The Touch of Twilight

by Vicki Pettersson

  “Sorry. I’ve never been rescued by an angel before,” I said, as I sniffed at the air. Warren left a trail like a skunk…deliberately, though. He knew I’d recognize it and head in his direction, and right now it smelled like he’d moved to the nearby outlet mall where he liked to window shop after a long day of panhandling. I started that way, but paused when the woman doubled over in her tracks. Laughter caused her to literally froth at the mouth, spume also slinging from the ends of her constantly rejuvenating hair with every jerk of her tiny body.

  I smiled uncertainly, then ducked my head as she motioned for me to keep heading forward, though I remained aware of her behind me—the angle of her body, the pressure of that cold palm on my back again—as we hiked along Charleston Boulevard. I thought about blowing a breath in the direction of the shops to let the troop know I was coming, but didn’t in case the Tulpa was still in the vicinity.

  “Who are you?” I said, when the woman had finally sobered. She was still smiling, those teeth like dazzling white stones, her marble eyes catching the streetlights to dance.

  “Do I look like a ‘who’ to you?” She glanced away as she scoffed, then did a double-take at a run-down auto shop. “Oh, look,” she said casually. “There’s our portal.”

  I glanced at the dilapidated building, seeing nothing but chipped paint, rusting roll-doors, and a pile of stripped tires breeding black widows in the side lot. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Between the fence and the paint booth,” she said, nudging me closer. “Soften your gaze.”

  I stared again at the auto shop, letting everything at the forefront of my visual perception blur. Then, like a lighter being flicked, a canary yellow portal popped out at me from over the glass door. After a moment, however, it slowly bled over into a deepening burgundy. The woman moved closer when I gasped in surprise. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “It’s just…I’ve never seen one turn that color before,” I said, gaze lingering on it before I turned fully to face her. “I thought they all looked like tiny stars.”

  Under the spotlight of the streetlamp, I could see her hair beading, constantly re-forming at the root, sliding down the shaft in effervescent droplets, and fracturing at the tips to keep it blunted below her glistening shoulders. More surprising, however, were her eyes. They lacked irises or even a tint of color; pure orbs as white as carved out pearls, though brightly alive. She returned my intent look, almost as if drinking me in, and I drew back a bit, reminding myself that while beautiful, as well as my rescuer, she was also extremely powerful.

  “It’s fine,” she said, her lips repositioning themselves on her face as she smiled at me. It wasn’t just her expression altering, I realized. It was her whole face, constantly forming and re-forming. “Come.”

  I hesitated. If there was one thing I’d found in my short time with the troop, it was that limitations were placed on us for a reason. We learned of things when we were meant to, and too much knowledge could skew one’s actions in the same way going to a psychic could alter mortal behavior. I bit my lip, not wanting to offend her—owing her—but not wanting to go somewhere my troop leader couldn’t find me. She smiled, noting my reluctance.

  “Just a quick peek,” she encouraged, hand again guiding my back. But this time it chilled to the spine.

  I angled away from her touch. “Why would you want me to look inside there?”

  “Because I want to help you.” Now she gripped my arm. “The Tulpa was right about the fallout of disjoined energy. A person cannot be divided against herself.”

  And anyone who thought the Tulpa was right needed to not be touching me.

  “No, thank you.” I placed my hand over hers and firmly pulled it away. She didn’t resist, just angled her head so a gossamer glob dropped from her hair. “I should get back. My troop will be worried.”

  “Your troop, is it?” Her beautiful laugh turned brittle when she saw my mind was made up, and she pointed to my face with one disconcertingly honed fingernail. “My goodness, is that a mask or blinders that you’re wearing? Either way, it works brilliantly.”

  But peer pressure did not. I squared on her and put some distance between us. “Why did you save me from the Tulpa?”

  “Now you’re asking the right questions.” But the edge in her voice reminded me of steep cliffs, sharp rocks, and divers poised tenuously on the edge. She was going somewhere with this, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to follow there either. “Well, obviously it wasn’t out of the goodness of my heart.”

