by R. J. Blain
To prove things could get worse, Kenneth chose that moment to make his appearance with his new friend following in his wake. Before I could stop him, my boss grabbed hold of my elbow. I hissed at the pressure on my singed skin. My long-sleeved shirt wouldn’t protect me from the oils and sweat on my boss’s hand for long. I jerked my arm in an attempt to pull free, but he tightened his hold on me.
“We need to talk,” he announced, dragging me towards the door.
“Hey, wait!” I yelped, making a second effort to escape his grasp.
Ignoring me, Kenneth pulled me out of the building, down the steps, and to the parking lot where his car waited. That he had a vehicle at all proved his wealth; those from the poverty district couldn’t afford the tests to acquire a permit, let alone a car.
The sporty two-door marked Kenneth as an elite, just as powerful as the men and women he so often mocked, hated, and ripped off during business deals.
“Get in,” Kenneth ordered, yanking open the passenger’s side door. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I turned. My eyes widened at how close Rob stood to me.
“Pardon me, sir,” Rob murmured, taking hold of Kenneth’s wrist and squeezing until my boss released me. “If you have business with her, I insist you take it up with me. This woman belongs to me. It’s rude to touch another man’s property without his permission.”
Four
Hallucinations, no matter how they were caused, truly sucked.
At the rate I was going, I wasn’t going to survive long enough to worry about the new curfew or any missing people. Kenneth frowned, and I saw someone’s death in his hardened eyes. Probably mine, and I couldn’t even blame him for it.
For him to be at my college, he had a real mess on his hands.
Rob took hold of my wrist and stepped between me and my boss. His bare skin touched mine, and I grimaced in anticipation of the burning allergic reaction contact with another person caused. The singes from the werewolf’s flames still stung, but the pain didn’t intensify.
I stared at the skin of my wrist where he held me, expecting blisters to form. Within a minute or two of continued exposure, the blisters would pop and the bleeding would start. The seconds dragged on.
Nothing happened.
“Excuse me?” Kenneth asked, his tone deceptively pleasant.
I was right; someone was going to die, and it was going to be me. Rob would die first, but only because he stood in the direct line of fire. Kenneth Smith hated the other elite, but he didn’t kill them off often. They paid him too well.
If I ever got around to telling my boss Terry Moore had gotten eaten by a winged werewolf while masquerading as a dragon, he’d have reason enough to get rid of me. I didn’t have Kenneth’s money or his drugs, and with Terry dead, I wouldn’t be able to get either back for him.
I wanted to crawl back to my apartment. Making friends with my cheese-covered refrigerator seemed like a better time than dying at college while hallucinating the strange and stranger.
“This woman belongs to me,” Rob repeated, his tone as calm and even as Kenneth’s. “If you have business with her, you’ll have to take it up with me. I will evaluate whether it is in my best interest to permit her to associate with your ilk.”
Rob’s grip on my wrist tightened, and I wondered if I’d have a wrist—or a hand—at all by the time he let me go and reality kicked back in. I’d gone so long without human touch I hesitated to pull free, marveling at how another person could be so warm.
Hallucinations, no matter how they were caused, truly sucked.
“Dae,” Kenneth hissed through clenched teeth. At first, I thought he was saying part of my last name, but there was a subtle difference. When he said it, it sounded more American than German.
Then I realized Kenneth referred to Rob, and dae must mean a species or race.
“Indeed,” Rob replied. “This woman is my property. While I may not be against offering you some of her services, they will come at a price. We should discuss this at length—in private, if you please.”
Services? I opened my mouth to tell them both I had no intentions of servicing anyone when Rob released my wrist and clapped his hand over my mouth. The fear of allergic reaction froze me for a heartbeat. In my desperation to free myself before the rash and blisters set in, I bit down on Rob’s palm as hard as I could.
His blood tasted both metallic and sweet. Instead of yanking away as I expected, he applied pressure to my cheeks, enough to make me aware of his hold on me without being strong enough to bruise.
My tongue tingled, and alarmed, I backed away. Rob released me, and with shaking hands, I touched my mouth, seeking the evidence of blisters I knew had to be there.
Everything felt normal. Rob’s blood smeared on my chin, evidence I had bitten him. I shook from shock and worry.
Someone’s sweat dripping on me was enough to cause welts. What would blood do? I hadn’t just been exposed to Rob’s, I had swallowed some of it. I shuddered, wiping my sleeve frantically at my mouth to get as much of the blood off as possible.
Either satisfied I’d keep my mouth shut or done caring about me, Rob turned his attention back to my boss.
“She was mine first,” Kenneth snapped.
“Irrelevant. She is mine now. Should you desire her services, I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. Your dae should more than make up for her loss.”
I froze. Kenneth’s dae?
Kenneth’s companion smirked. “Indeed.”
“Give me the location of your residence, and I will meet you at the top of the hour,” Rob stated, and I got the feeling he’d show up whether or not Kenneth gave him his address.
