by Ann Aguirre
Be brave, Semyon. I heard his voice in the dark, like he was right next to me. People would think I was crazy, if I ever told them I felt him with me sometimes, usually at the worst moments, like this one, with panic clawing at my neck like bloody talons.
Sickness rose in my gut, the blade edge of failure. I was a knife to the elders who ran the enclave, and they wouldn’t hesitate to discard me if I failed them … but I’d just started to think maybe I could trust this girl. Like all who had been born and bred in darkness, she was obstinate and blind, but unlike most, she seemed willing to learn. She didn’t flinch from me or act like I was a dirty savage.
Before I could decide where to start looking, a faint whisper reached my ears.
“Fade?”
I liked hearing her call for me. Me. Though I fought the reaction, it came anyway, a slow curl of warmth that meant she hadn’t left me when we got separated. She came back. Determined now, I moved toward her, using my ears more than my eyes. She resolved in the darkness into a girl-shape, her eyes wide, face a pale blur in the dark. But I didn’t need to see her features to remember them.
Sometimes I even saw them when I closed my eyes.
Reaching for her was instinctive, though I wasn’t supposed to touch. Her muscles were smooth and sleek, her skin warm beneath my palms. “Are you all right? Where were you?”
“Come on. No time to explain.”
I followed her; she was quick and graceful. Since before her naming, I had been watching as she trained, admiring her intensity and dedication. For just as long, I had wondered what it would be like to have her focus on me. Which was why I’d asked Silk to partner us. She had been reluctant at first, as Deuce was one of her best, but I convinced her I could be trusted—that I deserved one more chance.
Between the blind brat and the Nassau run, it hadn’t worked out all so well for Deuce. But at least I hadn’t lost her, as I’d feared. That was something.
This time, I saw the hand come out to grab her. I lunged, but then I noticed she wasn’t fighting.
Her other hand came out, tangled with mine, and that distracted me to the point that I didn’t fight when she tugged me into a narrow channel between the stones. My shoulders scraped as I slid in behind, unbearably conscious of her fingers on mine. There was a creature in the shaft with us, and it started replacing the rocks to hide evidence of passage.
Soon I smelled the reason why. Freaks weren’t far behind. I narrowed my eyes, taking in the odd settlement. “What is this place?”
“Home,” one creature said.
They were odd looking, but not dangerous, too small and weak to pose a threat, unless they attacked us in our sleep. Deuce seemed to trust them, and as I respected her judgment, I kept my hands away from my weapons. There were times to fight, but this wasn’t one of them. I hardly dared to breathe, actually, because at any moment, she would realize we were still holding hands.
“We need a place to rest before the last leg of our journey. They’ve volunteered. In return, we’ll try to set up some trade.” Deuce paused, lowering her voice. “Freaks are following us.”
“Instead of attacking, they’re looking for the bigger prize.” That behavior tracked with what we’d seen on the journey. Increased intelligence would make life a lot harder down here, not that I intended to stay. But after seeing what it was like to fight beside someone I trusted, I didn’t want to go alone.
“They want to see where we live,” she guessed.
I nodded. “We have to lose them before heading back to enclave.”
“Yeah.”
I leaned in to whisper. “You’re sure we’re safe here?”
Deuce scanned the creatures head to toe and then shrugged. “Relatively. We’re bigger and stronger, and I do think they want to trade. They wanted me for breeding at first, but I convinced them it wasn’t an option.”
Though I had no claim on her, I hated the idea of anyone touching her but me. There was no reason to feel that way; she had given no hint she had any softer feelings.
So I covered with a smile. “And no bodies? Impressive.”
When Deuce slid to the floor in exhaustion, I sat beside her. She still hadn’t noticed we were holding hands, and I didn’t intend to change our status. Which meant I had to sit close. Eventually, our rescuers delivered dinner in the form of mushroom porridge. I ate it one-handed, tipping the stuff straight down my gullet. It was disgusting, borderline rancid, but if she could stomach it, I could. After we finished, I entertained myself drawing little lines on her palm, wondering when she would realize this behavior was unbecoming to a Huntress and shove me away.
