“It isn’t,” Clay muttered. “It’s flying, worm-faced fairy things.”
No one paid attention to him. Although he could hear the dismissive wave of Topher’s guards thinking those less polite things. No one thought he understood what was going on around him. No one except for Topher.
Clay could say whatever he wanted.
It was later. Clay couldn’t discern how much later. It could’ve been hours, or days. Topher was standing beside him, as tall as ever, with his dark brown hair swept to the side and his proud nose pointed toward the rafters. They were in one of the warehouses. Was Topher talking to him?
“Come on, Clay.” Topher crouched by Clay’s chair.
Clay scowled.
“Do you understand?”
Clay grunted. Topher knew that Clay did. What Topher meant was, “Are you with me? Can you join us on this plane right now?”
“No,” Clay spat irritably. “You have demons in your hair.”
Topher jerked up. He didn’t have demons anywhere, but it wasn’t like he could’ve gotten rid of them with all the meticulous brushing away in the world.
Clay smirked.
“Okay, funny.” Topher gave his hair another smoothing over anyway. “I need you to check on our new experiment. Can you do that for me?”
Of course, he could. He raised his arms to move the wheelchair, but it was already rolling. The man behind him was pushing him into position. This felt a little like the worm-faces were clustering around his throat and cutting off his oxygen, but he said nothing. It didn’t matter. By the time he gathered the words to properly complain that he could move his own chair, they would be somewhere else.
As Topher and his employees moved Clay closer to the table, Clay’s focus and sense all clicked into unison for the first time in possibly a decade. He could see it. On the table. A round, pearly white stone, emanating power. It was like fire, if fire were truly alive.
“That’s not a stone,” Clay blurted suddenly, startling his brother.
“Isn’t it?” Topher replied, in a way that made Clay suspect he knew exactly what it was.
“Should we have that? We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t, Toph. We shouldn’t have it.” The words tumbled out of his mouth one after the other, unable to slow down in the urgency to be understood, completely, and right now.
“It’s okay,” Topher put his hand on Clay’s should. “I have it under control. We can harvest the mystical energy that it’s giving off, and we’ll find your cure.”
Away from the stage and the senate, Topher looked less in control. He looked a lot less damn smug, too. His eyes, normally so false, were lit up with hope and drive and purpose.
Clay didn’t like the Senator. But he usually liked his brother.
“You felt it, didn’t you?” Topher pressed. “The second you got near, you could feel how the power could help you. We’re in the process of refining it and testing it. And once we’re done, you can have your life back. God, you can be a person again!”
Clay let his head drop back. If Topher said it would work, it would work. Still…
“Come a little closer,” Topher urged.
The chair was again moved for him. Irksome, since Clay could walk if he wanted to. So much easier to just point him in the direction they wanted him to go. He felt the object on the table throbbing, though not evenly. In fitful bursts. The magic came and went in painful efforts to sustain the life inside.
He lifted his hand as they drew nearer. So close that he could feel the weak heat coming from it. And he could see the writing along the side. His heart began to pulse fitfully along with the magic. Clay thought his heart might give out with the effort, until the object’s magic gave in to Clay’s rhythm. The pulse strengthened, and the once pale glow began to shine so brightly that everyone in the dark lab covered their eyes.
“Clay,” Topher gave him a tug back.
“We can take it all, Toph. Just be careful. This is not for us,” Clay told his brother gravely.
The world shifted again. It was so much clearer. So much more real than he was used to. But with that shift came the realization that the little monsters he’d seen were clearer as well. And they were noticing him. Clay clenched his jaw, praying they wouldn’t find him worth their time.
There were more now. Inside out creatures and things that were just whispers and things that throbbed and else-things that his mouth couldn’t have put into words even if he had years to try. Slugging along the ground. Whipping in between bodies. They were all real, but not from this reality. And now, they could see him.
“Shaman, boy, specialty: wind and lightning,” Clay said. He wasn’t sure what he was reciting until he looked back to the writing on the egg. He understood it. It was as though it had all been written in his brain long ago. Maybe it had been, in the cold water of that lake. “Weakness: water, isolation, necromancy.”
Goddamn. Why are we wasting our time listening to the senator’s retard brother? The words echoed in Clay’s mind so distinctly that he could have sworn the guard had spoken.
“Because I am Touched by magic, Roger,” Clay said sharply, as he shot the man a look that might have required stitches. “Pray that you are so blessed that you never have to know what this ‘retard’ knows. Or maybe, my brother should offer you up for one of the next experiments, so you can experience it for yourself. I know you and your wife are not getting along well, and she and the girls would probably be better off without your toxic presence and your fists.”
Roger stepped back, hands finally off Clay’s chair and raised defensively in the air. Topher laughed.
“Don’t get on his bad side, Rog.” Topher grinned as he looked Roger up and down. “’Cause I might just do it. Anything for my little brother.”
Toph’s hand rested possessively on the back of Clay’s neck.
3
Minerva
The night after the job, Minerva’s dreams were surreal. She crawled through molten-hot folds of flesh and lifted onto her toes, only to launch herself into the sky. She flew, spiraling like a dolphin gliding through clear, chill water. The world was both infinitely expansive and intimate, and she felt it pulsing with her own heartbeat.
