Into the Mystic, Volume One

by Tay LaRoi

  “Celery and avocado,” Rhiannon replied, completing the password. “I’m so glad to hear from you! Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, but there’s been a change of plans. I’m being tracked as well, so I thought it would be safer to meet you halfway. I used magic to trace you earlier today, and I’ve been driving like a bat out of the demon realms ever since. In fact, I’m right here in the parking lot can you come down and meet me?”

  “I would love to,” Rhiannon said and hung up the phone. She glanced towards the glass door, wondering if she should let Jaffa know. Then she decided against it.

  Let her worry for a few minutes! When she found out, it would make her realize that Rhiannon was no child. I got to the faerie realm without your help, without even bothering to tell you. She flipped an elastic off her wrist and put her hair up, slung her purse over her shoulder, and left the hotel room.

  Jaffa felt like she had confirmed every stereotype by forcing herself on the faerie. The predatory older lesbian, the feral werewolf incapable of controlling her animal lust. Her claws dug through her jeans as she imagined former friends staring at her in disbelief and anger. That was the unfortunate part about being culturally Jewish. You couldn’t pray away your wrongdoings with a Hail Mary or whatever. You just had to deal with the guilt.

  She smoked deliberately, slowly, her eyes fixed on the featureless forest horizon. At last, all too soon, the worn-down embers stung her skin. With a sigh, she ground the cigarette out under her foot and slipped back inside.

  “Rhiannon? Where are you?” She glanced in the bathroom, in the closet. The faerie was gone.

  Then her phone began to ring. ANWEN, the screen read. She leapt on it.

  “Well?”

  “Oh, Jaffa, forgive me—I was careless. They’ve had me in their grasp for days, and I managed to escape, but they’ve gotten the secret password. They’ll be able to trick Rhiannon into coming to them… They wanted to use me as bait, but I broke out of the car once their truth serum wore off. You must tell her I’m all right. She is with you, isn’t she?”

  “No,” Jaffa said, her voice hollow. As if magnetized, she looked out the window. She saw the faded lines of the parking lot, the head of dark curls bobbing in the sunshine.

  The phone fell from her hand as she broke into a run.

  Jaffa emerged into the parking lot running at top speed. Then she skidded to a stop.

  “Fuck,” she heard herself whisper. She’d hoped never to see the Syndicate’s torturer-in-chief again.

  But now she was here, leaning against a black van with tinted windows. Her blonde curls rippled in the wind as she turned her contemptuous gaze from a helpless Rhiannon to the new arrival.

  “Well, isn’t this perfect! Jaffa Volkovitch!” She laughed, high and lovely as birdsong, and tightened her grip on Rhiannon’s neck. “They say shifters are proud beasts, but you cowered like a whipped mutt when I’d finished with my skinning knife. Oh, yes, my team and I got everything we wanted out of you…and more, much more. I thought I’d have to dirty my hands today, but you? I know you’ve learned your lesson. So we’ll just be going.”

  In any other situation, Jaffa would have been paralyzed with fear. Spasms of panic would have skittered up and down her scars, reducing her entire awareness to pain, to what she’d suffered at those pale, pretty hands. The hands of a woman who’d skinned muscle from bone and laughed at the agony she caused.

  But now those hands were wrapped around Rhiannon’s throat. And anger blazed through her mind, wiping away everything else. Letting out a furious roar, she charged.

  For Rhiannon’s sake, she would call upon all her strength. She would wrestle this woman to the ground and sink werewolf-sharp teeth into her neck. Later she’d tremble, remembering the cruel hands that had torn at her skin; later she’d curl up in some rest-stop bathroom, weeping for her lost innocence amidst Rhiannon’s tender embrace. But in the heat of the moment, Rhiannon made her fearless. She struggled and bit until the danger was gone.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jaffa had propped Rhiannon up against a tree. She was washing blue demon blood off the faerie’s face with the least greasy of her backseat napkins. In the cold early morning, Rhiannon seemed as still as a doll, her eyes wide and unseeing. Jaffa fought the impulse to gather her into her arms and warm her with kisses.

