Every year on Valentine’s Day, Easter, Halloween, and Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Diwali, Amy and Chloe had sent each other mysterious notes from “secret admirers,” with the sitcom philosophy that boys would see how many candygrams they each got and assume that Amy and Chloe were popular and desirable. Never worked, of course. Not that Amy had even needed them the last few years. I wonder if she’s going to be sending one to Paul?
“Candygram?” a television-perfect little cheerleader suggested in a peppy voice. Her body was tiny and she wore the home-game uniform, complete with tiny red-and-white skirt. She stood on her toes a little, bouncing.
But Chloe couldn’t even work up the energy to hate her; she just shook her head and pushed on. In the open area in the middle of the X where the math-science and English-history wings crossed, students were standing on chairs, hanging up autumn-leaf-colored bunting around a giant—and surprisingly tasteful—poster that read Something Wicked This Way Comes—Get your tickets to the fall formal at lunch! $601/couple, $35/single.
“What do you think?” Alyec asked, swooping in behind her and kissing Chloe on the cheek.
“I think they’re sticking it to people who can’t get a date again,” Chloe said, hooking her thumbs in her backpack straps.
“Yeah, well, who can’t get a date?”
“People who aren’t foreign, sexy, and drop-dead gorgeous,” she said, kissing him back on the cheek. It was strange: normally they would kiss on the lips if there weren’t any of the more monastic teachers or hall monitors about. But right now it just didn’t seem right.
Especially after what happened last night. As soon as she had gotten to school, Chloe had called to find out about Brian, but the doctor said he was in the same state, possibly doing a little better than before. No other, “new” symptoms, even when Chloe questioned her carefully. She had to resist calling back every five minutes for an update to make sure the kiss they’d shared wasn’t killing him.
“Well, we can’t all be lucky.” He put his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and turned so they could both admire the poster. “I put Hannah Ellington in charge of signage and programs.”
“You put? I thought you were just on the music committee.”
“They all needed some … help.” It appeared that Alyec was using his powers for good, though: already the event looked like it was going to be better than last year’s, less like a stupid high-school dance and more like a college, well, formal.
“Did you hear what happened last night?” Chloe asked as they turned and began walking to history. Alyec shook his head. She told him, omitting the part about Brian kissing her. “… and if that isn’t bad enough, I’m having a real hard time wrapping my head around this whole ’being the One’ thing. You’re supposed to bow to me, you know,” she added, elbowing him in the stomach.
“I think the Chosen One’s chosen one gets a break,” he said, shrugging.
“But you’ll still worship me, right?”
“Haven’t I always?” He ran his hand back through her hair—like she had done to Brian the night before—and smiled fondly at her. It was a rare moment for him: there was no lust or teasing—just fondness.
They walked together to American civ, passing one of the few windows in the hall, which looked out on the strip of dying grass and fence that separated the school from the rest of the world.
Something wasn’t quite right. Chloe turned back to look again, but all she saw was what might have been the remains of a footprint in the grass, quickly disappearing as the tough, yellowed stalks sprang back up.
“Hey—did you just see something?” she asked, pulling at Alyec’s sleeve and pointing outside.
He frowned. “No—why?”
“I don’t know, I just …” She shrugged. “I’ve been getting super creeped out recently. I keep thinking I see someone or someone’s following me.”
“Nerves. You know what’ll fix that?”
“Sex. Yes, I know,” Chloe said, laughing.
They sat down at desks next to each other. When they had started dating, he had moved to sit closer to her—a rare thing so late in the term. Chloe was just thinking she might get through the day normally, without having to deal with anything really Mai related, when her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?” she answered it.
“Chloe? It’s Sergei.”
Chloe’s heart sank, her stomach quickly following. Here was another very loose thread from the night of the fight. Yes, Sergei had taken her in and treated her like a daughter, acting like the father she never had, but he might also have sent assassins to kill her mom and cut off Chloe from all human contact. And while she was beginning to find that people were a little more complicated than she ever realized before, she still had no desire or ability to deal with the mess that was her relationship with Sergei. Chloe had gotten along recently by forcing herself not to think about the Pride Leader.
