The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Shit, will you shut up? Also, that parking lot moved. It was over there before.” Mick pointed.

  “I need to get to class. I’ll see you later.”

  Elliot walked to the bus stop and sat on the covered bench. The next bus would be along in eight minutes, so he had the time to chat with Mick. But he felt like he was only encouraging the man’s delusions if he let him go on and on about the birdman and the strange things he saw. If only there was somewhere for him to go. But he wasn’t a danger to himself or others, so he couldn’t be legally institutionalized. And Mick said all of his family had died in World War II. Elliot took that to mean that he was estranged from them or they really were dead.

  Mick came around the bus shelter wall and sat beside Elliot.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I know they call me creepy, and I’m not trying to freak you out. I just get confused is all. Still friends?”

  Mick’s face was so childlike, so sincere. He had his hands folded in his lap like a schoolboy. Elliot put his hand on his shoulder. “Still friends.”

  “I’m trying,” said Mick.

  “I know you are. I know it’s hard.”

  “I’ve been through some things.”

  Elliot supposed he had. He knew nothing about mental illness, but even if the traumatic things Mick went through were only in his mind, they were still hard on him.

  “And I know you’re trying too,” said Mick. “I know. You don’t live back to front yet, but you will. See, I learned things in Vietnam. There was this guy.”

  “Mick, you are too young to have been in Vietnam. You need to stop this.”

  “Not everyone lives front to back like you do.”

  “That’s enough. Now, where are you going to go tonight for dinner and a bed? Are you going to the shelter on Third Street later?”

  “You need to listen, is what you need to do. You need to understand that you can remember the past. Right? You remember the past. And you can’t remember the future, you get me?”

  “That’s true. You can only remember the past.” Elliot wondered if this was going somewhere, but maybe sorting out pasts and futures would help Mick get a grip on reality.

  “So you can see your past in your mind. But not your future.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And when you’re walking, you can see in front of you, but not behind.”

  “Also true.”

  “So I walk, and I see what’s in front of me. Just like I see the past in my mind. And so do you. So since we can only see what’s in front of us, and we can only see the past, we live from future to past. See?”

  “No, we live past to future,” said Elliot.

  “We can’t see the future. And we can’t see behind us when we walk. So we go from unseen to seen, from future to past. We all live backwards.”

  “No, Mick. Look, you need to talk to Imelda at the shelter. I think you’re having a rough day.” Imelda was the administrator at the shelter. She wasn’t a psychologist, but she was good to the people who came to her. Elliot had once been one of them, but since he was young and employable, he had been able to find work quickly and rent his trailer from one of his surfing friends. He was one of the lucky ones and he knew it.

  “I can’t go there tonight,” said Mick. “The birdman will be here at night. But you go have a good time. Learn lots at school and go be a great doctor.”

  Elliot didn’t know what he wanted to be, but he doubted he’d ever manage to become a doctor. The bus pulled up and Mick retreated back to his spot against the wall. As the bus pulled away, Elliot saw Mick dig through the bag and then roll the top down and set it next to him. He must have been telling the truth about someone giving him something to eat.

  Chapter 6

  Yukiko rolled over in bed. Sunlight shot through the gap between the motel curtains and she heard people talking outside. The pillow smelled musty, like human hair and institutional laundry detergent. But something was wrong. There was a sort of pain, deep pain, but it wasn’t physical.

  Then, in a flash of horror, she remembered. It had been late and she hadn’t known what time it was. She had fallen asleep while watching television and then something had awakened her. The television had cast a pale, jumping light in the room. She had opened her eyes, feeling someone in the room with her. But her head had felt so fuzzy and she had been unable to sit up or even keep her eyes open.

  Then the room had twisted. Or rather, something had been twisted out from inside her. It had been so violent that it felt like she was a rag being wrung from the inside out. Her swirling vision had gone red and then black. Then something large and flat slammed against the length of her body. She had crashed to the floor. While her spirit ball was being torn out, she remembered screaming, but she did not know if it had been in her mind or out loud.

  She looked to the floor. Yes, she remembered being facedown on the putty-colored carpet, its rough surface abrading her face and palms as she writhed and tried to escape or fight. But her fighting had been feeble, and after the removal of the spirit ball, she had been weak. It had been so difficult to move or open her eyes. Maybe she had passed out. She did remember that someone had lifted her, tenderly and lovingly, and laid her on the bed. Then they had pulled the blankets up over her. She could not remember the person’s face, though she had tried to look.

  Drugged. Someone had drugged her. It was the only possible way anyone could have taken her spirit ball. And of course, normal human drugs would never have worked, most of them anyway. She also knew exactly how the drug had been administered. Whatever had been in the red slushie had been powerful. Sleeping through the removal of her spirit ball was like sleeping through an amputation, impossible without a substance so incredibly strong that it could incapacitate her kind. She thought of the green-eyed man who had served her the red slushie. He had told the girl at the booth to take a break and that he would help her. He had made the drink. But she had smelled him, and there was nothing other about him. He was just a human.

