Commuters on their returns home filled the streets of Seattle in the early Fall evening. The sun dipped low in the sky, darkening the streets before the clouds. Shadows stretched long and wide, allowing me easy access to wherever I wanted. Citizens ignored me despite the fact we brushed shoulders, but to them, I was as unremarkable as their own shadow most days. Sirens blared around the city in the same intervals every night it seemed. Coupled with the sounds of traffic, busses, trucks, and air traffic, the hum of life surrounded me like a warm, sodden blanket. Sometimes it comforted me while other times it made me feel as invisible as the shadows turned me. I vacillated between appreciation and disdain on any given day.
Nalea's words hung heavily in my mind. I did feel unsettled lately. I couldn't pinpoint how or why, but tumultuous insides reached for something untetherable, mainly because I didn't know what I wanted.
I headed south downtown toward the neighborhood where I often found the most danger. Just walking around after dark brought out trouble, but lately, I noticed, it seemed to linger behind closed doors. I didn't like listening in on people's private lives. Committing crimes in public places was a different story. Focusing my hearing on private apartments while stalking up and down fire escapes didn't sit right with me. How was I any better than the Peeping Tom we nabbed the other day? It wasn't that I could hear endless distances either. My range was nothing like my mother's, who could hear for miles under the right circumstances. My abilities stretched to yards only, and most days, I was okay with that.
Minutes rolled to hours, and I counted over five thousand steps while watching the scuffs on the tops of my boots. They carried me wherever, until I guided them toward the place where I often found solace. I didn't get to enjoy the work of Imogen Cunningham before the gun-toting curator interrupted me. It bothered me more than I thought, and so, I followed my longings back to the museum.
As before, only the sounds of machinery and electronics met my ears, but this time, I honed my senses. The curator took me by surprise last time, but that wouldn't ever happen again. In all my years of afterhours museum trips, no one ever found me. No one. Not because they weren't there, but because I was more careful.
I stood in front of a black-and-white photograph titled, False Hellebore, 1927. My eyes wandered up and down the striated sections of the plant. Smooth, even, natural. It soothed me, the chaotic uniformity in its leaves, and I stared at it until my thoughts calmed and the feelings of unease began to fade. Beside it, photos of magnolia blossoms joined the fray, and I smiled at the lighter composition of the prints.
I walked the perimeter, following the stills of the flora until I returned to the section of portraits. The first to draw my attention, and perhaps my favorite, belonged to an image called, Nude on Couch, 1968. A naked woman, blonde and natural, dozed on a sofa. The light in the black-and-white image highlighted the curves of her breasts and softened the rest of her to an ethereal glow. Women existed as beautifully over a century ago as they did now. I reached out and ran my gloved fingers over the edge of the photo encased in protective glass. Printed photos went out of style decades ago, but this one deserved a reprint. I would frame this one if I could and hang it as the centerpiece in the living room of my new place so that every time I walked through my house, I could revel in the serenity brought to me by the beauty of this form.
"How long are you going to stand there, Hybridian?"
I swung around as a lurch of anger rushed me, replacing the calmness I'd only begun to embrace. I narrowed my eyes at the woman who, once again, interrupted my joy by tossing out my race as if it was an insult.
"As long as I want, human," I spat back, glaring in her direction. My agitation didn't belong solely to the interruption, but rather my inability to notice her a second time. She snuck up on me twice, which was almost unheard of in my experience. No one surprised me, ever. "Where's your weapon?"
"Here." She turned her palm outward at her hip to show me the gun. "But I was waiting to see how long you stood there first."
I drew in a slow breath, then leaned sideways, bending into the shadow cast by the magnolia photo and watched as the panic melted over the woman's face. Wild eyes scanned the room, despite the way she attempted to hide her fear. I shifted left and right, skating in and out of the zigzag of shadows until I landed beside her. I held my hand above her weapon, not touching her, but ready to block should she attempt to raise it, before letting out my breath and reappearing three inches from her face.