Before that happened, a short, bug-eyed man bowed before Deuce. “Am Jengu.”
“Deuce.” She pointed at me and said, “Fade. You want to tell us what you have to trade?”
“Why doan I show you?”
She let go of me in clambering to her feet. I fought the urge to help her, but she wouldn’t thank me for it. As with everything, she was fierce in her desire to be self-sufficient. But I did stay close to her; there was no way I was letting her out of my sight again. The tunnel twisted, cut a sharp right, and the air was close, stinking of charred meat and unwashed bodies.
We came to a platform littered with rock. I scanned, determining there was no outlet on the other side. Despite the blockage, there was more light than in the tunnel, better air, too. Deuce wasn’t taking in the environment, however; she was staring, wide-eyed, at all the topside junk these odd creatures had collected. I had seen such things repeatedly and used some of them, so they didn’t impress me like they did her. She seemed to think this was a vast treasure instead of an unholy junk heap.
“Worth a few fish?” Jengu asked.
“And then some,” she answered.
Mostly, I was tired. I wanted to stretch out and get some sleep if we were safe. Failing that, I’d like to hold her hand again. But I didn’t ask. It was too hard to put that stuff into words when the person you felt it for had no idea what you were talking about. There were other girls in the enclave, easier girls—and some were willing to sneak kisses in the dark—but I didn’t want them. I wanted Deuce, so much it hurt. And I didn’t think she’d ever desire anything more than her two blades.
“Do you mind if we sleep here?” I asked. “You can search our bags now to see what we have, and then again before we go. We won’t take anything.”
“You wan sleep in storage?” Jengu seemed puzzled.
“If you don’t mind.” Deuce held out her pack so he could riffle through it—and I was gratified that she understood why I’d asked to bunk on the platform. The inner tunnels really did reek.
“Got dis where?” he asked, pulling out one of the slim books.
“On the way back from Nassau. There was a room up some stairs—”
“Ah,” he said. “Up near Topside?”
She nodded. “I guess.”
“Anything else?”
“Sure,” I answered. “We didn’t take it all. Couldn’t carry it.”
Jengu seemed pleased, which I didn’t care too much about. Deuce seemed to have some idea about brokering a trade agreement between these creatures and the College enclave, but based on what I’d seen of the elders, I didn’t see that ending well. Maybe I just pictured death everywhere because of the way life had gone. It didn’t change my secret heart.
Everyone dies. Everybody leaves. Just once, I thought, I’d like someone to stay. Let it be this girl.
“You’re all right?” I asked, once Jengu left. “They didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head. “They’re harmless. It would do the enclave good to make friends of them, I think. Look at this place.”
“It’s amazing,” I answered, mostly because she wanted me to be impressed. “They must’ve been scrounging for generations.”
Her eyes went serious, lashes spiky and dark against her pale skin. I could stare at her all day; her eyes were like the sky before a heavy rain—stormy but so worth the wreck
age. Looking at Deuce made me feel like I was about to be knocked off my feet.
“Thanks for waiting for me. But it was a big risk. Anything could’ve happened to you.”
I touched her cheek tenderly, hardly daring to believe she’d let me. The words I could muster weren’t the ones I wanted, but they had to do. “I have your back. I didn’t mean only when it’s easy. All the time.”
Her face softened. In any other girl, I would take those parted lips as an invitation to a kiss. Certainly I’d gotten such subtle signs before, but I didn’t think she knew enough to offer them. I imagined how her mouth would taste, the soft slide of her hair through my fingers, but I didn’t bend down. Not then. Someday, I promised myself. Soon. The ache curled through me, sharp and sweet, fierce as hunger, but not as easily quelled.
“This should be our last stop. Tomorrow, we make it home.” She got out her blanket and wrapped up in it.
