by F. C. Yee
I turned to Quentin. “How much of a dick do you have to be to upset the Goddess of Compassion into leaving without saying goodbye?”
He glowered at me, hands still on his ears.
“I’m joking,” I said. “I understand how you feel, honestly. It’s maddening to see those you care about get hurt, even if it’s their own fault.”
“It was my fault,” said Quentin. “If I had could have defeated Red Boy on my own she never would have come near that son of a bitch. I shouldn’t have gotten her involved.”
I took a closer look at the side of his head. “What did she do to you?”
“I’m assuming she put the Band-Tightening Spell back on, only with a different focus item. It’ll trigger if you say the chant that kept me imprisoned under the Five Elements Mountain.”
“What, you mean, Om Mani Padme Om?”
The words left my mouth before I realized what I’d done.
Quentin’s back snapped into a crescent. His scream of pain was shut off by the closure of his airways. He toppled over to the ground, hitting his head hard on the floor.
“No!” I shouted. “Stop! I didn’t mean it!”
He was having a seizure. I raced to his side and put my hand under the back of his skull as it slammed into the floor over and over. I had to hug him to my body to keep him from smashing into the base of the counter.
I could feel Quentin wail into my shoulder, his teeth caught in the weave of my shirt. “I’m sorry!” I cried, even though he was in no condition to hear me. “I’m sorry! Please stop!”
The spell must have been on a timer. After a few more eternal seconds, Quentin’s body slowed to a halt. I realized I was smothering him and sat up so he could breathe.
His skin was burning up like a fever that hadn’t broken. When his eyelids fluttered open they were mostly whites.
“ . . . hot,” he mumbled.
I let his head down as gently as I could before grabbing a towel and wetting it under the cold tap. I slid my lap back under him and patted his face and neck until he shivered and relaxed.
Quentin opened his mouth to speak. I wiped my eyes and nose so I wouldn’t drip on him when I leaned in to hear.
“So anyway . . .” he whispered. “That’s what that spell does.”
I could have killed him for joking after what just happened. Instead I held him while he laid his head back and rested.
The microwave clock said that ten minutes had passed. It was getting late in the day, the shadows in my house growing longer across the kitchen floor where we lay. My mother would be home at some point.
“Genie,” Quentin said, his voice back to its normal strength. “I think I’m okay now. Thank you—urk!”
I shook him by the neck. “That’s the Band-Tightening Spell? That’s what happened to you every time Xuanzang said those words?”
Quentin was either nodding or his head was just flopping back and forth. “Pretty much.”
“Jesus Christ!” I shouted. “How was that okay with anyone? That’s screwed up! What kind of holy man just tortures another person? What kind of human being?”
I tried to pry the earrings off Quentin without success. “If I ever meet Xuanzang I’m going to knock his teeth down his throat,” I said, my fingernails jamming against the clasps. “And I’m not too happy with Guanyin either, right now.”
“Genie, stop! Ow! You’re pulling my earlobes off!”
He tried to fend me off but I didn’t let him. We struggled against each other, using our hips for leverage. He flipped over on top of me and managed to pin my wrists to the floor before we realized what we were doing.
Quentin picked up on the sudden flush in my cheeks and slowly pulled his hands away as if I might be upset by any sudden moves. But he didn’t unlock his eyes from mine.
“I should go,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Before your mom finds us like this.”
“Wait.”
I reached up and buttoned the top of his shirt. I’d undone it part of the way when I was toweling him off. The damp fabric clung to his skin. I could see his muscles twitch like live wires as I slowly popped each button through its hole.
“Thanks.” He let me fix and smooth his collar before we finally got up. Benefits of having a long reach.
I walked him to the door and he lingered on the steps. “So I’ll see you at school then,” he said, giving me a drawn-out, hungry look.
“I guess so.”
“Or if you want to meet elsewhere, I have a phone now. It could be any time, any place.”
My breathing picked up at the hint.
“That’s good,” I said. “You should have one.”
I could feel where this was leading. And as glorious and satisfying as it would be to dive headlong into it, to drink deeply from the river, I wasn’t quite ready yet.
“Thanks for introducing me to your ex,” I said.
Quentin’s face went scandalized, a rarity that was particularly delicious. “The Lady of Mercy is above any sordid entanglement!” he said. “Her virtue is unquestioned! How could you even imply such blasphemy?”
“Way to put your ex on a pedestal.”
“God, I hate you,” he muttered.
That was more like it. The moment successfully ruined, I laughed and shut the door in his face.
21
“Oh my god,” said Yunie. “I knew there was a dirty girl waiting to come out of that shell of yours.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You marked him,” she said, pointing at Quentin, who sat across the library reading by himself. “That is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen happen at this school.”
Aw, hell. I should have remembered that Yunie, sharp-eyed as ever, would recognize my earrings on Quentin. They weren’t exactly small. They weren’t exactly meant for anyone but a ten-year-old girl, either.
“Is he like your toy now? Does he have to obey your every command?”
