“So…” Gaia glanced at all the tubes again.
“Here’s Dr. Black.” The medic deferred to the short, dark-haired woman who’d just entered the room. Dr. Black explained that Gaia’s kidneys had been replaced the previous week. It had taken more than a month to grow the organs. The doctor also told Gaia that she hadn’t been unconscious for six entire weeks, but that the Kishocha toxin had been extremely painful and she’d been knocked out with painkillers most of the time. They had a brief chat about her recovery and treatment. She gathered that she’d be here for a while longer, but not forever.
The doctor suggested that she try to eat something very small and mostly liquid. Gaia asked for a Coke. Dr. Black left. A few minutes later Kenjan appeared in her room, carrying a plastic cup and a straw. Kenjan’s gold headdress glittered. Its throat was encased in gold and diamonds. This was the Kenjan from long ago, bedecked with jewels, confident and graceful, and wearing silver eyeliner.
“Ah, my guardian, you are awake.” Kenjan set the Coke down on Gaia’s table. The Kishocha carefully placed a straw in Gaia’s beverage. Kenjan seated itself on the bedside stool and leaned on the edge of her bed. Through the thick antiseptic hospital atmosphere, Gaia could smell that Kishocha scent: roses and battery acid. “I have come to feed you. Is it not so very ironic and reversed?”
Gaia narrowed her eyes. “Does this mean I’m a ghost?”
Kenjan made a smile-face. “Of course you are not dead, my guardian. You are moving around talking and drinking cola drinks. How can you be dead?” Kenjan’s cranial tendrils coiled in unrestrained glee.
“Why aren’t you in the shrine?” Gaia leaned forward and took a sip of Coke. Her mouth felt like it was trying to remember what to do in these circumstances. Gradually, she managed to swallow.
“I have been resurrected. After you beheaded my murderer, the traitorous Seigata—”
“But that was yo—” Gaia began, but was cut off by Kenjan’s fingers lying gently across her lips.
“It was so confusing. I understand if you don’t remember it correctly. When you seized the guard Sharkey’s weapon and beheaded Seigata, I drank the steaming blood and was thus resurrected. The god showed me such favor that I was instantly blessed with pogs. One of them is a noble flyer. There is such joy now.”
“I beheaded Seigata?” Gaia remembered it differently.
“Yes.” Kenjan leaned close to her. “You are stronger than you look.” She could see that this idea amused Kenjan immensely.
Gaia weakly scooted toward Kenjan. “No one is going to believe that.”
Kenjan made the smile-face again. “Oh, my dear guardian, they already do. Sharkey has sworn it. Wave has told the story many times. My Oziru has made the report to our home world. It is the truth. Someday you will remember what happened correctly.”
“Who’s running the store?” Gaia asked.
“Do not trouble yourself. All is well. You should only think of becoming strong. I want you to be healthy enough to come to the ceremony to watch my beloved offspring struggling free of their pods. To ensure your health, I will take care of you every day.”
She fell back into her pillows. “Seriously, what about Happy Snak?”
Kenjan cocked its head. “Is that all you and Wave can talk about? It is fine. Wave is a good servant and has cared for your belongings, including the hamster. Now please, drink your revolting cola beverage. I have brought the most recent and exciting magic-show film for us to watch together.”
Gaia gradually drank the rest of her cola and watched two stage magicians saw a great white shark in half then put it back together again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: High Heels
Gaia’s fingers fluttered over the controls of the submersible. She traced a path through a three-dimensional model of the Kishocha waterways. She approached the huge siphon leading to Oziru’s garden and glided through, smoothing her black dress with one hand. Her high heels sat beside her, next to her nice handbag and a wrapped gift. She’d left her Happy Snak smock and nametag behind. Roy and Cheryl slouched on the bench seat behind her.
As usual, Sudden Red Crush was happy to see Gaia’s submersible. The shark nudged the vehicle. Cheryl squeaked.
“It’s all right. He’s friendly.”
“Sure.” Cheryl moved closer to Roy.
