by Rena Rocford
I slipped the gold from his wrist and dropped it into my pocket. No need to leave him with something that screwed people up–especially people like me. Diving back into the filthy water, I rescued my makeup kit. I’d be damned if I would lose sixteen bucks of makeup for that twit.
I mean, seriously, whose first response is to gore the person hiding in the closet? With a unicorn horn? What was wrong with these people?
The intensity of the sprinklers seemed to have increased. That, or time sped back up from super human, unicorn slayer to normal person. I found the soggy bag of makeup and checked in on Beth. She leaned into her ruined closet and pulled out a shoebox from the upper shelf. She covered it in a towel and headed toward me.
“Come on,” she said. “This stuff is dangerous.”
“How dangerous?”
“Like anaerobic bacteria breeding since the building was installed, bad for you,” she said. She grabbed a duffel bag of sopping clothes, and we headed out. “Grab those papers.” Beth pointed, and I picked up the thickly folded parchment.
Outside, we stepped over Dr. Targyne, and I turned for the stairs.
“I ought to kick you,” Beth said to the unconscious unicorn.
I grabbed her arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She looked at me, her green eyes welling with tears.
“We’ll make this right.”
“How?” Her plea cut through the air.
“We need to take showers and get out of these nasty clothes, first of all. Let’s go back to my place. You can shower there, and we’ll put a load in the wash. Then we’ll read these papers.” I waved the parchment. “Even unicorns have to have procedures.”
“But they want to censure me,” she said.
“What, like, pull your school work or something?”
“No, they’ll kill me. Censure is a euphemism for execute.”
f there was a god of wind, he lived in Albuquerque in March. Soaked in stinking clothes and swimming through a nearly forty mile per hour wind, we shivered our way across the football fields. The chill cut right through my wet jacket. My legs shook, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. The adrenaline coursed through me, but it was all uncontrolled power. I could jump ten feet straight up, if I could get my feet to agree on a direction to jump.
We crossed the last street to the apartment complex, cut through the bus station, and climbed the stairs in seconds. When we got inside, Beth leaned back against the door.
She sobbed, sucking in gulps of air in ragged hiccups. “They’re gonna kill me.”
“You don’t know that.” A conciliatory lie I would hate to hear if I were in her shoes. “Can we fight them?”
Beth dragged a soggy sleeve across her puffy eyes. “Allyson, you’ve got the strength and the reflexes, but you’re new to this. Those horns they have? They’re sharp.”
“Big deal; you’re, like, super healing girl, and I have acne scales. We can take them.”
Beth pursed her lips, then nodded her head. “Right, I can see you don’t get it.” Beth walked around the little half partition into the kitchen area. She pulled out a giant carving knife. I knew what she was about to do, but I couldn’t make myself move. I was paralyzed by horror and curiosity.
Beth plunged the tip of the knife into her forearm. She pushed it through until the knife poked out through her arm on the opposite side. Over the stench of our clothes, the fresh scent of blood and something deep and earthy, like cabbage or copper, drifted through the room. Beth yanked the knife out with a hiss, and blood fell to the linoleum in a stream and pooled at her feet. She held her arm out so I could see. The bleeding stopped, and the holes where a knife had torn through her flesh knitted back together in a matter of seconds.
My hand flew to my mouth. There was no wound. Thin pink lines marked the entrance and exit point of the knife wound, but even that faded before my eyes until only Beth’s pale, smooth skin remained
“Holy–”
Beth held up one finger, and I stopped mid word. She pulled up her shirt, and across her stomach, grotesque scars stretched from one side to the other. The wavy lines crisscrossed her midsection, a spider’s web, except these were scars. They traced out a history of terrible pain. The ragged edges of tears and rips could have only come from violence. No surgeon’s cut would leave marks like that. Not even a regular knife would leave marks like that.
I held my breath.
She met my eyes. “That’s what a unicorn horn will do to a troll. I don’t think we’d last long.”
