Angel Descending

by Ethan Cooper

  “This isn’t about you. I know you’re new to this wirewitch thing, but you aren’t an emotionless robot. You have feelings. You can have empathy. Don’t you know how your disappearance is going to make her feel? Can’t you imagine what this is going to do to her?

  “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? My sister?”

  “No.” I can’t hold back a grimace as the static flares briefly.

  “You look like you want to leave.” He walks over toward the side of the room, closer to the sonic shower. He’s giving me the opportunity to leave, purposely not blocking my path to the door. He’s making sure I know I have a choice between the warlock that I maybe was attracted to for like five seconds before he got wirewitched, or the door, which probably just delays whatever’s gonna happen between us in this room. “We may not get another chance though. You were just outside, so you know what’s happening in this city.”

  The warlock or the door? He’s right though—time feels short. “I don’t want to leave.”

  (liar)

  There’s a warlock smile there, miniscule, but present. His hairstalk wags back and forth.

  Let’s get whatever this is I’m doing here over with. “I have to know. Do you care about what’s been done to you? Do you accept it?”

  “Been done to me?”

  “What the hell? Don’t you remember? JACK made you a wirewitch!”

  “Of course, I remember.”

  “And that’s it? You accept it just like that?”

  “I am wirewitch. What I was before doesn’t have any meaning to me. There’s nothing to accept.”

  “She didn’t ask for your permission, did she?”

  “No. She took me by surprise.”

  Now I’m the one pacing. “You were human, and she stripped that from you. It doesn’t matter to you that she did this without your consent?”

  “It doesn’t. What matters is what I am, and I am wirewitch.”

  “Stop saying that, I can see you’re a wirewitch, dammit.” If he says it again, I might try to hit him. Almost every cell in my body is screaming at me to keep my distance—

  he’s not JACK you

  (don’t)

  know what he might do

  —but there are still a few rebellious cells that remember what and how he was before JACK decided to mess him up for me. Those are the cells that are telling me that there must be some Tam still left in him, that just because he has blue skin, a hairstalk, and the mysterious storm cloud eyes of a wirewitch, doesn’t mean he’s not still the person who offered to lead us to safety after our Dokk encounter. He’s still the Tam that was going to go out looking for me when I went outside. He’s still the Guardian. He’s gotta be.

  His hairstalk thumps against the wall. “The past doesn’t matter. All that matters to me is the present and the future.”

  “You’re wrong. The past matters. A lot.”

  “It’s not without significance, but if you can’t change it, what point is there in dwelling on it?”

  “What you were before is important to who you are now, and who you’ll be in the future.”

  “I can’t change what I am. What I was before is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me.”

  His hairstalk stops twitching. He takes two steps toward me then hesitates.

  My mind sends me a picture of a knife balancing on its tip.

  “What…do you mean?” he asks.

  (no angel don’t

  ask him that)

  “Are you attracted to me?” Oh, didn’t really know I was going to ask that. The words just slipped out. But that’s okay. I’m going to get through to him. If I must bludgeon my way through, then I guess I’m fine with that.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Were you attracted to me before the witchkiss?”

  “I don’t think that—”

  “It’s a simple question, 2-85. Answer it.”

  He looks away. “I—I’m not sure.”

  I stop pacing, positioning myself right in front of him. I’d get closer, but I don’t want to tilt my head back to look up at him; he’s taller than he was before. “That right there is what I’m talking about. It’s not a complicated question about your past. I mean, it was only a couple days ago. Surely you can tell me if you had any sort of attraction to me. Don’t you remember?”

  “I remember everything, Syl.”

  My name on his lips—even in the grinding rasp of his wirewitch vocal cords—does strange things to me. Right now, that’s an unwanted distraction. Fortunately, it’s easy to summon a righteous fury at what was done to him. Holding onto that for a few seconds is enough to banish any stray thought processes.

  “Okay, then answer my question,” I say.

  “I remember. I just don’t know what most of it means.”

  “Well, I don’t understand what that means.”

  He starts pacing again. “It’s like watching a holo or looking at images of somebody else’s life. It’s all there, but I don’t feel a connection to it. It’s…somebody else’s story.”

  “Only it’s not.” I grab his shoulder, stopping him, turning him toward me. “It’s your story.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way. That’s not who I am.”

  I swear under my breath.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks. “Did you come in here just to argue with me?”

  “Yes!” It’s true. I want to fight. I wish I could hit something.

  Or someone.

  “I don’t know why you’d want to do that,” he says, his voice soft and very non-wirewitchy.

  “I have to understand, and I didn’t want to wait. I can’t make this work between JACK and I unless I hear all this from you. What happened to you was wrong. I look at you, and all I see is lost humanity. The worst thing of all is that you didn’t have a choice! This isn’t something you would have chosen for yourself. And now we’ll never know what would have happened had you remained human.”

  “Don’t think too much about imagined scenarios.”

  “You know what? Not having a choice isn’t the worst part of this. The worst part is you don’t realize that what happened was bad. You don’t realize that you’re a victim—and that’s the true violation here.”

  “Is that’s why you’re angry?”

  I want to stamp my foot in frustration. “This is pointless.”