Kenneth grumbled something under his breath, but after hesitating a few moments, he pulled out his business card and flicked it in Rob’s direction. Rob caught it between two fingers of his left hand. I hadn’t seen him move, and I gaped at him. He tucked the card into his pocket.
Snapping curses, Kenneth got into his car, waiting long enough for his companion to get into the passenger side before tearing off, his tires squealing. I coughed at the stench of burning rubber.
“You bit me.” Rob sounded more amused than upset, and when he turned to face me, he smirked. I took a step back.
The tingling from Rob’s blood on my tongue had spread to my cheeks, and I flushed at the oddly pleasant sensation. It wasn’t quite a high, but it was close enough. It beat most of the ups cheap narcotics offered.
If I suffered from a concussion, I’d go out of my way to never hit my head on anything again. If I was drugged, I had no idea with what, but I would work hard to make certain I never had them again.
Stepping to me, Rob grasped my chin, turning my head side to side. “You have blood all over your chin.”
I flinched from the expectation of pain, but once again, nothing happened. I was so distracted by the warmth of another living person touching me without immediate, agonizing pain I didn’t pull away like I knew I should.
Maybe the drugs were preventing me from registering the damage usually caused by someone’s touch. My annoyance at my inability to live and act like a normal person conspired with my unease at being so close to a good-looking man. I snapped, “So what?”
Rob leaned towards me, looking me directly in the eyes, so close I could feel his breath on my skin. “You will learn to keep your teeth to yourself, Miss Daegberht.”
There was something sexual about the way he murmured my name, and flustered by his tone, I did the first thing I thought of. I kneed him. I meant to hit his groin, but I struck his stomach instead. He wheezed, though he didn’t double over.
He did, however, release me. I turned and left while I could, my face burning from more than the werewolf’s flames.
I retreated to the relative safety of my apartment to discover my macaroni and cheese casserole hard at work scrubbing my kitchen cabinets. The stack of papers slipped out of my numb hands an
d scattered across the floor.
How could a conglomeration of noodles and fake cheese hold a sponge? How did it manage to do a far better job of cleaning than I ever could? The floors sparkled beneath the kitchen’s bright-white lights. No evidence of my dinner’s parkour abilities remained on the ceiling. The cabinets and counters had seen better days, but my macaroni and cheese had worked wonders on them.
A fresh coat of paint would make a world of difference on the place. I feared my hallucination might be better at home repairs than me, too.
I closed the door behind me, sighed, and locked the deadbolt and knob. I stooped down to pick up the papers. I had no idea what the deal was between Rob and Kenneth, but I wasn’t going to be stupid enough to assume their dispute would get me out of checking over the list of names the dean had pawned off on me.
Was the list even real? It felt real enough. The paper was cheap, thin, slick, and prone to crinkling. It was the sort of stuff given to students in the poorer districts when they were privileged enough to be given a stipend of paper at all.
I made it to the living room before the macaroni and cheese noticed me.
“Mommy!” It bounced in place as though conscious of its tendency to smear neon-orange residue in its wake.
I liked the considerate hallucinations. They didn’t leave me more of a mess after I returned to my senses. I also worried my hallucinations weren’t actually hallucinations at all, and that something seriously wrong had happened during the night—something that would forever change the world.
I could only assume that if I wasn’t suffering from a concussion or drug-induced hallucinations, my macaroni was one of the dae like Rob and Kenneth’s new companion.
“Hey.” It was my apartment. I would talk to my hallucinations if I wanted to. If I was going to acknowledge my sentient leftovers, I would even give it a name until the concussion eased or narcotics wore off and I discovered moldy noodles scattered all over my kitchen. Until then, it deserved a name.
I went with my favorite cheese. My favorite cheese would never betray me.
“Colby,” I announced.
“Mommy?” my macaroni and cheese asked.
“Your name is Colby. Please be quiet for a while. I need to work.” I sank down on the couch, slapping the papers onto my coffee table. I grabbed my tablet, unlocked it, and wondered where I would begin figuring out what to do with the list.
I could get used to my mind playing tricks on me if people—and things—listened to me half as well as Colby did. Without another word, it went back to work scrubbing cabinets, although I did hear the occasional squeak out of it.
I regarded the list with disgust.
The list wouldn’t tell me what was going on. The news might, so I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Instead of a broadcast, I got to enjoy a blast of static. I checked every channel I could with the same results. Grumbling curses, I turned off the set and tossed the remote down.
While I didn’t want to see how badly my face had broken out from Rob’s hand and blood, I forced myself to go into the bathroom to check my reflection. Rob was right; there was startling amount of blood on my chin, and grabbing a washcloth, I went to work scrubbing it off.
My elbow where Kenneth had touched me hadn’t gone unscathed; my skin was red and raw, and a scattering of hives spread from the site.
Why hadn’t my face reacted? I checked my chin and stuck my tongue out, but both looked normal. There was no visible evidence Rob had come into contact with me at all.
The tingling that had started on my tongue and spread across my face was working its way to my stomach. It burned, but in the pleasant way alcohol did on the way down. I fidgeted with restless energy, impatient to do something, although I had no idea what I needed to do or why.
