The Anathema

by Rawlins, Zachary

  “Are you sure?” Katya asked, slowly standing up from the plastic chair, her expression hardening. Alex followed her eyes to the open door of the examination room.

  “You don’t look like a doctor,” Alex said.

  It was true. Grigori Aushev looked nothing at all like a doctor. He was solidly built, but not like Michael; it was as if he had the frame to be tall and skinny, but had managed to pack a bunch of muscle on in defiance of nature’s intentions. He moved gracefully, like a dancer, belying his size. He looked unhappy; however, the face beneath his uncombed dark hair did not seem capable of expressing happiness, so Alex wasn’t sure. He had Slavic features, three days worth of stubble on his cheeks, flat brown eyes that refused to acknowledge the light, a thick accent and a voice so deep that Alex had to lean forward to hear him.

  “Alexander Warner? Grigori Aushev. We need to talk.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Alex muttered, his head in his good hand. “Can’t any of you people at least wait until I see the doctor?”

  * * *

  “You’re going to have to explain that to me.”

  Anastasia was brushing her teeth at the time, so she did not hear him approach. It wasn’t like Renton to come into her wing this late in the evening, and it wasn’t like Donner and Blitzen to ignore the intrusion. She was surprised; surprised enough that her she poked herself in her gums with her toothbrush, the sting making her eyes water, though she had enough composure to make sure it didn’t show. She was decidedly less than happy with Renton when she turned around and made an interrogative noise, her mouth full of toothpaste.

  “Sorry,” Renton said, looking anything but. “But I’m curious. Timor I understand, he has done some personal security courses, and I think he will make a decent bodyguard, even if he is a bit inexperienced. But Katya was trained as an assassin, Ana.”

  Anastasia said something that apparently sounded enough like ‘And?’ that he understood.

  “I looked up her records,” Renton admitted with a guilty look. She knew from experience that it was entirely for show. Renton didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t feel bad for anything he did. “She’s formidable in her own way. Six years worth of tradecraft and combat training, and her aptitudes are all solid. Nevertheless, her proficiency is all in wetwork. She is academically, diplomatically and socially unfit for the position; moreover, she does not know the first thing about protecting someone. Katya is nothing more than a killer, not to mention emotionally unstable. So, why her?”

  Anastasia closed the door in Renton’s face, ran water in the sink, and then finished brushing. She did not normally bother with mouthwash at night, but she did this time, delaying to make a point. When she finally opened the door again, he was still there, with the same false, friendly smile on his face.

  “Did you learn anything else interesting about Katya?” Anastasia demanded, trying to act as if she wasn’t talking to Renton in her nightdress, her hair down in preparation for bed.

  “Well, she does manage to look alright, even in the uniform…”

  “Do you have to say things like that, Renton? That has nothing to do with why she is here. Katya’s protocol, you fool. Do you think she could, say, kill Alex with it?”

  “I could kill Alex with a mean look,” Renton said smugly.

  “When he is at full power?” Anastasia asked, her voice dripping with contempt. “When he is using his Black Protocol? I am not so certain, Renton. I am not sure that you could get close enough to him to try. While you are poking around records that you are not supposed to be in, review the footage of what happened in the quarry, when Michael had him activate that protocol for the first time. It was quite frightening.”

  “If you say so, but…”

  “I assigned her to Alexander as a favor to someone worth doing a favor for, someone who wanted to take out a bit of protection, while hopefully providing him with an educational experience. Katya may be a terrible student, but she excelled in the Program.”

  “Oh,” Renton said, nodding. “Then it’s just a coincidence that’s she’s…”

  Anastasia glared at him, her best glower, and he trailed off and looked chastised. She was not at all sure he actually was.

  “Nothing I do is unintentional, Renton,” she snapped. “I hoped you would have realized that by now. Whatever happens with Katya, I assure you, it will be what I had in mind.”

  “That would be easier to accept if you weren’t wearing those,” Renton said, pointing down at her feet. They both paused to look at her plush brown slippers, and then Anastasia looked back up at him, twitching with fury.

