by Colby R Rice
"Yeah, I know what it is. ATP. Adenosine triphosphate."
He paused, surprise buzzing in his face. Seeming impressed, he smiled. "Where'd you learn that?"
Zeika vengefully refused to respond.
"Right. When the bonds in ATP break, they release energy— First Matter— or at least a form of it. That's what that thing was trying to get from you. To feed, they have to break ATP bonds at a phenomenal rate while draining the released energy from the host. The speed of breakage can damage muscular function, thin your veins. It's why you can't move your hand."
She looked at her hand again, cringed at the blue in her fingertips. The ATP thing, crazy as it sounded, made some scientific sense. It was plausible, at least. But Ninkashi, First Matter… none of these things had been mentioned in any biology or organic chemistry book she'd ever read. All she knew was that the dead were supposed to stay that way, and they definitely weren't supposed to be running around draining energy out of people.
And I killed one.
Zeika felt it all rise up in her chest, the emotions she'd been holding back for days. She didn't understand what was happening in this world, why, and what it was forcing her to do. She had killed a living thing. The Ninkashi wasn't human as far as Caleb was concerned, but it had looked human enough to give her pause, even though it had been bearing down on her sister, ready to devour her. In her moment of panic she had made a choice, one that she would be living with for the rest of her life.
I should have just used my powers. I should have just— anything but this.
She felt Caleb's hand on her shoulder. She looked up, and somehow, her frustration with him dissipated. His gaze was calming somehow, anchoring her. He moved to say something—
"Anon? Zeika Anon?" A young social worker stepped into the room without knocking, eyeing the scene with interest.
The woman had the face of an apple, and long silky brown curls were clipped behind her ears, the ones that were so famous for picking up local gossip. Zeika could actually feel her eyes glaze with annoyance as she recognized her: Phoebe Schmitz. Mood-killer and hater-extraordinaire. Today, she was dressed classy— silk blue mandarin collar dress, silver closed-toe stilettos, and bangles to match— looking more put together than her meager salary allowed. Generally, Phoebe dealt with the elderly members of the Guild— the ones who'd managed to hold onto a little of their money before the Guild had gone into the hole. She thought she was high-class and sass because of it, so she dressed the part. For whatever reason, though, she hadn't been in today. Lucky, and strange, that she had missed the massacre.
Phoebe's gaze moved to Caleb's hand, and he dropped it. She smirked, raising her snotty unibrow. Apparently, she'd found her new gossip headline.
Zeika sighed. "Can we help you, Phoebs?"
"Yes, you can. Pack up. You need to be ready when your placement gets here."
"I'm sorry?" Zeika looked at her, then at Caleb. "I thought we were going home."
Caleb turned to Phoebe. "She'll be in rehab for a little while yet. What's this about? I thought Taitt was supposed to call us on this."
Phoebe eyed him with amusement. She smiled as her eyes rolled down his figure. "Are you her guardian? Or are you just an AP looking for something to guard?"
Caleb wasn't amused. "I'm an officer asking you a question."
Phoebe pouted, her delight turning to genuine annoyance as she looked back and forth between them. "No one told you?"
"Obviously not," Zeika said impatiently.
"Guildmaster Taitt is currently unavailable, so the guild hands are handling the guild affairs. We're relocating as many of our members as possible until we can re-secure the Guild. A foster parent on our list has volunteered to take you in until the Guild is safe. I'm required to board you with him until further notice."
Zeika pursed her lips. Life was just one party after another, wasn't it? "Okay, well, who's the foster parent?"
"Lemme see." Phoebe thumbed through her paperwork and searched down the list. "Oh my!" She cried out. She looked up, her face bright. "How lucky! I almost wish I were you! Well— sort of. I wish I were you, just better dressed— oh, you know what I mean!"
Zeika's heart sped up, too pumped to be pissed off by Phoebe's prattling. "Baba? Did my father come back?"
"No, but you've got someone even better!" Phoebe tittered, smiling ear to ear. "Apparently, he would have gotten you earlier, but he was out of town on business—"
"Who, Phoebe?"
