by Jes Battis
“I slept for an hour last night. I feel more like a rotten plum.”
“Rakish looks good on you, though.”
“Stop sucking up. It’ll be done when it’s done.”
I told Selena exactly that, but was careful to leave it on a Post-it rather than actually breaching her office. I had another appointment to keep, and I was already on the verge of being late.
Dr. Hinzelmann looked up from his yellow notepad as I walked in. “Tess. Good to see you. Have a seat.”
I sat down in the plush chair. The air-conditioning in his office was turned up to high, and I could feel the goose bumps rising on my flesh. I kept rubbing my arms unconsciously, as if trying to start a small fire.
“Do you need a refill on your sleep medication?”
“No. I think I’m okay for now.”
“So you’ve been getting enough sleep, then.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far. I’m sleeping better than I was a few months ago. I still feel like I could pass out on the photocopier most of the time, though.”
“Have you considered decreasing your hours? Maybe spending a bit of time away from the lab would help you resume a normal sleeping pattern.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a normal sleeping pattern. And I’d love to take time off, but the case I’m working on now is kind of exploding in all directions. Selena needs me pretty much at all times.”
“She’s said as much?”
I bit my lip. I wasn’t going to fall into one of his snares. “Let’s just say she strongly intimated it.”
“Or, you inferred that her need was urgent, when, in fact, she doesn’t need your presence any more or less than she needs the presence of any other employee. Are you certain that she needs you, and not that you simply need to be here?”
“I don’t need to be here. I need to be with my family. But I also have a job, which, currently, is an enormous pain in my ass.”
“And how is family life?”
I blinked. “Fine. I mean, I’m absolutely the worst parent in the world. But if you ignore that, things are fine.”
“What makes you think you’re the worst parent in the world?”
I shifted in the chair. “I feel like I have no real influence over them. Realistically, they’re both powerful enough to do whatever they want.”
“But they must listen to you sometimes. That’s almost the best you can hope for with adolescents.”
“It’s not that they don’t listen to me. It’s that I can’t help them.”
“With what? Clothes, school, sustenance—you seem to be providing for all of their needs as well as you can.”
“No. I can do that. Tampons and textbooks and minutes for their cell phones, that much I can do. But I can’t protect them from this.” I gestured around me. “This life. This eternal cosmic shit-fest. That, I can’t save them from.”
“I’m not even sure how you’d try,” Dr. Hinzelmann said. “They’re in the paranormal life. Patrick’s a vampire who can walk by day, the only one of his kind in the city. And Mia doesn’t yet know what she wants to be, or who she is. Which is pretty common ground for a girl about to turn sixteen.”
“I understand your implication. We’re facing the same adversity as any family. But every time I leave my house, I’m scared to death that something’s going to happen to them. Not that they’ll get drunk, or make bad sex choices, or have their hearts broken.” I folded my arms. “I’m scared that a demon will set fire to our house. I’m scared of seeing Mia or Patrick on an autopsy table.”
“Every mother has that fear, to some extent.”
“But I’m not their mother. Mia’s an orphan. And we don’t know much about Patrick’s life before he was turned by Caitlin. We’ve never found his parents.”
“Sounds like they both need you, then.”
I massaged my temples. “They need Derrick to make them a palatable supper. Mia needs a haircut, although she’s fighting me every step of the way. I’m just tired of having to unclog the drain every week.”
“Is Derrick still recuperating?”
“He’s getting better. And by better, I mean bitchier, which signals to me that his health is improving.”
“It must be a relief to share the parenting duties with him.”
“Patrick and Mia help, too. I mean, they’re part-demon, but they’re still pretty well-behaved teens, all things considered.”
“Plus, you’re part-demon as well.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. My genetic legacy has prepared me to deal with the greatest amount of insanity possible.”
“Your mother still worked for the CORE when you were conceived, correct? That must have been quite trying for her.”
I felt myself grow cold. “I imagine it was.”
“You must wonder about your father all the time. Have you ever thought of using this lab’s facilities in order to locate him?”
Dr. Hinzelmann lowered his chair, then hopped gently to the ground. Standing, he came up to my waist. The natural light coming through the office window made his brown skin look especially like bark.
“My DNA has no match,” I said carefully. “There’s no way I’d be able to use the CORE’s genome database for that kind of searching, because there’s nothing to search for. I don’t even know what dimension he came from. I probably never will.”
But all I could think of was what Basuram had said. His daughter. And you weren’t even hard to find.
Maybe he was one of the Ferid. Maybe he was something like the Iblis, one of the shadow-creatures that guarded the doors between worlds. Or maybe he was like the manticore, immeasurably old and removed from the rest of the world, trapped in a spell laid by a Renaissance alchemist who thirsted for immortality. The last two I’d already dealt with, and in the span of two years, no less. I was starting to think that every year, the Monster Committee got together and decided what nasty, primordial mofo I was going to have to deal with. Like an early Christmas present.
“There’s more than one database,” Hinzelmann said.
I’d checked out of the conversation for a moment. But his statement brought me back with a small start.
