by Kat Quinn
As she leaves, I turn my attention to the sandwich. Turkey club. Of course it is. There is not one single part of me that is ready for more bad news; I don’t dare to even touch the cursed delicacy.
“Alright, Zeke, what’s next?” We wear ourselves ragged working every possible angle anyone can think of, until one by one, our bodies take away the option of one more try; exhaustion forcing us into sleep way past the furthest edges of the night.
****
“Please!” I shout at nothing, into nothing. I am nothing. I bang against the glass of my own eyeballs, spectator sport. No sport to spectate.
“Not your turn,” I hear. No one said it. In my head, wretched disgusting pitiful fool, do not defy.
Darkness clears, I don’t know when I am. I don’t know where I am. Her. I see her. Darling, mine, we will take her. The bitch is mine. Go back to sleep darling, you can’t be trusted. Punish.
A baboon takes out the tall blonde one. She screams, the baboon dies. We told them to kill or die. Take, kill, or die. We told them. He told them, she told them, always good, do not defy. Blood bath. I don’t want to bathe.
The world is brighter for a second, I see more clearly from where I am. I am. I am. I want to be, let me. The blonde, he moves. Rise, rise, darkness seeping out of him. He moves, it moves. They are one, we are not.
It can’t be. There were no successes.
“Him!” My voice screams, “Bring him!” I feel the need, give, give, give, give, take. Answers, answers, questions. I don’t want the answers. Don’t want to take. Something squashes me down, a weight erasing every trace, too heavy to slip around. The door closes, I see through the crack as we run away. Left behind. She is safe. Safe another day.
I slip away.
****
A bolt of electricity jolts up my arm, painful and impossible to ignore, ripping me ruthlessly from my sleep. But it’s like someone suddenly went fishing and their hook jabbed into my heart, the tug painful but an absolute relief to feel. Beside me, Lin stutters a gasp, phone tight to his ear. One hand covers his mouth. From the welling of tears in his eyes, I know he’d already been preparing himself to accept the worst, only to have those efforts go completely wasted.
It’s Connor, I know it. We can feel him.
52. Lin
Bleary-eyed, I blink awake, puzzled ever so slightly at the insistent vibrations repeatedly assaulting my leg. Intent on telling whoever it is to fuck off, some tiny kernel of brain power sparks and I realize it’s my phone, buzzing away at whatever ungodly hour it is.
“Hello,” I croak groggily, one hand swiping at a sleep-crusted eye. Everyone else is out cold in various positions nearby, not quite sleeping in a pile but not quite keeping our distance.
“Oh, thank goodness, Mr. Lin, you have to listen to me!” Garrett’s proper and polite voice is pulled taut with panic, shrill compared to his normal composure. “You can’t come in today,” he says, voice lowering to a cupped whisper. “We were attacked.”
At that, I bolt straight up, wide awake in an instant. Damn it, what time is it? What day is it? With all the excitement, it didn’t occur to any of us that the shop would need tending to today. “What happened?” I nearly shout at the phone in my hand, bracing myself to hear of the maiming of our staff.
“Miss Emmaline, she saved me,” Garrett replies, breaths picking up as though he’s hustling away as fast as he can. “I was counting inventory in the back and she scurried in, grabbed me, and forced us both to duck behind the shelves. If she hadn’t clamped a hand over my mouth at exactly that moment…” He trails off briefly. “Someone blew the back door in and charged through, breaking whatever they could and setting fire to anything else they couldn’t. We barely managed to slip out before flames engulfed the whole building.”
Distant, somewhat muffled, Emmaline’s country twang tickles the microphone. “It was them empty folks, I know it. Could feel ‘em comin’ in, but they weren’t alone. A brick wall of rage slammed against my senses right before they came through, it was all I could do to get to Garrett in time…”
“For which I am eternally grateful, Miss Emmaline.” His attention turns back to me, “But… We weren’t able to reach the twins.” Garrett rips the bandaid off with as much tactful force as possible, “We don’t know what happened to them, but I suspect they didn’t survive.” Silence. This is too tragic of a way for either of them to start their day, they shouldn’t be held responsible to dwell on it.
