Archon's Queen

by Matthew S. Cox

  Some took vids of her, others stared, one or two pawed at her, but drew their hands back with howls from unexpected shocks. Fortunately, the zaps her destroyed mind produced were not much stronger than coincidental static―enough to dissuade, but not injure.

  She ignored it all, trudging on until a traffic signal made her stop at the corner. The crowd shifted away, half expecting her to do something crazy, steal, or perhaps they merely wanted to avoid a nutter streaking about with animated wings made of light. Her semiconscious gaze fixated on the crossing signal, and her half-dead body suspended the punishment of pain because she promised it what it wanted. The Propers following and harassing her meant nothing.

  Plonk’s flat waited for her a few more blocks straight ahead. Going back inside the club in search of clothes had not even occurred to her. What he had was more important.

  “Are you all right, miss?” A bookish man a few years her senior leaned close, gathering a sand brown coat about himself as if seeing her made him feel colder.

  She shifted, squinting at him through the rain in her eyes. It took some time for the message to go from brain to lips, but she muttered in a hung-over drone.

  “Party… lost a dare.”

  The crowd whispered amongst themselves; she wanted to think they believed her about being wagered to do this. She wanted to believe she was not all of the things they had called her. Anna folded her arms in a sad attempt at modesty and stared down at the falling water tracing icy lines over her nakedness.

  The hope was as empty as her life.

  umber Three, Dalrymple Road was a bit more of a walk than she remembered. Last time, she had the lingering haze of a prior dose in her system as well as clothes. Naked in two ways, the trip felt much longer. Derisive looks and hurtful words continued, though all she cared about was finding one special door. For blocks, she had walked through disapproving stares and the unintentional baths provided by passing cars meeting puddles.

  Her skin alternated from total numbness to such tender sensitivity the texture of the sidewalk felt as though she trod over an army of small pins. The weather and a small crowd followed her to her destination, but only the rain continued through the yard gate.

  Ian Mitchell, better known as Plonk by those with whom he conducted business, sat on the stoop under the protection of an old awning. The Buildup, as it had been called, converted most of the residences in London to multi-level apartments to accommodate the growing population. The ground level looked much like it had ages ago.

  Above it, a modern pea-green metal structure reached up into the hazy grey of a rainy afternoon. Anna walked the steps, cold and dry compared to the pedestrian path.

  “Well now, aren’t you a sight.” Plonk laughed. “You taken up the Bard then?”

  “I think I got the sack.” She muttered, blinking, her eyes unable to focus on anything for much more than an instant.

  “Well there you go then. Why ya runnin’ about starkers?”

  She pointed in a random direction; it might have been at the club. “Woke up in an alley. Had a bad comedown. Imma die if I don’t get a zoomer, can you help me out?”

  A smidge of emotion peeked through the dull deadpan of her voice, riding the last few words. She stumbled up to him and collapsed on her knees a few feet from where he sat. Plonk cringed at the sound of her bones hitting the porch.

  “Where you keepin’ your cred stick? Or do I not want to know?”

  “I’m out.” She sighed. “Please, Plonk… I get my giro in a day or two, you know I’m good for it, I swear.”

  Sensing her anticipatory mood, the wings fluttered to life and spread apart.

  “Well now, ya don’t get owt for nowt. I don’t do the credit bit; collection’s a messy bit of business, and your little legs are too pretty to break.”

  She wobbled back, sitting on her heels with a desperate stare. “Zoom for a shag then?”

  Plonk massaged his lips into a Cheshire grin with one finger. “Well, I’m too much a gentleman to ask, but since you’ve offered. I think we can come to an arrangement.”

  Taking her by the hand, he helped her up and led her inside. In the elevator, she sank to her knees again and went for his pants.

  “Oi, luv. Not in the lift. I got a place, be proper about it and all. I’ll even fix ya somethin’ ta eat after.”

  She clung to him, trembling from the need. He had been around enough to know how bad the want could get. Were he the sort to be inclined to do such a thing, he could have rented her out to his mates for half the day.