  And she crossed her heart in a playground promise, those razor-sharp nails cleaving layer after radiant layer of glistening skin to reveal a gaping cavity where there should’ve been organs.

  “No heart,” I whispered, half to myself. She was like a balloon twisted into shape by a circus clown, with only a translucent outline to define her as a woman. Horrified, I glanced back up into her face. Now I knew what her sparkling achromatic eyes were swirling with. Air. What I didn’t know—and what suddenly bothered me all the more—was why her teeth were so sharp.

  She tilted her head, the innocent movement clashing strongly with the severed chest and that razored grin. “I thought maybe you’d let me borrow yours.”

  I was already backing away, so when she lunged I tripped over an abandoned crate, which was all that saved me from a vertical autopsy. The first swipe of those ice-hook claws took a chunk from my left breast, but I dodged the second. She shot forward and secured one bony hand around my throat, and I scrabbled at those tensile, opalescent fingers as her other palm fell again to my chest, firing my glyph, too close to its target. Her fingers dug in and I head-butted her, causing both her hands to loosen. I got one more in before her frigid hand clawed onto my shoulder again.

  “The spirit of the Kairos shouldn’t be shackled to a body with damaged chi,” she snarled, and returned my head butt, sending shards of icy white light firing through my skull. Then she dragged me toward the portal. I scrambled, digging in my heels, the nonslip soles catching until she leveled one of hers down on top of my left foot. She was as strong as I was, but suppler, bending and reshaping to form in front of me or beside me or behind me at will. I struggled harder against her fluid grip, now positive I really did not want to go through that supernatural doorway.

  Still, she was making slow and steady headway, and so focused was I on the bloodred portal that the cold sprawl of that homicidal hand crawling over my face was a complete surprise. “Time to remove the blinders, Kairos.”

  And she did what no one else had been able to before. She yanked my mask from my head so the straps tore at my earlobes, threw it to the ground, and drank in my Olivia identity, my most prized secret. I drove my left elbow straight up and connected with her chin, though it immediately shifted. Judging the number of steps and direction the blow would send her, I sent a flying kick to await her there. But she didn’t show up. The next thing I felt was her knee connecting with my already bruised kidney from behind.

  Well, she had me bested there, I thought as I crumpled to the ground. I couldn’t very well return the favor when she didn’t have any organs.

  When she could dissipate like smoke only to reappear behind you…

  No, I thought, balling up as she flipped me over. Nobody could do that. I just hadn’t been seeing clearly.

  But I was seeing clearly now, and her whole body was shining and ethereal and luminescent as she straddled me. “Divided energy, Joanna. Divided looks…and a divided heart, no?”

  I swung my legs up behind her to link them beneath her arms and propel her to her back.

  The scent reached me first, more of my blood being spilled, though pain came close on its heels, an eruption of nerve endings telling me something had just destroyed my spleen. I squeezed my eyes shut, arching backward as sound gurgled in my throat. I was on my back again, and this time she dropped her knees to my shoulders, pinning me, closing the distance between us.


  “You asked why I saved you from the Tulpa.” The froth bubbling up in her voice wasn’t as enticing now. She nudged my chin and waited until I could look at her. “It was for one reason only, Joanna. You’re the real target in both my worlds. You’re the Alpha and Omega of the spectral plane. You, my dear, are the golden ring.”

  “And let me guess,” leveled a voice from behind me. “A pretty lady like you likes your baubles.”

  A light flared through the rent in her chest and I had a moment to think, Glyph, though before I could identify it, her weight was gone, layer after layer of her morphing into flight, breaking laws with bubbles, delicately straddling worlds. Those in my troop who had projectile weapons fired them into the night sky. Hunter’s whip coiled up in a resounding snap, but caught nothing but disturbed air. My glyph died on my chest, but the pain was still coming in regular, if less intense, waves. When I looked up, Felix was looming over my head.

