“A bunch of activists ended up liberating me,” Specs continued. “I was on someone’s dinner platter when PETH busted in and forced our captors to release us. Not before I saw someone else get eaten, but I was really grateful.”
The Cru’k, Nico thought.
“That’s why I gotta say: Nico, you are my hero,” he said.
***
Nico didn’t think she’d acted like a hero last night at Royal Bento; babies and people did end up packaged, and from their expressions, painfully. But she’d taken her time busting the operation because she’d no idea what she was doing. She’d known from the countless times she’d tried to kill her maker that even with the best care, things could go horribly wrong. Planning could become over-planning; deliberation could become over-thinking. Her maker had been an improvisor. He could make up a murder in a minute. He could do ten random murders in ten minutes, and walk away.
This is the game of chess, Nicky, where I knock all yer pieces over, he had said.
Nico hadn’t planned on killing her maker the night she’d dragged him across the Rocklyn Hotel’s roof. After four long years, circumstances had fallen into place. The hotel had been in the midst of marquee repairs. Nails and duct tape had been present. And the morning’s dawn had started; no more escape for him.
Perhaps had she learned to emulate her maker sooner, she could have saved more lives like Spec’s.
“...And I’d sing you that song, ‘My Hero, Zero’, except I can’t remember the words right now. But about the job search,” Specs said. “Bodies aren’t trafficked only for food.”
“Are you going to warn me about sexual slavery?” Nico said.
“Yeah, I guess I could do that too. I was more going to warn you about certain recruitments. Other-beings are valued for their physical enhancements. Like for off-world mining.”
“Slave labourers,” Nico said.
“You got it. Families fall for the ads because it’s wages and housing. Then they’re locked up behind fences, never to leave again. I wanted you to be aware. Well, if you were recruited.”
“I’m not much for labour,” Nico said. “I like being a clerk.”
“Well.” Specs coughed. “I meant more as an enforcer.”
Boy, Nico thought. Vampires really had a bad rep on Darqueworld.
In lower Again NewYork, Nico entered Loch Niamh Community Centre. Lucy’s robot hostess said Shayla might be found volunteering there.
The centre kids—human and Other—left their little weaving projects to gawk at Mr Bear in his harness and his toy Union Jack tucked in behind him, which Nico had bought at the Isle gift shop. Once Nico learned that Shayla had left, she departed. She walked out to a green park before a small lake, edged with trees and beyond their line, apartment buildings. Birds flew.
This isn’t a real loch. It’s artificial. For a tiny, manmade lake, it was still decent for walking and enjoying, and its surrounding forest was recognisable to Nico and hadn’t the alien—or off-world, or First Native—quality she had come to associate with an alien—a non-Terran, or non-Sol—
“Gods, I’m so backwards,” she said to Bear, and summoned a news article on her Id that she’d been reading: Newly Risen Witch Slays Own Coven. The photo of Shy O’Fey looked very much like Shayla, if her human soul had fled.
While she read and progressed down the walk, enjoying the breeze flowing off the lake below and to her left, she kept aware of the street on her right, separated from her walk by grass. The trees surrounding the lake opened up and ahead, she spied a young woman with hair of sunshine on the pebbled shore, tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks. Shayla wore patched jeans and a cable knit cardigan opened over a faded, powder blue tee. The pushed back cardigan sleeves revealed leather corded, cowry shell bracelets on her wrists. Nico deactivated her Id and fell into a stealthier walk.
Shayla threw more breadcrumbs, and then turned her head to regard Nico, as if she’d been aware of her long before Nico had started her approach. Shayla smiled.
Like at the diner, the expression seemed both delighted and intrigued, and right then Shayla did not temper it. The corners of Nico’s own mouth crept up.
Gosh, she’s pretty.
A vehicle came to a smooth stop by the kerb. The hatch popped open and a woman’s legs emerged and crossed at the knee, the deep Bulgarian rose of her high heels’ outsoles briefly flashing. Within the vehicle’s dark interior, a woman’s long-fingered hands folded over the front of a dark grey two-piece suit, unbuttoned, with a black shirt and bright red narrow tie.
