Mercy
Page 13
“Pux!” she hissed, slapping him across the face as hard as she could.
He jolted awake, limbs flying in her direction, sending her hopping back until her elbow hit the island and she gripped it, a weird sense of pain and pleasure trickling through her. She cried and it turned into a laugh as she doubled over, waiting for it to wear down. She stole a glance at Pux. He was sitting, nervously smoothing down his sleeveless tunic, and running his fingers along his face to smooth out his hair. He picked at the edge of his ear as the pain ceased and she grabbed the bag dumping its contents onto the counter.
“I can’t believe you ate all the chocolate,” she muttered, her northern European accent thick. She glared at him and he gave her a sheepish look.
“I wasn’t supposed to?” He sounded small and childish. He had an accent but it was impossible to place. It was more in the way he pronounced the words than the lilt to his voice. He spoke in the modern Avristar tongue, which wasn’t anything like any human language but she understood him well enough.
“Move the coffee table and lie down on the floor,” she instructed. She put a watchful eye on him for a moment before heading into the bedroom to grab her altar, candles, and the rest of her herbs.
She didn’t want to do this.
She hadn’t seen her sisters in hundreds of years, but Istar? She distinctly didn’t want anything to do with him. He disowned her when he kicked her out of Avristar seven hundred and fifty years ago. If she had known what he was going to do … others from Avristar found her, betrayers, deserters, you name it, they all found her eventually. It was like this invisible string of energy between the kinfolk of Avristar. It didn’t matter where they ended up on Earth, they could find each other if they looked hard enough. Shimma’s only advantage was being part human; it made her blend in better.
Pux was on his back when she came into the room again. She lit a single candle and placed it on the ledge above Pux’s head, clicking off lamps and track lighting as she rounded the room. More candles went at his hands and feet, and she set the altar down beside him. She pushed the couch and coffee table further out of the way, so it was almost against the end table in the corner, and kneeled by his side.
Pux opened his eyes, their caramel brown catching her in the flickers of candlelight. “Is it going to hurt?”
She scoffed. “Aye,” she said mocking his accent. He cringed and she sighed, pushing herself to her feet and crossing the room. She opened the cabinet behind the mirror in the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of painkillers. She handed him ten and a glass of water. He frowned, looking at the little pills in his hand.
“Is it like the chocolate?”
Shimma laughed. “Sure. It’s magic, take it and you’ll feel no pain.” There was a mocking edge to her tone. Pux was so naïve it was a wonder he’d made it this long without dying.
He put the pills in his mouth and bit down on them, his face scrunching up in disgust. He went to spit them out but Shimma pressed the glass into his hand. “You can’t spit them out, they’re going to help.”
“They don’t taste like chocolate at all!” He took the water in giant gulps. He gagged as it went down and Shimma pressed her lips to her fist to stifle a laugh.
“You’re very lucky you don’t have to eat the black thorn,” she said, grabbing a handful and throwing it into the mortar. She threw everything else she had bought into the mortar and used the pestle to work it into a strong paste. She spoke in Romanian, her voice slurring as the candles flared and the energy in the room shifted. She poured the herbs into a marble bowl, an inch of oil in it. She let it mix and grabbed Pux’s right hand, working the paste into his palm. She did the same with his feet, his head, and his sternum. She held her hands out, chanting in a low booming voice as Pux twitched and shuddered violently.
Spasms rocked his body and she heard bones snap. He let out a loud cry, and she smirked. What she really needed was morphine or Vicodin but short of robbing a pharmacy she didn’t have any. She rounded him and stood by his feet as they changed, tendons stretching, his feet shedding hair and claws. She waited while the transformation moved up his arms, into his torso, his neck. His face was what needed the most work. The flat nose became a small pointed nose, his ears dropped to the sides of his face, hair disintegrated, seeming to melt off his face, revealing baby smooth skin. His eyes turned to almond shapes, his lips became fuller. The only thing that remained the same was his hair, slicked back, reddish brown. He desperately needed a haircut. She rubbed her hands together and took the mortar and pestle to the sink. She didn’t need to monitor the internal changes, it could take hours for his heart to sink to the right place, lungs to reshape, spine to align. She glanced at his human face contorted in silent pain and felt sorry for him. She wasn’t willing to go through this much pain for anyone. Pux was a special sort of person, wanting to save Kaliel from the boy she killed. It was poetic.
Shimma took up residence on the edge of the black leather couch with a cup of hot chocolate and watched, the digital clock on the microwave counting out the long hours through the night. She nodded off a few times, and when she woke up, Pux was staring at his human hands. His skin had a beige quality to it, not quite as white as some of the men in Norway. She smiled at her handiwork. He looked young enough to be maybe sixteen years old. He had the same brown eyes, but everything else about him was authentically human. She moved, making the couch squeak and put her mug beside the sink. The candles burned down and snuffed themselves, and she managed to clean everything else up before he woke. She glanced at him from the island and remembered the folder in her knapsack. She rummaged through and pulled it out. It was a lot of paperwork but the people she worked with were good at expediting the process.
“I got you diplomatic immunity so you won’t need to worry about the borders, but you will need to memorize the details in this package,” she began.