  “Dude,” he said, boyish face implacable. “I totally thought you were going to throw a seven.”

  Hunter punched him in the arm as I struggled to my knees. “Good to see you too, Felix,” I grunted.

  Micah put his arm around me and lifted me to my feet. Grateful, I leaned into him. “No injuries? No permanent damage?”

  “I might need a new boob job…and I think my spleen’s missing.” God, it would suck if that sharp-nailed, no-organ bitch had taken off with my spleen.

  “Who, or what, was that?” Vanessa asked, handing me my mask.

  “Oh that.” I waved my hand and mask in the air, still unable to straighten fully. “That was the lady who saved me from the Tulpa’s giant microwave, only to try and eat my heart with her spiked teeth. She’s impervious to the law of gravity”—I think she dissipated and reappeared behind me—“and she wanted to show me what was on the other side of that bloody portal.”

  I jerked my head in the direction of the fixed star, proud of myself for how calm I sounded about the whole thing. So why were the others gaping at me with expressions of disbelief? All except Warren.

  “What was she wearing?” he wanted to know. That was Warren, always picking up on the important stuff.

  I rolled my eyes. “Nothing that I could see. Maybe a bodysuit, but it was made out of the same material as her skin.”

  “Which was?” he prompted, like he knew there was more.

  “Bubbles.” I winced at how stupid that sounded and amended my statement. “Maybe bubbles. Maybe Saran Wrap, I don’t know. It was hard to tell. Ouch.” I doubled up again.

  Warren began mumbling to himself, his homeless mien taking on an authentic aspect, before his head snapped back my way. “Tell me what happened again, from the time you first saw her to the moment we scared her away. Don’t leave anything out.”

  So leaning against the greasy auto shop fence, I recounted everything I could about Vincent’s death, our gravity-defying escape, and the way the woman made a point of bringing me to this portal. My chest was still on fire when I finished, but my breathing was even again, my glyph had faded, and the pain in my side was gone. Maybe I’d kept my spleen after all.

  Warren grimaced, turning his sun-baked features into craggy ridges. “So she could have removed you from this plane earlier, but chose to bring you here first.”

  “And I bet that’s the reason why,” Tekla said, jerking her head at the star shining like a ruby above the doorway.

  I glanced from Warren, clearly disturbed, to Tekla, who only appeared resigned. Then I noticed the others were doing the same, curiosity as bold as question marks on their face. The whole troop, I realized, was seeing a colored portal for the very first time. And Micah—the most senior troop member next to Warren and Tekla—was studying it fervently.

  “What is it?” I asked, able to straighten now.

  Warren didn’t answer, turning away, running his hands over his head, but Tekla sighed heavily, her large eyes like dark globes in her thin face. “It’s a breach into the other reality. It’s the cause of all our vibrational chaos.”

  “Which means?” Riddick prompted as he scratched his goatee.

  “It means we’ve found the cause of the elemental outbursts.” Warren whirled again, rubbing at the back of his neck. “This woman, this being—”

  “The Tulpa called her a double-walker,” I offered.

  Tekla and Warren looked at each other. “This double-walker,” he said evenly. “She’s been tearing holes in the fabric of our reality instead of using the portals. There have to be a half dozen of them.”

  “You mean that’s not a portal?”

  Warren shook his head. “It’s an open wound.”

  Limping forward to get a better look, I was breathing normally by the time I reached the shop’s door. My side had closed up too, which was a great relief. I wouldn’t die, at least not today.

  Up close, it was easy to see why Warren called it a wound. The portal’s blazing light was as steady as any other, brilliant but for the deep red sheen that continually ran over its surface, like blood dripping, though it never fell. Yet the outline was less starlike the closer one drew, its edges jagged as though ripped. I reached up…

  “Olivia! No!”

  And gently rubbed a fingertip over the star.