  But what did that mean? Humans could work for otherfolk. And some otherfolk could disguise themselves so well that they were nearly indistinguishable from humans. Heck, she herself was one of that kind. She knew the methods well enough. But she didn’t think the green-eyed man was working alone. No.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and tested her weight on them. The pain was bad, but not unbearable. She would manage.

  But wait. She was wearing her flannel pajamas with the jelly bean design and she was certain that she had not put them on prior to lying down to watch television. That meant that the person who had taken her spirit ball had also taken off her clothes and put her into her pajamas. He or she had even taken off her bra.

  Who the hell had done this? She racked her brain, trying to remember the person who had been with her, but nothing came, only memories of pain and flashes of terrible color and sensation. She remembered the strange feeling she had gotten from some areas of the park. That might have something to do with it. But how could anyone but Santiago have known that she was coming? Well, she would be paying him a visit, and if he hadn’t known before that her normally gentle kind would kill to regain a stolen spirit ball, he was about to learn.

  “Damn,” she muttered, “stuck in human form.”

  She could change, but it would drain all the remaining energy she had. So she would have to stay as a human. Of course, she spent most of her time in human form. It was a necessity in the modern world. But to have to be trapped in one shape was like being imprisoned in her own flesh. It was akin to cutting the wings off a bird but allowing it to keep its legs and walk. It was alive and mobile, but it did not exist in its proper and whole form. It was no longer truly a bird. She felt around inside of herself, but there was nothing. Residual power, yes,
but not the kind she needed. Not her native abilities. Oh, Santiago was going to pay all right.

  “I’m going to kill Coyote.” She headed to the bathroom and flicked on the light. The fluorescent tubes flickered and then steadied and she blinked in the white light. She remembered times when an electric light was a marvel, a near miracle. But now, she just sighed and looked in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess and her skin was pallid. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lips were nearly white. She looked just like she felt.

  She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, when she had stopped aging. She could appear older or younger if she wished, but it would use up some of her remaining power. And she needed to conserve it. She couldn’t even use a minor adjustment to make her face less narrow or her eyes a little farther apart. Her face was the face she had been born to: long and thin with arching eyebrows, high cheekbones and a mouth that turned down at the corners.

  If she was going to see Coyote, she needed to prepare. He had done this for a reason and she wasn’t about to let him have any advantage or see her weakness. Let him think what he would but she was not helpless, no matter what had been taken from her. She peeled off the pajamas and dropped them on the floor. Then she showered, dressed and blow-dried her hair.

  She wished Inari was still alive. She wished her kind were still united around their god and that her sisters and brothers could help her. She imagined them, most of them white, some grey or red, and even the few black ones, racing in a sea of fur and teeth to aid her. They would subdue and tear apart the one who had harmed one of their own. But there were none. The brothers and sisters she once had were now scattered around the world if they were alive at all. There was no one to call upon, no one to help.

  She also wished she had one of her old kimonos, one of the ornate ones with the thick obi around her waist, tied in a giant bow at the back. Her face would be covered in white makeup and beads would dangle down from her elaborately styled hair. Coyote would see her power then. Or maybe she would wear a tailored suit and heels too high for comfort. Something to make her feel like her old self. Instead, she put on her schoolgirl skirt and blouse, fastening on the plush fox tail. Even without her spirit ball, she would cast her normal shadow.

  Now for some makeup. Some red lipstick fixed the problem of her colorless lips. Some powder and eyeliner made her look a little healthier. She wanted to paint symbols on her skin, old symbols to give her power in battle, but this would have to do. She swiped on mascara, stepped back and looked her reflection in the eye.

  “Whatever he wants, he’s in for a surprise,” she said and pulled her hair up, turning her head side to side. Yes, up would be more intimidating. She styled it in an old-fashioned way, pinning it and then sliding two black and red lacquered chopsticks into the top. Then she fastened on the plush fox ears. Let him remember her as she was, formidable, terrifying. If he thought that by stealing her spirit ball that she would be his slave—with soft voice and eyes downcast, shuffling with tiny steps—then Coyote had another thing coming.

  Chapter 7

  In the employee break room, Elliot filled his Styrofoam noodle cup with water from the tap and placed it into the microwave. The break room was small and smelly, with faded wood-paneled walls and an old vending machine against the wall it shared with Mr. Augustus’s office. The tables were covered in carvings and permanent marker drawings from former employees and the mismatched chairs always rocked on their uneven legs. At least the microwave and old refrigerator worked.

  Astrid pulled her brown paper bag from the refrigerator, sat down and took out a cheese and pickle sandwich and a spotted banana.

  “You got a couple quarters?” Astrid asked. “I didn’t bring a drink.”

  He dug in his pocket and set the money on the table.

  “Are you still coming to graduation?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I requested the time off.”

  “We’ll have pizza afterwards. I think my mom is paying, but I don’t know. She’s kind of broke.”