I racked my brain for a feasible explanation and couldn’t.
“Just . . . just don’t tell anyone they’re mine, okay?”
Yunie grinned so wide I thought her face might split. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll keep your twisted little game a secret. Oh wait, look.”
Rachel Li had sauntered up to Quentin. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the way she nearly brushed his hair with her fingers, it was obvious she was asking about his ears.
Quentin was completely oblivious to her flirting. He said something and pointed at me. Rachel frowned and glared daggers in my direction before stomping away.
“Oops,” Yunie giggled. I slammed my forehead into my open textbook.
As if on cue, a note fell out of the pages and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and held it to the light. It was in Chinese, a messy cursive written with as much forcefulness as lack of convention.
Meet me after your practice is over. Where I first showed you my true self.
He must have meant the park again. I looked up to see Quentin giving me an intense stare. He really couldn’t do anything with subtlety.
Over my shoulder, Yunie squealed with glee as she read the overdramatic note.
Crap. I forgot she understood traditional characters as well as I did, if not better. I wadded up the paper and shoved it as far down as I could in my backpack.
I cornered Quentin in the hallway the very next break.
“I thought we were meeting after school,” he said. “Didn’t you get my note?”
“You can just come over and talk to me, you dingus. Instead of skulking around like Batman.”
“It’s not safe to have our conversations out in the open.”
“I think we could tell if there were demons lurking around the corners of our school,” I said. “We have those earrings, remember? You’re being paranoid.”
Quentin grimaced. “You don’t understand. Tawny Lion got the drop on me. In the old days he wouldn’t have been able to come within a dozen miles without me spotting him.”
“What about the Demon King of Confusion? I thought you came to Earth because you sensed his presence.”
“I did, but I should have been able to pick him out immediately instead of bumbling across him like an idiot. The fact that he and Tawny Lion got so near means that something is incredibly wrong with my senses, earrings or no.”
He glanced around uncomfortably, as if the admission were a sign of weakness the hall monitors would just pounce on. “My true sight hasn’t worked since I came to Earth,” he said. “In fact, I think when you left my side to become human, you took a lot of my power with you.”
“So you’re weaker than you were in the stories?”
“Shh!” he hissed. “Do you know how many people would kill to know that?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, so what does this mean for us?”
“It means you have to develop your abilities, and fast. Especially your vision. Or else we’ll be running around picking fights with random mailmen and lawyers and skateboarders who turn out not to be yaoguai.”
“Oh my god. That’s what happened the first day we met, wasn’t it? You weren’t being mugged. You just got aggro with a bunch of strangers thinking they were demons in disguise.”
“Yes, and I could have killed them by accident. We need another training date. Soon.”
“I’m busy this weekend.”
Quentin shook his head like he couldn’t hear me. “You’re busy?”
“I have plans on Saturday. We could meet on Sunday. Given how crappy our last session went, we’re not going to lose out on a ton of progress if we postpone a single day.”
“You can’t postpone the secrets of the universe!” he seethed. “Cancel whatever you’re doing. It’s not important now.”
“Don’t tell me what is and isn’t important! I told you when I was free, and if you don’t like it you can take a hike!”
I turned around and nearly bumped into Androu.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked, peering over me at Quentin.
Quentin was right—we did need to be more discreet in our conversations. The whole hallway could have heard me deliver that last line.
“No problem,” I said to Androu. “We were just talking about . . .”
Quentin didn’t help me fill in the blanks. He left me swinging in the breeze. I bared my teeth at him and then turned it into a smile for Androu.
“Dinner,” I said. “I had his parents over for dinner and they want to return the favor at their house.”
Androu was still standing very close, so I patted him on the chest reassuringly. “You should come over for dinner someday, too. My house, I mean. Not Quentin’s. Not that his parents don’t want you in his house. They just never met you. That would be sort of weird.”
“Yeeeah,” Androu replied. “Genie, can we talk for a minute?”
He pulled me around the corner and behind a locker.
Now, I had fantasized about this moment—sneaking off somewhere private with Androu—a bunch of times before. So in theory I should have known how to play it smooth, from the flirting to the intensifying conversation, all the way up to the halting but tender first kiss.
But the gesture was less exciting than I’d imagined. Turns out I didn’t like being dragged by the arm.
Androu checked to see that we weren’t followed.
“Hey, so, what’s up with you and Quentin these days?” he asked. “I thought you two didn’t get along.”
“We’ve . . . come to an understanding,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem different lately.”
“Different how?” I got ready to panic in case he said “stretchier.”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s like ever since Quentin came to this school you’ve been . . . I don’t know. Distracted. You’ve always been such a focused person, but not around him.”
This was a big letdown. I hadn’t seriously been expecting a romantic conversation, but I thought at the very least Androu would want to talk about me and him in some regard. Not me and Quentin.
“That’s what you wanted to ask about? There’s nothing else you wanted to say?”
He shook his head. “Just concerned about you. I’m your friend, you know.”