  “Maybe,” he concedes, which gives me some hope. “Still, I’m glad you’re talking to me.”

  I’m not sure if there’s anything behind that statement, or if he’s just saying what he thinks I might want to hear. Who knows what the hell is going on in that technosite-infested skull of his. It’s becoming clear that I’m failing to adequately process this. Trying to talk this through with him isn’t working. Maybe it’s just too soon—clearly for me, and maybe for him as well. I slump until the backs of my thighs are against the bed. Static is a low drone in the middle of my skull.

  “We don’t get to make all our own choices,” he says.

  “As if you need to tell me that,” I seethe through clenched teeth, the static sawing through the center of my brain. Low frequency vibrations echoing in my mind’s deep dark corners, threatening to overwhelm me, take me off my feet.

  2-85 moves to the side of the bed closest to the door.

  Gonna leave soon, because I can’t take much more of the static, and I’m just about done getting nowhere with 2-85. “This Haven lost its Guardian. What’s going to happen to this place?”

  “There aren’t any rules that would prevent a wirewitch from being a Guardian.”

  “There should be.” I believe that with all my heart, but really, the static made me say it.

  He hesitates before replying. “A Haven run by a wirewitch would be…unique.”

  “Your sister. She’ll be the new Guardian.”

  “It’s possible.” Nothing in his expression indicates that means anything to him.

  2-85 is closer, looming over me. When did
he move? I can’t back up and sitting down on the bed wouldn’t send any sort of message I want to send right now.

  “JACK violated the Haven by making you,” I say, studying his face, and there’s a fleeting moment where the circuitways in his skin seem to be more visible, as if all those intricate ridges rose across his body. Maybe it’s the wirewitch version of gooseflesh.

  “I know she did.”

  I’ve never felt so cornered.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  2-85’s eyes are stilling, the swirling torment in them slowing, as if I’m watching the liquid in them go frozen.

  What is he—?

  Oh.

  Oh fuck.

  Mesmerized by those eyes, I can’t move, even though I know what he’s going to do. I can smell him, that unique wirewitch scent—sweet, yet more machine than anything else—metal and flesh, vein and circuit. His hands moving vertically in my peripheral vision, on either side of me, now coming together. Ridged wirewitch skin on my chin and my forehead. Head rotated, strands of hair falling into my eye. This near, I can see the amazing intricacy in his metaskin, the way the circuitways ebb and flow across the surface, shifting as his muscles in his neck flex. Static’s buzzing, and my eyes won’t close so I can shut all this out. Pressure on my chin opens my mouth, parting my lips. He lowers his head. I catch a flash of his hairstalk moving to one side, then it’s sliding across the back of my neck, a serpent’s embrace, and then all I can see is him.

  His lips touch mine.

  The witchkiss—

  (circuitwarmelectricityskin)

  —takes me.

  You know, one day I’m going to kiss somebody—and I mean really kiss the cosmic hell out of them, with my eyes closed and everything—but today is so not that day.

  Static buzzing, eyes open.

  The memory comes quick, of the warlock named 3-43 and the witchkiss he gave. It’s different this time. No wirewitch thoughts invading my brain, and I know that the technosites aren’t infecting me.

  My arms are limp, the backs of my thighs sinking into the edge of the bed, wirewitch hands tilt my head to one side with an overwhelming strength yet quiet gentleness, fingers against my scalp, tunneling through the forest of my hair, his body curving over mine, his hairstalk supporting my neck and lower back, pulling me up into his body.

  Whatever it is that makes me human isn’t in danger, and for that reason I’m unafraid, even as 2-85 performs this physical violation upon my body.

  (wirewitches are just)

  (animals behave like animals)

  After only a few seconds, I realize just how numb I am to what he’s doing to me. That scares me. My humanity may not be in peril, but what makes me who I am sure is. This can’t continue. I’m not going to let myself be abused like this. I will have my control back.

  Before I determine what taking control back is supposed to look like, I’ve moved my arms from their passive positions at my side around to 2-85’s back, pushing on his shoulder blades to hold him tight against my body. Keeping our lips together, I straighten my head. His hands resist momentarily, but then let me go. The storms in his eyes are back. I’ll take that as surprise on his part at me resisting his assault. Then I’m actively participating, kissing him back. There’s a brief moment there, that I’ll never tell anybody about, where this witchkiss turned realkiss takes on a certain intensity, and something stirs deep in my chest. His hands drop to his sides. He takes a step back, but I go with him, maintaining. His eyes are spinning cyclones, violent vortexes. I want to close my eyes and go with this, but I’m saving that for another day. Still numb, but somehow lost in the powerful sensation of what I’m doing, I start to notice the texture of his lips on mine, but I don’t get to explore for long because there’s a staticfuzzstaTICSURGE!!!bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  Every muscle in my body spasms. Our lips unseal with a smack, our embrace breaking as I shove him away. His hairstalk slithers down my back as its hold on me relaxes. Our feet are still intertwined though, which causes us both to go down. I fall back onto the bed, the static already fading. Just like last time.

  “You—” 2-85 says, touching his lips as he stands. His legs are quivering.

