by Jen Ponce
"Tom and I are getting divorced," I typed, then took time to stare at that too. "Liam and Bethany don't know it yet. He cheated on me. I figure divorce is better than going to prison for murder, right?"
The cursor blinked at me accusingly and ever mindful of the fact that private email was an oxymoron, I deleted the last about murder and left it with the cheated on me bit. Travis would be pissed. He liked Tom, had introduced us. He would consider Tom's actions a betrayal of trust.
I added I love you and sent the email, before x-ing out the window and pulling up my client files. I buried myself in work and pushed the mess of my love life to a back burner.
“Did you see this?”
I looked up to see Danni in the doorway again, the newspaper in her hands. “What is it?”
“Your client, Ellen Harper. And six other people who’ve disappeared in the last month. The paper is doing a series about missing people.”
A chill ran down my spine as I took the paper and looked over the pictures. I recognized my client as well as the young woman and the kid with the Nikes. Yvonne Powers, aged 28, and Jeremy Fiste, 20.
I skimmed the articles, feeling sicker when I read about their families, their parents. Mouth dry, I sat back in my chair, unsure if I could handle any more pain.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you but I knew you were worried about Ellen.”
“Yes.” The word came out in a harsh croak.
I’m sorry.
Sorry. Everyone was sorry. Yet it didn’t change a damn thing. Danni slipped away as I sat, shell-shocked and angry. What could I do? I knew they were dead. If the explosion hadn’t killed them then the magic in Midia would have. Their families deserved to know but I had no idea what I could do that would help them.
When five came I didn't feel better, still numb. Liam and Bethany would already be home, Liam from soccer practice and Beth from her private flute lessons.
The drive home was quiet. Though neither of my inner companions was talking to me, I could feel them there, a weighty presence that was oddly comforting. The Miata wasn't there when I pulled into the driveway and lights blazed in every window. Cursing under my breath, I let myself in and headed straight for the kitchen. Liam and Bethany were sitting at the counter, a veritable smorgasbord of junk food laid out before them. They both started at the jingle of my keys as I hung them up. "What is going on?"
They looked at each other and I knew they conspired against me. Liam spoke first, his chin smeared with chocolate. "Dad wasn't home. We were hungry."
I looked at the food. "Uh huh. And how exactly does this junk qualify as real food?" I studied the selection for a moment, and then shocked both of them by picking up the package of Little Debbie's cakes, ripping it open, and stuffing one into my mouth.
"Mom!"
Bethany's shout made me smile around the empty calories in my mouth. I jabbed a thumb into the air, but waited until my mouth was empty to say, "I've had a bad day."
They both looked at me warily, maybe hearing something in my voice that hinted at more than a bad client or a flat tire.
"Do either of you know where Dad is?"
Liam shrugged. "He called. Said he wouldn't be home and we should find ourselves something to eat."
"Ah." I lowered my lashes so the kids couldn't see the anger flash in my eyes.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
I sat down beside Bethany. Tom had wanted to talk to them together but he wasn't here and I wasn't sure I could hide my sorrow from my kids any longer. "Your Dad and I are having problems."
"Oh.” Liam cut his eyes to his sister, whose face reddened.
"You're getting divorced, aren't you?" Bethany's voice wobbled on the d-word. "You guys are getting divorced and we're going to have to sell the house and move to an apartment."
"Shut up, stupid," Liam muttered.
"Hey now. Don't call your sister stupid. And Bethy, baby, don't move us to an apartment yet. I promise you both that whatever happens, you'll know about it first. Kay? I don't even know what's going to happen."
Bethany sniffled, so I tucked her under my arm, my heart heavy. I looked over her head at Liam, who stared solemnly back. "I'm sorry, Mom. Sorry for Dad, too."
"I know, honey." I covered his hand with mine, feeling shattered that his normally animated face was so drawn.
"I hate this. I hate it, I hate it." Bethany ducked from beneath my arm and ran from the room.
Liam slid another snack cake toward me. "She'll get over it."
