Avisha

by Vi Lily

  Even parsnips, which turn out to be pretty tasty, actually. Not Mickey D's fries, but they're passable. Kind of like a fried sweet potato. At least we have salt, which helps put the lid on that craving. Kate joins in our snarf fest and she's happy to have found a new way to cook the vegetable.

  As we lick the salt off our fingers, Kate tells us that salt is a rare thing in their time, which I honestly can't even imagine. But since Avisha can travel the world, he brings it back from "Germania" which I'm assuming is Germany.

  I tell Carlie to tell her it's awesome to have a flying Grub Hub, but that doesn't translate, of course. I still think it's funny.

  Salt and grease craving satisfied, I have another matter coming up in a few days that I have to discuss with Kate. My stock is completely gone, and it totally bites that I have to go through Carlie, but I definitely am not asking Avisha.

  "Um, Carlie, ask Kate what I need to do about, um, feminine products."

  Carlie just stares at me, blinking. Apparently "feminine" isn't a word she knows. So much for that big vocabulary.

  "Okay, ask her what I do about my, uh, girl flu."

  It's Kate's turn to stare at me. Okay, so that doesn't compute. "My period?"

  Again, nothing.

  "How about my monthly time?"

  That seems to spark something as Kate jumps up and runs out of the room. I'm not sure if this means she's going to go get me some medieval tampons, or if she's afraid I'm going to get some of my evil blood on her, like I'm a demonic fountain of menstrual flow.

  Carrie Part 2…Swimming the Crimson Tide.

  Gross.

  Thankfully, it's door number one this time, as Kate rushes back into the room with cloth strips.

  Seriously? I guess that's where the term "on the rag" comes from. Ugh. Come on.

  I sit there staring at the strips in her hand as if they're going to jump out and wrap themselves around my neck, like a scarf from Aunt Flo. I'm really, really contemplating telling Avisha that he has to take me back to the late twentieth century now. Cuz I hate wearing even modern pads and never do because I think they're gross. So, using a rag that makes those pads those seem like the most awesome thing ever, well…yeah, we need to make a trip.

  But I know it's not fair of me to ask that. Especially after Avisha told me that time travel is so painful. He described it to me after I bugged him one night. It was when the fry craving first started, and he'd told me he didn't want to cause me suffering like that, not unless it was absolutely necessary. And I know that my desire for tampons is not a necessity.

  After sighing, I finally reach out and take the rags from Kate. I stare at them for a moment and contemplate rolling them around a string—making my own medieval tampon. It's worth a try.

  Now the other problem is cramps. I don't get normal cramps like normal people. Nope, leave it to me to go big or go home.

  From the time I had my first period at eleven, I've had these horrendous pains that I can't even describe. Well, let me give it a shot: Imagine a saw—rusty, dull, dirty—and a mean ol' eight-hundred-pound gorilla sawing away at your innards while simultaneously gut-punching you with his giant gorilla fist.

  Continuously…for five days straight.

  Back when I lived with Mom and Dad, they would get me these prescription pills that were awesome for the cramps. Of course, after my supply of those ran out, I was screwed. I've tried a lot of different things that I found in apothecaries all over Scandinavia and at the chemists in Europe, but they were never as good.

  One time, a lady in a hostel Carlie and I were staying at in Switzerland gave me some weed. After smoking it I felt no pain, let me tell you. It was even more effective than the prescription pills. But the idea that DEE-men might show up while I was too high to fight or get away with Carlie was too freaking scary, so that was the first and last time for that.

  I'd rather have the gorilla gut punch.

  So now that we're stuck in the Dark Ages, I'm not sure what to do about the cramps. I tell Carlie to ask Kate what I can use for them, but I guess that doesn't translate either, so I point to the rags and then hold my hand over my stomach and lean over, grimacing. That apparently gets the point across when Kate gets a sympathetic grimace and heads to the shelf where the herb jars are.

  She hands me a little black jar and says, "'Tis rue." I'm almost shocked that she's said something I can understand. I get a little excited, thinking maybe my knack for grasping other languages is kicking in and I'll finally be able to understand the woman.

