Eat a dick . . . I shout, watching how cars avoid us unconsciously as we weave past them.
“Dumb in terms of the way of this world. Don’t get offended. Rather than leave you alone, he gets close to you. I have no fucking idea why. But he feels you. Trains you in what he knows. I’m sure the universe was scratching its head watching an Alter try to train a liminal in the ways of fire. But he gets so close that he actually gives a fuck whether or not you get hurt. So he gives you what he has, his mark.”
A curse? He wants to protect me so he puts a curse on me?
“Spits with Dogs sees the world too distinctly. For her it’s a curse. For him, it was his mark. It told other Alters that you were already claimed . . .”
By their one and only heretic, I said. How come they didn’t chop me into pieces the second they saw me?
“The coding isn’t that exact. It’s not like he signed his name on you. He made a mark on your soul, something they all do. It says that you are his. The same way Poppy did to your boy. They know whoever marked you was old and powerful, but beyond that, he’s a mystery.”
So he basically pissed on me. My fury was getting the better of me. I was choking on the words.
“He’s a dick,” A.C. agreed. But then, almost under his breath, “He can’t help it.”
The fuck he can’t!
“It’s his nature. That dude could build a thousand orphanages with the best intent. They’d all burn down and take the kids with them. He doesn’t have generativity in him, only entropy.”
Then why do you fuck with him? I asked, barely noticing the coast on my left. Barely steering.
“I told Mico not to trust him, drew the entropy sword the second I saw him and went for his head! But Mico’s a fucking redeemer. He believes everyone can be saved, even Alters.” That was the first time I heard regret in his voice. “And Narayana is useful.”
Good to know how the other side thinks? I asked, noticing the slowing as we approached recognizable landmarks of Marin County.
“More than just that. We . . . we weren’t winning but we were holding our own. We had a base, started cultivating relationships with other liminals. But Mico . . . well, he did something stupid. He got into it with his God. It gave the Alters an opening.”
To do what? I pulled into the parking lot of the dock. We’d made the hundred-plus-mile drive back down in less than twenty minutes, but nothing was surprising me anymore.
“Hah.” It was forced from A.C.’s lips. “They had gotten the hint and went around us. They went back in time. To now. There’s no entropy in Mico to take advantage of in my time. But now, he’s vulnerable, young, dumb, and totally unaware of what he’s capable of. They’re trying to get their hands on him now . . .”
If he doesn’t have any power now, why haven’t they already killed him?
“They kill him, another takes his place. They don’t want him dead. They want him perverted. Twisted to their side. Narayana read the ash and detritus in Mico’s psychic wake and located the site and time of the entropy drain. It’s San Francisco and it’s within the next three days.”
“You’ve got to go to work today,” A.C. said as I emerged on deck early the next morning. We’d gotten back late. I’d stopped in and said hey to Mom. She hadn’t seen me since the funeral, but she just took my face in her hands, kissed both my cheeks and told me I looked tired. A.C. did that peripheral thing he did so well, staying just outside of perception but being ever present until I fell out on Narayana’s old bed belowdeck, truly tired for the first time in a while.
Why the fuck would I go back? I asked, practicing my kata from muscle memory. A.C. sat on the bow, his jacket off, no shoes, black T-shirt clinging tight to his bony ribs.
“Because they don’t know what you know. Which makes you the best chance we’ve got to get more info. And to save Mico.”
Oh, the Mico I don’t know? I exhaled, stretching out for the Lion’s Paw. Is he a friend of the cursing Narayana? I don’t have to do shit, A.C. Get another idiot to follow your lead.
“I know how you feel,” he said softly. My anger had already made me off balance, but when a small breeze at the back of my neck made me stiffen in the middle of the Peacock’s Ascent I had to adjust my footing. No one else would have noticed, but I did. And so did A.C.