“They are a resourceful pair, and may very well be lamenting not having gotten to the two of you in time. Do not succumb to thoughts of things we can not prove and can not allow ourselves to be consumed by.” My mind races, trying to dissect their predicament and navigate the best course of conversation. Give them something else to focus on. “First and foremost, are you both safe?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. We’re headed to Miss Emmaline’s cousin’s place on foot.” There’s a whooshing sound coming through the speaker before Garrett continues. “It doesn’t appear we’re being followed, is that correct, miss?”
There’s no verbal response, but I’m hoping Emmaline confirmed his statement.
A relieved sigh loosens the tightness in my gut, “Good, that’s good,” I say. “We have some… obstacles to overcome as well, it’s not likely either of you will hear from us for some time. Thank you for the warning, I’m grateful you both were able to think quickly and make your exit unscathed.” Regret scratches its jagged fingernail down the inside of my throat, plucking taut my vocal cords for just a moment. “Very grateful.” My teeth threaten to bite straight through the inside of my cheek as I try to remain composed.
“What should we do about the shop, sir?”
“Hm? Oh, don’t worry yourselves about it, your lives are more important than a silly old building. I’m afraid you need to look for alternate employment until this all blows over, though. When the opportunity comes to reopen, we’d be delighted if you would return, but the timing of this event could not possibly have happened at a more turbulent moment.” And truthfully, any thoughts of The Tea Kettle and Cauldron had completely slipped my mind, so far down on the ranking of priorities they never even made it to the list.
“Garrett, you and Emmaline should…” But my thought is cut short as a violent current of electricity ricochets through my marrow, every bone buzzing with demanding energy. My heart thumps hard against my ribs and I know, I just know. I slam one hand over my agape mouth, both eyes jolting wide open, a wave of released anxiety threatening to summon yet more tears. He’s alive; Connor’s alive.
The others wake suddenly, shocked into consciousness by the S.O.S. from Zeke’s hag stone bracelets. That magnificent bastard, I’m so relieved I may very well kiss him.
Almost as if white noise in the background, I just barely hear Garrett ask “Mr. Lin, we should what?” But it takes a good long while before I can even dream to answer. The poor dear’s stress levels shoot through the roof while imagining the worst about what could have cut my sentence short.
All that matters is that we truly have a solid reason to hope.
53. Zeke
Clever. Connor was able to activate the S.O.S. signal on his bracelet. I did not expect for it to be of use so quickly, but this is a timely development. The beacon is easily traceable by any others within the group, so long as they also have their charms available.
“Oh sweet baby buffalo breadsticks, thank goodness,” Monty rushes out, visibly less twisted up in knots than he was a few hours ago. With a controlled sigh, his shoulders noticeably loosen while one hand smoothes back a few stray dreadlocks. “Don’t know how much longer I could have stood by not knowing if he was alive.” Looking up at the rest of us with a dopey grin, “So, now what? Does this mean we have a plan?”
“Mm,” I nod. “We retrieve him.”
Monty blinks. “Well, yes, of course we do, Z, but how?”
I blink back. Is it not obvious? “Do you not sense his direction?” I question, investigating one
of my own bracelets. Perhaps they need to be keyed to each individual wearer? Did I miscalculate?
“… Yesssss?” He draws out the question.
“Then we follow it.”
Rolling his eyes, Lin interjects after hastily muttering something into his phone and putting it away. “Of course that’s what we do, Captain Obvious, I believe what Monty was asking is precisely how.” His hand sweeps as though displaying a new product, fingers flourishing a wave while traversing the path. “Do we charge in, guns blazing? Do we perform a stealth operation? Do we call in the cavalry? Do we dig an underground tunnel to his position, pop up beneath him, throw up a smoke screen, and make a quick getaway? There’s quite a bit more to consider than just ‘follow the magic beacon,’ you do realize?”
“Yes, obviously. We prepare.”
Lin practically smacks himself with one hand, leaving the palm to cover his face as the other hand swirls in the air. “Yes, obviously,” he grumbles. “Someone else want to take this?”