Christoffel Loulain heels. Nico veered off the walk and up the grass in their direction. She told herself she only wanted a closer look. Heloise grinned and nodded to Bear’s Union Jack.
“Look at you and Mr Bear, you’ve been to the Victorian quarter.”
“Mr Bear thinks his Union Jack is very punk rock.” Nico neared. “What do you want?”
Heloise held her palm up. Her middle finger’s steel ring emitted a holo interface displaying Nico’s mug shots.
“Do you know who you are?” Heloise asked.
“Do you know you sound like a Vorlon?” Nico said.
Heloise smiled more, her teeth perfect and white in the interior’s darkness.
“You already took a picture of me in the bathroom,” Nico added. “Why do you need my mug shots to stare at?”
“I took that picture in the bathroom to check if you were who I thought you were,” Heloise soothed. The holo image blipped out. She held out a black, engraved business card, Heloise Allen, Consultant, and Nico ignored it. Heloise arched a brow and pocketed her card.
“Fine. You seemed to have memory trouble back at immigration. But if you want to know, just ask.” She moved back into the vehicle, tucking her legs in.
“Okay. I have a question: how come the lady at the spaceport called you a refugee?”
Heloise looked at her in surprise. “I forgot; you’re more a tourist or an adventurer, aren’t you?” Her tone turned wistful. “Looking at you is like looking at what we lost.”
“How did you get here?” Nico asked.
“The hard way. A weird matter engine that opened a portal, built by Old Earth’s vampire primacy.”
“Not in a spaceship.”
“No. Gate-to-gate connection. And no spacesuit. Very risky.” Heloise grinned. “You keep looking at my dash.”
“The central steering wheel is very interesting.” The vehicle seated three across, just like the chopped coupe of Miss Fairditch’s vampires, with a centred steering wheel having a few controls circling it and nothing else. The interior looked spacious and roomy enough for Heloise’s long body and legs. “This is a Faering Shearwater, by Vahalla. Do you really know how to drive it?”
“I do. First thing I did when I got it was make reverse figure eights.”
“In high heels?” Nico exclaimed.
“Of course in high heels. But all the vehicles here default to automated operation. Just speak and go. Want to hop in and try it?” Heloise smiled.
“Creep. Bye,” Nico said.
Heloise glared at her. “Creepy is if I’d offered you a lollipop.” She tapped her dash, activating a holographic interface, and the door shut. The vehicle zoomed away.
“I bet she’s looking up ‘Vorlon’, right now,” Nico said. She turned back for the lake, and Shayla watched her with a bemused expression.
Shayla turned and threw the rest of her breadcrumbs as Nico descended down the grass. But the quacking ducks ran waddling for the lake, as if they knew Nico’s true nature. Once in the water they paddled to a safe distance.
“Verry nice legs ye were talking tae,” Shayla said, her mouth quirked in humour. Her brogue rolled her R’s, creating a soft, warm burr Nico gravitated towards.
Your voice is nothing like his.
“They belong to a vampire. She says she’s a consultant, but I bet she’s really a lawyer, or a countess,” Nico declared. “Or a countess lawyer. I call them Bathorys. Because they prey on gi
rls. I hate them.”
“Is she very good looking, then?”
“Beautiful. That’s why I double-hate them.” Nico looked at Shayla’s leather corded necklace and at the three-armed Brigid’s Cross hanging from it, freshly woven from long blades of grass.
“Such luck, us meetin’ here,” Shayla remarked. Her tone was casual but meaningful. “Or did ya come tae see me?”
“I was more trying tae stalk ye,” Nico said, imitating Shayla’s accent.
Shayla raised eyebrows, but her smile was wry. “Ye should choose yer prey more carefully, love. And how did I earn this honour?”
“Ye’re a braw lass, nicer and prettier than a Bathory.” Shayla’s eyes lit at Nico’s use of Scots slang, and she did not hide her pleasure. Pleased, Nico pointed at Shayla’s sealed grocery bag on the ground, with its flower pattern and wooden handles. “I can help carry your groceries.”
***
Dear Miss
As I am going in your direction
Allow me to be your protection
Nico walked beside Shayla as they followed the lake’s shore, the sealed groceries in no danger of spoiling, and spotted Other-beings lurking in the foliage. But Shayla paid them no heed, and Nico realised that other creatures needed to indulge tracking and hunting skills as much as a vampire did, though without the desire to add psychological threat.