  As close to The Ruin as it was, this building played host to the sort of people who did not pay attention to things normal people would pay attention to. They did not much react to the naked woman with glowing filament wings faltering past their doors with half-closed eyes, or that Plonk had half the gangs in the East End coming to him for chems. It was healthier not to pay attention to such things.

  Grey carpeting spanned the floor of Plonk’s flat. To the right of the door, a dingy kitchenette seemed aged by the unearthly buttery glow of a single lamp. A few feet past it, the room expanded off to the right where a large holo-vid player faced a leather couch. A stylistic representation of a nude woman on all fours with an oval of glass balanced on her back served as a coffee table. The warped figure, far removed from realism, was considered art.

  Peeling lime wallpaper on her left ended as the jutting wall cornered at a short hallway. Between the living room and the master bedroom, it provided access to a single bath. Following his gesture, she approached the bed while he rummaged through a number of locked cabinets at the other end of the room by a shuttered window. The blinds narrowed at his verbal command, dimming the room to the point her glowing wings gave off more light than the day.

  “Aha. There we are. You said you fancied a zoomer, right?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She looked up wearing the expression of an eager orphan begging for food, holding her hands together at her heart. He tossed it like a frisbee onto the bed, landing the small patch in front of the pillow. Like a dog after a treat, she pounced, clambering up to it and picking at the adhesive. Her coordination dulled from the withdrawal, it took some doing for her to work the thing free of the backing.

  Plonk joined her on the bed, kissing her on the shoulder and caressing her body in an attempt to be at least somewhat romantic. Anna paid little attention to him, and scarcely noticed him inside her after a few minutes. The small square in her hand offered an escape from where she was, who she was―and the filth in which she wallowed.

  Whatever went on behind her did not matter at all; what Plonk did to her was worth what she held in her hand. Closing her eyes, she pressed the derm into the tender skin of her wrist. His whispers and grunts dissipated into a sublime sense of floating.

  Her face fell into the pillow as the cold zoom spread through her arm. All the misery melted away in the onrush of contentment. She smiled, basking in the rapid retreat of the pain and discomfort of being separated from it for an agonizing day. Reality, and the pillow, faded into clouds.

  She sailed upon pixie wings into a forest of hallucination.

  Giggling, she looped over branches and glided through the leaves. Birds flew up alongside her, chirping merrily. The storybook woods blurred by in patches of emerald and brown, shafts of sunlight offered warm rays through which she flitted before diving to frolic in the grass. Settling upon a leaf, she drank it free of dew and reclined.

  After a moment of blissful rest, a poke in the rear end woke her. Pixie glanced over her hip at a furry little animal with huge cartoon eyes. The diminutive woodland creature, looking a bit like a shaggy beaver with Plonk’s teeth, clung to her rump and fussed with a yellow lamp helmet, flicking at the lens twice.

  “Oi. Lil’ help here luv. Can’t do this all on me own and the wick’s running out.”

  She smiled, cooing, and stretched back into the leaf―asleep.

  drift in a breeze as listless as she was, Annabelle’s hai
r brushed at her cheeks. Legs dangling through the balcony railing, she stuck her head through and gazed down past her toes at The Ruin, thirteen stories below. London cowered beneath an overcast sky; she couldn’t tell if it was before noon or almost dusk.

  “You okay? Ye were all sixes and sevens last night.”

  Anna pulled her head out from between the bars and glanced up at Penny, her face a mask of accepted disgrace.

  “Had ta cop off with Plonk again when I came to, said the first wasn’t good ‘nuff since I was as good as brown bread. He wouldn’t let me leave till I paid him back.”

  Penny stooped behind, pulling Anna’s hand over and smirking at the derm. “You ought to quit these, girl. They’re not an Elastoplast for the heart.”

  “I can’t.” Tugging her arm back, she hid handcuff marks in the folds of an over-large nightshirt.

  The breeze picked up, making her shiver. Penny tugged at her until she got up and went inside, and then closed the sliding door to shut out the gale. Anna flopped on the bed and tried to rub some warmth into her arms.