  But then she says something that sounds a recording of two Russians arguing being played backwards and Carlie has to translate that Kate can make the rue into a tea when I need it. Kate says something else with a grin and I laugh when Carlie translates through her giggles, "Kate says it tastes like a goat's rear end, but she'll put some parsnip in it to make it better."

  Okay, salt craving: Check. Medieval tampons: Check. Cramp defense: Check. Now, what to do about those insane chocolate cravings I get. And "insane" is the right term, for reals. I'm legit not in my right mind then.

  It hits the day before I start and I'm not kidding when I say that I'd steal for chocolate during that time, because I have. Right out of a store in Switzerland, because the bank was closed and I was out of cash and I needed chocolate STAT. I probably would have thrown a trash bin through the window if the store had been closed at the time.

  Yeah, insane.

  That was a really bad day, let me tell you. A few days later, I walked into the store and handed the shocked store owner enough money to buy a whole case of chocolate, because I felt so bad about that one bar I stole. I didn't say a word as I walked back out without getting anything.

  I wanted to make amends, but I didn't want to admit to what I'd done.

  After that, I made sure I was stocked up on the heavenly dark confection. Until now, that is. I ate the rest of my stash during last month's period, I wasn't able to buy any more because the DEE-men had been non-stop in their chase. And now I'm fifteen hundred years in the past with no chocolate within reach.

  Now I might not be the best history scholar, because not only do I find history super boring—ironic, I know, since I'm now living in history—but "school" for the norms pretty much consisted of whatever we could learn on our own or what our parents taught us. Smythe didn't care about our education; in fact, he would have preferred we stayed uninformed.

  Since we were born at the labs and basically kept prisoner at the labs, there was no record of us, so no compulsory school attendance. No truant officers showing up to demand that we go to school, which actually would have been awesome. We would have loved to have the opportunity to go to school. Maybe not so much to learn, but for the social aspect. And to get away from DEE.

  So, history isn't my subject. But ask me about the history of chocolate. I can tell you anything you want to know. In fact, Carlie and I stayed in Switzerland the longest of any of the countries we'd escaped to simply because I wanted to learn—and eat—as much as I could about the stuff.

  Sometimes I'm seriously selfish.

  Knowing chocolate history so well, I realize that it won't make its way to Europe until the sixteenth century. Yeah, one thousand years from now.

  This is not good.

  I wonder if maybe Avisha can help a girl out. He seems more than willing to do whatever it takes to make us happy and if he's willing to fly to "Germania" just to get salt, then maybe I can talk him into a little trip to Central America for some cacao.

  Yeah, I even know how to make chocolate from scratch…starting with cacao beans. Hi, I'm Gwen and I'm a chocoholic.

  It's either a trip to Central America, or else Avisha is going to have to toss me into the dungeon for a few days until the cravings pass, because I refuse to be held responsible for what might happen if I'm forced to go without that glorious velvety manna.

  Chapter 7

  I DECIDE to try to explain my problem to the big guy. Carlie wants to stay with Kate to help her w
ith supper, so I go off alone to search the rooms where I think Avisha might be. The fortress—and I'd still rather call it a castle—is freaking huge and I'm wandering for awhile, but I finally find him in what I guess is the library. Except that there are just a handful of books in here.

  At first I think that's weird, but then I remember that books weren't even printed until like the seventeenth century or something.

  I have to admit that it's weird to see a giant gargoyle sitting with his wings flopped out over the arms of a huge chair, tail draped over the back, one leg bent with his ankle on the other knee. To top it off, he's holding some sort of scroll. There's even a nice fire going in the fireplace. The scene is right out of a historical romance novel.

  I picture Avisha with reading glasses then and I giggle snort.

  He looks up at the sound and the atmosphere in the room immediately changes. The drafty room suddenly seems warmer and more inviting. In fact, I get the same feeling around the big guy a lot. My empathic senses can't quite place the emotion, but it's…comfy.

  Avisha smiles at me—well, as much as a gargoyle can smile anyway—and he carefully rolls the scroll up. It's obvious that it's an important document. Or maybe it's just rare. I wonder what he'd think of all the books we have in the twenty-first century, and how little we appreciate them.