When Minerva woke, she wasted no time in dismissing the dream. She didn’t normally dream, for starters, and anyway, she believed dreams to be mostly nonsense. Just what your chemical-soaked brain gets up to in times of stress. She rose from her bed and immediately walked over to the artifact, which she’d set on the radiator. The hum seemed a little less energetic this morning.
Minerva didn’t know what that could mean. She reached out for the round bundle, but again pulled her hand back. Forcing herself not to think about the strangeness of this thing, she went to take a shower. Today she would need to look imposing. She had a few fences who she worked with regularly, but they constantly needed reminding not to trifle with their suppliers.
As Minerva dressed, she kept getting the urge to turn around and look at the artifact on her radiator. Maybe it was just because it was so pretty. She did like the shiny things, she mused as she secured the clasp of her grandmother’s rose cameo necklace.
Once she had pulled her hair back and donned her boots and leather, Minerva was faced with a dilemma. She would be able to sell the clothing, jewelry and electronics easily. Should she take a picture of the artifact and leave it here while she made her rounds? Or would it be safer with her?
Something made her feel as though she should take it with her, even though it would be just as secure in the hotel safe. Minerva picked it up and went over to the safe. As she locked it inside, she felt a strange pang. Why should she care if she locked up some weird stone?
But the knowledge that it would be in there, alone, bothered her.
“Get a grip, ‘Nerv,” she muttered.
Ten hours after walking out of the door, Minerva returned, several pounds lighter and several thousand richer. However, no one she’d talked to had been able to give her anything solid about
the artifact that she’d found. She’d started with her regular local contacts, but spread her search out from there, looking for those who deal in the rare and incredibly illegal. Nada. In spite of a generous night’s earnings, Minerva felt immensely frustrated.
Essentially, no one knew what the artifact was, for starters. Each person she’d shown it to assumed that it had been some kind of gem, and that it couldn’t be as big as she was claiming, even though she’d set it next to the iPad in the picture for comparison. Idiots.
Minerva dropped down to the safe. “Time to let you out.”
She paused as she pulled the artifact from the safe. Why did she keep treating this like some kind of pet rock? In spite of her worries, she set the thing in her lap, covered in its blanket, as she set to work on her laptop. She didn’t like digging around on the Deep Web for buyers, but it wasn’t like she could sell this on Craigslist.
“How do I describe you? Um…” Minerva looked down at the artifact, which hadn’t pulsed since being pulled from the safe. Her skin started to prickle. Was it running out of juice? Had it actually suffered for being put in the safe?
Pulling the blanket back a bit, she could see the deep ruby red of the stone had faded now to a sickly pink. It was still one of the most gorgeous things she’d ever seen, but this was one unhappy little piece of merch.
“Hey. Hey. Wake up.” Minerva prodded. It barely had any heat. “Jeez. I broke it.”
After fifteen minutes, the artifact seemed to wake up a little, and Minerva had a few leads for a sale. Since her local art and relic buyers had no clue what it was, she hadn’t been expecting a lot of bites. Luckily, there were a few resellers who seemed to think they could get some rich folks to buy it for display in their homes. She stroked it tentatively with her left hand, hoping to get it humming again.
Since the buyer who had won the bid had requested delivery, claiming that safely shipping the artifact would prove difficult and costly, Minerva had packed up her hotel room directly after the first half of her fee dropped into her account. This time, taking the artifact with her, she wrapped it up carefully in the backseat. She hadn’t yet restored its rich red color, but she had high hopes. Anyway, the buyer seemed to understand what they were dealing with much better than she did, and he hadn’t mentioned any other special care on the delivery. So, she wasn’t going to worry about it. She just needed to get the artifact there, and hopefully the buyer would know how to fix it.
Minerva turned on the radio to a classic rock station and began to sing along as she zipped down the highway.
She would be glad to leave L.A. behind for a little while. Of the cities where she worked, it ranked higher on the tolerability list. It wasn’t like southern Texas where the air was practically soup and the beach had hypodermic needles as treasure in the sand, or Atlanta where the drivers had no regard for their or anyone else’s life. New York was its own special kind of hell. To be honest, she might miss the middling size town she had grown up in, just a little. Not that she would ever go back there. No, the L.A. area was her home now, even if she had to keep on the move. It wasn’t too smart to put down roots in the city where you rob rich assholes blind.
It didn’t make that much of a distinction, but choosing her marks carefully had become as critical to her work as learning to scale a building, how to read body language, or how to pick a lock. There was just a certain type of person she had no guilt taking from. The kind of person who looked down on people trying to make a living. The kind of person who would be able to replace most of the physical items she stole through insurance or personal funds within a week. It was like choosing to steal from a large chain store rather than a small family own shop when you were starving. One of these two had committed enough crimes against people, including their employees, to kind of deserve it, and one wouldn’t be able to recover easily from the loss.
It didn’t make her job ethical, but few jobs she’d been eligible for since she’d left home were designed to lift up humanity. And most of them would’ve turned her in once they realized she was a runaway.