“When I first got into all of this, I thought it was so cool.” He walked the length of the stern to the bow casually, doing his own kata, slowly, looking more like a dancer than a fighter. “I had super powers! I could kick ass. It was great. But that didn’t last long. The forgetful thing, the whole not being able to remember me thing? It’s not just because I’m out of my time frame. That’s the debt I pay to the wind for these abilities. But I figured, who cares, right? There’s always a trade-off in everything right? Then my teacher, the one creature on this planet that I felt ever truly had my back, disappears. Goes to places even I can’t find. And I have to be the executor of his will. You ever try to settle the affairs of a djinn? Barely done with that and the rumors of the vassal of the lord of connections come on the wind and I have to track him down. It’s nuts.”
Take a break, then. Go to a beach somewhere. Some when. Why do you keep doing all this madness? I asked, fully engaged in the wonder of his moves.
A.C. stopped, jumped off the bow and landed silently in front of me. “They’ll kill us all, Chabi. They’ll start with humans, but animal, mineral, vegetable; the Alters want the end of all things. And those you love and cherish the most will be the first. I’ll do my best to stop them. But if you’re not with me, I don’t think humanity is going to make it.”
I hated him because I believed him. So I got dressed and ready for work. He stopped me again before I got in the car.
“You can’t let them know.” He leaned against the driver’s side of the car.
I know.
“I mean you can’t think it, you can’t reference anything that’s happened in the past few days, none of it. Remember what Spits with Dogs said: lies sound different when you speak with the one true voice. You can’t even think about me . . .”
I’ll manage, I said, withholding as much venom as I could.
“Chabi, the only thing we have going for us right now is the element of surprise. They don’t know I’m here or that we know each other.”
We don’t know each other, I said, going for the car door. The Wind Boy evaporated.
At the Naga Suites nothing had changed. It was as palatial and inviting as ever. Only a deep resonance in me paid attention more. I saw the twitching of the guests and suspected sociopaths. The ever pleasing staff, previously my peers, seemed more cowed and fearful than ever before, though their demeanor had not changed. The snakes all seemed to be moving.
I settled into the private office Rice had set up for me only a month earlier. My phone was filled with security concerns regarding the upcoming martial arts events. As usual, the event had the touch of antiquity and opulence Rice loved. He called it the Vish Kanya, and was apparently recruiting fighters from all around the world. Some only wanted to room with others of their martial arts discipline, others had strict dietary restrictions; one could only sleep on a bed of nails facing Mecca. For some reason all their queries were coming to my voice mail.
An hour and a half into responding via email, my video chat rang. It was Rice.
“How are you?” I almost started crying. His voice was so caring that for a second I simply couldn’t believe the lies I believed about him.
It’s been hard. I’m sorry, Rice. I needed time away . . . I said truthfully, pushing my Voice as much as I could through the screen.
“Chabi, come on now. You know me better than that. You take as much time as you need. I was just worried.”
Thank you. My voice cracked as I spoke. I’m . . . I’m ok now.
“You don’t have to be. Listen, when I didn’t hear from you I had my father send over some help for the big fight. I didn’t know how long you’d be out.” He sounded almost apologetic
.
It’s ok. I’m here now. I’m ready to work.
“No worries, you’re still in charge. But, you know, if you’re still planning on fighting, you’ll have to spend some of your time training.” I felt the trap, but I kept stepping through it, wanting to feel the spring.
Makes sense.
“Great. His name is Nordeen. He’s staying there. I’m in London but I’ll be back in a few days, promise. In the meantime, let him take care of the logistics, ok?”
Poppy with you? He snorted with laughter before I’d even finished speaking.
“You wish.” And then to twist the knife. “I’m thinking about you, lady.”
The screen went dead before the name he used echoed in my mind. It was something, someone I wasn’t allowed to think about. I had to let it go. I buried the connection deep in the place that still couldn’t speak inside of me just before the phone rang again. This time it was the front lobby. I had a visitor.