"Lord Salvatore Morgan! What an honor!"
Zeika's lips parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look down at her covers, completely frozen. She could feel Caleb staring at her. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he looked equally surprised, but she couldn't even look at him.
Phoebe plotzed. "Well, ugh! Hello? Did you not hear what I just said?! You're going to be living with Salvatore Mega-hunkster Morgan! Aren't you just crazed?"
Zeika looked up, still speechless. Crestfallen. This— this wasn't happening.
"Wow. Seriously?" Phoebe was obviously disturbed by Zeika's silence. Too jealous, maybe, to even begin to understand what this meant. "I thought you might be a bit more grateful. But I guess there's no bottom to the well that holds the Anon pride, is there?" Her smile had disappeared, the perfectly-glossed-up lips now wrinkled with condescension.
"If only you had the courage to drop your bucket and share in such a bounty," Zeika whispered, the words finally surfacing. "Do you even know what he's trying to do? To us, to our demesne? Did you know about the Arcticles39? Or do you just not give a shit?"
Phoebe looked at her, pretty and yet dumbfounded, unable to make the connection.
"Tell Sal I said thanks but no thanks," Zeika seethed. "I don't dine naked with the devil."
Phoebe stared at her, floored. Caleb was also still looking at her— calm, mildly interested. She could see the smallest of smiles on his face.
"And while you're at it—" Zeika continued. "—you can ask him to adopt you instead. Don't forget to speak using the lips you've got flapping south of the border. That's the only language you two would have in common."
"Ouch…" Caleb muttered, smirking.
Phoebe's jaw dropped, and blinking in shock, she turned on her heels and pit-patted her way out, prissy clipboard and all.
Zeika put her face in her hands. She and Manja needed to get out of here, find a safe haven from this madness, and she knew there was only one place to go. They were leaving, now, and she didn't give a crap if Phoebe, the Guild, or even Caleb had objections. She slid Manja off her carefully, got up, and ripped the IV from her arm.
"Woah, relax!" Caleb turned and grabbed her good arm. "You keep moving around like that, and you will pass out. Calm down."
"The Guild isn't safe. I need to get Manja out of here. Both of us. We— We can't—" She put a fist to her mouth. "We can't stay here. Please. Take us home. We need to go home."
Caleb's eyes were pinched with wanting. "I can't take you. Not without Taitt here. You're a ward of the state."
"Caleb, please."
"I can't, kid."
She locked her jaw, and whatever emotions she felt, she forced them back. Tears couldn't happen, not now. "Our parents left us. They left. And the Ninkashi monsters, the Articles39, Sal. But most important, if you let him take us, you will never see us again. He's wrong. There is something wrong with him. You know why he's adopting us. You know."
Caleb didn't respond, but there was a struggle in his face. Zeika wasn't sure who Sal was to him in Azure world. Maybe Caleb was like Phoebe, who wouldn't understand why a poor, abandoned Civilian wouldn't want to live with a rich Azure, a rising councilman of the Fifth Demesne, even. Maybe he'd think she was being too prideful.
"Let's put the Articles39 to the side for a second, okay? And I want you to focus just on Sal. What do you mean by 'something's wrong with him'? Has he done anything to you or your family?" Caleb's questions weren't accusatory, but they were careful and gentle, li
ke a doctor with a patient. "You can tell me. Whatever I can do to help you, I'll do it. I'll take care of it."
He meant it. She could feel it. She wanted to tell him everything: about Mama's affair, about Sal's wandering eyes, about his threats to her family, but no matter how hard she tried, the words didn't come out. She felt shame, as though maybe— maybe this was all her fault somehow. Like maybe she had brought all this on her and Manja. That's what the Azures would say. And what could Caleb do?
Even if he did slap some cuffs on Sal what would come of it? He'd charge Sal with what? With being a philanthropist? A civil servant to a hostile demesne during times of war? That's how the media would spin it. The Azures would laugh in both their faces, demote Caleb, and slap a label on her. She'd be a total outcast, a "liar", and then that's when Sal's real fun would begin. She'd be trapped, maybe even forced to use her powers if he tried to hurt her again. And then… No, there was no other choice but to run. So she straightened up, looking at Caleb full on.