I nodded, feeling as glum as he looked. "I suppose." I unwrapped the cake and ate it, knowing I'd regret it and not caring. For a moment, I sat with Liam, the quiet of the kitchen but for the sounds of our chewing a balm on my haggard soul. "You're a great kid, you know."
"Yeah, I know."
He was smiling. I nudged him with my elbow and stood. "I'd better go to Beth."
"Yeah. She's young yet."
Thanks a lot, Tom. I wrapped my arms around him in a fierce hug he returned. For a moment I couldn't breathe, but the moment passed and I trudged upstairs to Bethany's room. I could hear her muffled sobs, and knew it would be a long night. She would take up most of the evening with her response to the news. At least she would work through her emotions. I worried more about Liam, who had a tendency to keep his bottled up inside.
Would Tom come home, or would he stay away, hoping if he didn't show up the conversation wouldn't ever have to happen?
Bethany's wails grew louder. She wanted me to know she was upset. She had to share her emotions with everyone in shouting distance. I sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her back, unable to contend with the volume of her cries. Eventually she calmed and her sobs turned into deep belly hiccups.
Liam appeared in the door, his chin clean. I patted the bed, and then scooted Bethany over so we could squeeze into her twin. It was a tight fit, but we managed and I held them both as they asked me the same questions I'd been asking myself since I'd found out.
I don't know if I soothed them, but they both fell asleep, their heads snuggled in the crook of my arm, one on each side, as they had fallen asleep against me when they were little. It made me nostalgic for those sweeter times.
Sometime within the next hour, Liam woke and stumbled to his room, and I slipped my deadened arm out from under Bethany's head and made my way to my own.
I expected it to feel big and lonely without Tom, but instead I welcomed the solitude. It was nice to undress without someone else there—someone else physically present, I amended, thinking of the spider and witch riding along in my brain. I slipped into a silky nightgown and then under the covers, laughing a little when I realized I was going to bed at seven in the evening.
I didn't figure I would sleep, that I even could. But I surprised myself again and slipped into dreams without missing Tom's warmth beside me.
SEVEN
"Devany. Wake up, sleeping beauty. I need your services."
For a moment, in my sleep-hazed state, I thought it was Tom. Blinking, I focused on the face hovering above me. My vision cleared. "Shit. Get out."
Tytan Serce laughed. The rumble shook me as I came out of my sleep-induced fog. He had stretched out next to me in my bed. I bolted away from him, landing hard on my hip when my foot caught in the covers instead of swinging to the floor to catch me. His gazed dropped.
I snapped my legs shut, wishing I could kill with my eyes. "Can I?" I demanded of Arsinua, not knowing if she was awake or listening. "Can I kill him with my eyes?" He laughed again and I furiously shushed him. "My kids are here, sleeping. I don't want them hearing you."
One moment he lounged on the bed, the next he was at the door. "I'll give you five minutes of privacy, no more. Then you are coming into the Slip with me."
"I can't leave my kids alone."
"They won't even miss you."
"Excuse me?" I stumbled to my feet, ignoring his roaming gaze.
"Time spent in the Slip won't take time from you here."
>
Which meant what? I crossed to the closet, not sure what one wore to a demon realm. "No time at all. What if a burglar breaks in? What if a molester decides to try for my kids?"
"I will come back and kill them personally. They will suffer an eternity of torment in the Slip."
I shivered. "I can't leave them."
He studied me for a moment, and then disappeared. A faint scent of something burnt hung in the air. Gunpowder, maybe. I wasn't sure when he'd return, so I dressed fast, pulling on dark wash jeans, black shirt, and black boots. It was about as kickass as my wardrobe got.
I was pulling on the last boot when he returned, this time with a dark haired, dark eyed beauty. I frowned.
"Your babysitter."
I looked from him to her. "Who is she? What are her qualifications? Why should I trust her with my kids?"
"As I said before, it will be like you haven't left."
"Then why bring her?" A thought occurred to me. “And if time doesn't pass in the Slip, why didn't you reappear instantly after you left?” Gotcha now, asshole.