  “Budge up then…” Penny sat as Anna scooted to the side. “I’m just worried about you. You’ve never been the chipper sort, but you’re a bit stroppy as of late.”

  Anna pulled the bedclothes over her bare legs, basking in the warmth. The little things giggling at her from under the bureau whispered about her. They gave voice to Anna’s shame at Penny seeing the red lines around her wrists. Knowing the whispers to be a product of the drugs, she tuned them out.

  “Your hair’s nice,” mumbled Anna.

  “I’ve ‘ad my hair like this since we’ve met. It’s not changed.” Penny sat on the edge of the bed, nudging Anna’s eyes open wider with a thumb. “Oi, you’re wrecked, aren’t ya?”

  Anna grinned, stroking her fingers through her friend’s long, ebon locks. “I love this black.”

  “You know they ‘ave dye. You could change it.” Penny crossed her arms, feigning jealousy. “I don’t see why you would though, yours is so much prettier. You should let it grow out again. You’re not runnin’ with that Carroll gent anymore.”

  “Right.” Anna let her hands fall in her lap. “Long hair just got in the way.” Tears welled up in her eyes as her face warped in preparation of hard sobbing.

  Penny threw an arm around her and patted her back. She rubbed Anna’s shoulder for a while until the sadness weakened.

  “Hey, it’ll be okay.” Penny squeezed. “Did something else happen wif Plonk? I haven’t seen you like this since I found you in a rubbish bin.”

  “Been thinkin’ about my dad.” Anna burst out laughing, wiping her cheeks dry. “I must’ve been a sight, aye. Guess I loved the bastard after all. Maybe I shouldn’t ‘ave killed him.”

  “Killed him?” Penny gasped. “Your Da? You said it was an acci―oh… The food ‘sem, did you make it blow up?”

  Vacant blue eyes regarded Penny for a full minute as Anna’s brain caught up to what had slipped out of her mouth. Anna was thirteen when they met; ten years was an age in Coventry time, most did not survive that long. She wanted to confess about the thing in her head, but that sort of truth could ruin even the quasi-sisterhood that kept them alive.

  “I-I.” She shivered, staring at Penny. “He used to beat the hell out of me. I dunno why ‘lectronics fritz around me. I got bad luck or something.”

  Penny, to Anna’s surprise, did not recoil away. “Oh, Pix… You’ve been blaming yourself for an accident all these years?”

  Lying to her only true friend hurt as much as murdering her father, even if it had been self-defense. Penny comforted her through another bout of tears.

  “No, Pen, I really did it. I wanted the machine to kill him.”

  “You were twelve, and you witnessed it. I can’t imagine the kind of nightmares you must’ve had. I don’t believe for an instant it was your fault.” Penny ruffled her hair the way she used to, ten years ago. “You really ought to get off that shit.”

  “It’s better if I keep on with it. I can’t afford the hospital and there’s nothing at the chemist’s for this.”

  Penny offered a comforting glance, begging her without a word to open up. A scrape of ice ran through her chest from the guilt. More so when Penny jumped at the faltering lights. If there was anyone Anna could trust in the world, it was Penny. She wanted, no needed, to tell her the one thing she had kept to herself. Anna looked up, crying again when they made eye contact. It would be safer for Penny not to know about her. If they ever came for her again, not knowing would keep Penny alive.

  Anna remained silent. After a pat on the back, her friend got up to leave.

  “Stay in bed, hon, you still look like death warmed over.”

  “Pen.”

  Halfway to the door, the older woman turned with a flourish of hair. “Yes?”

  Anna grimaced, staring.

  “You’re either going to shit the bed with that face or you’re dumping me.”

  She buried her face in her hands, laughing and crying at the same time. “I don’t want you to hate me, but I can’t take it anymore.”

  Penny rushed over. “It’s that Carroll bloke, you’ve killed for ‘im ‘aven’t you?”

  “Yeah, but… not like assassinations or anything, just bastards trying to shoot me.”

  “Well…” Penny sat again. “Spawny’s popped a few East Enders, not tha’ big a do.”