We will, I vowed silently. I’ll never let you down. And I’ll always be there for you. Always.
I fell asleep listening to her breathe.
DEATH & WAFFLES
Lish McBride
BY LISH MCBRIDE
~ The Necromancer Series ~
Hold Me Closer, Necromancer
Necromancing the Stone
~ The Firebug Series ~
Firebug
Pyromantic
Meet Lish McBride
“Death & Waffles” started out like a lot of my writing does, with a sudden image. This one was of a girl in a Catholic school uniform and saddle shoes walking into a diner. Along with the image came a line about her being Death in saddle shoes. I thought the image was funny. At the time I was in graduate school in New Orleans. I was in my last bit of school and working on my thesis novel to graduate. (That thesis would later become my first book Hold Me Closer, Necromancer.) While working on my novel, though, I was still taking classes, which meant I had to produce a few short stories and a screenplay at the same time. As I wrote about Ashley, I liked her so much that she made her way from the short story and into the novel. She continues to be one of my favorite characters. There’s just something about her—snarky, dry humor in a tiny package, and yet for all her tough talk, there’s a core of loyalty and kindness in Ashley. I suspect that’s what makes her so good at what is a very tough job.
Ashley has made it into three novels now—Hold Me Closer, Necromancer, Necromancing the Stone, and (hopefully) my third book, Firebug. Though “Death & Waffles” doesn’t connect to Firebug per se, it’s all one big world just waiting to collide.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but it’s one of those jobs no one thinks you’ll actually get. Even now when I tell people what I do they’re surprised when I tell them I’m published and that you can buy my books almost anywhere. It just seems like such a long shot to many people, and it is. Which makes me feel so grateful that I get to do what I do. I get to be silly for a living.
I got my BA degree in writing at Seattle University and my MFA from the University of New Orleans. That’s not a sure-fire degree. I went in knowing that the probability of me getting a job in my field was low, and to be honest, sometimes that would make me panic. Then my mom would call and talk me down and tell me that “no, I shouldn’t become a plumber and that everything would be okay.” That “no education is ever a waste, no matter what comes of it.” Ultimately, I went not because of job security or anything like that, but because I wanted to be a better writer. I wanted to tell stories more than anything. I needed to try at my dream because the fear of not getting it wasn’t nearly as powerful as the fear of not trying.
So I went to school and survived Hurricane Katrina and then moved back to Seattle where the weather is a little less deadly. I sold my first two books right after graduating from my MFA program and now I work at a local indie bookshop as well—and it’s great. My entire life revolves around books. It’s a lot to juggle, but at least I love it. The only downside is it takes me a little longer to tell my stories than I’d like. I’ve had Ava, the character from Firebug, in my head even before I began telling Sam’s story (from Hold Me Closer, Necromancer). Sam started as a combo of concepts, the biggest of them being what would someone like Sam (vegetarian and all-around nice guy) do if he found out he had a power that forced him to hurt others or kill things … and what if not using that power wasn’t an option? What would that situation do to someone like that? Ava was a similar idea—what would happen to someone who could start fires with their mind … especially if they had to exist in a world with powerful vampires? (In most mythologies, vampires don’t do well with fire and in fact tend to be quite flammable.) Ruthless people in power often stay in power by removing anything that might be a threat to them. Ava, as a firebug, is a huge threat, and because of that she’s been hunted her whole life. She has lost everything, and now that she’s rebuilt her life, what if that were threatened? That’s how a lot of my books start—with a character and a what-if scenario.
Once I have that base, I get to have fun. I add in biker were-hares, pygmy chupacabras, and zombie pandas. I get to be scary and silly and let me tell you, it’s a blast. I can only hope that people enjoy reading the books as much as I enjoy making them up.
DEATH & WAFFLES
by Lish McBride
The sharp rapping of knuckles on my windowpane woke me up. I’d like to say the noise surprised me, but Ashley had been showing up a lot lately. I rolled out of bed and walked over to the window.
