The Secret North

by Ka Newborrn

  “My God. The air feels so much cleaner now.”

  Lilith exhaled. “Holy smokes, indeed.”

  “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “Come back to LA with us. Sort things out while Adam drops off the radar.”

  “And do what?”

  “Become a Fire Fairy.”

  “However does one attain such a great distinction?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’d figure it out. You’re a natural. And I like having you around.”

  “You’re a bigger sucker than I thought. I say that respectfully.”

  “You’d light UCLA on fire. I say that respectfully, too.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “And if it doesn’t work out you can always go back to Glaivelind. But it will. Work out.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes. I can feel it.”

  “In your feathers and bones?”

  “Good night, Lilith.”

  “Sleep well, Spiree.”

  SCEPTRELIND

  2002

  Lilith

  "Seriously?"

  She stared in disbelief as the hem of her maxi dress caught on a jagged patch of cobblestones a few yards away from the Myling family residence in Sceptrelind and shredded the hem in a full circumference tear that ended abruptly above her left knee.

  As she bent down to free herself, a gust of wind, the only one that dared to appear in a month, rudely claimed her straw hat for itself and promptly ran away with it, leaving her shoulders to burn defenselessly under the sun’s lurid wrath.

  So much for my overhyped sunblock.

  Her fragrance was reminiscent of a bulb of week-old garlic as she held the torn hem of her yellow dress. Butter, the salesclerk had called the color. The bodice clung to her body like a wrecking ball despite its featherweight linen fabric. Glorified burlap, really. Garlic butter burlap.

  There had been a time not so long before when Barterlind’s skyline was abuzz with the activity of hover cars. These days, the cars were largely replaced by tiny, solitary residence bubbles that flooded the sky with an unprecedented emptiness.

  Having remained unmarred by technological advancements, Sceptrelind was empty in a different way. The overgrown grasses whispered a dirgelike chorus as she reached into her dress pocket for a granola bar. She tore the wrapper open and devoured it, but what she really craved was water.

  As long as it didn’t come from the Kaspare River that surrounded her home. Her former home, anyway.

  What’s black, white and red and goes a hundred miles an hour? A bird elf in a blender. Two if you’re lucky. Creepy fucks.

  It was a trade off, and an unfair one at that. All the castles, butter burlap dresses and overhyped skincare products in the cosmos had never been sufficient compensation. A few days prior, she decided to quit her job, abandon her castle, and try her hand at creating a new life.

  She met with her accountant earlier in the week to work through the financial ends. She had even been magnanimous enough to grant Clyde Briberis one last interview. This was it. She was ready to bid adieu to Hjulder for good. Almost. But she had one more thing to wrap up.

  No one would guess that she was paying Ester Myling’s parents a visit. The last time they had been interviewed together, Ester had described an unfinished series of Earth cases. If she hadn’t been ripped to shreds by now she would be soon enough, much like her worthless dress.

  Her leather sandals crunched wearily through the oat colored grass. She knew she was the walking embodiment of a savior complex. And that was cringeworthy. Had it really come to this? Ester’s fate was Ester’s business. But that business didn’t have to be a shapeshifting, mindfucking carnival. Was it really so bad to remind her?

  She scrolled through the contacts in her phone and looked up at the house. 7 Storyville Lane seemed more distant than memory had served.

  Time ceased as she approached the unadorned front door, which was still the color of sunbleached bones. She cursed, knowing it would be damn near impossible to make a good impression in sliced garlic butter burlap. Not to mention shoulders rivaling the hue of her overpriced bottle job. She hesitated then knocked, gathering up what remained of her dignity and courage.

  She waited nearly thirty seconds without a response. “Hello?” She cupped a hand to a window just to the right of the door. The pane was newly chipped and resembled a skull’s eye socket. “Mrs. Myling?” She waited a few seconds and knocked again, but again nobody came. She tentatively turned the knob and was surprised to find that the door yielded and slowly creaked open.