  Anna clamped her arms around Penny as if she were a five year old waking from a nightmare, whispering, “Pen… I’m psionic. I can’t do it anymore; I can’t keep lying to you.”

  The expected stiffening happened. Anna braced for rejection.

  “I know, luv.”

  “What.” Anna’s head snapped up. “You know?”

  “Oh, get off it, girl. You talk in your sleep. All the stuff what breaks around you? I’ve seen the sparks.”

  Anna sniveled. She knows and didn’t leave? She whimpered through crying, “I’m so sorry I never told you, I thought you’d hate me. My dad was a piss-artist, and in rare form that night. I practically got drunk just from breathin’ the same air. He broke my arm and had me in the kitch against the cabinets. I…”

  “Shh.” Penny kissed her on the forehead. “It’s okay, I believe you.”

  Penny sat with her, rubbing her back until she faded through the high and got drowsy again. Anna popped awake at the sound of her door opening, unsure of how much time had passed. Penny entered with a mug of spiced chai, followed by a younger girl with blue hair who appeared to be around thirteen. Her face seemed childlike, a sharp contrast to the imitation leather jacket, t-shirt with the image of zombies in tutus, spiked chains, and ganger boots. Her eyes glimmered with a collage of inexperience mixed with a put-on sense of toughness.

  From the look of her, Anna figured the girl had been out of a proper home less than a week. The overall effect of her black-and-white striped sleeves gave the feel of a suburban kid trying to act like a street tough. She still had meat on her bones and smelled of fruity shampoo.

  Anna took the tea, cradling the warm cup to her chest for a moment and basking in the bouqet of cardamom, cinnamon, clove, and ginger steam before sipping it.

  “Who’s that?”

  Penny shook her head. “Little miss tough hasn’t said much. Spawny’s taken to callin’ her Twee.”

  Anna chuckled. The girl bristled at the term.

  After a sip, Anna winked at her. “If you don’t like it, speak up.”

  The girl’s blue hair expanded upward, blowing in a breeze that did not exist. The concentric black and white rings on her arms started moving like barber poles and the undead on her shirt went into a mosh dance. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Anna groaned.

  “Cripes, this one’s strong… What’s it been? Six hours and I’m still seeing shit.”

  “Faye.” The girl fidgeted.

  Lost to uncontrolled giggles, Anna laughed to the point where Penny had to stabilize the tea. The blue-haired girl frowned and blushed.

/>   “Why is that funny?” Penny smiled at the new arrival, trying to make her feel better.

  “I’m Pixie… She’s fey.”

  “Don’t mind her, luv.” Penny gestured at Anna with both hands. “This is why you shouldn’t do drugs.”

  The young girl’s voice carried a surly undertone, some of the venom leeched by unfamiliar surroundings. “This place is a grotty shithole. Um, can I use your shower? Do you even have one?”

  Anna stopped giggling as if a switch had been thrown, sitting up with a straight face and taking her tea back. “I suppose. You should run a clean cycle first so you don’t get any Plonk on you.”

  Faye whirled with a raised brow. “The eff is Plonk?”

  “You don’t want to know.” Penny and Anna spoke at the same time.

  “Why is she here?” Anna held the now-empty cup tight in an effort to extract any remaining warmth.

  Penny’s gaze followed raindrops down the patio door. “She needs somewhere to stay.”

  “I know that.” Anna made a playful batting gesture. “I mean she’s so little… Why does she need to be here?”

  She doesn’t have a little monster in her head. She can go to the police.

  Penny sighed. “Some nonsense with her parents… Isn’t it always?”

  It occurred to Anna she was almost the same age when she’d made herself homeless.

  Penny’s words stalled from the impact of Anna draping herself over from behind and hugging the wind from her sails.

  “You kept me alive.” Anna sobbed. “I never said thank you. I’ve showered three times today, but I can’t wash the dirt off.”

  Faye backpedaled, pointing over her shoulder with a thumb. “I’ll just, um, give you two some privacy. Yeah…” She darted into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Returning the hug, Penny comforted her friend’s drug-fueled burst of emotion. “I know. Some stains soap can’t get rid of. I’ll always be here for you.”