  "Are ye well, lass?" he asks as he sets the book down on a small table next to his oversized chair. There's a twin of the chair on the other side of the table. I'm pretty sure they're the only furniture in the fortress that's big enough for his humongous body.

  I plop down in the empty chair and feel dwarfed by the sheer size of it. I make a mental note to ask Kate to have some men take it up to our room. If Avisha insists on watching over us while we sleep, at least he can do it in comfort.

  In answer to his question, I sigh heavily and nod. I'm putting all my acting skills to the test here. I sure hope my face looks sad and I realize that I should have practiced the look in front of the crappy mirror Avisha has in his chambers.

  Yeah, I know, it's pathetic that I'm trying to play this up, but it's a huge favor I'm getting ready to ask and I'm prepared to use whatever girly methods I have on hand to get my chocolate.

  Lives depend on it.

  "What ails ye, lass?" Avisha asks with concern as he leans forward. I swear, the guy—er, gargoyle—looks like he's anxious to slay my dragons. Even though it's the reaction I'm hoping for, the look he's giving me makes me want to smooth the frown between his reptilian eyes like he does with me so often.

  I clear my throat and force the guilt down over the fact that I'm playing him. "Everything's fine," I say in a small voice that I hope sounds like "it's really not fine, not at all." Gawd, I'm a horrible actress.

  "It's just that—no, never mind," I say with a shake of my head and another sigh as I gaze at the fire.

  Avisha plays right into it and leans forward to put his paw on my knee. "What, lass? Tell me. Ye ken I'd do anythin' to make ye happy."

  That's a fact, Jack. I know he'd do just about anything in the world for Carlie and me. Dang it, the realization of that actually hurts my heart, knowing I'm using him. And I'm not a user. I always hate even asking anyone for help. I remind myself that this situation is sort of an emergency. And my getting chocolate is…safer for everyone.

  I sigh again for good effect. "I know," I say softly as I stare at the carpet underneath the chairs and table. I'm surprised by how beautiful the rug is, actually. Really high quality. Not something you would think you'd see in the sixth century. Makes me wonder if Avisha had brought it from another time.

  That would be kind of cool—traveling through time and space on shopping trips. You could start off by going back to visit the Incas to trade something stupid like coffee or tea for gold, then head to Peru and trade some o that gold for alpaca blankets. Then, while you're in the area, stop and grab some cacao, then head over to Polynesia for some sugar cane, and then Wales for wool socks and Spain for some good quality boots.

  In case it's not obvious from my fantasies, I'm cold and wanting hot chocolate.

  I have to force my squirrel back to the branch it's supposed to be on.

  "I just can't ask, because it's…well, it's too much. Too difficult, I mean." Oh man, I might be a bad actress, but dang, I can play with a man's—er, gargoyle's—pride. Because as soon as I say that, I sense the desire to prove me wrong coming from him.

  Honestly, I feel pretty crappy about myself at this point, but…chocolate. I'd give my left ovary and a kidney for the stuff, and it isn't even "that time" yet.

  He leans forward even more and I get the feeling—and you know that when I say that, I mean I get the feeling—that he wants to grab me up and hug me tight. I'm thinking that sounds like a great idea myself. He's been keeping his distance ever since I kissed him. Except at night, when he sits just a few feet away while I'm drooling all over his goose feather pillow.

  I am the worst person in the world right now. Horrible. I deserve severe punishment. A good old-fashioned flogging. Maybe a nice stretch on a rack and a few days in the stocks. Because I take advantage of his desire to hold me as I get up to crawl into his lap.

  As I wrap my arms around his neck—well, only partway, because the dude is freaking huge—I shove the thoughts aside that are screaming at me how I'm a major user. And a loser.

  There really should be a twelve-step for people like me. Hi, I'm Gwen, and I'm a chocoholic and a user loser.

  Avisha is stiff, like the statue he was for fifteen centuries. I can't even imagine that, just parking your butt on top of a tower for that crazy length of time. The other day, he showed me the spot where he had parked. It's at the highest part of the fortress, overlooking the whole valley and forest.