Pux looked at her with wide innocent eyes, pulling his knees to his chest, his hands fists. “Diplomatic immunity?” He mimicked the words she said, but his accent was very distinct.
“Yeah, so you can live in Canada without acquiring a work visa, or having to explain where your parents are,” Shimma said, fixing him with a look.
“I thought I’d use the boat.” He pulled the whistle out from around his neck and Shimma blanched. She covered her face with her hand and shook her head. He spoke in the modern Avristar language and she cringed, hoping the adaptation to English would kick in soon. She couldn’t send him away looking human but acting nothing like it.
“You can’t use a boat Pux, you have to …” She flapped the folder at him, hoping he’d take it from her but he kept staring at it like it was a three-headed dragon. He dropped his knees, sitting cross-legged and pulled his legs in. He looked silly in the brown tunic and breeches.
“What?”
Shimma let out an exasperated sigh, slapping the folder on the island and crouching so she was eye level with him. She grabbed him by the wrists and forced him to look at her. Despite how innocent, disheveled, and helpless he looked he had to understand this. “You’re human. You have to blend in. Don’t get caught by the police.”
Pux pulled his wrists out of her grasp and folded them under his armpits. “I can’t do this.”
“You can’t take it back,” Shimma shouted, her patience wearing thin. She paced, wondering how to explain it all to him. “Think very hard. These transfigurations come with knowledge, you have to focus.” She stared at him until he nodded and closed his eyes, rummaging through his thick skull. She fanned herself and opened a window, cool autumn air flowing into the room.
“What am I supposed to know?”
Shimma sat on the ledge her back to the window, her fingers gripping it hard. Pux got to his feet slowly and looked at her for approval. “Currency.”
Pux’s eyes widened and he shook his head.
“Money?”
Pux closed his eyes for a long moment. “I could trade my goat.”
“You don’
t have a goat. People don’t trade things. Try again, and speak English. It’s really weird to hear you talk like that.”
Pux gulped, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “Beltiono?”
Shimma laughed, unfamiliar warmth spreading through her. He was more attractive as a human, add Greek and it was tough not to think about sex. “That’s Greek. I suppose it’s a gateway to English, but try again.”
Pux hung his head. “I’m never going to learn enough to be near her.”
Shimma closed her eyes and drummed her fingers on the ledge. Krishani was there. She could … well she didn’t know what she could do but he was with her and they weren’t … it wasn’t like it was before. Maybe … she had a chance. She pushed off the windowsill and handed Pux the folder. “I’ll come with you.”
Pux beamed. “Are you serious?”
Shimma groaned, feeling crazy on the inside. “You better open that package before I change my mind.” She went into the bedroom and grabbed her suitcase from behind the door. She was used to moving around so she didn’t have a lot of things, a bag of toiletries, a few pairs of shirts and pants, the essentials. Pux leaned against the doorframe and she looked up from the other side of the bed, folding a pair of pants.
“Robert Goodfellow?” he cocked an eyebrow.
Shimma smiled, amused by his discomfort. “Did you honestly believe humans wouldn’t write poetry and plays about you?” She reveled in the nauseous expression on his face. “It’s not my fault the humans know you by that name. You made all the trouble yourself.”
Pux clapped the passport shut. “The humans have lore … about me?”
Shimma’s jaw dropped for a second, out of relief. She blinked as she zipped up the suitcase. Pux spoke in perfect English, his accent faded. “I was beginning to worry about my capabilities.”
“What?”
“You’re speaking English.”
Pux raised an eyebrow. “I’m not thinking in English.”
Shimma grabbed the handle of the suitcase and ushered Pux into the living room. He backed up, hands in the air, passport in his left hand. She looked him up and down. “Language aside, we have a lot to do.” She slid on her flats.
“What do the humans call you?”
“They don’t know my name.” She unlocked the tumblers and slid the chain off the door. She looked at Pux who seemed to be rolling around a sarcastic comment in his brain. He pulled his eyebrows together, opened his mouth but nothing came out. He pressed his lips together, preparing to try again but Shimma cut him off. “The Weird Sisters.” Pux laughed so loud it echoed off the walls. She pointed a finger at him. “If you repeat it I will take away your humanity so fast you won’t have time to blink.”
Pux frowned. “That’s not funny.”
Shimma opened the door and pulled her suitcase along behind her. “Come on, I’m going to give you a crash course in being human.”
***
Chapter 13
Passports and Terminals
Weeks passed before Shimma agreed to go to Canada. Samhain came and went, and other than a few people lighting candles and a lot of people going to big buildings Shimma called Cathedrals, nothing special happened. Apparently Samhain wasn’t a huge festival on Earth anymore.
Pux shifted on the vinyl upholstered chair trying to get comfortable. Airport terminals were a whole other thing for him. Sliding his carry-on bag down a conveyor belt and stepping through a metal detector, being wanded down by a man in uniform, passing the kiosks on their way to the rows of chairs. Pux was nauseous the entire time and Shimma’s only answer was Gravol. She handed him a paper bill and pointed to the nearest generic kiosk. He downed six tablets before the flight attendant began calling out rows. Shimma stood, rolling her small carry-on into line with everyone else. Through the big glass window Pux saw the gargantuan airplane. He grabbed Shimma’s forearm and she shot him a look.