What’s up, Little Kid? I mustered my happy face as my old friend stood up from his seat at the bar. He looked like a typical poor student, shaggy shoulder-length mane, dirt piles of facial hair setting up encampments on his face, a dark green T-shirt ignorant of an iron’s touch being held in place by a jacket that was owned by at least five other people before him. Only his skinny jeans revealed some of his previous fashion sense.
“We’re the same age,” he protested, but took my hand quick enough to shake. “This is my friend . . .”
“Jah Puba,” the kid next to him said without looking my way. He was about four years younger than the Little Kid but even from his profile about three times more striking. His skin was sun kissed and smooth. His nose was round and small, his cheekbones were high, and his eyes were reddish brown, small and piercing.
“Jah Puba, is it? Let me guess, you’re a DJ.” I smiled. The bronze skinned boy almost turned to face me but chose instead to continue melting the ice in his drink with the power of his sullen glare.
“Not just a DJ, Chabi,” the Little Kid interjected. “He does some great things with sound in general. He’s like a RZA/Son House collaboration on the decks.”
I don’t know what that means, I said pulling the Little Kid away from his friend. But he seems moody as all hell. In any case, what do you need?
“I thought you could get him a gig here.”
No! I said too harshly. I put too much on it and pushed Little Kid back a little bit. I haven’t heard his stuff. Get me a demo.
“He won’t record one!” Little Kid snapped back. “He’s got this whole thing about the lived experience and not wanting it to be mitigated by technology.”
For a second I had no words. I just stared at the stranger.
“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid,” he finally came back. “But trust me, this guy is legit. Look, come down to 330 Ritch next week, ok? He’s spinning there. Bring your boss, ok?”
I thought about Little Kid and what I owed him. I thought about the slippery slope of the Naga Suites, about how I’d been there less than two hours and already I felt myself missing Rice. For some reason I thought of Narayana and the manipulation game he’d put me in. And I got angry.
No, I told him plainly. I won’t bring anyone to see you. I won’t come. Don’t come back here. You’re not welcome.
“Chabi . . .” He looked utterly confused.
I will bloody my hands with anyone you bring here from now on. Understand? Leave and never come back. I mean it, Little Kid. It had never been so hard to use my Voice before.
He backed away, scared at first, then hurt. His friend hurried behind him, more confused than anything. They’d barely left the revolving doors when the bitch Poppy entered the lobby with an older man draped in thick blanket-like jackets colored amber and brown and a heavyweight-wrestler-sized blue-black-skinned man. Instantly the tone of the lobby changed. Those going about their business in their usual cowed manner became extra subservient. Residents averted their eyes from Poppy and her entourage. Even the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Poppy’s drink arrived from the bar without her ordering; she pretended to just notice I was sitting at the bar. She tried to beckon me with her eyes first. Then her hand. Finally, in frustration, she called out.
“Oh, don’t be so obstinate, Chabi. Come say hi to a friend of Rice.”
I made my way over slowly and felt the eyes once on me shift away. Whatever power the Naga Suites had to draw people in, I finally felt a milder version of that energy emanate from Poppy. In that dark secret place I pledged to see her die. In the meantime, I stood before her table.
“Chabi, meet Nordeen,” Poppy requested with saccharine sweetness between her millions of teeth. Nordeen’s deep green eyes seemed to glow from behind a pair of sunglasses. A wrinkled and tan hand reached out from a multilayered sleeve to meet mine. Whatever assumptions I had about his frail frame vanished when he shook my hand. His bones were reinforced by strong muscle. He may have been slight, but there was a deep strength in him.
“Charmed,” he said, almost in my head, while continuing to hold my hand.
I understand you are here to make sure the Vish Kanya goes well? I reached down with my other hand to try to gently shake out of his grip.
“Among other reasons. Are you familiar with the origins of the term Vish Kanya? I will know if you are being mendacious.” His accent was as thick and confusing as his SAT word.
Nope. I could feel him dancing around my brain, trying to find . . . the truth. About what? I don’t think even he knew. But he kept holding my hand, somehow using that grip to reach into me.