“Sergei,” she said, feeling her belly twist into ulcerous knots. Alyec raised his eyebrows, listening in.
“You sound well, Chloe.”
“I am, thanks. More or less.”
“I see you brought us a little visitor last night. …” Here it comes. Ms. Barker was erasing the board in preparation for class and shooting nasty looks at everyone who was talking on cell phones. Leader of an ancient race of lion people aside, Chloe didn’t want to be one of those obnoxious jerks who put a hand up for the teacher to “wait a minute” while finishing a call. She was in enough academic trouble as it was.
“… I think you and I, and maybe Olga, should get together and have a little chat about things.”
“Yeah, uh, sure.” She tried to sound upbeat and lighthearted, like that was a great idea.
“When you come to visit your friend today, then?” It wasn’t really a question.
“All right.”
“Good, I look forward to seeing you later. Good luck in school.”
Click.
Chloe slowly closed the phone.
Let’s make a deal, she sent a mental message to the Fates or the Twin Goddesses or her biological mom or whoever was casting the dice for her life. Can you at least switch off crisis weeks? Like, one for school, the next for Amy and Paul, and the next for everything else? Does it all have to happen at once?
Something hit Chloe’s head with a small but pointed thunk and snapped her out of her thoughts. Lying on the ground next to her desk was a slightly squished Godiva chocolate. Alyec was grinning wickedly; he must have stolen or sweet-talked it away from the cheerleaders.
Chloe smiled back and whispered a thanks, unwrapping it immediately and popping it in her mouth.
God really does work in mysterious ways, she reflected.
Lunch was a chilly affair that almost made her wish school would hurry up and end so she could face her next set of crap. Chloe sat across from Paul and Amy, who were obviously trying to interact normally—without even touching each other or making eye contact—until the bell rang and Paul gave Amy a perfunctory kiss goodbye. There wasn’t so much tension at the table as there was a complete freeze on normal, casual behavior. I knew this would happen, Chloe thought. When Amy first told her she and Paul had hooked up, it was obvious that, unless they kept dating until college, it could only end in tears for the trio of friends.
She stayed after for an hour to work on one of the many chem labs she’d missed, called “Forming Ionic Compounds.” Mrs. Mentavicci was much more laid back in these sessions, and when she wasn’t grading something—or playing solitaire—she actually helped. Chloe began to see the lure of being tutored. Without the tenseness of a forty-five-minute time limit and having to deal with a lab partner, she was able to work slowly and methodically and actually understand what she was doing.
Afterward she took a bus over to Sausalito. Chloe didn’t want a car to come pick her up—while luxurious, it was also incredibly disempowering; she felt completely in the Mai’s control. It was a good place to think, under
the shaky fluorescent bus lights that made everything clearer and more real. Every rivet in the floor, every grommet on the ugly matted upholstery of the seats stood out.
But she could only focus on one thing: There was a chance that Brian could be dead or dying by the time she got to Firebird.
It hadn’t been immediate with Xavier, the guy she’d kissed at the club. When Chloe found him lying on the floor in his apartment a few days later, he was covered in sores and unable to breathe properly—but still alive. Barely. A few more hours—maybe minutes—and he wouldn’t have been. She had never followed up on what happened to him. Now was definitely the time to open up that line of inquiry again.
When the bus stopped, Chloe was the only one to get off. The sky was overcast, the clouds high in the atmosphere. Chloe drew as far into her hoodie as she could as a cold wind cut through tree branches and telephone poles. She let her feet slap the ground, willing herself to make ugly, human noises, to challenge the sky and the wind and the graceful lion woman within her. She kicked rocks and pebbles and wished she was thirteen again. Or at least fifteen, before everything had changed.
She reached the gate and realized how tiny she must look against it: a wastrel teenager in a faded sweatshirt and jeans, under a guardhouse that protected one of the largest real estate firms in San Francisco—as well as a dying race of ancient feline warriors.