“Fitzpatrick, can you hear me? We’ve just come through the garden siphon. You should be able to see us soon.”
“Excellent.” Fitzpatrick’s voice buzzed inside Gaia’s earpiece.
Gaia took them up. The submersible bobbed to the surface, and the roof of the submersible peeled back like the roof of a convertible. They floated on the red waters of Oziru’s garden in what looked like a very high-tech rowboat. Sudden Red Crush circled the small boat, his black dorsal fin cutting the water. Gaia reached out and petted it. The shark brought its anvil-shaped head up out of the water, mouth open.
“Do you want to feed him?” Gaia asked Cheryl. Cheryl shook her head. Gaia dropped a honey-cured ham into Sudden Red Crush’s mouth. The shark gnoshed noisily on the meat. “Good boy.”
Roy stared up at the twisting pillars of Oziru’s garden. Cheryl kept her eye on the shark.
“I see you now,” Fitzpatrick said. “That is such a nice vehicle.”
“Thanks. How did you get here?” Gaia reseated herself.
“Tandem scuba. A guard called Stinger brought me.”
“Isn’t that hard on your hairstyle?” Gaia strained ahead, trying to see Fitzpatrick. Oziru’s pillar swarmed with Kishocha, and Fitzpatrick was hard to pick out amid so many bodies.
“Didn’t you say you like it when I look a little scruffy?”
“I do, but I don’t think Blum will.”
Gaia looked back at Roy. The man’s jaw actually hung slack. Cheryl managed to keep her mouth closed, but her eyes widened superhumanly, as if to make up for the mouth.
“Will Wave be joining us?” Fitzpatrick asked.
“Of course,” Gaia said. “Wave decided to swim in early.”
“Well, this is totally unofficial, but Oziru told Blum that it will be awarding you two soldier-servants for your service.”
“And one of the soldiers will be Sharkey?”
“Without question,” Fitzpatrick said. “Incidentally, have you eaten?”
“No.”
“You really should have.”
“You’re nagging again,” Gaia said.
“So I am.”
She saw Fitzpatrick standing near the bottom edge of Oziru’s spiral, towel-drying his hair. A blue-spotted octopus sidled up beside him and made a grab for his briefcase. Fitzpatrick retaliated with a quick punt. The octopus plopped into the water.
Fitzpatrick unzipped his drysuit. He peeled the top back to reveal a perfectly pressed tuxedo jacket. His shirt blazed white. He straightened his cuffs.
After he stripped off the rest of his drysuit, Fitzpatrick opened his briefcase and removed a pair of immaculately polished black dress shoes. His suit was perfect, some kind of new fabric developed for the jet-setting black-tie guy. Wave pulled itself out of the water near Fitzpatrick.
Gaia turned back to Roy and Cheryl.
“Look! You can see Wave up ahead.”
Roy lurched forward, waving. Wave’s response was equally enthusiastic. The alien wore its gold Happy Snak pit guard and a short shell-vest. Wave also carried a small red box. Gaia wondered what gift Wave had brought for Kenjan. Probably a gift certificate.
Sudden Red Crush trailed them up to the spire, and Wave tied off the submersible while she, Roy and Cheryl waded up to the dry area.
“Look at these.” Roy pointed at the bed of anemones, which covered the spire’s surface. “Where do I walk?”
“On them, of course!” Wave said. “What else are carpet anemones for?”
“Right…” Roy didn’t move.
Cheryl said, “Roy, come on, the Kishocha are staring. We look like tourists.” She pulled him along. Gaia paused long enough to get her
shoes on, though her feet were still unpleasantly damp. Wave shook its head.
“Those make your feet look so small and ugly, Gaia,” the Kishocha said. “You should wear those nice black flippers.”
Gaia’s heel sank into the soft body of an anemone.
“I concur,” Fitzpatrick said. “I love a woman in flippers. By the way, Wave, is there anything we should be expecting from this ceremony?”
“Great joy at the birth of a new flyer, and at the miraculous resurrection of Kenjan. And there is a chance that some among us may receive huge presents.” Wave’s cranial tendrils quivered with restrained excitement. “Good presents. And we shall see the pogs as they struggle free of their sacs and begin to swim. So much joy, we may all die of it.” Wave burst into spontaneous dance.