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said.” He smiled. “You’ve worked here long enough to know that there’s always two versions of everything. There’s the program that you see, and the program they keep underground.”
“Underground where?”
“I just mean it generally, as in buried.”
“Huh.” I sat back in the chair. “This whole building is practically storage for things that were never supposed to see the light of day.”
“Including us.” His yellow eyes met my own.
“Right,” I said.
Linus texted me about the radargrams.
Still processing. No digging until tomorrow night.
This news I gave to Selena in person.
Her look darkened. “Processing. I’ll give him processing.”
I didn’t stick around to hear the rest of what she proposed. They could duke it out themselves. I was in no hurry to pick up a shovel and start digging for what could very well be radioactive remains.
I don’t know what brought me to Lucian’s apartment. I drove around Yaletown in a fog, parking my car on the edge of Pacific Street. His loft was part of a brick warehouse, one of the original buildings that had survived this neighborhood’s inexorable march toward trendiness. In place of factories, there were now dance clubs, chocolateries, and furniture stores where you could drop four hundred bucks on a white leather ottoman.
I crossed over to Drake Street. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Mia, asking where I put the coffee, because it’s not in the cupboard above the fridge, and a certain person doesn’t want to go to the store to buy more, even though he could just walk over to Norman’s Fruit Salad. And I can’t go because my hair’s wet, plus it’s after nine, and I could get accosted. By a man.
I set the phone to silent. If Mia really need
ed my help, she could bypass her BlackBerry and throw a psych-blast my way.
That’s for emergencies only, Derrick had told her. Needing a ride home is not a good enough reason for giving Tess or myself a debilitating migraine.
I knocked on Lucian’s door. My hands were sweating, and I felt trills of energy racing through my body. Was I getting sick? Maybe it was just the caffeine.
Or maybe it was something else. I kind of doubted it, though. Every time I looked at a bed lately, I didn’t think sex so much as sleep. I fell asleep in the break room today and woke up with the waffle pattern of the chesterfield pressed into one side of my face. My hair was sweaty and tangled. I was starving, but the thought of food also nauseated me. Unless it was porridge, which I thought I might be able to handle.
Lord Nightingale opened the door.
For a second, all I could do was stare at him. The last time I’d seen him had been during my first and only visit to Trinovantum, the hidden city of the necromancers. Then, he’d been wearing a breastplate that looked like an insect’s carapace. Now he was wearing a herringbone jacket, slacks, and knee-high leather boots.
He smiled when he saw me. “Agent Corday. How have you been?”
“Good. I’ve been—good.” I frowned. “Sorry. Do I curtsy? I’ve forgotten the etiquette.”
“You may do whatever comes naturally.”
I extended my hand. “Shake?”
He looked at me strangely. “Very well.”
We shook hands. I knew we weren’t supposed to touch, but nothing had happened last time, despite Lucian’s warning. His hands were cool, soft. He’d grown his hair a bit longer, and it settled in black curls around his face. He leaned in close.
“I was just discoursing with Lucian. I don’t mean to monopolize him. I’m sure you two must have a lot to talk about.”
“I planned on watching TV,” I replied, taking a small step back.
“There’s only one channel in Trinovantum,” he said. “It does get tedious.”
“What do they play?”
“Epic poetry, mostly.”
“Yikes.”
He smiled. “Good night, Tess. If I don’t get back soon, I’ll turn into a pumpkin. A very dangerous pumpkin.”
Lord Nightingale vanished into the rainy street. The first step he took may have been ordinary, but I blinked once, and he was just a faint impression against the dark. Then he was gone completely. I felt a humming in my head. The ozone bite of necroid materia hung on the air.
Lucian was washing dishes. He looked up. “Hey. Sorry about that.”
“No worries.” I kissed him on the cheek. “What sorts of dealings were you two having? God forbid it was anything homosocial.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would that bother you?”
“No. But I’d much rather be there. It’s no fun if I just hear about it later.”
“Well, there was nothing serious. A little flirtation, but that’s natural.”
“Oh, is it?”
“He’s my lord. I’m one of his men.”
I sat down on the couch. “How much flirting, exactly?”
“It’s not quantifiable.”
“Just give me an idea.”
Lucian dried his hands, then sat down next to me. “I’m only Seventh Solium. There are a lot of people closer to the top than I, and I leave the ass-kissing to them. But Theresa does have favorites.”
“Theresa. That’s a girl’s name.”
“Yes. In Portuguese, it’s Tareja.”
I blinked. “Lord Nightingale has a girl’s name?”
“Well, yes. He was born a woman.”
“In Portugal?”
“He was the bastard daughter of Alfonso the Sixth.”
“So . . . at what point did Theresa become a man?”
“I have no idea. Frankly, it seems like too personal a question.”
“But you know for certain that he was born a woman.”
“In ten eighty. We can Google him, if it would make you feel better.”
“No. I believe you. It’s just—” I squinted. “Okay, he’s born a woman, a princess, and now he’s—”
“Nine hundred and thirty years old.”
“And at some point, he pulled an Orlando.”