“Are you sure we can’t call the boat?”
Her blue eyes widened, squares of fluorescent lights reflecting off them. “Calm down. People do this all the time.”
Pux looked at the blue carpet. “Not me.” He shuffled foot-to-foot wanting to get the queasy feeling out of his stomach and throat. He counted backwards from one hundred as the line moved forward. Shimma handed the woman her passport first and something beeped.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Kristiansen,” the attendant said.
Pux stepped forward, uncomfortable in boot cut blue jeans and button down light gray shirt. Shimma bought him a whole new wardrobe, but refused to let him wear Hawaiian shirts. They were the only thing he liked. Jeans scratched against his skin, and runners made his feet ache but they were the most comfortable the store had to offer. After trying to explain to the sales rep he was used to going barefoot, he clapped his mouth shut and bought the damned shoes. He handed the woman his passport, watching as she scanned the barcode and handed it back to him. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Goodfellow.”
Shimma waited for him in the narrow chute leading to the plane. He caught up to her and took long strides, trying not to lose his balance on the downgrade. He glanced at her. “You didn’t take Istar’s name?”
She shrugged, the corner of her mouth rising. “I’m not going to tell them I’m Shimma, Daughter of Lord Istar of Avristar, am I?”
Pux laughed. “There isn’t a translation is there?” He tried to keep his mind off the cramped space inside the plane and knocked his shoulder into Shimma’s sending her a bit off balance, her right hand flashing out to touch the side of the chute. He winced as she regained herself and shook her head, moving ahead of him. She stepped onto the plane and Pux followed, nodding at the flight attendants in blue, white, and red suits, gold nametags fastened to their lapels, bright red lipstick covering their lips. He took in every little detail, including the one woman in a red and white suit, wearing red flats, red lipstick, and no nametag. She had long auburn hair and was nearly as tall as the other women. She stood off to the side, looking at the floor. Pux shook his head and followed Shimma to their row. She took the window and forced Pux into the middle seat.
“Can I have the window?”
Shimma gave him a withering look. “You don’t want the window.”
Pux fastened his seat belt and leaned in. “Was that Atara on the plane?”
Shimma shook her head. “No. Nobody’s seen her in thousands of years, Pux.”
Pux sat back, as a young girl took up residence in the seat beside him, her chestnut brown hair landing on his shoulder as she sat. There were little televisions on the backs of the seats and Pux played with the channels, flipping through them while he waited for the plane to take off. Shimma opened her hand, two capsules in her palm.
“Down these before takeoff.”
Pux concealed them. “What do they do?” He’d learned enough about medicine to know that the old ways of herbs, tinctures, teas, and pastes were a thing of the past. These days’ humans had a pill for everything.
“Sleep.”
A lump rose in his throat. He put the pills in his mouth and tried very hard to salivate so he could swallow. On the third try he got it, and settled into his seat. The attendants ran the safety course, and the plane taxied to the runway. Pux’s eyes blurred as the sleeping pills took effect and he nodded off.
He spent the rest of the journey half asleep, waking when Shimma told him it was time to get off the plane and dozing off again when they collapsed at the next terminal. It took three different planes to get to their destination in Toronto, at which point Shimma said they couldn’t fly anymore. It was late afternoon, sun slicing through big windows like a flash of lightning, throwing sparks of light into Pux’s eyes. He constantly found himself rubbing his eyes. Shimma shoved him onto a cement platform and stood in a line for taxis. When it was their turn, a man in a turban grabbed Pux’s suitcase and threw it into the trunk along with his carry-on. Shimma climbed into the back seat and motioned for Pux to follow. Too tired to care he crawled in beside her and fastened his seatbelt.
A while later Shimma herded him out of the office and they followed a guy through the lot to a black car with red interior. The side of the car had the words “Camaro” glued onto it. Shimma smiled at the guy and took the keys, popping the trunk. She loaded their suitcases.
“You have seven days to register it,” the sales rep said as she unlocked the doors and Pux opened the passenger side, sliding into the wide comfortable seat. Shimma took the wheel and roared out of the parking lot. Pux felt dizzy as she weaved through cars on the freeway and then everything about the big city faded and rocks, evergreens, and strips of sunset surrounded them. A semi rolled down the other side of the two-lane road and Pux flinched.
“Are you okay?” Shimma asked.
Pux nodded, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He really wasn’t okay, his stomach was twisted from the constant moving, his ears popped a million times and his vision was blurry but he was excited, nervous, and worried about seeing Kaliel. He kept reliving the last conversation he had with her, the way she looked so defeated and afraid of herself punching him in the gut every single time. He should have said something, or stayed with her. He shouldn’t have left her to fight all alone. Not that there was anything he could have done against the storm, but … he should have taken her back to Avristar with him, not left her to freeze to death. To that effect he shouldn’t have left Jack either, but … he doubted Jack would have left his parents and the villagers, even if Pux gave him that option.