  Elliot saw her look down and trace one of the carvings on the table with her finger. His Aunt Carrie was often short of money, but then so was his mother, her sister. He understood his cousin’s worry. Something as simple as a family pizza night could become uncomfortable if paying for it was a strain. His mother and her current boyfriend weren’t much better off financially, and if anyone expected him to chip in more than ten bucks, they’d be out of luck.

  He thought of other families, ones that gave cars or computers to their kids for graduation. Those kids got to go on the graduation trips and attend grad night at Disneyland and go to prom. He and Astrid had not been able to afford any of those things. They had been lucky if they had jackets that fit and shoes without holes.

  “After the ceremony, we’ll see if your mom still invites everyone,” Elliot said. “And if she doesn’t, then we’ll just all go home. So I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “I guess,” she muttered, inserting the coins into the machine and taking the soda. After drinking, she set the can down and he saw the circular smudge of lipstick on the can. That was odd. He looked at her more closely. Astrid rarely wore makeup, but she had some on today.

  “Have you seen the Chumash Legends show yet? It’s really good,” he said. The show was only going to run on the boardwalk stage for a few weeks during summer. The Jacaranda Festival events were in full swing now, with musical events, dancers and even a drumming group.

  “I haven’t seen the show yet. But I heard it was good,” said Astrid. She looked like she was only half listening. Another employee came in, got a candy bar from the vending machine. Astrid glanced at the door after he left.

  “Something happened last night,” she said. “Something really weird.”

  “Yeah?” He stirred his noodles with a plastic fork and took a bite.

  “It was late and something woke me up and the cat was staring at the window. You know how cats stare like they can see something you can’t? It was like that, but she was looking at the window like something was outside. Then she went out the cat door and I looked out the window. First, there was this giant bird. I’m pretty sure it was a raven, because it was too big to be a crow. And then, right under my window, there were all these little stacks of rocks. All of them were exactly three stones high.”

  “The bird was stacking rocks?” Elliot had heard of crows being intelligent, and ravens were cousins to crows.

  “No, no. I think … I’m not sure. Something was out there.”

  “Something stacking rocks outside your window.”

  “It sounds stupid, I know. Never mind. It’s dumb.”

  Astrid wiped her mouth. Most of the lipstick was gone and Elliot saw the telltale dark scab that meant her lip was split. So that was why she had been wearing lipstick. She had been trying to cover it up.

  “Your mom hit you again, didn’t she?” he said.

  “It’s fine. I don’t care anymore. I really don’t.”

  “It’s not fine.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Seriously, Astrid. You can’t let her do this.”

  “And what do you want me to do, huh? She owns the house.”

  “Stop her or hit her back or something.”

  “Like you did with Aunt Ruth’s boyfriend? How did that work out? You had to go to the shelter.”

  It was true. His mother’s boyfriend had picked a fight with him and had shoved him into a wall. Elliot had fought back. It had ended with Elliot out in the driveway with only the clothes on his back. He couldn’t go to Astrid’s house, since her mother didn’t like him much and would have sided with his own mother, who had done nothing to stop him from being kicked out. So he had ended up at the Third Street shelter. He had gone back home the next day while his mother’s boyfriend was away, collected his things and went back to the shelter
, where he stayed until he had gotten a job and his first paycheck.

  “It’s only a couple more months,” said Astrid. “Then I’ll be out of the house and she can have her wish.”

  Elliot knew his aunt was a mess. His own mother wasn’t violent, but the men she dated sometimes were. He had seen Astrid wear long sleeves in summer to hide bruises on her arms that she had gotten protecting her face from her mother’s fists. He also knew that her mother had broken Astrid’s finger once and that one time, Astrid had bruised her cheek when she was thrown into a wall. Of course, both times she claimed she had fallen.

  Now, Astrid was looking at the table, her eyes dull and her face expressionless. He wished he could help her, but there was nothing he could do. A dark rage boiled within him, fury at his aunt, but also at himself and his inability to do anything useful. Without money, a car or even a halfway decent job, he was helpless, and he hated feeling helpless.

  While other young people their age were driving new cars and had tuition paid for by their parents, he was barely able to pay for groceries and Astrid was forced to walk home at night through a bad neighborhood. It was a wonder she hadn’t been attacked. He felt the flimsy plastic spoon bend in his hand and realized he had been holding it too tightly. However he might feel himself, whatever anger and frustration burned inside, he was the only person in her life who knew what she had been through. He wanted her to know that he understood.

  “Hey, Astrid.”

  She looked up at her name.

  “Don’t let her get to you, okay?”

  She tried to smile, but though her mouth moved a little, her expression remained miserable. “I won’t.”

  He hoped she wouldn’t. But he also knew that, in a way, it was already too late. Her mother’s treatment of her had gone so deeply into Astrid’s psyche that she was nearly incapable of believing that she could do anything right. She dressed and moved as if she wanted to be invisible. She had never had a boyfriend, not that he had known about, and she had few friends at school. She also had no confidence in her artistic ability, even though she had been accepted to one of the most prestigious art schools in the United States. It was like she was more willing to believe bad things about herself than good.