"He hasn't done anything," she lied. "I just… I don't feel safe not having my father around. Please help us get out of here. Don't let him take us."
Caleb gazed at her for a long time. He didn't look entirely put off, but his warm bedside manner had extinguished beneath the most sober look she'd ever seen. "Put on some clothes, and wake the kid," he said finally. "We're out of here in five minutes."
He left the room, and she took in a deep and steady breath, the fingers in her left hand finally beginning to twitch.
Caleb liked tacos, cheesy horror movies, and really loved cop work. He'd made designated marksman for his squad in the 52nd, and even alluded to having done some solo sniper work, though the details he gave were sparse. Apparently, his precinct had cleaned up the Fifty-Second so well that he'd hit promotion and had worked beats as a detective, and a successful one at that. Until about 18 months ago. She listened, more intrigued than she wanted to admit. Despite his accomplishments, he was actually pretty humble as far as Azures went. He credited a lot of his success to his teammates and training officers.
"There's more to marksmanship than just pulling the trigger. There's gravity, velocity, wind speed. There's quite a bit of math involved, and so being a Druid helps. Higher-ups often look for Alchemists with Druidic training when they're recruiting for SWAT in Azure demesnes," he explained.
"Oh." Zeika leaned her head against her front seat window.
Caleb caught her expression and smirked. "Thanks for sounding so riveted, kid."
She turned her eyes down. "I'm sorry, I'm still a little—"
"Yeah. You should open the glove compartment."
She didn't know why, but she felt her cheeks flush. "I— I'm not much of an open person."
"Wasn't a metaphor." He nodded at the dashboard.
Oh. She reached, popped it open, and pulled out a gun. Her gun. And the clip had been refilled. Her eyes widened.
"You dropped that," Caleb said.
"You took it from the scene of a crime? You're not really much of a cop, are you?"
"What's a cop?"
Zeika made a face. "I'm breaking the law by having this. We both are."
"I'm already breaking the law by taking you from the Guild. Everyone breaks the law, Zeika. Not always by choice." Caleb leaned forward to check the street and then made a right turn. "Ah shit. Fantastic," he muttered.
She leaned too, to see what he was seeing: a row of barricades scattered across Castle Hill Road, dotted with APs with automatic weapons. She eased her gun deep into her robes, into her jeans' belt, and sat back, careful not to move too quickly. She cast a quick glance into the back seat. Manja was awake, clutching her teddy bear bag as she scrambled to one window and looked out.
Caleb slowed down, rolling his window down as an AP approached. Another came around to Zeika's side. A third, along with a few others, stared at the car from the barricade, some with their fingers on triggers.
"License and registration, sir," the cop at Caleb's window requested.
"Oh, well look who it is!" The AP at Zeika's window was looking at her with a douchey smirk that she recognized all too well.
"Awesome," she muttered, leaning her head back against the seat.
It was that AP Kirk Donovan, the one who had harassed her at the Converge.
"So this is the Azure horn, eh, civvie? Hows the tootin' going? Very well, apparently." Kirk leaned in and looked at her with a lopsided smile. "Guess you wouldn't mind if I frisk you then, am I right?"
Zeika pulled on her hood, never looking at him. "If it'd help your three-incher get ready for lift-off, then hey, grope away. I'm all for helping the needy."
"Better watch your mouth, you little c—"
"Hey, you're not talking to her, you're talking to me, all right?" Caleb snapped. "Back off." He pulled out his badge, and Zeika saw a change come over both APs' smug expressions. Kirk's especially.
"You again! You're a blue?" Kirk stood up straight, startled. A high color formed in his cheeks. "Sorry about that, detective."
"Yeah, no shit," Caleb frowned. "What's up with the extra tight security?"
"Quarantine," the AP at his window replied. "It's because of those damned Ninkashi. This is the last time anyone will be crossing over to anywhere."
"Does security include harassing Civilians?"
Kirk backed away from Zeika's window, hands up. "Sorry. We just have to be extra careful nowadays. Now that the Protecteds are barricaded, small smuggling businesses are popping up. Literally over night."