  At last, Rhiannon shook herself, blinking. Then her gaze fixed on Jaffa.

  “Was it true, what she said about you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Jaffa said, looking away. “Everything she said—and more. Want to know how I escaped? I didn’t. They got tired of hearing me beg and left me in a shallow grave to rot. There you have it.” She snapped her fingers. “Get rid of your phone; it’s been compromised by Syndicate technomancers. I’ll hack the car and see if I can confuse them.”

  Rhiannon didn’t reply. Still shocked into silence, Jaffa thought with a merciless smile. “See, aren’t you glad you didn’t kiss me?”

  “What?” Rhiannon’s voice was too quiet to hold discernible emotion.

  “I know what you remember about me. The protector from your childhood, wearing a supple leather jacket and disappearing in a cloud of backroom smoke. The Big Bad Wolf to your Little Red. I’ve learned to live with the battle scars, but you, sunshine… I’m worried you’ve got some warrior-princess fantasy lover in your pretty little head. That I’ll hurt you when I let you down. See, it’s not just that I was in pain. I begged for my damn life. I didn’t even escape. They only let me go because I had no more information to give them. Now you know—come on, let’s go hotwire another car.” She turned to move away, but Rhiannon grabbed her jacket.

  “Wait. Do you think so little of me—of yourself—that you expect what you’ve been through would make the slightest bit of difference?”

  Jaffa could always turn her words on a woman. Words to seduce, to mollify, to tempt. Now, for the first time in her life, she stood utterly speechless before a woman she genuinely loved.

  “Don’t you remember all those letters you sent me? I loved them because they contained stories of your adventures. But what I loved even more was that you cared enough to write to me, no matter where you were. I don’t want some made-up perfect woman. I want to be with the woman who would risk her life to save someone in trouble, just like you did today. The fact that you’ve got a few weaknesses doesn’t change the fact that you’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. You think you’re protecting me by pushing me away, but do you know where the one place I’ve felt safe is? Here. The only times I’ve ever slept through the night, not worrying about kidnappers or goblins or the Syndicate, have been when I’m with you. I’ve had to give up so much to keep my gift out of the hands of people who would use it for evil…running from home after home, sleeping in anonymous safe houses and Faraday cages made of iron. If you want to protect me, let me have this. Stay with me. Please.”

  “You mean that? All of it?”

  “My magic draws people to me. It doesn’t make people want to kiss me unless…” She giggled and shook her head, glancing down at her cheap sneakers.

  Jaffa reached out. Slowly, she drew Rhiannon’s chin upwards. A smile had slipped onto her own face now. It felt so easy it startled her, like walking barefoot on soft grass. She could imagine a thousand more smiles, all just as natural, all reflected in the sweet mirror of those doe-brown eyes. “Unless?”

  “Unless I want them to kiss me back,” Rhiannon said. The words all flew out in a single silver laugh.

  Jaffa could think of no better invitation.

  Studying the shifter, Rhiannon realized that the Syndicate’s cruelty had left a hidden scar just as painful as the ones that stiffened her limbs. They’d shoved her into a deep pit of hatred, convincing her that she was unworthy of love or a home. I can’t carry her out of that darkness, but I’ll be there to cheer her on when she starts to climb. “If you want, you could come with me to Faerie. Be my lover, or even just my roommate.”

  She grinned, wit
h only a hint of sardonic weariness. “You sure about that, kid? I shed. And I haven’t changed as much as you have; I still like partying, picking up girls… Just because I’ve always had a soft spot for you doesn’t mean you can change me.”

  “I’ll buy a lint roller. I’d be happy pulling some loose fur off my couches if it meant you were comfortable.” What she really meant was: I don’t care if you’re not perfect. It’s not a burden to cope with you, it’s an opportunity to care for you. “And as for partying, picking up girls, even taking more than a sip of wildflower wine… I’ve lived in hiding. Haven’t talked to another immortal except you for years and years. Why wouldn’t I want a little wildness? I wouldn’t mind settling down with you, but I’d much rather be wild with you.” She took Jaffa’s hands. “We can get a first-floor studio down Border way. What do you think?”

