by J M Thomas
I backed away slowly. “I’m… I’m so sorry…”
Sian shook his head without looking up again. His cheeks inflamed as his eyes slowly shut.
“Thank you, Celeste,” Trice mumbled through gritted teeth. “It was a good thing I met you.” With that, she dashed out of the breakroom.
Sian stood there, feet planted in place, breath coming in shallow huffs. I wondered if that’s what I looked like when indecision or terror froze me.
“Follow her,” I whispered, giving him a little shove to get him moving. “I’m so sorry, Sian. I didn’t…”
Sian buried his face in both hands. “I know. It was wrong of me. I planned to… it was just…” He shook his head again, then raised it to stare at the ceiling. “...Never a good time.”
“Go fix it.” I pushed his shoulder again, and this time, he got moving like I’d lit a match under his rear end. “Now’s your time. Make it right again!”
Sian’s hesitation evaporated with his momentum. He disappeared out a set of double doors, following her at a sprint. The rest was up to them now.
A lump rose in my throat. What have I done? If he winds up needing a dating service after all… I wanted so desperately to talk to Trice about what I’d seen these past few days. How could I explain to her how there were so many normal, abnormal people serving in Wachenta and giving their all to help the living and the dead? How could I tell her that Sian, her Sian, was a source of hope and not someone to fear?
I couldn’t. It wasn’t my story. It was his, and he had to be the one to tell her.
Woodenly, I shouldered my bag. I wasn’t lying when I said I had one more necromancer I wanted to talk to, and now I felt I needed to talk to her more than ever. I made my way through the network of long, dimly-lit corridors and hallways to Marla’s storeroom apartment.
I tapped on the door. Nothing. I peeked in the little window. The gurney and the boxes of medical supplies were all that remained.
A hand on my shoulder made me jump.
“Sorry.” Marla’s voice was quiet. “Should we go somewhere to talk?”
I nodded, glancing around at the people in scrubs striding purposefully toward their goals. This wasn’t the place for a conversation, unless I wanted to ruin the lives of two of my contacts in the span of an hour. Inwardly, I was still cringing, heartbroken that I’d not picked up on Sian’s reticence. It’d been written all over his face from the first moment Trice walked in—but I assumed everything backward and made it all worse.
She took the lead, navigating me a way I hadn’t come before. The hospital spat us out into a secluded parking lot behind the garage.
“I signed the lease on a little studio apartment… you know, after the other day,” Marla began as we walked. “I’m going to go shopping to get some furnishings for it. Would you like to come with me to chat? I’d love to have a buddy to bounce color ideas off of, and you have a beautiful sense of style.”
“Sure!” I blushed a little, floored at the compliment. “Thanks for saying that—I took some design classes in school, so I’m really only going off of what I was taught.”
She flipped one of the blue curls at the end of my hair, the gesture coming across more motherly than sisterly. “And you probably excelled at it.”
We split off to our respective vehicles, planning to meet up at the home furnishings store. It was only a few minutes away, but the heavy freeway traffic made me nervous as I drove. I wondered how long it would be before I imagined every vehicle on the road to be a potential tail.
When I arrived, Marla had already parked and retrieved a bright red shopping cart. Though she looked excited to be picking out furnishings, she seemed deeply weary, as if her entire being was weighed down.
I tried lightening things up by asking what some of her favorite colors were, and what kinds of shapes she liked. To my everlasting heartbreak, she didn’t seem to know.
“Alright, then.” I flashed a smile. “Let’s just forget about the color wheel stuff for a little bit. How about we make straight for the throw pillows, and I want you to grab your top five and shove them in this buggy.”
As soon as we turned into the aisle, Marla stared at the wall bursting with colorful, plush mounds. The first two she tossed in were nothing to write home about—grey chevron that was already a little out of fashion and a fluffy chartreuse round covered in a thick shag of faux fur.
As she debated over her other choices, I couldn’t help but stand there amazed. I’m helping a necromancer find what colors she likes. How many simple things has she lost touch with, in exchange for a life full of magic?
