
"The less you know, the better."
"Ezekiel," Mama choked out. Their van rolled to a stop. "Baby, please. You have to come with us. Please. I'm afraid for you. I want us to stay together."
Zeika pursed her lips and looked away. "If-- when they find out it was me-- that I'm still alive, they will come for me. When they do, I don't want you or Baba or Manja anywhere near me."
"It was an accident, you said so yourself. You don't need to punish yourself. It's hard, but we can get through this. Together. Right?"
"That won't matter to them. You know that."
"I won't let you go out there alone."
Zeika smiled weakly. "I'm the Alchemist here, remember? You can't keep me with you. Not even if you tried." She leaned forward and kissed her mother on her forehead.
The van stopped, and one of the captives opened the back door, while the others grabbed onto Mama, just as Zeika had requested. Mama struggled, and tears ran down her face, but she didn't scream.
Zeika jumped out, the duffel bag on her shoulder. "Bye."
Mama doubled over, sobbing silently. The group of captives held her back, one of them stroking her hair. Another nodded to Zeika before closing the back doors of the van. After the lock clicked into place, the van started forward again, leaving small curls of dust in its wake.
Love you.
With a rising sun on her back, she adjusted the duffel bag on her shoulder, ready. She took a moment to remember the gun and the field knife in her robes, all from Sal's collection. Then she turned towards the direction of Demesne Five and began to walk, journeying alone into the beyond.
Caleb hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket as he got into his car, not bothering to question how or why Fate had once again drawn his card. He'd laid low for a couple days, searching for Morgan and Taitt by night, and poring over his findings by day. All his evidence was spread out on his table: the files from the Silver Chamber, the interview with the Cartegenas, his web of entanglement, and then recent findings, too. His notes and pictures from the strange train accident, the weakened Ninkashi, the silk. He'd never gotten a whiff of Morgan, not until Loka had called.
"A murder. A nasty one," she had said. "Salvatore Morgan. The captain needs you in."
It's all she'd said, and it was all he'd needed to hear. He parked his car, flew through the station, and practically barged through Captain Palmer's office door-- and he spotted Luke and the captain, standing inside the office.
He shrugged off his surprise and walked in. He and Luke hadn't seen each other in weeks; it had gotten awkward after Luke had filed the internal affairs case against him, so Luke had moved his desk out of their office. Since then, Caleb had only spoken to him through the office investigator.
Today, though, Luke was in rare form. A high red had formed on the apples of his cheeks and his golden hair had shaken completely out of place, making him look like a pissed-off cherub. He and Palmer were turned away from each other, and heat was in the air. As Caleb walked further in, Luke turned to him, eyes blazing.
"I'll-- uh-- be right back," Palmer blustered, clearing his throat. He cast an uneasy look at Luke before he brushed past Caleb into the hallway.
Caleb folded his arms, unable to keep the knowing smirk off his face. "Any luck with that murder case, McKeller?"
Luke snorted and leaned against Palmer's bookshelf. "They lost the bloody paperwork, apparently. Five times."
"Hm. How irresponsible of them."
To his surprise, Luke threw up a middle finger before turning his eyes to the far wall. Caleb snickered. Living in the Fifth had finally put some wrinkles in his collar.
"I think that you should open your eyes and realize that you're outnumbered here," Caleb continued. "We both are." He pulled his phone out and held it up. "New info on Anon. Interested?"
Luke creased his brow, looking past the phone to track him with a glare. "Don't act like you're the good guy or on my team. You're still a murderer, and no matter what you've got there, you still won't get away with t
his. None of you will."
"If you think that Cotch and Persaud are going to allow you to file an internal affairs case against them, you're beyond naive. You're out of your mind. The only reason they haven't killed you yet is because you're connected to Burke. Otherwise, Cotch would have already put you in the ground."
Luke scoffed and turned his head from him.
"Look," Caleb continued. "I'm not any happier about the covering up of my crime than you are. I'd prefer if the system actually worked for a change."
"Oh? His Highness would prefer to be behind bars for his deed? Don't make me laugh."
Caleb blinked. "Oh. You know."
"Yes. It's amazing what one can find out with a little research. I'm surprised you're able to walk around the Fifth Demesne without getting your head blown off by Koa. Or that you haven't been kidnapped for ransom. Where are your bodyguards? Standing vigil at your Mercedes? Or do the royal Azure families still use the old horse-and-buggy?"
"Heh. Nice one."
"If you think your status is going to be enough to keep me from stringing you up, you've got another think coming."
Caleb shrugged. "I never stood in your way when you filed a case against me. I gave you all the details you needed. If the paperwork didn't get through, it didn't have shit to do with me, and you know it. It's time to wake up, friend."
"Don't call me 'friend'. You lost that title weeks ago."
"I know I've earned your hate, Luke. I know. I deserve it. But no matter what you think about me, I burned down Zeika's shop because I cared about her."
Luke gave him a side look that was almost disgusted.
"Christ. It wasn't like that, all right?"
When Luke's face didn't change, Caleb sighed. "All right. You're a Theosophist. So read me."
Luke shifted, genuine curiosity nudging up against the anger in his face.
"I'll let you into my thoughts," Caleb said softly. "All of them. Even the locked ones. Then you can tell me what the truth is."