  “These are Domo slippers,” she said menacingly. “Don’t you dare mock Domo.”

  “Of course,” Renton said, holding his hands up in faux surrender. “Whatever you say.”

  “Speaking of whatever I say, what are you doing here? What did I tell you about coming to my room? Or using telepathy to keep my dogs from eating you?”

  “Something encouraging, I hope.”

  Anastasia shook her head and then sighed.

  “Enough. Renton, I am about to get upset,” she said quietly, but with feeling. “Therefore, I suggest that you find somewhere else to be. Maybe you could find a girl who actually appreciates you showing up unannounced in her room.”

  Renton took a couple of steps back. Donner was suddenly between them, with his heavy black body wedged them apart, almost standing on her slippers, snarling in response to his mistress’s mood, his instincts overriding whatever suggestion Renton had implanted in him.

  “Okay, I got it, Ana, message received,” Renton said, backing away with a smile. “I’m already gone.”

  She watched him walk all the way to the door, Blitzen tracking his every step, a consistent, low snarl coming from the Weir’s throat that sounded like the revving of a small, rusted engine.

  “Since you’re feeling so curious,” Anastasia called out after him, “go see what’s happening at the infirmary. It will probably be interesting. You can tell me about it in the morning.”

  “Right,” Renton said, flashing her a weak smile before he closed the door on the snarling Weir.

  Anastasia sighed heavily, and then spent a minute petting Donner and Blitzen, calming them down. She had given that final order to Renton not because she needed his perspective, but more as face-saving measure. He probably would have done it anyway, even if she hadn't ordered him to. It was probably time, Anastasia thought regretfully, to do something about Renton, in case he got to feeling even cleverer than he already was. Anastasia went back to the bathroom to brush her hair again. She was too agitated for bed.

  * * *

  “Okay, things got a little heated. It’s the first time we’ve all met, so it’s not surprising that there was some miscommunication. Now, why don’t we just, you know, put down the scalpels and stuff and start over?”

  He looked over at Katya hopefully. She was standing in front of him, one hand clutching a couple of nasty looking surgical tools she had pillaged from one of the drawers in the infirmary. Their companion pieces, two quivering scalpels, were imbedded in the wall, one on either side of Grigori’s head. Katya turned to look back at him in confusion, her face flushed and shoulders heaving. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then shrugged and set the tools down on the counter in front of her, conspicuously within reach.

  “That’s good,” Alex said encouragingly, turning next to Grigori. “Now, you stop whatever that glowing-hand thing it is you’re doing.”

  “I don’t work for you,” Grigori objected, still attempting to burn a hole in Katya with his eyes. “And this is hardly the first time I’ve met Katya Zharova.”

  “Alright, that’s great,” Alex agreed. “On the other hand, I only just met you, and yet I prevented her from stabbing you in eyes. So, maybe you could consider doing me a favor, huh?”

  Grigori looked over at Alex in stunned silence, but his right hand, which had been emitting a crackling, vivid blue energy, gradually returned
to normal. Alex figured he could put that one in his ‘win’ column.

  “Okay,” Alex said, sitting back down on the examination table with a sigh of relief. “This is all very civilized. Now, Mr. Threatening-Russian guy, what is so important that it merits scaring away the doctor, whose help I desperately need?”

  “You are a fool, Alexander Warner,” Grigori sneered, his face flushed and ruddy.

  “You probably could have waited to tell me that.”

  “Are you insane?” Grigori demanded. “You have an assassin next to you, right now!”

  “What?” Alex said, glancing around. “Oh, you mean her? This is Katya. She’s not an assassin.”

  “I’m his bodyguard,” she offered gleefully. “Anastasia Martynova's orders, courtesy of the Black Sun. Alex needs protecting.”

  “She’s not my bodyguard,” Alex sighed. “Look, do you both think this could wait? I’m supposed to be getting an injection.”

  “You cannot possibly be this stupid,” Grigori insisted. “Anastasia Martynova installs one of her agents in your life, an assassin no less, and you simply accept it? Are you already their creature, Warner? Do you already belong to the Black Sun?”