  A shadow crossed in front of the sun as Lilith stepped into the doorway. “Hello?” Holding the torn dress hem in her hand to avoid tripping, she stepped out of her sandals and waited for a response. “Mrs. Myling?”

  The house was dark except for the flickering light from a blaring television in a room off the hallway. She brushed her fingertips against the coat rack next to the door. They came away dusty. Holding her elbows in apprehension, she took a few steps forward and peered into the room. She was suddenly face to face with herself.

  “In tonight’s broadcast, I have the rare and precious treat of welcoming a very special guest and old friend into my home. She’s an extraordinary beauty and talent. Please help me welcome the one, the only Lilith Brisbane!”

  Lilith paused to watch the image flickering inside the Myling family’s archaic television. It opened with a mysteriously lit, wide angle shot of the living room inside Clyde Briberis’ high rise apartment. Lilith and Clyde were seated six feet apart in oversized wing chairs and sipping cocktails from fancy double old fashioned glasses. Between them, a burl wood platform table stacked with a white rose and orchid centerpiece and a pile of coffee table books rested atop an ivory hairhide rug. Behind them, Barterlind’s evening skyline of skyscrapers and hoverpods illuminated a floor-to-ceiling panorama of windows.

  In the light of the television screen, Lilith could make out the kitchen from the hallway. The cold tile felt good beneath her feet. She groped around the wall until she found a light switch. There was a note on the counter.

  Back in two weeks, Lumen. Please water the plants and fetch the mail.

  Lilith touched the yellowing paper with her fingers. They came away dusty. She opened the pantry and looked inside. A scent not entirely dissimilar to one of a used book store wafted from the neatly arranged boxes and cans that lined the shelves.

  A radiant Lilith waved from her chair inside the television. Her bright red hair was closely cropped into a fashionably piecey style that framed her face and betrayed a sprouting of grey at her temples. She was barefoot and wore an ecru linen kimono and matching slim cropped pants. Her glowing skin was sunkissed and bronzed. Her smiling lips were glossed with a lustrous shade of pinky gold.

  She chewed the insides of her mouth and opened the refrigerator. A lucite pitcher filled with violet liquid sparkled amid nondescript food storage containers. Lumen’s Butterfly Pea Tea was handwritten in cursive letters on a strip of masking tape. She set the pitcher on the counter. Inside the freezer was an aluminum tray of ice. “Oh, bless,” she mumbled, trailing an ice cube over her forehead, eyelids, cheeks and lips. She selected the tallest drinking glass from the rack by the sink, threw in a handful of ice and filled it to the top with the violet liquid.

  The kitschy décor of the Myling family room rivaled a movie set in its own right. She brushed dust away from the couch and sat down. Its wooden lattice frame and ornate armrests were ostentatious yet unimpressive. The low-sinking cushions had no interest in supporting her body. The fabric was oppressively warm against her skin in the summer heat.

  You had one job, couch.

  She sipped her tea, balanced the icy glass between her knees and turned her attention back to the television.

  Clyde’s veneers shone like laser beams on the dimly lit stage. “I’m so glad you made it tonight, Lilith. It’s been a minute.”

  "A
ha ha ha ha.” Onscreen Lilith indulged Clyde in her throatiest voice. She rested the cocktail in her lap, batted her eyelashes coyly and quickly did the math in her head. He had to be sixty-five. At least.

  “Stop it. Stop it, Clyde, I can’t stand it! You’re the one who made the time to see me with your busy schedule. You’re as tight as a drum these days.”

  He squared his face to the camera and attempted to look as natural as possible. Just three weeks before, he had undergone a deep plane facelift and liposuction on his abdomen and flanks. He had planned to lie low for another month, but his accountant called that morning and told him he’d spotted Lilith Brisbane in the city. Clyde called her immediately and asked her to do an interview in a month. She said she wouldn’t be around but could tape that very evening if he was available. Desperate for ratings, he had agreed. Reluctantly.