“Matt,” she hissed, teeth flashing in a fierce and happy way, “open up.”
I stopped in front of the window, arms crossed. “Does it matter if I do?”
“It shows you’ve got some manners, jerk-wad.”
I sighed and flipped the latch so she could open the window and crawl in. She seized me in a hug the instant her feet hit my floor. Ash had always been affectionate to the point of exuberance. At least, she’d always been that way toward me. She said my family didn’t hug enough.
“C’mon, get your coat on,” she said after she’d let go of me and collapsed onto my bed. “And ditch the pj’s.”
I pulled some jeans on over my boxers and searched around in my drawer for a clean sweatshirt. The weather hadn’t turned to snow this week, but that didn’t keep the cold from hanging around. I finally grabbed my gray sweatshirt off the floor, deciding it was more clean than filthy.
“Hurry up, blondie,” she said. Ash swung her feet back and forth, saddle shoes flashing as they caught the moonlight.
“Do I even want to know where we’re going?”
“Probably not. But I want waffles and fries, and you’re my ticket to a night free of harassment. For some reason, a little girl alone in a diner at night is questioned.”
“Good to know I’m useful.”
Ash shrugged, an easy roll of shoulders. Her shrugs had always been graceful. Mine looked more like shoulder spasms.
I pulled on my hiking boots and grabbed my keys off my nightstand.
“Finally,” she said.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I jerked my chin toward her getup. Tonight, Ashley wore the tartan skirt, white button-up, and sweater of some Catholic school. I knew for a fact that she’d never once set foot in any private school, Catholic or otherwise.
She cocked her head to the side and raised one sable brow. “Like what?”
“Jacket,” I said.
“Oh, come on, Matt. It’s not like I get cold.”
“You wanna blend, right?”
She huffed out a dramatic sigh and snapped her fingers. Ash became instantly wrapped in a large parka. She was nothing if not practical.
I looked at her dark pigtails, each one tied with shiny red ribbon. “What, no hat?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Fine,” I said, walking softly through the hallway even though I knew my parents wouldn’t wake up. They’d have to be home for that. Ash didn’t bother trying to be quiet. In fact, she skipped down the hall.
“Mom
at a conference?”
“Yeah,” I said, “New York, I think. I forget exactly.”
“Where’s Daddy Dearest?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
My dad had stopped taking interest in me as soon as he figured out I wouldn’t be following in his footsteps in pretty much any way. Not in his love for baseball, not in his vocation as an architect, and certainly not in his frequent skirt-chasing. I guess my ability to see women as people and not disposable objects sort of killed any last chance we had. Pity.
By the time he realized my savings fund was for a new camera and not a sweet-sixteen hot rod of some sort, I knew we’d never really understand each other. I cared more about taking pictures than cruising. To me, cars were a method to get from point A to point B, period. Dad just shook his head and muttered, a little disgusted. Mom bought me the Toyota so I could get to school when she was away and ignored the rest.
I unlocked the front door and waved Ash through. “And what’s with the snapping thing? Don’t you think that’s just a little cheesy in a sort of I Dream of Jeannie way?”
“She nodded her head.”
“Fine, Bewitched then.”
“She twitched her nose. Besides, I’m not a witch.”
“I know,” I said, “but don’t you sometimes wish you were?”
Ash laughed but didn’t answer.
I’d always been able to make Ash laugh. That seems like a simple thing to take joy from, but for me it was rare. Other kids made it look so easy. Not just laughing, but talking, playing, hanging out. I wasn’t good at it when I was five, and I’m even worse at it now at seventeen. The only time I ever got it right was with Ash. For some reason, she didn’t make me anxious. Didn’t make me feel like any second I was going to trip over my own shoe and embarrass myself forever. Maybe it was because, even then, she had the uncanny ability to not just accept, but glory in her own shortcomings.