After taking the exit, Minerva turned the music down and pulled over to a gas station before finishing her trip. It was just a precaution, but she never met a buyer without a little insurance. She got out of the car and made sure the false bottom of her trunk was secure. Then, she pulled out her meeting outfit and went to dress properly. A 5’5 woman only 20 years old didn’t walk into the game without her fight face on. And a few blades in her boots.
The buyer had set up the drop in a deserted area of the boardwalk. That wasn’t terribly surprising. The place was known well enough for being shady at night. Minerva was early and parked her car at a bit of a distance to avoid a potential break in. Also, so that she could slip away and disappear if there were cops around.
It was easy to find a small cranny between buildings where she could watch and wait. Her buyers strolled onto the beach, one smaller man in a suit (odd) and three larger men. Her heart thudded, and she could feel the artifact in her backpack beginning to pulse more rapidly as well. It occurred to her that she could stay hidden. She could duck out of this deal and keep the artifact. She could learn more about it, find out what it was for. Of course, that could mean more money, but her curiosity wasn’t only based on the potential financial gain here.
It felt a little wrong to sell it, and she wasn’t sure why.
Minerva had kept alive by following her instincts. The only thing that had her doubting this one was that it was so out of the blue. She’d found something pretty in a rich douche’s house. Why would she care what happened to the merch?
Ultimately, this time Minerva went with her head instead of her gut. Logically, this piece was unique. It could connect her back to the burglary, and she couldn’t afford to fool around just because she was curious. She checked the security of her knives and emerged from hiding.
The men waiting for her didn’t even hear her until she was practically on top of them.
“Postmates,” she said cheerfully. “Got your shiny round thing here.”
The small, suited man laughed. “You move like a cat, girl.”
“Beneficial in my business. You have my delivery fee?”
“I assume the egg is in your backpack.” The man tilted his head back. “Take it.”
Minerva’s brows shot up as the three large men approached her. She slipped out of the backpack and dropped it on the ground. “Hey! No need to be aggressive. I was going to give it to you.”
“Were you?” The small man tugged on the bottom of his suit jacket. “Best to be safe, hm? Silent and safe.”
Minerva backed away, but there were three of them. She made a feint toward the ocean, drawing one of them away, and slipped past the second. But there was the third, and he caught her arms and wrenched them behind her back and pushed her to her knees.
“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s in the bag. Take the damn thing!” Minerva snapped.
“I plan to.” The small man strolled over to her. “First, I need to know where you got it.”
“I don’t even know what it is, short stuff.” Minerva winced as the towering thug twisted her arm again. The last thing she needed was a broken wrist. Well, maybe not the last thing, but it wasn’t on the top of her wish list. “I stole it from this jerk’s house. He had it in the closet.”
The small man let out a bark of a laugh. “In the closet!” He leaned over to the bag, unzipped it, and pulled out the artifact. “Where have you been keeping it?”
“On the radiator. In the backseat. You didn’t exactly give me any instructions.” Minerva looked up at her captor. “Twist my arm again, and lose your balls, buddy.”
A smile flickered on the small man’s face, but it was overshadowed by the looming frown that grew as he uncovered the artifact. He ran his bare hands over it and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
Minerva screwed her brows together and fought the urge to ask if this guy wanted to be alone with it. She noted then how p
ale he seemed. What had seemed like eyeliner from a distance seemed to be just blackness oozing from the corners of his eyes. What was wrong with him?
His eyes snapped open and fixed on her. “Kill her.”
“What? Hey! You got your merch! Just let me go!” Minerva said.
“I don’t need some kid telling anyone else that we have this,” the small man said calmly.
“Who would I tell?” Minerva squirmed back, trying to angle her body to give herself some leverage. “It’s not like I can say anything about it without implicating myself!”
But if she got away from this one, what would she do with the others? Why had she gotten herself into this? For a profit? For this thing that glowed at her? She should’ve just left it in the damn closet!
The first strongman approached her, unsheathing a long, sharp knife. It wouldn’t take much. She understood that. Just a little bit of pressure to the artery on her neck.
Minerva screamed. Long and loud and as shrill as she could manage.
The man holding her didn’t let go, but his grip loosened, and she spun around in his grasp and kicked him square in the balls. Then, he let go, and she bolted.
The two others had momentarily recoiled to cover their ears, but now they were on her, chasing her down. She was faster, but their legs were much longer. Sparing a few precious seconds to retrieve her knives from her boots, Minerva spun around and swiped the moment the men drew near. It only bought her a little time, as they looked to one another and then moved around to either side of her.
She couldn’t run. She was still outnumbered. And fighting them would only get her so far… But it was all she could do. Minerva crouched low to the ground, and made broad swipes for their legs whenever they ventured closer.
“Get her, you big babies!” the small man yelled.
“She’s fast!” One of them protested, looking back at his boss.
With a lightning quick movement, Minerva caught the back of his calf with her knife. He faltered, and she sprinted past him. She pumped her legs with everything she had, and her heart felt like it might explode.
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