"I don't appreciate your intrusion," I said, my voice distortion heavy through the mask.
She started, her gray eyes widening as she made to take a step back. Sure enough, she attempted to raise her weapon, but I knocked her hand back down.
"Point it and I take it."
"Get out of here." Her eyes darted back and forth between mine as sharp, shallow breaths left her. "Before I call the police."
"Go ahead and call them." I leaned in, my gaze locked on hers as my mask nearly touched her chin.
She pursed her lips, fighting the tangle of anger and fear that emanated from her. I couldn't smell it or sense it. I wasn't a predatory animal, but I could read her expression and hear the riot in her heartbeat. When she gulped, her eyes shimmered with dampness I didn't expect to see. My stomach lurched, and I stepped away from her.
"I didn't mean to scare you," I said, as a wave of embarrassment struck me. "Well, I did, but not…not like that."
She swiped at her face when silent tears ran down her cheeks. "Just leave."
"I'm sorry." I raised my hand in surrender. "I'm sorry."
She nodded, her lips pursed as she held her breath for a second, as if attempting to keep her composure.
"I'll go." I backed away from her, angling myself to the wall closest to us. "I'm sorry. I won't come back."
The woman said nothing and wiped her face again before turning away from me and heading down the hall.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to transpose through the outer wall back onto the street.
I broke out into a run, a wave of emotion striking me the moment the cool air hit my face. I leapt into it, lifting myself a dozen feet in the air as I rode the turbulence I created with twisting fingers.
My thundering heart beat with guilt as repetitive thoughts bore down on me. Tonight would go down as the first night I ever scared someone without offering them help. People feared me, as they did any alien, any Hybridian, but it never lasted once they saw through their fear.
I didn't help anyone tonight, only hurt, and in that moment, the harrowing realization felt unsurvivable.
Chapter Three
Silence found me for days after. I could hardly form coherent sentences. The image of Harlow's terrified, tearful face burned so deeply in my mind's eye that I couldn't unsee it. She haunted my dreams and my thoughts. Not just for myself and my own stupidity, but for society as a whole. One wrong move by an alien, or someone like me could set an entire century's worth of work back to the ground. Humans only just began to relinquish their fear of us, our races and species mixing down bloodlines for decades at this point, creating a more inclusive society. But I did the stupid thing, the one stupid thing we're warned about doing. My actions, for as tiny of a flutter in the grand scheme of things, could've altered the timeline and ultimately impacted the future. It would all be my fault. All of it.
"Veyda." Nalea spoke from outside my bedroom door. "Can we talk about it—"
"No. Please leave me alone—"
"Please talk to me."
"I can't." I covered my face and flopped back on my bed. "I'm overreacting."
"You never overreact."
"I am this time."
"Audra's in labor."
"I can hear you lying." I smirked when I said it, then tossed myself off the bed to stand. "I'm going out."
"Where are you going?" she asked, her tone a near whine.
"For a walk." I dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans left tossed over the stool of the vanity.
My boots followed, and a T-shirt from the laundry basket I had yet to put away.
"Then can I come in for just a minute?"
"It's not locked…" I glanced to her the second she opened the door, then dragged my attention to the mirror beside me. I ran my fingers through my hair a few times, then stood to face her.
"This must be serious." She motioned to my feet. "You're wearing vintage skater punk Vans to work."
"I cancelled my classes today and did you just call me old?" I frowned and shrugged into the gray hoodie I plucked from the closet and showed her the frayed sleeves. "Is this vintage, too?"
"Yup. Just like you." She clapped me on the shoulder, albeit gently. "Are you okay?"
"I made a mistake," I said, then brushed past her toward the front door. "Where's Audra?"
"Sleeping. She gets very tired lately…"
"Are you staying home with her today?" I searched my messenger bag for my wallet, then pocketed it when I found it, along with my phone.
"I am." She glanced toward their bedroom door then back to me. "She was pacing all night."