Vampires: screwing with people’s minds since time began.
“The hostess at Lucy’s told me you had the day off,” Nico said, apologetic. “And where you like to volunteer. Then the community centre told me you were here. I’m sorry. I only wanted to talk. I shouldn’t have made it like stalking.”
Shayla looked at her with mild surprise. “Most vampires don’t apologise for stalking.”
“You shouldn’t even believe an apology,” Nico admonished. “Most anything a vampire may say can be untrue.”
Shayla made a humoured sound. “Aye, that’s true.” She pointed at the Union Jack tucked behind Bear. “How happy Mr Bear is. Does he want tae visit the Isle?”
“He does.” Nico pulled the flag out. “This is the most amazing Union Jack I’ve ever seen.”
“Shall I show ye its meanings?”
“Yes please.” They stopped, and Nico held it out while Shayla took one end of the flag, stretching it flat between them. Nico watched Shayla’s fingers trace the designs and thought each movement seemed to cause the patterns to glow.
“Here lies St George’s Red Cross for Albion,” Shayla said softly as she traced the cross. “St Andrew’s Cross of white against blue for Skye; St Patrick’s Cross of red for Éire.” She traced the red X of the flag. “And here be the red dragon for Cymru, and here, the gold of Tuatha Dé.”
“I’m surprised the faerie would accept the sovereignty of one, human queen,” Nico said. “And the new Irela—uh, Éire too. Aren’t the Tuatha dé Danann the Fae?”
“People may ken them as such, but Tuatha Dé are gods. The beings below them are the Aos Sí, and those ye may ken as the Fae.” Shayla resumed walking down the lake’s side and Nico tucked the flag behind Bear again. “But as tae the Queen, what’s a union of five peoples tae do? Her sovereignty maintains our civility and we’ve peace these past two centuries. I’ll confess tae ya; it’s a strange marriage, livin’ with the Aos Sí and they with us. Livin’ in Again NewYork is easier.”
“I’ve spent the whole day wandering the city,” Nico said. “Looking for work, learning about Darqueworld, and learning about witches.”
“Oh?”
“Well, only about you, but it’s a start. Because magic is—well, still a mystery. But gods can do it, and I guess, you. Also, Darqueworld has whatever enhances what you have...or are.”
Shayla looked over at her as they ambled. “I’ve never ken a different world. Darqueworld is me; it’s myself and the Weird.”
“That’s another reason why I looked you up. I wanted to ask how you got here, but you were already here.”
“Aye. I was born to our world.” Shayla glanced at her again, inquisitive. “Is there somethin’ ye need knowing?”
“I...I have memory loss,” Nico admitted. “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t even know how I got Bear.” She put a hand over Bear. “That’s too much missing from my mind.”
Shayla touched her. “Some crossings tae here can affect the memory. If they don’t return soon, ye might try psychic therapy.”
“You can’t just—” Nico waved in the air. “Do some spell and poof, I can remember?”
Shayla rolled her eyes and smiled. “If I were a witch in stories, chick, maybe.”
“How come at Lucy’s you said you didn’t think you did sorcery?” Nico asked, curious.
“Ah, that. At Lucy’s, we have our wee spell-works, but our table tricks are simple weird work. We hide the objects in an unseen place, y’see, and we draw them out again by manipulating reality’s matter; the weird matter. Working the weird is not the same as commanding. Commanding’s the nature of sorcery.”
“Commands,” Nico said, her tone thoughtful.
Their path meandered away from the lake and entered a wooded area, thick with undergrowth. Shayla motioned to the trees. “For example, chick, if I made this wood walk, what would that be?”
“Your asking the dryads nicely to get up and leave? Uh, sorcery,” Nico said.
“And if I darkened the sky, coverin’ Merope?”
“Witchcraft,” Nico said. “If I believed you could curdle cow’s milk and cause crops to die. Now we’re talking ignorance.”
Shayla raised a brow. “Aye, for the most part, that is. But it’s sorcery when Circe or Merlin does it.”