Zeika did all she could to not register this information on her face. She pretended to study the lines on her hands as Caleb exchanged more terse words with the APs, finally ending the conversation with information on how to get to where they needed to go. Zeika didn't look up as he rolled up his windows and pulled off, almost swiping one AP with the car.
When they were on their way again, she felt Caleb's eyes on her. "Do APs always speak like that to you?"
She shrugged. "Guess so. We're already two-for-two. That's just this month, though. I stopped keeping track years ago."
Caleb didn't say anything more but looked lost in his own thoughts. They remained silent until they reached Lot 3. As he pulled up, his mouth turned down. The rows and rows of huts stood like tin soldiers on the dust and gravel. Not a soul in sight.
"You really expect me to believe that you've been hanging out here while you've been bunking at the Guild?" He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
Zeika looked away.
"Kid, I know you don't trust me. But do me a favor and take a look at my actions for a sec, all right? Forget the fact that I'm Azure— and just judge me on what I do."
Zeika bit her lip, struggling. She spared another glance back at Manja. Then she looked at him. "All right," she relented. "I'll show you. But we walk from here. No cars. No noise."
"Fair enough."
They got out, and he popped the trunk while Zeika hoisted Manja out and put her on her hip. Caleb took out a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder before slamming the trunk closed. They began to walk, with Zeika taking the lead.
Suddenly, Caleb stiffened and stopped. He looked far off to his left. Then his right.
She raised a brow. "You all right?"
"Yeah…" he muttered, still looking distracted. He searched the distance a little more before finally turning back to her. "Yeah, let's go."
They smiled at each other. Uneasily, but it was the best anyone could do. Readjusting Manja on her hip, Zeika led the way.
* * * *
"Stand here, and don't move, okay?"
Caleb looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She had led him into the old Botanical Gardens, to one of the large, stone fountains. The water had long since dried up, but the snow had piled high, and he was standing nearly calf-deep in the middle of it, looking like a tall bird in a frozen bath.
"Don't worry," she giggled. "I won't leave you here looking stupid, I promise. We'll be back."
"Yeah, it's a se
cret! Just wait!"
Manja had taken her usual position on Zeika's back. She smiled wide and for whatever reason was grabbing Zeika's ears. Apparently, having Caleb come to see the Forge was the new candyland.
They waved at him before walking away, and Zeika couldn't help but feel bad at the pang of innocence in his eyes. It might take him a little bit to figure it out, but they weren't coming back. The Forge was the last safe place they had left; no one could know where it was.
They traipsed through the gardens until they reached the Observatory, and though Zeika had seen it hundreds of times, she always felt her heart soften in awe at its dilapidated beauty. The dome reigned high above the 250-acre grounds. Most its windows had been shattered, and the dusty glass still remained sprinkled along the floor as the shimmering snow fell in, creating high banks. The trees and bushes within had long since expired, serving only as pit stops for migrating birds.
They passed through as carefully as they could, trying to avoid getting pooped on by the perching crows.
"Can we use the holey gate again, Zeeky? That was fun!"
"Yeah, tons of fun, kid."
Zeika snorted, remembering the incident clearly. About a year ago, she and Manja had locked themselves out of their own shop. She'd just worked double shift at the Diner and had lagged on getting to their entrance on time. The entry code only worked twice every 24 hours, so they couldn't get access. She'd been forced to turn the ventilation grating into canvas to get in, and they'd had to crawl a good ten minutes through the air system just to get inside of the Forge's cellar. Re-crafting the grating, reinstalling it, and then getting her and the kid clean had been another three-hour pain-in-ass task.
"Well can we?"
"No, baby. Only in emergencies."
"Aw!"
When they got to the middle of the fifth rose bed, Zeika knelt at one of the dry, greenless weed patches. She weaved her hand in between the barbed brambles and brushed away the icy powder and dirt from the roots. She brushed until all that shone up at her was a dusty number console. She punched in her birthday, 0229, and at once, she could hear the slow grind of rock moving in the distance.