I followed her attention then looked back to her. "Call me if anything changes?"
"I will. Where are you going?"
"To fix a mistake," I said, unlocking the deadbolt at the same time. "Or at least assess the damage."
"Okay. Wait." She waved me toward her before stepping closer. I accepted her hug without fussing over the way it agitated my sensitive skin, and she nuzzled my cheek. "Be safe. And tell me about it when you're ready."
"I will." I gulped down the emotion in my throat.
"Also…" She whipped something off the table beside us then held it out to me. "Contacts."
"Shit." I snatched the box from her palm, flipped it opened, and removed the augmented lenses. She watched me flick them toward my eyes where they settled in place. "How's that?"
"Unfortunately normal." A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "Love you, Vey."
"Love you, too." I kissed her cheek, before heading toward the stairs.
It didn't take me long to walk, unfortunately normally, to the Seattle Art Museum in broad daylight without the cover of my faithful shadows. People noticed on and off. Small glances, or nods of acknowledgement followed minor acts of chivalry like holding the door open for a family entering the building.
I didn't bide my time, slow down, or interrupt my stampede to my destination. My heart drummed in anxious tunes, drowning out the distractions of the world as I honed in on my target. It calmed only when I found myself standing in the entryway of the art museum. People bustled around me. Teens, clearly on a school trip, chattered either excitedly or appeared remarkably bored. Each of them carried a sacked lunch in reusable bags that hung heavily at their sides. As I passed by, the shortest kid in the group slowly turned, her eyes following me as I slowed my pace in order to blend in with the masses. Her purple jean jacket stood out against the duller colors of her peers. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end when she met my gaze. Sharp green eyes bore into me, though her expression remained vacant.
Hi, a small voice squeaked from somewhere inside me. The girl's lips pressed to a thin line while she watched me move toward the queue of people.
Hi. You're a telepath. My response left me with ease, and I made sure to glance ahead and not stare at her too long.
You're like me, she said, a smile curving her lips then. She gripped the straps of her backpack and rocked on her heels as the tension seemed to leave her.
But it's a secret. I couldn't keep the grin from tugging the corner of my mouth. How did you know?
I can see your colors. You're from Andromeda. I'm from Triangulum. She gnawed her bottom lip as she called out our respective galaxies of origin, excitement radiating from her.
My mom was. My dad is from here. I glanced to the front of the queue as we neared the ticket purchasing counters. What's your name?
Cressida. What's yours?
Veyda. It's nice to meet you. When my turn at the automated teller approached, I tapped my watch against the screen to exchange currency and the ticket appeared on the screen. I glanced at her again, moving to the far side of the entryway to lean against the door that led to the first exhibits. People filled the halls then, and the echoing voices in the area increased enough to hurt my ears slightly.
You're a Hybridian. Are you a telepath, too? she asked, following behind her classmates without missing a beat.
I'm not, but I know how to respond. How far is your range?
Not very. I'm still developing. How did you get here?
I was born here. My shoulders relaxed, and I noticed the way I eased into the conversation with the teenage stranger. I don't meet many Offlanders or Hybridians.
I do. I don't talk to them too much, but your colors were too pretty to ignore. She smiled at me, a flash of silver peeking out from behind her perception filtering contacts.
What do I look like to you? I pretended to check my phone, holding it in my palm and using my thumb to scroll.
Beautiful like a nebula. She paused briefly and I looked up. I have to go. Bye, Veyda.
Take care of yourself.
She waved at me, and I wiggled my index finger at her before swinging around the corner into the first exhibit.
The unusual encounter wasn't rare by any means, but a telepathic meeting was for sure. I didn't mind it. My mother harbored some similar abilities, but I never managed to develop any of those. My talents remained entwined in my senses and the elements, allowing me to channel their energies when necessary. Mother's powers in her extragalactic home world might've been different than here, or non-existent. She rarely spoke about it, and my father didn't understand.