"Because you are worried, and I would like to get my business taken care of sometime this century. And because I stepped into my hook and waited before coming through."
I huffed. I glared at the woman who gazed back without expression. "Have you worked with kids before?"
She shot a look at Tytan. "I had kids. Once. Long ago."
Her words held darkness and sadness. That same echo of the past that my clients expressed in their words or gestures. That awful thing no one wanted to name, for fear the naming of it would give it power. Something horrible had happened to her, of that I was certain. Whether or not she was the right person to care for my babies, I couldn't be so sure of.
"Will you care for them? Keep them safe?" I couldn't believe this was happening and I hated the idea of entrusting Liam and Bethany with a perfect stranger.
"I won't let anything or anyone harm them. I promise with my life."
Her words rang in the room with a finality I couldn't help but believe. I jabbed a finger at Tytan. "If anything happens to my kids while I'm with you, I will never help you again. Understand?"
He nodded, once. "I hope you can translate that fierceness to your work."
I grunted. He grabbed my arm and before I could shoot any last warnings to the dark angel in my house, I was pulled—stretched—out of the room. The feeling wasn't pleasant; hideous comes to mind. I've never been melted in a vat of acid and then reformed, but I’d liken the experience to that.
The place itself was as awful as getting there. It was like being inside a bubble. Or, more precisely, everything was made out of bubbles. It slid, shiny and ephemeral, as I tried to gain my equilibrium. Tytan didn't notice my disorientation, or perhaps he didn't give a shit. Walking on the ground was like treading on marsh. I kept expecting to put a foot through the ground and fall inside that rainbow-colored oil slick.
My stomach roiled. I put my hand out to orient myself, but even my perceptions curved away at odd angles. Things slid by me, things that weren't solid, yet had substance. What would my puke look like against the wavery ground? I fretted I'd soon find out.
A huff of air made me look up. Tytan stared down at me. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Getting sick." And I did. And though it was disgusting, at least it looked real. At least it looked substantial.
"Come on." His hand gripped my arm and he yanked me through the quivering streets, down alleys, wherever it was he had to go. I shut my eyes, letting him guide me. I didn't care as long as I didn't have to look. When I looked, I wanted to heave again.
Finally, we arrived at a large place—I couldn't call it a mansion, but I guessed it was the Slip equivalent to one—and he pushed me through the door.
"One moment and I'll set it."
I kept my eyes shut. I didn't know what he meant and didn't care. "Get me out of here."
"There."
Hard-soled shoes scuffed at the floor, the first real sound since I'd gotten to this forsaken place, and I knew he was once again staring down at me with that vaguely condescending look he wore.
"You can open your eyes."
"No thanks."
"Now." He barked out the word, reminding me I ought to tread carefully around him. He was a demon.
I squinted, waited, and then blinked my eyes wide. It was normal. Normal-ish. No wavering walls, no mushy ground. I straightened, my stomach settling. "What did you do? Wait, I don't care. Just, thank you."
He grunted. "It's costly. Setting an entire manse is difficult, you understand. I expect you to embrace the Slip in its true form. But for now," he raised a brow. "For now I'll make allowances. I'd forgotten how tiresome humans can be." He said this as an afterthought as strode away from me.
“Hey! I thought you said I wasn't human anymore.” Under my breath, I added, “Bastard.” I pushed myself away from the wall, taking my time as I followed and averting my gaze from the window and the roiling scenery beyond. It made me nauseous. Swallowing, I concentrated on my feet. "You in there?" This to my mental companions.
The witch is scared. Trapped in Slip once, she says.
"Which means she's hiding? Lovely." Although, if Arsinua was as terrified as I was nauseous, I didn't blame her. I made a mental note to ask her how she managed to get trapped here and how she escaped. Later. When I was home, safe in my own bed.
"Get in here."
I made a face but followed the sound of Tytan's voice. It led me into a plush room full of black furniture, with black walls and a smell that reminded me of death. Lovely. He took a large, black mirror off the wall. He sat it in the middle of the coffee table and gestured impatiently to the couch.