Aaand down went the Hindenburg. Blown up by a heat-seeking F-bomb. I held back a sigh.
“Quentin and I are working on an extra-credit project,” I said. “Actually, it’s more like we got stuck with one against our will. That’s all there is to it. Work.”
Androu opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Also, I appreciate you looking out for me, but honestly, what he and I do together is kind of our business, you know?”
I knew that wasn’t what you were supposed to say to a guy to assure him you were still available, but that was the truth. I didn’t owe anyone a reason for spending time with Quentin, regardless of what we were doing.
Androu seemed ambivalent about my response, but if there was one signal I did know how to give off, it was I don’t want to talk anymore. He smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.
“As long as it’s strictly professional,” he said. “I’m always here if you need me, in case things get weird.”
Well, too late for that. If things got weirder than they already were, I would need a lot more than the support of a platonic friend to cope.
After Androu left, I went back to Quentin. He was waiting patiently, leaning against the wall. He was also giving me god-level side eye.
“Really?” he said. “You and Mr. Straightlaces?”
“Oh shut up.”
“Hey, you can do whatever you want. Though you might as well go out with Erlang Shen if that’s your type.”
“Maybe I should,” I snapped. “Erlang Shen’s as good-looking as you and he’s a better dresser to boot.”
Quentin waved his fists rudely at me and walked away down the hall.
“He probably wouldn’t show up for a date in our school uniform!” I called out.
22
Saturday morning, the lady of the castle awaited her chariot to the ball.
Only her castle was a parking lot so barren that not even fast-food franchises wanted to risk planting a flag nearby. The only building at this train station was a little barnlike wooden depot with padlocked doors and a dark, shadowed interior. I had been coming to this place my entire life and had never once been inside or seen the lights on.
Santa Firenza in a nutshell, folks.
I sweated under the sun, my exposed arms browning in the heat. Because of my general hawkishness on time, I ended up with a lot of moments like this, where I had nothing to do but wait for the rest of the world to catch up.
After about fifteen minutes or so, the clang of bells and an air horn announced that I was done. The northbound train was here, ready to whisk me away. A magical journey redolent with the odors of bicycle grease and blue porta-potty liquid.
Sometimes the cars could be full of rowdy pregamers rocking orange and black, gripping paper-bagged tallboys and woo-ing at each other. Today it was less crowded. I watched a man who was much shorter than me splay his legs into the aisle, putting his feet up on an opposing strut even though he could have fit perfectly well into his chair.
We stopped at every station along the way, letting me take in the landscape as it became stripmalls, then regular malls, and then stripmalls again. I could tell I was getting closer as freestanding offices bearing signage for various unicorn startups began appearing.
It took an hour and a half for the train to reach the end of the line in the city. I stepped out onto the platform and shivered. I untied my spare jacket from my waist and put it on properly. This was a different climate system entirely. Different rules.
I looked around, orienting myself under the gray sky of the city. If I strayed to the south I would be in the SoMa district, which if I understood correctly was composed entirely of loft condos and coworking offices. Following the avenues too far to the east wou
ld take me to the water’s edge, where I might find the Ferry Building disgorging tourists out of its maw.
There were too many buses heading in the same direction, and I never remembered the numbered routes. Eventually I gave in and did what I always did. Follow the old Chinese people. I hopped on the line that had the most passengers carrying plastic bags and settled in for more waiting.
Public transportation among my kind is its own special hell. No bus has ever moved so slowly as it does through a Chinatown. I was pretty sure that if you needed to decelerate a photon for a physics experiment, all you had to do was throw some cardboard boxes full of dark leafy greens in the laser beam’s path and let nature take over.
Eventually, the bus I was on burst through the stasis field of budget realtors, dry goods stores, and oddly terrible dim sum shops. Upon reaching a petite, bright-green park, we swung a westward turn, both literally and figuratively.
Instead of bubble tea shops, you now had cafés that served lattes in a bowl so you could dunk your Viennoiseries easier. You had eyewear galleries that displayed three, four different frames, tops. Tiny dogs. Double strollers. “Hallelujah” (the song—the new one).
Most of all you had space. Personal space, breathing room, everywhere. On the sidewalks and in the two-bedroom apartments and in the career tracks. I didn’t know if I needed that much space, but I was damn sure I’d work my ass off for it first, and then decide.
Speaking of which, my stop. I got off the bus at a plush little walkup, the brass plate reading SILVERLINE ADMISSIONS COUNSELING.
Inside the second-floor lobby I sat waiting in a pod chair surrounded by pots of bamboo. The furniture was eggshell white. The walls were eggshell white. I tried to ignore the tasteful indie rock and R&B, played low and targeted at my generation more precisely than a payload from a stealth bomber.
The door opened and it wasn’t Anna who stepped out. It was a girl my age—another client.
I could tell immediately she was more put together than me. I didn’t mean my appearance, though that, too. It was the way she carried herself with enough confidence and quirk and receptiveness that it could have been a sign plastered over her head: I AM WHO EVERYONE WANTS.