For how mundane the thought was, it hit me as profound. I’m helping a necromancer pick out couch pillows.
Once she made her selections, I was able to help her find a few that would coordinate with her favorites. There were several whose patterns and colors tied them together. She blinked in awe at the selection we wound up with, and the colors she could match to other furnishings. We’d been there fifteen minutes, and she already had a plan.
“Thank you,” she breathed, burying her hand in the soft fur. “I had braced myself for this part taking hours. But I love them—they already feel like home.”
I grinned. “You like textures, madam! You’ll never find what you’re looking for running your eyes over everything. You have to discover it with your fingertips.” I wiggled my fingers at her. “I can’t wait for you to show off your style to your girlfriends!”
Marla nodded, silently running her hand over the pillows one more time as we pushed the squeaking shopping cart toward the curtains. After a few steps, she blurted out, “I don’t really have those, either.” The realization seemed to come as a bit of a shock to her.
“Curtains?” I asked, puzzled.
Her voice came out in a whisper. “Friends.”
“I’ll be a friend,” I volunteered quickly, then fell quiet again, our footsteps and the squeak of the buggy wheels playing against the store’s canned music droning through the speakers. I wasn’t going to be the person to be her closest friend—I could be a friend, but she needed so much more than I was capable of giving. “Why none of the other nurses?”
“Oh, they’ve already got their little groups. I tried helping them extra with the things they needed, see what built from that. But soon, I was just the person who came to help, and nothing more. I can be a friend a lot easier than I can have one.”
“Well, you’re already doing great at receiving some help from me.” I got an impish little smile all of a sudden. “And Ethan, maybe you can practice with him some, too.”
She blushed a little. “I debated having him come shop with me, but I know he’s busy with his mom.”
“And he might could use the break,” I offered with a smile. “I’m sure getting him out of his little routine every now and then will be good for him.”
Marla nodded, pulling the buggy to a stop in front of a display of mirrors. “Next time, I can give him a little bit of notice so he can make sure his sister can watch his mom. I wouldn’t want to leave her on her own.”
I debated prying further, then decided to gently push forward. “Does she have all the care she needs?”
“For now.” She ran her index finger along one with a swooping, curved edge, then added the mirror to the cart. “They’re doing their best to keep her at home as long as possible, because she has times when she forgets how to speak English. Ethan can still talk to her and see if there’s something she needs. Not many facilities would have the ability to understand her like he does.”
“Where is she from, out of curiosity?” I readjusted my purse on my shoulder. “I noticed Ethan had Asian features, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him.”
“Korea. He made me a delicious Korean rice bowl the other day when I visited.” Marla glanced down the rows of curtains along the back wall. She had that deer-in-the-headlights look, like she was utterly overwhelmed by the glut of options.
“Just close your eyes and run y
our hands along them. Then we’ll try to find that texture in a color that matches the pillows.” I smiled. “And I’m glad you and Ethan are getting along well. It’s good for both of you to have someone who understands.”
The hamster wheel that was my brain today whirled back around to Sian and his situation. “Marla… why would anyone have a problem with dating a necromancer? Is it the ick factor with the whole dead thing? I keep running up on puzzles I don’t understand at all.”
“Beats me.” The act of shrugging her shoulders, then relaxing them, seemed to release some of the pent-up tension. “Best I can figure is that people see us like the stories portray us. Power-hungry, shrouded in mist, laughing like supervillains as we march through graveyards, that kind of thing.”
Marla’s eyes rolled up in a surprisingly dramatic gesture, letting me know precisely what she thought of silly stories. Then, she let her eyelids flutter closed. Dutifully, she ran her hands over each of the hanging curtains, then opened her eyes and held up the pillows to see how well they’d coordinate.
She settled on a pale grey lace drape that would let the sunlight through. With a little momentum, she was doing quite fine on her own selecting things that brought her comfort and happiness.