It dawned on me then that my mission carried absolutely no plan at all. I stood in the center of the golden room and followed a crowd of folks lining up for a tour. In this situation, I didn't meld with the shadows, but with the majority instead. Wide-eyed and curious humans ached to learn about the Victorian art of their ancestors, and I listened to the tour as the guide, who I learned was an assistant curator, led the crew on the half-an-hour long journey. His words faded from my consciousness as I focused on the brush strokes of the painting belonging to a Shakespearean scene. It didn't appeal to me the way photography did, or at least it didn't today.
My attention wandered when the tour moved to the next room, taking a right down the hall. I shifted left, heading off on my own to the darker corridor. Giggling voices of youth echoed, and I focused on them to see if I could pinpoint my new alien friend.
"Can you believe they used to call this device a Blackberry? How ridiculous is that?" The upbeat voice snapped my attention forward. I recognized Harlow right away. "And look at this. Laptops used to weigh up to four pounds. And even the newer ones averaged around two pounds. Keyboards weren't projected like they are today. They were a part of the screen."
The kids scoffed and muttered as I heard them shuffle about. I peeked in to see a different group of younger kids following Harlow around the vast oval room. Old technology filled the perimeter, from computers to phones, watches, and communicators dating back as far as the nineteen-eighties. The kids poked fun at the size of the phones, and a few of them fawned over the bulky gaming consoles of yesteryear.
Harlow's explanations carried some history to them, but she appeared to be in the mood to entertain them more. She switched on a few of the games, and the kids lined up immediately to try their hand at a pixelated game about an Italian plumber.
"Watch those green pipes. Man-eating plants—oh! Too bad." Harlow narrated through stifled chuckles. "Try this one. It's a little tamer."
"Miss Misner, were all video games in the nineteen-hundreds full of mean plants?" a tiny voice squealed, and it brought an immediate smile to my face.
I stifled a chuckle and the moment a sound left my lips, Harlow's attention shot in my direction. My stomach lurched as images of her terror-laden face flashed across my mind's eye. Today, howev
er, nothing but sheer delight lifted her cheeks when she smiled at me. Her eyes twinkled, and she held her finger up to the younger gentleman guiding the second half of the kids around the room. He nodded, and she abandoned her post to head over to me.
Before she even made it a few inches, the faint fragrance of her perfume or shampoo or something made it to my nose. I braced myself for becoming overwhelmed by it, but it didn't happen. Her heart pounded suddenly, skipping a beat as she came to stand in front of me. My mouth watered, as if a single grain of sugar landed on my tongue. Her hair, pin straight today rather than the more natural waves of our previous encounters, fluttered around her shoulders until she came to stand in front of me. Black heels, trousers, and a black button-down cuffed to her elbows completed her look.
"It's you." She breathed out the phrase tangled with a smile. "Hi, History Professor Veyda."
"Hello, Madam Curator." I laughed and dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my jeans. I fought to keep the smile on my face as my heart sank into my stomach. Guilt, sodden and cold, trickled through my veins. It didn't overpower me in that moment because Harlow occupied the rest of my senses. A hint of magnolia fragrance tangled with her natural human scent. Her ever-pounding heart and throbbing energy seemed to bounce in front of me. I wondered what Cressida would see if she gazed upon the beautiful woman standing in front of her, with eyes of gray as keen as an overcast sky peering down at the ocean.
"Are you on a tour?" She glanced behind me toward the group headed our way.
I shook my head. "No. Just a regular visit today." I nodded over her shoulder. "But you're on a tour, I see. Those dual degrees sure come in handy for museum tours of old tech."
She scrunched her nose, her hands propped on her hips. "Are you teasing me?"
"Yeah." I chuckled and balled my hands to fists in my pockets while rocking on my heels.
"Hmm." She narrowed her eyes at me and huffed. "It was almost funny."
"I failed the midterm of my humor class," I said, with deadpan delivery.
Jawbreaker (Four Point Universe Book 14) Page 3