“Let’s hope we manage to survive,” Fitzpatrick said, dryly.
Gaia took a step. A terrible squealing sound erupted from under her foot. She sat back down and unbuckled her shoes.
“We’re going to be late,” Fitzpatrick said.
“Go ahead without me,” Gaia said. “Take Roy and Cheryl with you.”
Fitzpatrick ushered Roy and Cheryl up the ascending spiral.
“Gaia.” Wave put its hands on its hips, and shook its head despairingly. “You have forgotten your name badge.”
Wave wore its own engraved name badge pinned to its vest. It said:
Wave Walker
Mini-Snak Manager
Certified Frymaster Repair Technician
“Oh yeah.” She hadn’t really forgotten so much as refused to wear her name tag to this event. Hardly anyone could read English here anyway. “Too late now, huh?”
“Surely it is not.” Wave handed her the small, square package. “This is for you.”
“What about Kenjan?”
“Kenjan can get its own present. Kenjan is very rich, you know.”
Gaia opened up the box and saw a rectangular gold nametag, etched with black letters.
It read:
Gaia Jones
Happy Snak Owner
Holy Oziru Designated Special Human
Best Friend
About the Author
To learn more about Nicole Kimberling please visit www.nicolekimberling.com. Send an email to Nicole at [email protected].
Look for these titles by Nicole Kimberling
Now Available:
Ghost Star Night
Desire. Destruction. Destiny.
Ghost Star Night
© 2009 Nicole Kimberling
Thomas Myrdin knows that intrigue is part of life at court, but that doesn’t make his king’s betrayal any easier to take. Yet heartbreak troubles him less than the apocalyptic visions that haunt him. Fiery premonitions that show the world burning in ruins—and the cause, the king’s daughter. Visions and vengeance awaken a strange new power within him, but not even he is sure if he is the kingdom’s savior, the king’s pawn.
Lord Adam Wexley harbors a secret longing for the elegant Thomas, but his duty is to protect the newborn princess. When a sudden threat arises, Adam seeks to procure services of Grand Magician Zachary Drake. Even if it means sacrificing his own soul—and his body.
Drake has seen the worst of kings and courtiers. Now he protects himself with powerful sorcery and the adamant refusal to affiliate with any of the Four Courts. But the grand magician isn’t without weaknesses and Adam may be the one enticement that could draw him to ruin.
In a rising storm of magic with the power to strip away men’s souls, the thread of desire connecting three men could be the kingdom’s last lifeline…
Warning: This story contains men, magic, man-on-man moments, orangutans speaking in sign language, beehive hairdos and an army of soulless janitors that seeks to destroy them all.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Ghost Star Night:
Adam loved the music. And the red and amber lights flashing up from the luminous floor. And the crush of dancing bodies. And the strong, sophisticated cocktails. In short, he loved this club.
Pulsing electronic beats throbbed through the smoky air so loud and so low that he felt it deep in his chest. The scenery wasn’t bad either. Although the club was mixed, both gay and straight, noble and common, the dark-haired man eyeing him from the neon-lit bar had to be a courtier. Not from Adam’s own West Court, but maybe from the North Court. He had that academic look that men from the North Court had. Adam smiled, his signature move. Normally, smiling could not be called a signature move, but Adam fully understood the power of his full lips and straight, white teeth. Smiling elevated him from good-looking blond to sexy hunk.
The lord from North Court, sitting at the bar, sat up straight and motioned Adam closer.
From deep within his pocket, Adam’s phone vibrated. He decided to ignore it, then it pulsed again, in that special rhythm. Lady Langdon, his godmother, needed him. With regret he shook his head at Lord North Court and bounded up the staircase that led to street level. He rushed up to the big gorilla doorman who controlled the line of well-dressed hopefuls waiting to get inside. The gorilla bared his teeth and his black fur bristled as Adam jostled past him and out into the humid summer night.