  When she had arrived at his apartment that afternoon, he was sitting in a makeup chair peeling off a black rubber compression mask. Maybe she had screamed, maybe not. She promised to guard his secret when the cameras started rolling but couldn’t resist the opportunity to poke him in the ribs. Figuratively speaking, of course.

  “It's been a minute, Lilith. Where has the time gone? What’s going on in your life?”

  “What’s going on in your career, Clyde? You’ve had quite a stretch.”

  After establishing call time, he had contacted his hair, makeup and lighting team and offered them double pay to cancel their plans and report to his home immediately. Despite their professional acumen, they were feeling the heat. And then some.

  “Lilith! The folks at home want to hear about you! Tell me all about your latest cases.”

  She smiled modestly. “No cases lately, but I’m sure you already knew that. Nothing gets past you, Clyde. Your eyes are wide open.”

  He gave her the side eye, a calculated move that proved doubly effective for throwing mock shade and concealing his stitches. “Hmm. I sense there’s something.”

  Lilith took a deep breath. “Well, there is. I don’t know how else to approach it except to just come out and say it. I’m retiring.”

  Clyde opened his eyes wide to feign shock at her announcement. Lilith wondered if his stitches would start oozing at that very moment. That would suck, because it could sabotage her ecru linen ensemble. Or she could flag down the makeup artists. Surely they’d had the good sense to ask for double pay in light of the last minute notice.

  “So when do you return from…oh, enough of this game already!” He squared his body to the camera, sucked in his cheeks and placed his hands on his hipbones, being careful to avoid his abdomen and flanks. “Reliable sources have confirmed your new romance.”

  Lilith straightened in her chair. “New romance?”

  Clyde cheated out to the camera and gave her a knowing look. “Yes. Your new romance with a man in Phialind Valley. What isn’t clear is whether you’re relocating to Phialind to start a family in privacy, or if he’s moving into your Glaivelind Forest castle. So? Anything you’d care to share with us?”

  “Start a family.” Lilith sipped from her glass thoughtfully. “You think I’m pregnant. That’s what this is about.”

  Clyde raised his glass and lowered his chin. “Honey, your trunk is no junk by any standard, but you can’t expect us not to notice that there’s a little bit more of it these days. And believe you me, no one is complaining!”

  He was too disciplined to miss a beat in front of the camera, but Lilith could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Despite the expert lighting, she thought she could just make out the tiniest area of his expertly applied concealer threatening to give up his secret under the strain of hot lights. She glanced in the direction of the makeup crew and wondered who would pay for the mishap later.

  “Pregnant.” She chuckled. “Your allegation is quite a browlifter.”

  Clyde raised his hands in an exaggerated gesture of inquiry and was instantly glad he had doubled his painkillers. “But the producers confirmed it! You’re not?” Embarrassed, his hands fell to his sides.

  “Samosas.”

  “What?”

  “And good cheese. Stroopwafels.”

  “Yikes. Sorry, Lilith.”

  “Not me. Have you seen my wine cellar lately? And I meant what I said about retiring. There’ll be no return. In fact, I’m leaving Hjulder. Permanently.”

  She thought she could see the color draining from his face before her very eyes, despite the layers of makeup. He ignored the cameras for a moment and turned fully in his seat to regard her questioningly. Squaring her chin to the camera, she discreetly traced the tip of her finger down the hollow of her temple to the front of her ear. Grateful for the cue, he lowered his chin in mimicry and cheated his eyes in her direction.

  “Why?”

  He surprised himself with his earnest tone but made no attempt to conceal or take it back. Shifting in his chair, he jerked his abdominal muscles a bit too suddenly. Lilith watched him swallow his pain and graze the compression garment underneath his shirt. Her softened gaze betrayed an air of compassion that lingered between them for three, four seconds tops. Then she narrowed her eyes, winked at the camera and seamlessly resumed her banter.

  “Gut instinct, Clyde. But there’s something I have to ask. However do you maintain those killer abs of yours?”

  He tried valiantly but failed miserably to pass off his horror as sarcasm. Lilith was glad. It was payback time.

  “I’ll bet this junky trunk can still do more pushups than you! Up for a challenge?"