  Not getting any significant pain signals from any part of my body, so I grab the side of the bed and sit up. “That was bad.”

  “How did you—?”

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  “After all we just talked about, you still tried to turn me? How could you do that?”

  “You’re immune to the witchkiss?”

  “You’re not the first warlock to try, you fucker.” Okay, that hurt, to call him that.

  If 2-85 is shocked at my insult, he doesn’t show it. “No human is immune. What are you?”

  This conversation seems familiar. “You’re wrong. I’m human. I’m immune. Accept it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why did you do that? I thought I could trust you!”

  (did you

  really?)

  “I’m a wirewitch. I just felt—”

  “Dammit, that’s not good enough.”

  “It’s my only answer.”

  “Well, it’s not enough for me, and until you have a better answer, stay the fuck away from me.”

  But he doesn’t stay away. Moves toward me. I’m off the bed, dodging, reaching for the door, but he grabs me and spins me, moves me back toward the opposite wall. I can’t stop him. Static rises, slicing through my brain, and the automatic me is nowhere to be found. I move where he wants. When I feel my back against the wall, I burst into tears because he’s too strong, and he can do whatever he wants to me. There’s no escape.

  This world makes victims of us all.

  His face is in mine, all intense. His scent is in my nose, and it’s like I can smell his strength, what he’s capable of.

  “Let me go. You have no right to do this.” I could call for Kiiziiziixii, but the part of me that doesn’t believe he’d actually hurt me is still in charge.

  “I have something I have to tell you.”

  “Let go! This is a Haven, dammit. You’re hurting me!”

  He springs back, releasing me, as if he didn’t know. “You need to know this, and I don’t think you do. Let me tell you before you leave.”

  I can barely see through a wall of tears and a blue-tinted curtain of my own hair. Don’t want to look at him anyway. “What is it? Tell me, then leave me alone.”

  I don’t stop him when he reaches out with one hand and touches it to my stomach. Tingles and prickles emanate from that spot, shooting out like rays of light. Confusing signals: I’m repulsed by his presence, but I shiver at his touch.

  His finger hovers somewhere near my bellybutton. “You harbor a secret. When I witchkissed you, I sensed it.”

  Static fades until the dominant sounds in my ears are my lungs sucking in air and the beat of my heart. The words he speaks are soft, but he may as well be shouting:

  “Syl, you have a child within you. You’re pregnant.”

  34/Descending (iii)

  2195.12.15/Night

  The breath comes all out of me in one quick whoosh. Beyond my control, my hands push 2-85 away, then go to my belly, touching the bare skin there, smooth and unbroken, pressing inward as if it’s possible to detect the life within. Doesn’t matter if it’s possible. I believe him.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  The static roars back with a vengeance.

  Can’t imagine the look on my face as I tear my eyes away from my stomach. 2-85 looks like he wants to kiss me again.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  I CAN NOT DEAL WITH THIS.

  “Get away from me,” I growl through clenched teeth. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

  “You can’t run from this.”

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!! GET AWAY!!”

  2-85 staggers back from the force of my shove. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear him above the static.

  The static is buzzin
g so LOUD I put my hands over my ears, which doesn’t do anything to mute the sound or the pain. It’s tearing me apart. The static is searing my brain, and I’m screaming, “GET AWAY OR I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO!!”

  He backs away, toward the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when they open again, he’s gone, replaced by Kiiziiziixii.

  It hurts to talk, but I manage to get out, “He didn’t hurt me. I need to be alone.” She doesn’t press me; she just leaves, and I like her a lot more for that.

  Cheeks slick with tears and brain slit in half by the static buzzsaw, I’m unable to remain standing. I wobble over to the bed and collapse in it, curling into the tightest ball I can manage, my knees at my chin. One hand is at my belly, feeling the muscles there cycling between tension and relaxation. Feeling the expansion as I breathe, knowing that somewhere inside there’s another living thing inside me. Just a small spark today, but one that will grow into a fire.

  A spark.

  bzzzzzZZZZt!!!!!

  Grinding intensifies. Beyond comprehension. The disruption is so brutal, thought impulses are detonated right as they’re birthed. It hurts. Toes curling. Fingers gnarling. Lips pulled back from teeth in a silent wail.

  Everything wavers. I think I pass out.

  Not exactly sure, but it feels like I’m missing some time.

  There’s a tiny little spark inside me.

  A tiny little…blue spark?

  Fuck, he knew. Calamity Carl knew I was pregnant. He told me I had a blue spark inside me. May have ignored him then, but I can’t ignore him now, because his first secret is no longer a secret.

  A child. Inside me, pressing up against my guts, way up in my personal space. There’s a part of me that’s separate from me but still a part of my whole.

  (wait angel there’s something

  else you’re missing)

  It’s true, I can feel it. Right there at the edge of coherence, lurking in the shadow, waiting for the right moment to step into the light. It’s…somebody else. Somebody else knew I was pregnant. Who? Who was it? I could probably pull the answer from my memory if the static wasn’t slicing and dicing my gray matter. Almost…

  (go back go)

  (further back)

  Waiting…no.

  Waiting…not yet.