  For one thousand five hundred years he'd sat there, overlooking his land with eyes that couldn't see. Wowee.

  He still won't tell me why he woke up when he did. He had just said it was because I needed help, but you can't tell me that in all that time not one single person passed his way that needed help too. No way, especially not in the Highlands of Scotland, where battles were a daily way of life. Surely someone, sometime, could have used a bit of angelic gargoyle aid. I'm pretty sure there's more to the reason of why he woke up when he did.

  But whatever the reason is, I'm glad the "stoner" woke up when he did. I snort at my little joke and his eyes dart to mine.

  "What do ye find so funny, lass?" he asks with a gargoyle version of a smile, which would be a pretty scary snarl kind of thing if I didn't know him. I can see how and why he terrified people in his time. Oh yeah…this time.

  "Nothing." I sigh again, forcing the sadness back in my voice. Shut up, conscience.

  I stay quiet and rub little circles on the back of his neck—a neck that's as big as my whole body. The situation reminds me of a certain ogre and princess movie that Janissa and I love. Or maybe it's more like the inventor's daughter and the prince-turned-beast movie. I fight not to snort again at my dumb thoughts.

  I'm waiting for Avisha to ask me again what's bothering me. In the meantime, I'm actually enjoying being cuddled. I can't even remember the last time someone held me like this. Oh yeah—just a few weeks ago when I woke up from my fever and Avisha put me on his lap to comfort me.

  But before that—probably not since I was a little kid.

  I think there's something buried deep in the female psyche that longs for the comfort thing. The hugs, the cuddling, the knowing that you're protected. I bet that even the chicks I know who are seriously tough and bad-ass—Brea comes to mind on this—have this desire buried deep somewhere. It sure would explain all those sappy romance novels and movies and all the alpha-male fervor.

  We sit like that for a few minutes before Avisha finally relaxes a little and I feel his paw—paw?—running up and down my back, carefully avoiding my wound and he's touching me so gently it's barely a brush of a touch.

  "Lass, I cannae help ye if I doonae ken what bothers ye. And how do I
ken if 'tis 'too difficult', as ye say, if ye doonae tell me?"

  I raise my eyes up to meet his. "Well," I start, "it's not like I need this, but I'm just wanting it. Really bad." I pause again and I think Avisha has come to the end of his patience.

  His voice sounds a bit growly. Well, more than it's usual gargoyle-ness anyway. I'm pretty sure he's grinding his big ol' alligator teeth too.

  "What, lass? What is it ye want?" Yeppers. He's frustrated.

  "Cacao," I finally blurt out, then rush on to explain. "It's used to make the most wonderful thing called chocolate, but you don't have it here in this time, not yet, and the only place you can get the stuff now is like Central America, which is, I don't know, maybe a thousand miles away, across the Atlantic. It's so far, but Kate said that you fly over to Germany—uh, Germania—to get salt, so I just thought that maybe…"

  I shrug then, letting him come to his own conclusions. He's blinking a little fast at my rapid-fire explanation. Probably trying to figure out what the hell I just said. I'm not even sure myself. And I know I used words he wouldn't understand, like "miles" and "Atlantic."

  I don't think the oceans have the same names back in the early part of A.D. I actually think they're called "seas" in this time, like the Seven Seas. And "Central America" definitely doesn't have that name in this time. I'd love to see a current map, but I bet Avisha doesn't have one. Why would he? He's an angel-turned-gargoyle who can fly.

  But without the right terms, there isn't a way to explain where it is I want him to go. I could just point to the west and say, "Fly that way over the big body of water until you come to a skinny piece of land that connects two big pieces." Yeah, no.

  And that thought makes me realize that I just asked—well, okay, maybe I just hinted— the guy to fly over an ocean…an ocean…to bring me something for a freaking sweet tooth. I'm warped. Selfish. Ugh.

  What if he got tired right in the middle of the ocean? Or maybe got a muscle cramp…then what? Does he just crash into he water? Yeah, he's immortal, so he won't die, but what happens to him then? Does he become some sort of sea creature?