  Tekla was there, slapping my hand away…too late. A crack sounded as the star clamped down over my hand like a Venus flytrap, and my fingertips immediately went numb, dozens of stinging barbs puncturing the printless pads. An acute and tortured scream echoed across the parking lot. Then, just as abruptly, the tiny star released me, and all five points curled in on themselves, a fundamentally protective gesture.

  We all stared questioningly at Warren, clueless superheroes, down to the last.

  Warren looked like he wanted to scream as well, but instead blew out a breath and leveled a maddened look at me. “Okay, so this is the point where I tell you all not to peel off the scabs of the wounded reality.”

  “No,” Tekla corrected sharply. “We passed that point about a minute ago.”

  Warren shot her an equally livid glare…and another at me.

  Ew, I thought, glancing back. Was that what I’d done? “Sorry,” I muttered, to him and the Universe.

  “Why can’t we touch it?”

  “You said there are others?”

  “What’s a double-walker?”

  “Well, that perked them right up,” Tekla said, walking away.

  Warren sighed again, then looked off into the sky as if the answers to all our questions were written there. “Come on, then.”

  “Where to?”

  “Someplace safe.” And as he began limping away, I thought I heard him add, “With lots of alcohol.”

  5

  We reconvened at the Downtown Cocktail Lounge on Fremont Street, a touchstone in Vegas’s emerging entertainment district that was helping turn the promised downtown revitalization into less of a longstanding joke. The surprising thing about DCL was its refusal to cater to tourists. With a dim interior, low-key vibe, and not one overpaid celebutante or slot machine in sight, everything about it screamed “locals’ bar”…including the hidden front door.

  However, watching tourists scratch their heads as they tried to find their way in was only part of the location’s appeal. It was also a newly designated safe zone, which explained why we were meeting there. We couldn’t be ambushed by Shadow agents in a safe zone—or tulpas or hopefully bubble beings—so they were good places to while away the hours between dawn and dusk. It was only in the fractional seconds of the sun and moon’s momentary truce that we could cross over into the safety of a true alternate reality, and not merely the flip side of this one.

  There was also no better place to gather than one that served stiff cocktails and funky world beats via the DJ’s laptop 24/7. That too kept the children away. Warren put his hand in the air to call over the waitress as we settled ourselves around the large communal table. We spoke of nothing in particular until drinks were served, at which point I sucked down half th
e tonic-laced vodka before telling the others about the mask connecting me with the Tulpa, how it’d enabled us both to breathe beneath the massive weight of the black hole, and how his anger had been tinged with fright for the woman who bent gravity to her will.

  Micah tilted his head, his analytical and scientific mind clearly whirring. As our troop’s Seer, Tekla was as sharp as they came, but even she looked perplexed. However, Warren, who’d taken time to change and shower so the DCL employees didn’t move the hidden door entirely upon his approach, perked up at this. “Olivia, I need you to think. Can you tell me what this being smelled like?”

  “Sure,” I said, and closed my eyes to strengthen the memory. My sense of smell had dramatically improved with my metamorphosis at the age of twenty-five into something superhuman…but it hadn’t stopped after that. Experience and applied practice had increased my ability to distinguish textures and patterns in the delicate dance of air molecules, and I was developing a better language and vocabulary to describe sensory nuance.

  My encounter with the woman was still fresh, so I easily picked apart the medley forming her essential scent. Despite the frightening encounter, it was a pleasure, for once, to dissect something not reeking of rot and decay. “The top note was herbal, like fresh-cut chives or sweet green onion, but lightly so, as if dug up too early. She was empty inside, so maybe that’s why it’s not more potent, like the scent could disappear with a puff of breath…” I trailed off, thinking of dandelion spores drifting in the wind, but didn’t say it. She wasn’t human, and so her genetic makeup would be different, but I had a hard time thinking of it as insubstantial. She’d clawed at me with sickle-sharp nails. She had substance…but what was it?

  “And the heart note?” Warren pressed.

  The most important and telling scent, that of her soul.