Kieran clears his throat. “What do we have in the way of mobile defenses left? Or offenses, for that matter? No matter what path we take, I’d bet they’re expecting us, but it’s probably better to stick to stealth if possible, though I’m a bigger fan of the barging in full-force method. I hate to admit it, but if they can move with the kinds of numbers we saw yesterday, they’ve probably got a goddamned army waiting wherever they’re holed up. So, we need to stock up and stealth up.” Raking his fingers through his ginger beard in thought, “Lin makes a good point, too. Do we call in the cavalry? Who, even, do we have at our dispense?”
Uh, duh. Just the whole entire family of ball-busters we spent the other night with. Pretty sure at least half of those kids could rip a few faces off, especially good ol’ wild card green chick. Something about her says “not entirely hinged so you’d best check yourself cuz she’s gonna wreck you…” Wait, that’s not how that one goes. Eh, whatever, still think she’d rip two faces off for every one the others got. Bet it’d be super screamy and she’d probably roar like a lion viking and be queen of the whole kingdom with that display of dominance. Tiny little thing, champion over a pile of beefy murder muscles. Dizzy snorts out loud, but doesn’t voice her thoughts.
“Monty, you should alert your family of the situation,” I offer.
He covers his mouth, wide-eyed, quietly hissing out a rare, muffled curse before nodding. Retrieving a phone from one of his pockets, Monty stands and walks out of the room.
“Yoo-hoo!” Miss Fern’s cheerful voice booms from downstairs, “Why don’t you folks come on down for a bit of breakfast while we talk next steps! I have it on good authority you’ll be wanting my help.”
Dizzy rolls her eyes and stands, arms reaching high into the sky as she stretches tall, back slightly curved with the tension. I sneak a peek at the thin band of soft, tawny flesh revealed around her midsection as her shirt lifts, admiring the smooth and supple texture. Wanting for a moment to run my fingers along her perfect skin, marking it with the tips of my nails to warn potential interlopers of my claim. Our claim.
Mesmerized by the momentary fantasy, Dizzy catches me staring. With a wink, she prances by, dipping to kiss me on the cheek before flouncing out of the room while the rest of us gather ourselves to follow.
54. Dizzy
“Well then gentlemen, now that we’re assembled, it’s time to discuss one thing and one thing only,” Lin says, fingers tented together in a pyramid, elbows resting on his knees. “How do we defeat The Superman?”
Groans chorus around the table, no one actually keen to be tickled by his antics. Monty’s still on the phone with his family, and Lilly’s been delivering things back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room. Still, I doubt they’d give a much better reception.
Also, what’s even the big deal about Superman anyway? There’s apparently an infinite amount of Kryptonite just hangin’ around the universe, waiting for any ol’ schmuck to come and jab it into him at every turn. Always seems like anyone who relies on their powers too much ends up getting wrecked by a highly-skilled slate of one sort or another, like Batman or Green Arrow or even Lex Luthor. Or heck, Harley Quinn. Her superpower is basically being koo koo banana beans, and homegirl could totally just happen upon a satchel full of green rocks to drop the big bad Kryptonian like… like… a bad bitch with a sack of green rocks.
“Right, dear?” Miss Fern directs at me.
I perk up, “Hm?” Be cool, no way they could have known you weren’t listening at all.
“You were talking to yourself again,” Zeke comments.
The glare I throw at him does nothing to stop my secrets from being revealed. The cad.
“As I was saying,” the short, slightly pudgy woman continues, reaching across the table to skewer a hunk of french toast from its platter. Colorful, chunky jewelry around her wrist clinks slightly with the hard jab. For someone so old, she’s darn quick. “Lilly and I have quite the collection of tricks around our place that you’re welcome to if you think they’d be useful. Oh, that reminds me!” She turns her head, fork full of syrup-bathed bread hovering in front of her mouth, “Zeke, dear, would you mind telling me exactly how you made that lovely necklace for Lin? The one that helps to keep him inside of himself, rather than out? I already knew the gist, just need the details.” Shoving the french toast into her mouth, she chews it with a smile, waiting expectantly.