  “How about this, kid? Let’s travel together until we get you clear of human land. Then, once you’re surrounded by your own people…if you’re still set on me, you can make me that offer again, and I’ll know you mean it.”

  “And what will you say?”

  Jaffa let out a low growl of possessive contentment and swept an arm around Rhiannon’s shoulders. “Yes, you damn little enchantress, yes. If you’ll have me, a thousand times, yes.”

  Could yes mean until forever? All Rhiannon knew was that the farther they traveled, the less she’d worry about where she truly belonged. Because even the open road could feel like home with someone you loved.

  About Kayla Bashe

  Kayla Bashe is a binational lesbian currently attending Sarah Lawrence College. Her poetry has appeared in Strange Horizons, Liminality Magazine, and various zines, and her short fiction has appeared in the Outliers of Science Fiction anthology, as well as Solarpunk Press, Mirror Dance edited by Megan Arkenberg, and The Future Fire. She is also the author of several queer romance/speculative fiction novellas. In particular, her novella To Stand In The Light features a bisexual superheroine with ADHD, and Graveyard Sparrow centers on a lesbian psychic who uses witchcraft to help manage her social anxiety.

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/kaylabashe

  The Imp in the Rock

  Charli Coty

  I reached the water and gave a moment’s thought to what would happen if I didn’t stop walking, if I kept going until the Pacific Ocean closed over my head. But only a moment.

  The sun painted the sky pink and gold and made too pretty a picture to feel tragic and angsty, even if I had just been dumped by my cheating boyfriend. The beach was quiet and serene—the only sound the soft lapping of the waves against the sand as the tide slowly retreated—and surprisingly deserted for such a beautiful summer evening.

  Walking on the beach always calmed me, and I’d never done it with him so that decided me. I’d have revenge sex later—for now a walk on the beach to contemplate…as little as possible.

  A figure emerged from the water directly in front of me—one second I was alone on the beach and the next she stood in the surf, the water lapping against the undersides of her bare breasts.

  Her lovely, bare breasts.

  Long hair fanned out around her, painting the water darker blue. She gasped and moved closer, her mouth falling open. If I didn’t know better, I’d say her skin actually had a bluish tinge and not only because she stood in freezing water. Probably out from Portland, blue hair and all. High or maybe drunk. She’s probably covered in piercings and tattoos too.

  I wonder where they are and if she’d let me see them…

  “Have I somehow made it home?” Her voice made me think of a slow waterfall, melodic and soothing, maybe a little mesmerizing.

  “I don’t know. Where’s your home?”

  “Japan.”

  Maybe she has more problems than being topless in the freezing water.

  I tried to keep the Duh out of my voice. “No. This is Oregon. You’re on the Oregon coast.”

  “Oh. I thought for a moment, since you’re also Japanese… But you’re speaking English.”

  “I was born about fifty miles from here.” And it had been almost a whole week since someone asked where I was from. Sometimes it sucks living so close to a tourist town. Even if her words tempted me to walk away, I could stand watching her talk for a while longer.

  Those lips. Luscious.

  “Do you need some help?”

  She tilted her head to the side, and a ray of sunlight hit her face. For a split second, I would have sworn she had a beak instead of a nose, but then the shadow disappeared, and all I could see was the question on her face.

  “You’re, um…” I gestured toward her body and told myself I was trying not to look, even though the opposite was closer to reality. “Are your clothes around here somewhere? The sun will be down soon and you’ll freeze in that water.”

  A slightly wicked smile curled the corners of her mouth. She caught me watching, maybe a little too intently, and slowly drew her tongue across her bottom lip. “Yes. I could use some help.”

  “Um…okay. Come on out of the water and I’ll give you my jacket.” I’ll what? I’m not a heartless bitch but have never been the “shirt off my back” sort of person either. “And you can use my phone. If you need to. What’s your name?”