I voiced my frustration as a choked-off scream, yanking at my dark hair before tying it back into a ponytail. I stormed out of my bathroom. I needed to get out and do something before I went insane—or dreamed up another sexy older man to drive me to the brink of insanity.
Maybe a walk would do me some good—and I’d get a better fix on reality. Exercise often helped. It just took some time. If I hurried, I might be able to find out what Kenneth and Rob were up to. I had tricks of my own, and I knew how to access my boss’s precious tunnels, which gave me a damned good place to listen in on what Kenneth likely didn’t want me to hear. To do that, I’d need to wear dark clothing and face paint.
His surveillance cameras were good, but they weren’t infrared. One day he’d learn not to cut corners—maybe.
Sniffing out my boss was a good start, and it’d keep me busy. I changed into dark clothes and gloves, dug my paint out of my bag, pocketed it, and hit the streets.
As nothing could go right in my life, Colby bounced off one of the brick walls and plopped onto my shoulder. “Mommy!”
The dae on the street stopped and stared, and their reaction chilled me. It was one thing for me to ignore my noodle roommate, but when others acknowledged its existence, my theory of hallucinations began losing viability.
With so many staring at me, all I could do was follow along and acknowledge Colby, too. “What is it?”
“Mommy,” my casserole announced in an authoritative tone.
The dae nearby scrambled as though someone had lit a fire under their asses and warned them of impending death, doom, and destruction.
All right. Apparently, my new roommate wasn’t just an expert cleaner of cabinets. “Maybe you should head back home, Colby.”
“Mommy,” my casserole replied, and it amazed me he could transform the world into a staunch refusal.
The possibilities for my changed life boiled down to a severe concussion, hallucinations due to drugs, or an apocalypse. When I considered the little I’d learned, I worried I’d stepped directly into the sort of apocalypse that truly ended the world and made us all suffer through hell before we all kicked the bucket.
I needed answers, and I had no idea if I could get them with a bright orange talking casserole riding on my shoulder. Since he’d told me no and I didn’t want to see what it would do if I argued with it, I resumed my hike towards the Inner Harbor. I made it one street before an entire flock of the humanoid Canadian geese stormed down the street. I had no idea where they’d gotten torches or pitchforks, but they wielded both while chasing after a pack of six brightly colored werewolves.
I rubbed my forehead, stepped closer to the building to give them space, and observed with interest.
At the center of the intersection, the werewolves got tired of running, pivoted, and went for the geese like they hadn’t had a meal in at least three weeks. Feathers and fur went flying, and a cacophony of honks notified everyone in the city something was going down.
As the good citizens of Baltimore truly couldn’t leave a fight be, an audience gathered to place bets on whether fur or feathers would triumph. A werewolf snagged a goose by the neck and tossed him in my direction, and I sidestepped and winced as the man with a goose’s neck and somewhat human face smacked into the bricks and slid down the wall to the sidewalk.
I hadn’t sidestepped far enough, and blood splattered onto my arm and Colby.
To my amazement, while skin-to-skin contact bothered the hell out of me, the goose’s blood didn’t cause an immediate reaction. I stared at the spot, and Colby slid down my arm, bounced off, and howled, “Mommy!”
With a single word, my macaroni and cheese brought an end to the fight. The geese and werewolves scattered along with the spectators placing bets. Any other day, the mass exodus would’ve amused me, but I wondered what I’d missed and why anyone would be so frightened of Colby.
I checked my arm to discover no trace of the blood left on my skin, and I sighed at the tell-tale redness promising I’d have yet another rash. Great. Whatever Colby was, I guessed it triggered my condition just like everyone else. Then again, perhaps it had been the blood—or Colby had gotten someone else’s sweat on it.
Ew.
Damn it. I could get medications easily, and so could most of the sanctioned street rats, but if she’d gone underground, she’d have to suffer through whatever illness she had without any help from anyone, as nobody wanted to draw the wrong sort of attention to themselves. “Hey, Kelsie. Cold?”
“Yeah. It started this morning. Cursed luck, that’s what I’ve got.”
My brows shot up at that, as according to the hoarseness in her voice, she should’ve been sick for a lot longer than a day. “That’s rough. You’re not at the docks anymore?”
“My pa ran afoul of the law.”
I’d heard of some instances where entire families were registered as convicts, either going to prison or being cut out of the system as punishment for some crime, and I’d worked hard to keep from dragging anyone down with me. A lot like me, she’d done everything she could to survive, and to be brought down because of somebody else would never sit right with me. “Where are you staying?”
Kelsie gestured for me to follow her, and she led me to one of the nearby alleys, slinked down it, and pointed behind a dumpster. Had I not lived on the streets for so long, I wouldn’t have recognized where the young woman had meticulously picked away at the mortar so she could peel away the bricks and make a niche for herself. Ten bricks later, she opened up a hole and waved for me to follow her inside. I wiggled through the opening to discover her hole had once been a smuggler’s cubby, a secure enough place with everything she needed, including a functional bathroom.
She even had electricity, with two sets of wall sockets and an overhead lamp.