Zeke drones on about the technical aspects of his invention. Something something, tether, something something, rainbow moonstone, something something, inscribe something something box braid. Blah blah. Even if I had gone to real school, I’m pretty sure my attention span would have made it reeeeeeeal hard to pass classes. But I do wonder what kind of student I would have been. Class clown? Nah. Teacher’s pet? Nahhhhhh. Oooh! Class pet! Yeah! Put some bunny ears on me and feed me carrots all day? Heck yeah! Totally the life! I can even twitch my nose, get real into the role!
My nose twitches, proving the point no one else needed made. Aria gives me a look like “Girl, you’re being ridiculous right now, you need to chill for a second and actually focus” but like… um… You’re not the boss of me. You don’t write my paychecks.
Wait, I don’t even get paychecks! This is a flagrant violation of labor laws!
“Focus, Dizzy,” Zeke growls under his breath. Oops. Yup. Sorry. Bigger fish need frying.
“Well, now that’s settled,” Miss Fern pulls out an exact replica of Lin’s necklace from her pocket and pulls it over her own head, nestling it among the other chunky, beaded strands adorning her neckline. “Nearly forgot to have gotten that, otherwise The Girls wouldn’t have been able to pass it back down the line earlier.”
I blink. Time-talking is weird.
“Zeke, if you’ve got your machine, I could use a touch-up on my tats,” Kieran says, raising a lightly scar-ringed hand where metallic tattoos were once embedded. “Definitely worked as a good hail mary back on the farm, and I don’t want to have to pull from blood again if I don’t have to.”
Zeke nods. “I need to recharge some of mine. Would appreciate your help.”
Kieran nods back. “Easy.”
“I’d also like to provide shields for all of us. Shouldn’t take more than an hour to complete per set. And a locator so we aren’t at risk of uncertain separation once again. Is this agreeable?” Zeke questions, looking for confirmation around the table.
“Wait, like… tattoos? Like, needles jabbing into your skin a bazillion times?” I balk at the idea, tongue sticking out at the thought of all that pain.
“Love, you slice yourself open with a knife almost every day. More than once, sometimes.” Lin arches a brow at me.
“Well, that’s different! I’m totally focused on something else when that happens, and a knife’s not a needle!”
Lin rolls his eyes. “I’ll hold your hand and call you pretty while he does it.”
“I’d rather you call me brave and majestic, but it’s a deal if you go for all thre
e.”
“The lady gets what the lady wants,” Lin drolls, shrugging with an air of nonchalance.
Monty quietly slides a chair back to sit in, lowering himself without a sound, silently scooping some fruit onto a plate. Any light in his eyes is dampened, shadowed by the tautly drawn furrow of his brow. Which, I may not be the world’s best mind-reader—heck, I’m provably not a mind-reader at all—but I’m pretty sure that means the conversation didn’t go well.
“Wonderful. And of course, I’ll be coming with you,” Miss Fern says, enormous smile broadening across her wrinkled face, eyes squeezed shut tightly into happy humps.
There’s a great clattering as half a dozen cups and saucers meet their death upon the ground. Lilly stands at the edge of the table, empty-handed, having just entered to set yet another thing upon the already pretty darn overflowing table. I know we eat a lot, but this is kind of ridiculous.
“Grams,” Lilly starts, “you… You can’t go.”
“Nonsense! I won’t take no as an answer! It’s our family legacy to help maintain order and protect those in need, if you will, and I’ve got plenty of experience protecting that legacy! You never know when an old biddy with too many tricks up her sleeves will come in handy.”
“Grams, should you really leave? I mean, with mom gone… We’re a little thin. You’re supposed to be retired.” The younger woman’s tone is delicate, concerned.
“Of course I should! What do you think I am, some fragile old thing just waiting to be smashed to pieces? Pish-posh. Come now, Lilly Pad, you know good and well I’ve been in sticky situations and things always turn out how they were meant to!” Miss Fern taps her head knowingly.
Lilly crosses her arms. “Okay, fine. But I’m coming, too!” Her declaration tries to hold the weight of finality, but it hasn’t been bodybuilding for long enough to lift it.