  “You’re the excitable type, aren’t you?” Alex asked, lying down on the examination table. “Look, not like it’s any of your business, but you’ve got everything wrong. Anastasia is my classmate, not my boss. I don’t work for her. I'm not a member of any cartel, not even the delightful one you are a part of, whichever that is. And I haven’t accepted help from anyone, much less a volunteer bodyguard; which, by the way, you are doing a stellar job of convincing me that I might actually need. Anyway, Katya’s totally not an assassin, right?”

  “Totally,” Katya agreed, deadpan.

  “See?”

  “I haven’t completed the training yet,” Katya continued blithely.

  “That is not helpful,” Alex complained. “I am trying to make the angry guy go away.”

  “Sorry about that,” Katya said, still watching Grigori, her body tense and her hand hovering near the shining instruments. “Bad habit of mine.”

  “What is wrong with you, Warner?” Grigori demanded, clearly dumbfounded. “I came to warn you about a threat to your life, based on the positive reports on your character I received from Emily Muir, and instead I find you cracking jokes with the threat? This is simply too much.”

  “Wait, Emily gave positive reports about my character? What did she say?”

  Katya moved on the balls of her feet, like a cat, walking circles around Grigori.

  “I have never liked you, and your accent makes you sound like my grandmother,” Katya said deliberately, just out of his reach. “I spent a lot of time in Mr. Cole’s class thinking about what I would do to you, if you didn’t have a cartel to stand behind you. Well, I have a job now. You get close to him,” Katya said, pointing at Alex, “and then I’ll do what I have to do. It will be my obligation.”

  “Ahem.” Rebecca cleared her throat, fingering the scalpels embedded in the wall with obvious trepidation. Behind her, a doctor and handful of nurses peered out in suspicion and hostility. “I’m just going to say it. Everyone in this room is in a whole lot of trouble.”

  6.

  “Am I,” Eerie said slowly, searching for words, “in trouble?”

  “That would be the gist of it, yes,” Gaul said patiently. “Quite a bit.”

  He gave her a minute to let the news sink in. Eerie said nothing, a vacant smile on her face, her head cocked to the side and her eyes focused on nothing that he could see. The silence stretched out longer than he thought that he could stand.

  “I don’t want to be,” Eerie concluded.

  “Ah. Yes,” Gaul agreed slowly. “Yes, I would imagine so.”

  Again, the silence stretched out until Gaul felt practically compelled to cough.

  “Uh, I’m – I’m sorry?” Eerie said hopefully, her hands clasped between her knees. “For whatever?”

  “You can’t rectify this situation simply by apologizing, Eerie. In this particular case, it might be more appropriate to…” Gaul trailed off when he realized that Eerie had her hand held up politely above her head, waiting to be called on as if she were in a classroom. “Yes, Eerie?”

  “I am very sorry,” Eerie said firmly. “A lot sorrier than before.”

  “Yes,” Gaul said, coughing. “I do understand. However, I think that…”

  “Eerie,” Rebecca cut in, leaning over Gaul’s shoulder, from where she perched on top of one of his filing cabinets. “Why San Francisco?”

  Gaul had to combat the urge to bury his head in his hands, to shout at either of the infuriating women who had occupied his office and turned this conversation into a farce, but he did not. Not the least because he was not entirely sure what he wanted to do about Eerie in the first place. If Rebecca had any kind of solution, it was worth tolerating her interruptions.

  “You don’t like San Francisco?”

  Eerie rubbed her temples and looked puzzled.

  “No, why did you want to go to San Francisco?”

  “Oh. I wanted to shop, and then to go dancing.”

  “Right, but couldn’t you do that anywhere?” Rebecca persisted. “Why there specifically?”

  “In San Francisco,” Eerie confided, “no one cares how I look, no matter where I go.”

  “I see,” Rebecca said patiently. Gaul didn’t see at all, but he passed on speaking. He could feel the Ether ripple as Rebecca reached for Eerie, empathically, the probe both subtle and profound. His interest perked up – his understanding had always been that empathy worked poorly on changelings, due to their alien consciousness and neural chemistry. “Why did you want to bring Alex, Eerie?”