“Honestly, there aren’t really enough of us willing to out ourselves and disband the stereotype. As a whole, we’ve chosen friendship with those quiet shadows rather than our peers.” Marla let out an exasperated harrumph. “There aren’t a whole lot of safe spaces for necros to unite, even when the watchlings aren’t sniffing around, trying to find someone to pick off. They don’t understand what we have to give in this world!”
“I still don’t get what the problem is!” I waved my hands in frustration. “Maybe I was raised sheltered or something, but I still don’t get why anyone would look at you and see a threat. I mean, you’re a sweet, kind lady who loves helping people. You’re all softness and hardworking care.”
“Yes, but you see through the shadows.” Marla gave a wan smile as she pushed the buggy around a corner into the next aisle. “Few are so perceptive.”
Or so blind. The thought sent a cold shiver down my arms. If I missed Sian being too ashamed of his necromancy to tell his wife, what else was I blind to?
Before she could finish her thought, Marla’s phone rang. She jumped to pick it up. “Yes? All right, I’m a few minutes away. I can make it.” She ended the conversation with a sigh toward her shopping cart. “I’m on call.”
“It’s all right!” I gave a dismissive wave. “Would you like to run your card real quick, then I can finish checking out and bring your stuff by the hospital?”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I think I’ll price the same items online and see if I can find them cheaper. Now that I know what I like…” Though her voice took on a dejected tone, her shoulders remained bravely squared up.
“Then at least let me put them back for you.” I put my hand on the buggy. “You’ve got baby milestones to celebrate.”
“Thank you! If you’re sure it’s not a bother...” At my little shooing wave, Marla rushed out toward her car, leaving me to re-shelve the items. I took a picture of each one, matching it to its tag so she could find the items again easily. On my way out to the car, I sent her the pictures, the bright sun hitting me so directly I could barely see the screen.
I almost hung up on the incoming call accidentally, before I could even pick it up. I didn’t have a contact for this number, but I’d given out my number a lot in the last few days, and the area code was local, so I answered it. “Hello?”
“Hello, my dear!” Hugo’s perpetually-elated voice didn’t change a bit when he was on the phone. “I do hope this isn’t a bad time!”
“You picked a perfect time. I’m suddenly free for the afternoon.” I glanced around, skin on the back of my neck prickling like someone was watching me, but there was no one else in the parking lot. Darn these overactive hackles. I’d probably have texted Don if I wasn’t already on the phone with Hugo.
“Good! Come over to the shop forthwith!” He almost sounded out of breath, like he was still darting around while on the phone. “I feel I’ve owed you more answers than I’ve given you so far, but business has been absolutely nonstop, and I haven’t had a chance to invite you for another chat!”
I ducked into my car, then started the engine. “I’ll see you in five minutes, then.” As I pulled out, I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched. I recalled Aeron’s words that I’d be safe at Hugo’s, then found myself relieved to be heading there anyway.
...Or was that why he called? With a chill so hard I shuddered, I returned to the one place I’d vowed to never visit again.
Chapter 21 – To Feast
At Betwixt, I set my open notebook next to a bowl of oranges so large and vibrant that I had to get closer to make sure they weren’t grapefruit. Hugo leaned in, his ever-present curiosity piqued. I didn’t know he could get any more curious—his default setting was stuck on “cat” or “puppy,” depending on which fancy’d taken him on the adventure.
“Ooh, are these your notes?” His hand was already reaching toward the stack as if his fingers were magnetically attracted to it. “May I?”
I waved my hand as I sank into a well-worn desk chair, its khaki microfiber nearly all rubbed off from use. “Sure. No corporate espionage allowed, though.”
“I wouldn’t think of it! Well, now I’ve thought of it. I wouldn’t have thought of it.” He grinned as he picked up the notebook and scanned the pages. Instead of brightening with fascination, his expression crinkled as he read.
“It’s my list of questions,” I explained, flexing my throbbing feet inside their shoes.
“Yes, I see that.” His words, which had flowed steady as water from a garden hose before, suddenly seemed unusually deliberate.