“Oh, Miss King—would you like me to send a car down to you?”
“No thanks, I’ll walk,” she said, slipping through the tiny invisible pedestrian “door” that cracked open out of the imposing double gates and led up the long gravel driveway. Chloe couldn’t help notice the trees and the topiaries and the bushes and all sorts of beautiful garden things she had never explored while she lived there. She had stayed inside, except for when she escaped to see her friends.
Chloe chose to go around the back, avoiding the lobby and the receptionist and the crowd of people who would be there. Staring at her. Bowing to her. Directing her to Sergei.
Though she didn’t remember exactly where the hospital room was, she pieced it together through memory and smell. Chloe tentatively knocked on the door before opening it and going in, as quietly as she had through the gate.
“Hey.” Dr. Lovsky was there, checking off something on Brian’s chart. She gave a little bow.
Brian was in a slightly different position from when she saw him last and had all sorts of tubes and wires on him. A drip in his arm. Something in his nose. He looked fragile and was the pale color of chicken fat. Small.
“How’s he doing?” Chloe whispered.
“Talk as loud as you want. He’s on so many painkillers, it would take an earthquake to wake him,” Dr. Lovsky said, hanging the chart back on the end of his bed. “Stabilized—I’m going to take a closer look at his head today. He’s pretty resilient for a human.”
“Speaking of human …” Chloe closed her eyes and ground her teeth. A leader isn’t afraid to tell the truth. Think of Washington and the cherry tree. Or Honest Abe. “… I probably should have told you this before, but when he thought he was going to die, he, um … he kissed me.”
Lovsky’s clipboard slipped perilously until it was hanging from just one of her claws.
“H-how hard?” she managed to stutter.
“Uh, pretty hard, I guess.” Chloe fidgeted. “A teensy bit of tongue,” she added, flushing furiously.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” the doctor shrieked, running a clawed hand over her head. “Honored One.”
“Because I thought you would just give up on him—assume he was going to die.”
Strangely, Dr. Lovsky didn’t argue with that. She seemed to be one of those rare people who didn’t protest when they knew the other person was right. “I kissed another boy before I knew who I was, too. …”
The other woman just tapped a tooth with her claw.
Chloe cleared her throat. “Is he going to be okay? Can you do something for him?”
The doctor shook her head. “I was … involved in a case years ago with a Mai and a human who had only kissed. He died. The hospital couldn’t do anything—and it was a damn sight better than anything here.”
Chloe was cowed into silence—there was definitely a story behind and beyond what she had said.
Calie then frowned, looking puzzled. “But… I have seen no evidence of toxic shock or anything even like that. Yet. It’s kind of odd. … I’ll keep an eye out and prepare some ephedrine.” The doctor stomped out, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
And now, to my doom.
As Chloe made her way upstairs, she played a mental game with herself, trying to decide what she would rather do than meet with Sergei. Pull a hangnail, definitely. Deal with a yeast infection, possibly. Clean her room, almost certainly. Work a midnight sale at Pateena’s, absolutely. Spend the afternoon at Aunt Isabel’s? Maybe. That was a close one.
Working at Pateena’s, much less working midnight sales, weren’t really an option anymore, though. Since the owner of the vintage clothing store had told Chloe to not bother coming back at all if she didn’t show up on that Wednesday weeks ago, Chloe had given up her job as a complete loss.
She tried to slip past the cheaply dressed receptionist who sat alone at her island of mahogany and dark wood in the middle of the lobby. The only thing keeping her company was a giant vase of expensive flowers.
“He’s waiting for you in his office,” she said without looking up. “Honored One.”
Was there the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice?
Chloe sighed and slunk over to Sergei’s door and knocked. The door seemed to open of its own accord, and Olga let her in. Her dark eyes lit up a little when she saw Chloe—but she also looked worried.
“Chloe! Honored One! Come in!” She gave Chloe a squeeze on the shoulder, not quite a hug. Sergei’s right hand was a direct, uncomplicated, and genuine woman; Chloe was pretty sure she knew where she stood with her at all times.