  To his surprise, Eerie looked away suddenly.

  “I, uh, I wanted to go dancing,” Eerie said evasively, scuffing her sneakers on the wooden floor of Gaul’s office. “You know. With him. But it didn’t work out.”

  “You mean because the Weir…”

  Eerie shook her head, and then was forced to push her unruly blue hair back behind her ears.

  “No, because he wouldn’t dance,” Eerie said, pouting. “It’s hard. Alex is scared of lots and lots of things. He got two beds.”

  “He what?” Gaul asked, trying very hard to follow along.

  “At the hotel,” Eerie said, shrugging. “He didn’t even ask me first.”

  “Really? Wow,” Rebecca said earnestly, looking mortified. “That’s pretty lame.”

  “Rebecca!” Gaul snapped.

  “Right, sorry,” Rebecca said, shaking her head and returning to the task. “Eerie, why did you ask Anastasia for help?”

  “Oh. Easy one,” Eerie said, seeming pleased. “She said to.”

  “She told you to ask her for help?”

  “Yes.”

  If Rebecca was trying to draw her out, it didn’t work. Eerie just waited patiently, tapping one foot alternately against the ground and her chair leg. Gaul poured himself a glass from the carafe of water his secretary had left on the desk to have something to do while Rebecca frowned furiously, trying to work something out.

  “Why? Why would she do something like that?” Rebecca wondered.

  “Ask her,” Eerie suggested. “When I want to know something, that’s what I do.”

  Rebecca looked at Eerie hard, but she didn’t flinch. Gaul could feel the power in the room, every atom in the air energized, attracting and repelling in a frenzy of ozone and negatively charged ions. He couldn’t tell if it affected Eerie at all. Her eyes remained blank, wet and dilated, and her body language placid to the point of being slack.

  “Eerie, I have to ask. Did you know that Alex was coming here? Before he actually showed up?”

  “I heard stories,” she said, nodding in confirmation.

  “No… before that. Before anyone had heard of Alex here at the Academy. You knew about him, didn’t you?” Rebecca said, leaning forward, so caught up that she hadn’t even touched the cigar
ette that burned in the ashtray that Gaul kept specifically for her. There was no one else, after all, that he would have tolerated smoking in his office.

  Eerie looked away again. Gaul and Rebecca exchanged glances. This, he thought, sipping his water, was something.

  “I don’t have to talk about it,” Eerie said, the music disappearing from her voice abruptly, which was instead flat and miserable.

  “How did you know that, Eerie? Precognition?” Rebecca pressed on. “Was that how you knew about Alex?”

  “I don’t have to talk about it and I don’t want to talk about it,” Eerie said, suddenly animated. Gaul blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it looked the same no matter what he did – around the changeling, and the air seemed filled with translucent golden motes, moving in lazy, counter-clockwise circles, trailing golden dust behind them that slowly dissipated into thin air. Despite Rebecca’s cigarette, he could smell a distinct odor of sandalwood. “And if you don’t stop leaning on me, Rebecca, then I am going to have to leave, and I am going to cry, and then I am going to complain, because you cannot do this to me, because I am not the same as you, and because I have always done my best, since I was little, and because you don’t have a right to try and peak inside my head, and it is wrong that you are trying to make me okay with telling you things that I am not okay with telling you, and it is wrong because there are two of you and I am all alone, and I am trying to make friends because you told me that I had to make friends, and now that I am trying you are angry with me, and this is not fair and – ”

  Gaul stood up and clapped his hands together. Both women snapped their attention to him, and after a moment, the charged atmosphere receded, both of them returning to their respective corners.

  “Enough. Rebecca, Eerie is right. She has made the request, and she does have a right to her privacy. There will be no further attempts to influence you, Eerie.”

  “But it isn’t right that she – oh. Uh,” Eerie hesitated, flustered. “Well, good then. Can I go now?”