“How may I serve you, my lady?” he answered, slightly out of breath.
“You need to get Drake now!” Lady Langdon shouted so loudly that Adam had to pull the phone from his ear.
“Drake?” Adam squinted down the dark street, feeling too dazed with nightlife to immediately understand what she wanted from him at this hour. “The magician of the Black Tower?”
“Is there another?” Lady Langdon snapped. “Go and bring him! Promise him whatever is necessary, with the exception of your soul. You’ll need that later.”
“I would think that mere cash would be enough to encourage him.” As far as Adam knew, Drake was among the last of the freelancers. A gun for hire in a city where almost every other magician was allied to one of the four courts.
“That’s why thinking is not one of the attributes for which you are best known,” Lady Langdon said. “Don’t fail me.”
Adam rounded the corner and found his car and driver waiting. His driver, an elderly orangutan called Karl, had been lightly dozing in the front seat, and started awake when Adam rapped on the hood. He straightened his hat and scrambled out to open the door for Adam, who tumbled into the car’s backseat with the lax grace of the practically unconscious. He waited for his driver to resettle himself behind the wheel and said, “To the Black Tower.”
Karl nodded and signed, “Did you have a good night, boss?”
“Not as good as I’d hoped.”
Karl pulled onto the downtown street and started for Tower Heights. Adam stared out the window at the sidewalk, still vibrant with life, even though sunrise was quickly approaching.
Their route took them right alongside the heavily mosaicked walls of royal palace.
At this time of morning the figure of King Simon Columbain slaying the great serpent-demon seemed like it might almost spring to life. Soon the first morning rays would fall across the gilded tiles that comprised King Simon’s sorcerous sword, Demonslayer. Adam admired the strength and courage of his forbearers in their historic deeds, but tried not to think about them too long. Ruminations of that sort would only lead him to fret over his own lack of heroic achievement. Better to admire King Simon and leave it at that.
As an attendant to his godmother, Lady Langdon, Adam’s importance barely surpassed that of furniture. He looked good dressed in the West Court colors, yellow and gold. He had a nice voice. He could hold Lady Langdon’s fur coat, handbag and hat simultaneously. He could play guitar and piano, but wouldn’t unless asked. Other attendants had skills. Bankers. Accountants. Armies of lawyers to oversee the formal transfer of souls. Lady Langdon called upon them constantly. Him, she never needed for anything but to fetch and carry. This time, Grand Magician Drake of the Black Tower. Next time, maybe her umbrella.
Outside the downtown core, few cars moved, mostly d
elivery trucks entering the palace grounds, their square, dirty forms shabby against the polished rose marble walls.
Three soulless custodians, a thin, gray-haired man and two doughy women, finished polishing their section of wall and plodded across the entryway in a slow, silent procession. A truck driver didn’t brake as he entered the palace gates, barely missing the last man. The soulless resumed polishing the wall, carefully scratching grime from the grout, sweeping the sidewalk and picking up cigarette butts from the gutter.
He saw Karl glance over at the soulless in the same searching way that inhabited animals seemed to.
“Looking for your old body out there?” Adam asked.
Karl shook his shaggy head and expelled a snort that Adam thought was much like laughter, then lifted one long-fingered hand and signed, “My body’s dead, boss. Why do you think I’m inside of this monkey?”
“You could be a convict,” Adam pointed out.
“Not with a palace chauffeur’s license.” Karl made a left up the hill toward the Tower Heights neighborhood, and then eased to a stop in the loading zone in front of a dark monolith of a building. He turned and pulled a huge orangutan grin and signed, “Here you go, boss, good luck in there.”
It was not Drake’s custom to be awake for any part of the morning, but on this occasion he happened to be observing the flowering of a new star low on the western horizon, and he was in a foul temper because of it. New stars, though rare, were a bother to the astrologically inclined, changing the whole meaning of the sky. They were also known to be harbingers of disaster so Drake examined it closely, speaking spells and taking measurements. He’d neither showered nor shaved for three days when his doorbell rang. His hair hung over his shoulders in greasy black strings. He stank.
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