“Merlin?” Nico made a sound of disbelief, and then regretted it. “I meant, oh.”
“How’s this for sorcery? Men tae swine. I could turn ye into a wee kitten,” Shayla cajoled. “Such a cute one ye’d be, with those pretty grey eyes.”
“Um,” Nico said, her eyes wide.
“I take that as a ‘no’?” Shayla smiled. Nico smiled back, happy. Then she paused.
She felt that eyes were upon them—a gaze not human. Her fangs broke out. Shayla only glanced at her, unfazed, and touched her arm again.
“Wheesht,” she said, low. “Put yer chibs away and walk on, now.” Shayla did so, and Nico made her fangs recede and followed. But she looked behind and discerned—by separating staring eyes from the surrounding foliage—three camouflaged, humanoid bodies within the growth. One was distinctly female, embraced by her tall, willowy companion of mixed gender, and the third—more boyish than gamine—stood wrapped in the willowy one’s other arm. Nico could not tell what gender thon might be. She and Shayla stepped out of the wood and regained the lake’s edge again.
“Tree people,” Nico whispered. “And three of them—together!”
Shayla grinned. She held several long strands of coloured string—red, black, and white—drawn from her cardigan’s pocket. “Aye, ey has two loves with em taeday, eir triad. Are you of an era or belief that favours monogamy?” She twisted and formed a tiny loop at the end of the strings, then knotted them.
“I favour what makes people happy,” Nico said. Shayla offered the loop to her and Nico hooked it with a finger. “And harms no one. ‘Eir’...my social worker, Specs, had said eir.”
“It’s a neutral way of speakin’,” Shayla murmured as she began quickly braiding the three colours. Nico held the loop firmly. “Many of the Other are not simply male or female, and so are many of the galactic species. So we say: ey has legs. Eir legs. We let em in.”
“You dropped the ‘th’,” Nico said in realisation. “I like it.”
“‘One’ is as good tae use. An auld word is ‘thon’.” Shayla formed two knots to seal the braid. “Hold it now by this knot, love.” When Nico did so, Shayla began weaving a pattern.
“I will try using ‘one.’” Nico felt remiss in her galactic understanding. She was a cave girl in a futuristic world. “How does the rest of the galaxy se
e us? Or is it just me who feels I’m trying to catch up?”
“They call us the wean of our gods, for we are still so new.” Shayla looked up from her weaving and smiled. “And dinnae worry about makin’ mistakes. So many are here from different times, different belief systems. It’s good when ye try.”
They fell silent as Shayla weaved her pattern and Nico watched. She wanted to pay attention to the image slowly building as Shayla’s fingers rapidly worked, but Nico’s gaze kept returning to Shayla’s face, which did not simply concentrate but held a deep, meditative regard, singularly focused on a silent purposing; a sacred communication.
She’s praying. Awe suffused Nico’s being. She parted her fingers to accept and hold firm the second set of knots Shayla made to seal the pattern. Shayla then resumed braiding again, and Nico wondered what words or sutras she silently chanted into the moving strands. Shayla ended the braid with two firm knots.
Nico let go, and at Shayla’s touch, offered her wrist.
“Bless this one. Guard this one. Gods walk with this one.” Shayla said, and tied the string bracelet around Nico’s wrist, knotting it.
“Thank you,” Nico softly said. She turned her wrist and looked at the tiny woven pattern between the two braids. The weave revealed the black head of a cat. “Oh! A kitty!”
“Aye. A lucky neko for Niky,” Shayla said, smiling. “Ye’re a young vampire alone on Darqueworld, aren’t cha? And a brave wean.”
Shayla resumed their walk and Nico followed, grocery bag in hand, perplexed by what Shayla had meant. Perhaps like fortunetellers, she saw something in Nico.
My wean, her maker said.
The overcast cleared when Nico and Shayla left the lake for a group of apartment buildings. A jumble of complexes stood, unlike the massive blocks at the city’s farther edges. A shirtless male covered in dark, Buddhist tattoos worked at deep frying catfish on his balcony while children ran in the winding streets. Clothes flapped from lines. Nico followed Shayla and resisted the urge to avoid the bright sun and hide in the shadows.
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