  Jumping up from her chair, she pushed the sleeves of her kimono above her elbows, flexed her biceps jokingly, and knelt down on the ivory hairhide rug.

  Clyde flashed his veneers for the camera and resisted the urge to touch his face. His painkillers were wearing off, and he hoped his sweat didn’t appear as profuse under the lights as it felt. He lowered his chin, squared his eyes to the camera and took a large sip from his glass.

  Still on the ground in pushup position, Lilith spotted a rectangular object perched amid the stack of coffee table books. She pushed her chest off the ground with her hands and leaned in for a closer look. It was a deck of Bicycle cards. She snatched it up and sat back down in her chair.

  Clyde had regained his composure. “That’s right! Bring that junky trunk right back here; we’re still discussing this! You could easily extend your career. Easily. Why not go for it?”

  Lilith placed her hand over her heart and threw her head back dramatically. “Such kind words, Clyde! You’re always so uplifting.”

  The lighting and makeup crew assessed their work in the monitors and breathed sighs of relief. They were close to wrapping, and the production had been a success. Clyde’s makeup was holding up, the lighting was spot on and the ambient skyline had elevated the stage to an unexpected level of artistry. They were almost out of the woods. Almost.

  Clyde raised his glass. “You're the best and the brightest. You have the entire universe in the palm of your hand. Why not stay with us for a bit longer?”

  She shifted in her chair and held tightly to the cards. “That’s right, Clyde. I have the entire universe in the palm of my hand.” She carefully gathered up the pile of coffee table books and set them on the rug. Then she removed the deck from the packaging and promptly began shuffling the cards over the table. She held them out in Clyde’s direction. “Cut it.”

  Clyde took the deck from Lilith and cut it. He had to give her credit. This level of spontaneity could never be achieved by the amateur ranks; she knew how to play an audience. It hadn’t been that long ago, he thought to himself, when he himself had enjoyed a time of spontaneity, imagination and courage.

  “Pick a card and show us,” Lilith commanded. Clyde slid a card from the deck but held it to his chest.

  His days as a third-rate actor had taught him a thing or two about living in the moment, like meeting Celia. They were twenty years old when she was hired as a last-minute understudy in his fledgling stage production. They fel
l in love at first sight and got married soon after the play had closed to minimal fanfare.

  Their wedding attire, rings included, had come from wardrobe department castoffs. During the ceremony, their faces were adorned with the dregs of an abandoned makeup kit that lay unclaimed backstage. Before the reception, they draped the walls of their shabby walk up apartment with an ancient pair of cigarette-burned stage curtains (they barely noticed the mildew smell after a few weeks) and danced, barefoot and drunk, into the wee hours of morning with fifty of their closest friends, until the soles of their feet were blackened with dirt. Housekeeping had never been much of a priority for either of them.

  Every aspect of loving Celia had been a euphoric study of living in the moment and relinquishing control until her death in a car accident two years later. After that, being onstage was practically unbearable because it required him to engage. He could barely make a living, either.

  When the tabloid gigs started pouring in, they offered more security than he had ever imagined and an unexpected perk: any bad behavior or moral shortcomings exhibited on account of his inner demons was expected and encouraged. Engagement was unnecessary; he was paid to shift focus away from himself and onto the subjects at hand. And, speaking of hands, he was never, ever expected to reveal his own.

  Fast forward to the present and Lilith stood before him, choosing to embrace an uncertain future in the middle of the road because she still had the will to engage. She was out-of-her-mind insane. And that was incredibly sexy. He wanted to stand up, grab her junky trunk and kiss every last bit of pinky gold gloss off of her lips until she clenched her toes and spilled her fancy glass all over his ivory hairhide rug. He wanted to, but he wouldn’t. That’d be weird.

  Lilith’s held out her hand. “Show me your card.”

  The image inside the television rolled vertically a few times and flickered as Clyde held his card up to the camera. He lowered his chin and twisted his mouth wickedly. “The Joker! Folks at home, you saw it here first.”