“It means poison damsels. Sometimes it’s a term meant to denote a woman who has a venereal disease.” He took delight in saying that. “But it could also mean a woman who herself acts as a poison.”
I don’t know what you mean, I said, thinking of a proper defense, though not of the one who taught it to me. This man, more like an inappropriate mind slug, was rooting through my mind trying to find a truth that I was hiding. So I thought of a truth and hid it before he could observe it with whatever sensory organs he was using.
“In ancient India and Persia it was not uncommon to so saturate a fair woman, not unlike yourself, with poisons from the time of her birth that so she was immune from the toxic effects. Yet anyone who slept with her, or even breathed air from her lungs, would instantly die.” He let his ancient tongue linger on the final word as he probed the candy-coated secret in my mind. Hard.
Smart girls, I said, finally removing my hands from his and scooting to a chair directly next to Poppy. I knew enough of this Nordeen’s game to know physical contact wasn’t necessary.
“How’s that?” he voiced with genuine confusion, his face betraying nothing.
Your tales are only from the guy’s perspective. The ladies had the perfect defense against rape and an almost unbeatable weapon. I let him thump hard against the secret knot in my mind, almost witnessing the struggle in the throbbing vein on his forehead.
“What about love?” he asked. I took offense at such a word coming from his mouth. And so I gave him my secret.
Love is for the lucky and the ignorant. I gave him my hidden image of me stabbing Poppy in the neck, from where I was sitting, over and over again. To anyone looking in on my thoughts it would have seemed like I was actually doing it as I placed all the power of my Voice behind the image. Both the big black guy and Poppy jumped as though they’d seen what Nordeen had uncovered. But the old man just laughed.
“I understand why Rice has chosen you as his Vish Kanya now.” Nordeen smiled with impossibly clean and ordered teeth. “Do you know what this means for you?”
Not in the slightest, I answered honestly. The old man didn’t bother to explain.
All day I felt Nordeen’s meandering psychic hands like slug phalanges on the fringes of my consciousness. I never betrayed my awareness of it. Not to him as we discussed security for the poison damsels, not to Poppy as she tried once again to show her mock sympathy
for Shotgun, and not to the big black guy, Fou-Fou. Anytime I left my office he was there. And not a peep out of him, not even the usual mental background chatter I usually felt from people. He was big, silent, and if the scar around his neck was any indication, used to getting into fights.
By the end of the day my exhaustion was my only tell in the silent poker face game I was playing. Sadly, the Wind Boy didn’t do anything to chill me out when I got back to the Mansai. Not after he heard about Nordeen.
“That’s it. You’re out. I was wrong, you were right. Fuck it, you can’t do it,” A.C. tried to demand while serving me a hot bowl of grilled lemongrass chicken and rice on the deck. It tasted like an old recipe. Don’t know why it surprised me that he knew how to cook.
Ah, come on, dad, I mocked. Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? Besides, this morning you were all about me being your undercover agent behind enemy lines. What’s so special about this Nordeen buster?
“Only total novices and absolute idiots underestimate him. He’s AIDS with a fucked-up accent. Living death. And in this time, he knows more about liminals than anyone else on the planet. It sounds like he’s taken an interest in you, which means you have to run.”
Don’t know how, I said, with a mouth full of turmeric-infused rice. Besides, the dude is like 150, what’s he gonna do to me? If that bitch Poppy and her clan can’t touch me, what can the senior citizen do?
“He knows when people are lying.” A.C. sighed. “His knowledge is dangerous enough. But, Chabi, the Alters can’t touch you out of fear of whoever made the mark on you. It pushes them off. Not humans, and definitely not liminals. Poppy brought him in to get a proper read on you. Plus you didn’t tell me about the Vish Kanya before. It’s a legendary blood fest. I should have realized this before. That’s the mark Narayana put on you. It tells them that you are his Vish Kanya. His poisoned girl.”
The Entropy of Bones Page 17