Sergei stood up from behind his desk and gave Chloe a very proper, angular bow. It should have been amusing, considering how short and square he was, but with his heels together and his perfectly trimmed beard he gave the impression of a foreign dignitary. The door clicked shut behind her. Well, here we go, Chloe thought, sinking into a chair next to Olga. If I really am the One, why don’t I feel like it?
“Chloe,” Sergei said, sitting back in his chair, “let me begin by saying how glad we are to see you again. We missed you while you were away.”
“While I was home,” Chloe found herself correcting him. She wished she hadn’t. The Fine Art of Making Friends and Influencing People, not by Chloe King.
“Yes, while you were home,” Sergei said easily, as if it wasn’t a concern. “So I take it you’re not back for the long haul, as it were?”
There it was. Wheeeeeeeeee plop! Like a lit firecracker half dud that lay unexploded between your feet. Do you pick it up or run?
“I don’t know what my eventual plans are,” Chloe said carefully. Jesus Christ, I’m a sixteen-year-old kid! I shouldn’t be having to make decisions about the rest of my life or speak so carefully—politically—to someone three times my age and ten times better at it! I should be dating, fighting with my mom, popping zits in front of the mirror. “For now, I’m going to live with my mom.”
“You gave us a bit of a surprise at the Presidio, leaving with your friends like that,” the older man said, eyes flicking briefly to the ground and back up to her as if it were a painful memory. “It really … hurt me,” he added softly.
Chloe felt like vomiting. Right there and then. Was he the greatest actor in the world and completely evil—which she sort of preferred at this point—or just a man who had thought he’d found a daughter figure and whose heart had been broken?
“I—I’m sorry. I just…”
“It was difficult for you, we understand,” Olga said, reaching out to pat her hand. “All the violence must have been a shock.”
&
nbsp; “But we were there for you, Chloe. You know that, right?” Sergei sort-of pleaded.
There. A little tiny spark of anger. Grab it, Chlo; follow it down to the source. It was the only “power” she felt she had right then.
“I just died, for Christ’s sake! Again!” she exploded. “Tell me you wouldn’t want your mom after something like that.”
“Still,” Sergei said, crossing his legs and trying a different tactic, “fleeing for a while is completely understandable, as Olga has said. We will always be here, waiting for you. But bringing a human into our complex?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was cold, each word ending in sharp silence.
She had been waiting for this, and she was still completely unprepared to answer it.
Chloe opened her mouth, but just then there was a soft click as the door opened behind her. Kim padded silently into the room, as calm and tranquil as a breeze on a sun-soaked oasis. She bowed to Chloe and Sergei and pulled up a chair.
“Kim, this is a private meeting,” Sergei said, both baffled and stern.
The girl with the giant black cat ears nodded, smoothing some unseen wrinkle on the front of her long, priestlike black dress. “You are discussing the transition of leadership to the One, correct?” she asked coolly.
“Correct,” Sergei answered through gritted teeth.
“I too must cede my power—I no longer represent the spiritual body of this Pride. Chloe is now the high priestess. This must be discussed as well.” She sat down, and that was the end of the story.
THANK YOU! Chloe thought at Kim. A thousand times, thank you. If the other girl noticed Chloe looking at her, she ignored it, as if it was all just business as usual. But there was the slightest gleam in her eye that the two adults didn’t notice.
Now, if being the One came with cat ears and a tail or something else visually freaky, I’d be able to pull stunts like that without batting an eyelash, too, Chloe thought a little jealously. Kim got away with a lot because of her ingrained weirdness.
The leader of the Pride let out a large sigh, as if he was giving up, changing his previous stance. “Chloe, this is just really hard. For a number of reasons,” he said frankly, “besides the personal ones—I really do want you back here. I like our little chess games and chats and … having you around,” he added quickly, as if he was a little embarrassed. Whatever else was true about him, the lion-haired middle-aged man really did like her, but did he like her so much that he had tried to kill her mom to keep her?
Nine Lives of Chloe King Page 39