“They did that on purpose?”
“They don’t have many, ah, domesticated trolls. So they use me to train their children. Those who can manifest get to use me as a practice dummy.” She put a finger to her forehead and mimed a unicorn horn.
“What’s manifest?”
“They can change shape, like Dr. Targyne.”
I narrowed my eyes, hunting for the reference. “Crazy monohorn who attacked me?”
Beth nodded.
“But how can they do that? How come that isn’t illegal?”
“Before two days ago, you didn’t even know, and you’re one of us. It’s not like we advertise.” She chewed on her lips.
My stomach rolled, and it had nothing to do with dragon fire. “Are you telling me there’s no police? There’s no one you can go to?”
“What would I tell the cops?”
“But what about the others? You said there are other Kin, not just unicorns, right?”
Beth crossed her arms. “I’ve never talked to anyone but the unicorns. And outside of the conclave, everything is hunted.” She slid down the cupboard and sat on the floor. “They make weapons out of special materials–mostly parts of their horns, or stuff wrapped with hair from their tails–and they use it to hunt down the other Kin. All for the protection of mankind, but it’s pretty simple. I’m with them, or they’ll kill me.”
“And your dad lets them do this to you?” I asked.
“My dad was just happy to be rid of me. He set up a trust fund and got Dr. Targyne to take care of any big issues. Hence, the emancipation. I can sign myself out of school, but I can’t blow my nose without a note from the good doctor.” She pounded her fist on the cupboard door.
I knew Beth had never told anyone about this. It was a gift of trust, but a terrible gift; hideous even. What could I do but nod and try to accept? I had my mother. I even had crazy Aunt Agnes. Beth had a flock of horn happy unicorns and a trust fund. She’d trade me for moving across the country every six months in a heartbeat.
And now the crazy monohorns thought she’d done something to their star pupil.
Beth wiped her face clean of any pain and put that indestructible smile back on. “You stink.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll shower. Just clean up the blood. I’m supposed to be grounded.”
When I got out of the shower, I stuffed my nasty clothes into a garbage bag, and Beth followed suit. “I should wash these.” I counted quarters out of the laundry money jar.
“What’s the point? They’re going to come and pick me up. And you, they might decide you’re too dangerous.”
“First, the not smelling part–”
“Not everything got covered in stink juice.”
“And secondly, you’ve got to fight this.” I grabbed the crumpled parchment from the unicorns and waved it at Beth. “What does it even say?”
Beth pointed at me. “You read.” She pointed at her chest. “I shower.”
If I was going to help, then I needed to know the rules. It’s not like they covered unicorn tribunals in American institutions. Seriously, who put a fifteen year old on trial for the death penalty? Even normal people would need a brutal and heinous crime, not just chatting with some trolls and dragons. And what’s so bad about trolls and dragons?
I sat on the couch and read the papers.
The letters were done in gold ink, but it being done in pretty–if almost impossible to read script–didn’
t change the facts. If Beth did anything that revealed the location of the conclave, she could be censured. If she directly contributed to the abduction of one of the members of the conclave, they would kill her.
Basically, they claimed to have the power to kill her for no good reason, but especially if something went belly up.
Like Steve going missing.
Beth came out of the shower in a cloud of steam. She’d wrapped her hair in a towel like a turban. “Solve it all?”
“They kill you for staying. They kill you for going. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“They’d kill me for talking.”
I dropped the papers on the couch next to me. “Seriously, I could have lived my entire life without the personalized lesson in how the US justice system really is much better than many options.”
“You’re funny, Drake.” Beth, still wrapped in a towel, dropped to the couch. The papers bounced on their cushion. “Any recommendations?”
I had nothing. They were charging her for helping outsiders kidnap someone. Without Steve, there was no way to prove her innocence.
Without Steve.
Steve.
“All we have to do is find Steve!”
Beth blinked at me. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s only one way to prove you didn’t do it. We find Steve, bring him back and you get off.”