I sunk into the cushions. I should've known hell would have a couch like this. Grunting, I floundered to the edge of the seat and perched there.
Tytan shook his head, having observed my fight with the couch. I wasn't sure why he was giving me that look; he was the idiot who'd bought the fucking thing. "Done?"
I flapped my hand at him. Get on with it already.
"You're to hunt a fleshcrawler for me." He tapped the side of the mirror, then picked up a small glass bottle from the table. He poured a foul smelling liquid onto the surface that bubbled and smoked violently before stilling. As I watched, amazed, a scene materialized on the surface of the liquid. A swamp, it looked like, full of trees with dripping, slimy leaves and tall, silvery grasses glistening with transparent blobs of dew. From under the milky goo that swallowed the bottoms of the trees and lapped against small hillocks of grass, a pale-skinned thing rose up. Its face resembled a bat with a flattened, convoluted nose and large pale ears. Its mouth was crowded with sharp teeth. Its eyes were black.
Tytan tapped the mirror again and the image froze, the thing half in half out of the water. "Fleshcrawler. The name they call themselves is unpronounceable. They live in the witch's universe. These things are the genesis of your world's vampire myths. I believe there's a hook near their homelands and that's how the first one slithered to Earth."
My temples throbbed. "A hook? You mean these things go through anytime they want?" I stared hard at it but couldn't see the romanticized vampire in its slimy, repulsive form.
"Of course not. Certain conditions must be met. Atmospheric, planetary. It's rare when conditions are right without help from magic makers. Rarer still when one of these things is on the ball enough to take advantage of the opening. The hook here is nothing like the hook at the fair." He gave me one of those professor-to-the-unenlightened-student looks. "The place where you stumbled into the witch's universe."
I pressed my fingers into my head, attempting to massage away the pain and, truth be told, Tytan and this whole absurd situation. "How am I supposed to kill it?"
"You don't have to."
I frowned at him. "Oh. Okay. Bring him in?"
He shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I want Neutria to do it."
The spider inside me shivered
in excitement. "Um, hello. She's not around. And I was told she wouldn't be cracking me open like she did that guy."
"She's not inside you, no. She is you. And you are her."
I shook my head. "Uh huh. No, sir. I am not a spider and she's not me. She might be able to talk to me but she's not me." It sounded crazy and I was grateful I didn't have to try to explain any of this to a regular person. At least Tytan knew this was real. Even if it seemed so unreal.
"Werewolves."
I stared at him. "Oh no. No way."
"You can change your form to hers. Give her rein. Let her take care of her business and then change back. Simple. Beautiful. There are ways to detect Archaeon, even when wearing a human victim. But you are not a skin." He sat back, looking as pleased as if he'd been the one to invent me.
"I can't. I'm human. Flesh and blood. There are no such things as werewolves and I'm not turning into a spider." Even as I said the words, I didn't believe them. If there could be creepy things like fleshcrawlers and demons and assassin spiders hiding in human skins, then there could be werewolves.
And there was always the possibility—within the context of this bizarre world—I could shift into a spider.
"I can't deal with this," I said, covering my face with my hands.
"You would have to go into the muck and drag the fleshcrawler out. Stake him to dry ground and let him bake in the sun. You'd have to stay and watch, keeping his kin from freeing him. Do you want to do that on your own? I thought you wanted to return alive to your children." He leaned in—I heard him move—and I reluctantly opened my eyes to see his boring into mine. "Or would you rather let Neutria do the work? She knows the swamp, was born there herself. Her venom could paralyze the fleshcrawler to keep him from biting. And trust me; you do not want to get bitten."
"Why not?"
"Excuse me?" He looked surprised.
I was surprised myself, but hell, if he wanted to tell me the gory details, then he'd better tell me the gory details. "Why wouldn't I want to get bitten? Maybe being a vampire would be fun." I tried not to think about the monster in the muck and concentrated on the vampires in modern fiction. Good looking, tormented, and eager to settle down with regular people like me.