“You’ve read Virginia Woolf?”
“Yes, Lucian. I am aware of Modernist women writers.”
“Sexy.” He slid closer. “What’s your favorite Virginia Woolf novel?”
“The Waves.”
“I found that one sad. A bit ephemeral, too.”
“I know. That’s why I like it.”
He put his hand on top of mine. Everything felt a bit fuzzy. The logical part of my brain had quietly begun its shutdown process. His hand was soft from the warm water and felt good. A bit too good.
“Wait. What exactly does it mean to be one of Theresa’s men?”
“I don’t really want to talk about Lord Nightingale anymore.”
“Oh, is it just that convenient?”
“It is.” He kissed me lightly. “I want to try a new subject.”
I pulled away. “Is it like a sire thing? Like with vampires?”
“For fuck’s sake.” He took my hand in both of his. “I’m not sleeping with Lord Nightingale. Please believe me.”
“I do.”
“Good.” He started to lean forward again.
“And you’ve never?”
He closed his eyes. “No. I mean, yes. Once.”
“Oh?” I felt my voice rising an octave. “When was that? Recently?”
“God, no. Years ago.”
“How many?”
“It was a long time ago. We were in Lisbon. It just sort of happened.”
“Well. I mean—” I sighed. “Obviously, it’s your body; you can do whatever you want with it. I didn’t know you then. I really have no reason to be jealous.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’ve said that you prefer girls.”
“I prefer you, at the moment.”
“But you might prefer Theresa next time?”
He laughed. “No. I have no plans to revisit that night.”
“Does he, like—” I made a weird motion with my hand. “Can he change back to a woman? Or will he always be a man?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”
“But when the two of you were together, he was a man?”
Lucian smiled wryly. “He sure was.”
“Jesus.”
“I doubt he had very much to do with it.”
I crawled into his lap. “Were you drunk, at least?”
“Quite.”
“Did it cause a political coup?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Should I shut up now?”
“I’d never say something so crass. Not to you.”
He kissed me.
Lord Nightingale hadn’t tasted like anything, just emptiness. Lucian’s mouth was a very different story.
I bit his ear, which was a favorite pastime. He sucked in his breath. I moved my tongue down the length of his neck. He smelled like clean sheets and vanilla.
I unbuttoned my shirt. He rubbed small circles on my back with his hands. I curled into him. I could feel my whole body starting to move to its own rhythm. He kissed me again. His fingers were in my hair. I could feel what my body was doing to him. I could hear it in his breathing. His legs were shivering.
He reached under my skirt. Everything got very warm.
We took off the rest of our clothes. Lucian folded his boxers, placing them off to the side. For a moment, he just sat there, bacchanalian, legs spread, grinning at me.
Then I climbed on top of him. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He took one of my breasts in his mouth, and I closed my eyes. It was the first time all day I’d managed to squeeze out the rest of the world. Now there was only the heat of his mouth, the drag of his tongue, the barest press of his teeth. My consciousness was slowly becoming a merry-go-round, or a golden
comet, flying faster and faster until I could no longer make out its trajectory. It spun and threw off sparks.
He slid away from me, getting down on his knees on the carpet. His tongue found me, and I grabbed onto his shoulders for support. He pulled me closer to his face, while his hands stroked me from behind. I must have been vibrating at a high frequency. The whole living room had a pale, crystalline cast to it, as if I’d already become a waveform. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling him closer, deeper. For the first time, I realized that his black hair was touched with silver.
His breath stirred me. I felt like he might tear something out, and I wanted it to happen. I wanted to feel riven clean, every part of me exposed to the air, the sting of palpation, the threat of contracting something, anything. Like a body on a slab, open for viewing. Take it all. We’re going out of business. Even the organs are for sale.
I pulled him back onto the couch, settling on top of him. I guided him in, and we froze for a moment, both trembling slightly. He drew me close, kissing me. I bit his lip. He groaned. I knew that if I pressed deeper, I could draw blood. And for a moment, I wanted to. Instead, I traced his mouth with my tongue.
It was my rhythm. I began it, moving my hips, and he responded from beneath me. His hands were all over my body. I reached behind me, stroking his legs, then his feet. I grabbed onto his ankles, using them for leverage. He arched his back, pressing against me, and I thought we might shatter because we ground so hard into each other, rendering our bodies to sweat, salt, and oil.
He moved as I moved. His pace quickened.
“Wait,” I said. “I want you against the wall.”
We rose. The concrete floor was cold on my bare feet, but I was also sweating, which evened things out. I lifted my leg, mounting him. My hair was in his face. He wrapped his arms around me, and I climbed, and climbed, wondering at how good he felt, and at how precise my need had become. I climbed until there was nowhere left to go, and then I felt everything contract, like laces suddenly pulled tight.
I moaned. Lucian buried his face in my neck. He shuddered. I kept moving, still on fire, every curtain lifted and exposed to the darkness that lay beyond.
“Tess—”
I felt him let go. His breath hissed in my ear. I wrapped my fingers around his neck, holding him still. He sighed.