“You’re nuts. How are we going to find him?”
I hadn’t thought of that, but with the question before me, my brain raced through to find answers. “Those trolls from the mall, they said unicorns were common in these parts. Maybe they know what happened to Steve.”
“You are crazy; we can’t just wander around the mall. As soon as Dr. Targyne comes to, they’re going to start looking for me. They’ll try everything nearby, including the mall.”
“If the trolls are canvassing the area, maybe they’re at the other mall, too. We go find the trolls at the Coronado Mall, interrogate them, use the information to find Steve, and you’re off scot free.” I handed over the bag of clothes with a flourish.
“Just like that?” Beth asked.
I nodded in triumph.
“And how are we going to get to that mall? It’s on the other side of town. The monohorns know I take the bus–they’ll watch the station.”
An image of the faded MGB flashed in my mind. “We’ll drive, then.”
“Did your mother leave you with her truck?”
“No.”
“And where are you planning to get a car?” Beth asked, as if asking a child.
I smiled. “There’s a car in the parking lot. It hasn’t been moved in a while.”
Beth held her hands out. “Oh no, no, no, no. I am not stealing a car.”
“Just get dressed, okay?”
Beth gave me a wary eye then retreated to the bathroom with her duffel bag, reemerging a few minutes later in fresh jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. “You’re absolutely insane, Drake.”
I picked up my backpack, just in case I needed the tiny toolkit I kept with my pencils. It could be just the ticket to get into the convertible. It’s not like I knew how to hotwire a car or anything, but I was willing to try if we could clear Beth of all charges.
“Look, it’s been there for days, and I’m pretty sure it’s actually my aunt’s car.”
“If it’s her car, then can’t you just call her up and ask to use it?”
“It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Let’s just take a look, okay? Maybe it’s dead. Who knows?”
“You know car theft is a felony in pretty much every state?” Beth followed me out of the apartment and down to the parking lot.
“I’m ninety-nine percent certain it’s my aunt’s. And, as a bonus, if it is Aunt Aggy’s, she’ll have to talk to me.” I raised my eyebrows at Beth.
Beth sighed, but she never got farther than a half step behind me.
The car sat, innocently waiting, top down and tonneau cover snapped into place. It had lines similar to a 60s Porsche with the two headlights perched at the ends of two ridges and the hood in the middle. The steering wheel was on the wrong side. Even if the paint was faded, this was an expensive car, a hobby project. As we got closer, I knew beyond a shadow of doubt it was my aunt’s. I’d sat in those seats.
I snapped back the tonneau cover and the scent of Aunt Aggy radiated out of the leather seats. Like the unicorn’s bracelet, it wasn’t just the smell of leather, it was the smell of family–no, home–but I’d never had a home. How could I know what one smelled like? But the gold, that was real. So was the smell of Armor All and piñon, the scent of my aunt.
With the cover removed, sunlight winked off the keys on the floor. No need to hotwire. The keys might as well have been an invitation, really. I mean, car, keys, and unsupervised time… my aunt even showed me how to drive it. Yeah, it was a few years ago, but driving was like riding a bike, right? How much could I have forgotten? I’d even taken driver’s ed–well, three quarters of driver’s ed. In another state. Of course, the laws were similar. I bet I would have passed that final if my mom had just stayed around for another month.
“This is the car you want to steal?” Beth asked.
“Borrow. It’s my aunt’s car.”
Beth looked the car over and twisted her lips to one side of her mouth. “Are you sure it can make it to the mall?”
Running my hand along the dash, I scowled at Beth. “I’m certain it’s in great condition.”
“Right, great condition for a dinosaur.”
“Hey,” I said, feigning pain, “it’s a classic.”
“Especially if you take the standard definition of classic being anything older than fifty years, I’m sure it qualifies.” Despite her ribbing, Beth unsnapped the rest of the fasteners and helped me fold the cover. We stuffed it behind the seats, and I dumped my backpack on top of it to keep the cover from flying away. I sank into the seat and breathed in the smell of refined automobile.