  A sneaker wave crashed into her back, and she stumbled forward a step to keep from falling. The water traced twisting patterns down her chest and around her breasts, her long blue hair curled around in front of her, caressing her sleek skin.

  “Hanako.”

  “Hi, Hanako. I’m Wendi.” After a minute of staring at her bare shoulders, I looked back up into her face. “Come on. The water’s too cold to stay in it for long.”

  “Please, come in and help me.”

  “Is your foot stuck on something?”

  “Yes. My foot is…stuck. Please.”

  We were on a particularly rocky stretch of beach, close to Haystack Rock on its north side, but the sand around my feet was level and smooth. No rocks. She could have been stuck but was obviously lying, and poorly too. For some reason, I found myself stepping into the water anyway. She took my outstretched hand and pulled me farther out, into the waves. Before I could manage a scream at the cold water, her mouth closed over mine. Her free hand clamped on to my shoulder as she pulled me against her. For a few seconds, I kissed her back. Her cold lips crushed mine, the taste of salt and something that made me think of sushi filling my head. She tasted delicious and as I pressed my body against hers, the water lapping against us didn’t seem as cold as it had a moment before. She forced my lips open with her tongue, and when I moaned, she sucked mine into her mouth.

  What a great kisser. Wonder what else she’s good at…

  I realized what I was doing—standing in the freezing water, locking lips with a girl I didn’t even know—and tried to break the kiss, to push her away or break free. She was shorter than me but easily stronger. Hanako released my hand and grabbed a handful of my hair, and the next thing I knew, the side of Haystack Rock was rushing toward my face. I didn’t remember being that close to the rock, but she must have pulled me out farther while we were kissing, because it was right there, about to crush my skull.

  As my lungs filled to scream, my forehead hit the rock—but there wasn’t any pain. Probably because my forehead didn’t actually hit anything. My head went into the rock—into the rock!—passing through layers of color that couldn’t possibly be real. But I still felt Hanako’s fist in my hair, her knuckles pressing against the back of my head as we passed through the rock into the darkness.

  We stopped inside the rock—inside Haystack Rock!—in a room about the size of my tiny studio apartment. She released me, and I stumbled a few steps to get my balance. I should have been terrified, but all I could think was how cool it was that my head hadn’t just been bashed open. For a few seconds, anyway.

  And then I looked around. Hanako’s little apartment was comfortable but not in an I Dream of Jeannie kind of way—she didn’t have pillows and silks, bu
t she did have a flat ledge along the far wall and the air around us felt like a warm caress. She dropped to the sandy floor and sat with her legs out to one side, her dark blue hair draping over half of her body. Even though her hair easily covered the right side of her body and most of her right leg down to her ankle, it was impossible to ignore the fact that she was completely nude.

  Completely gorgeous.

  Her turquoise skin had texture—like a snake or a fish—and an oil-slick sheen. I just knew it would feel smooth and slippery to the touch. And I wanted to touch her.

  She stayed sitting on the floor, looking up at me, not even trying to hide her hungry expression. The thought passed through my mind that she might actually eat me—because no human could travel through solid rock the way she’d just done—but it didn’t stick. It seemed ridiculous. She wanted me as much as I wanted her.

  “Do you live here?” I startled myself with that question, but Hanako just smiled.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s amazing.” Behind her head, the rock wall swirled with color, shiny bits of minerals glittering in the half-light. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, a startling and breathtaking depth of color became visible, including what might have been a collage of Mt. Fuji using rocks and shells on the far wall. Or maybe it was Haystack Rock…I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her long enough to do more than glance at it. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Your home is also beautiful.” She inclined her head the slightest bit without breaking eye contact.

  I sifted through all I’d learned about mythology—Japanese, American, even Greek—and didn’t exactly like what came to the surface of my mind. Most mythological creatures weren’t known for their benevolence toward humans, with a few notable exceptions. After a slow, deep breath I decided to ask instead of freaking myself out further. “So…you’re a Kappa?”