“What?”
“You see, my dear Celeste, you’ve gotten it all wrong!” Hugo reluctantly slid the notebook from his lap into its place next to the bowl. “You ask about mundane things as if that’s all they are. ‘How do you work? How do you play?’ Like that’s it! You work, you play, you sleep, you die.” He met my gaze with a mournful expression. “I pity you.”
“You pity me?” Shocked, I reached for an orange from the bowl of fruit, then dug my thumbnail into the base to peel it.
“You’re blind!” Hugo’s eyes misted over. “And that’s not even the tragic piece here. I pity that no one’s ever told you. You have only the vaguest of concepts that something else exists that you can’t see.” His hands spun as if he was striking up an invisible orchestra. “You’ve never stepped out in imagination to develop a concept, a frame of reference for it, because you don’t realize.”
I opened my mouth to ask him what I didn’t realize, but he apparently didn’t need the prompting.
“Every living thing has an aura, and every dead thing still carries the aura of the living thing that made it. I can scarcely bear to look at an inlaid cheese board.” His face screwed into a scowl of distaste. “The carcasses of twenty trees all trying to push apart yet bound together by so much glue… it’s an abomination!”
A shudder seized him, but it only halted his pacing for half a jaunty step. “Ooh, and the orange you’re eating? It glows, not with its own life, but with the seeds budding within the fruit. This variety radiates—they pulse with their magic. It ebbs and flows like tides! I wish you could see it!
“And tides! Ah, the gleaming flickers of a million ocean wildlives make the ocean sparkle like glitter in the moonlight!” He tilted his face toward the ceiling as if overcome by the thought. “It twinkles as they’re born and die. I got to watch the turtles hatch once on the edge of the beach. I sobbed the entire show. It’s most spectacular to see the magic of a tiny turtle when the waves slap it in the face and it truly comes alive!” Hugo’s hands gestured like little sea flappers to demonstrate.
It wasn’t exactly demonstrating anything, so I just nodded slowly and tried to picture the strang
e images of twinkling, glittering ocean waves slapping baby turtles. Then I had to work not to snort with laughter.
“But wait, let me back this whole thing up about…” he counted off on his fingers, appeared to lose count, then returned his gaze to me. “A few notches. There’s something important about all this I cannot neglect to share with you.”
“And that is?” I was a little worried he’d lose his train of thought again if we didn’t hurry the commencement of his explanation along. My hands dropped to my lap, orange still cradled between them.
“Let me see, how can I put it? Ah, maybe... No.” He was pacing now, which suited his indecision perfectly. “Psychopaths are deemed insane because they don’t feel feelings, right? They don’t understand this strange piece of being human that is ‘emotion,’ so they pretend they feel it, pretend they empathize.” He shook his head. “But it’s all around them, and they can’t escape its reality, even though it doesn’t connect with them in their gray little world.”
Hugo sank into the cushion of his wing-backed chair with a slight frown. “For you, the situation is far worse than that. You don’t see the magic, but your world has worked so hard to stifle the magic, to say flesh and blood are only that. To you, that bowl of oranges is only a bowl of oranges to feast upon.”
He gestured at the bowl, then settled his hand over the fruit protectively, like he was covering their imaginary ears from hearing blasphemy. “There’s no aura of delight surrounding it that touches you before you reach for the one that’s calling to your soul. You not only don’t understand that it’s magic. Your world is satisfied to let you think it’s just some chemical in your brain interpreting color, scent, and shape.”
I inhaled the oils from the peel, releasing them into the atmosphere as I opened the orange in my hand. “It isn’t?”
Hugo gave me a forbearing look. “When you look at dear Lyons, what do you see?”
“I see a man who cares so much he can’t help but pick a fight.” I pressed my lips together to stifle the little smile as I realized how quickly the words had poured out. “I see an alligator snapping turtle who’s proud of his beak and claws and scars. I see a middle finger raised to the whole world as he tucks the ones he cares about behind him.”