The second my butt hit the bottom of the seat, I broke out in a sweat. Dear patron saint of stupid people, don’t let my aunt find out and, if you’re listening, don’t let me bunny hop the classic car. Please, please, please.
I turned the key, eased off the clutch, and the car slid out of the parking spot. Beth flashed a rare smile of pure joy. If you’re going to be an idiot, do it in a convertible. It feels better.
As we made it to the road, students funneled off campus for lunch. We got caught by the red light and a couple students I didn’t know whistled. Beth blushed. I tried to stay focused, but I felt the power of looking hot in an awesome car.
“Hey, Takata, nice car.” Jed’s unmistakable nasal voice pitched over the idle of the MGB.
Ha! That jerk gets to see me drive this car. Today was finally taking a turn for the better.
The light changed, and I threw the clutch too fast. The car lurched forward, throwing Beth and me into our seatbelts. Then, much to my horror, it leapt again, and again. My cheeks burned, and the MGB bunny hopped for a solid twenty yards.
The car made so much noise, I couldn’t hear if Jed was laughing or not.
Either way, I’d have to kill him later.
didn’t know how much hairspray they used in car commercials where there’s a woman with long hair riding in a convertible, but my guess was somewhere between two and three bottles, because the second the car got up to thirty-five, a wicked back draft blasted our hair forward. I chewed on strands of jet-black hair all the way to the mall. I’d have to arrange my locks with something more than a prayer next time.
The other great myth concerning convertibles was comfort. No sweet, skin-caressing breeze. By the time we arrived at our destination, the cold air had blasted my skin into chapped hide. Decidedly unpleasant.
And yet, despite having my own hair in my face, freezing ears–I reached up to make sure they were still attached–and skin sandblasted clean, I loved it. This wasn’t driving, it was flying. But I wanted earmuffs and hair ties
before I tried this again.
We pulled into the Coronado mall parking lot windswept, but otherwise unharmed. I dumped my backpack into the foot well and snapped the tonneau cover over the passenger compartment. Hopefully, no one wanted to steal the car, but I took the keys just in case.
Beth wasn’t taking any chances. She kept her duffel slung over her shoulder.
I raised one eyebrow.
“I have cash in the bag.”
“What, like, your life savings?” I asked, half joking.
“Something like that.”
I gave her a sidelong glance as we walked up the concrete sidewalk. Above the mall doors, a sign spelled Coronado in jaunty, offset letters and symbols similar to the petroglyphs. Just like a major consumer to cash in on the only perceived natural resource: Native Americans. Even the mall here was a tourist trap. Inside, the first shop to the left was a Native American Emporium, where they sold crap made in China and advertised as authentic Native American.
Past the cheesy shop, the rest of the mall was exactly like every other mall in the US, complete with a food court, a Macy’s on one end and a Sears at the other. We walked the length of the mall, scanning the crowd, but no trolls.
“No esta aqui,” I said.
Beth wagged her eyebrows. “They mostly come out at night.”
“Mostly,” I said, quoting another ancient movie.
She sighed, leaning against a wall. “Well, any other great plans?”
“I saw that jacket from the other mall in a store we passed.”
Beth turned on her heel and started back. “Yes, I like this plan. Your aunt’s car is freaking cold. Did you see any place with some earmuffs and scarves?”
“We could check Sears, I’m sure they’ll be on clearance. I hope you like orange plaid.” I jogged to catch up and, in no time, Beth bought the thick blue jacket, despite the roominess in the chest, and the shortness in the sleeves. She took a wad of cash from the duffel bag to pay, and when she was done, the roll of twenties still rivaled her fist in size.
I guess Beth didn’t spend all of her allowance on clothes.
She caught me watching her and handed me a wad of money. “You should buy something, too.”