Nine Lives of Chloe King

by Celia Thomson

  As exhausted as she was, Chloe hadn’t been able to fall asleep instantly, and when she had, her dreams had all been nightmares: she was back on the Golden Gate Bridge, fighting for her life against the Rogue, the Order of the Tenth Blade’s most lethal—and psycho—assassin. Sometimes in her half dreams Alyec was there, sitting on the side and watching like he had or fighting beside her. Sometimes Brian was there, helping her like he had—or chasing her the way she thought he had. Even though it had all really happened, it still didn’t feel real. But it was.

  Now that she was awake, Chloe was still tired and without answers to the questions that had been plaguing her nightmares: Why me? What did I ever do to anyone?

  Chloe noticed a little side table that had been set up next to her while she slept. It was covered with a large doily and on it was a plate with various cold cuts and cheeses, slices of bread, and little cups of mustard and other condiments. A glass—crystal?—of water was placed next to a can of Diet Coke.

  Chloe made herself the largest sandwich she could manage between two slices of thick brown pumpernickel, slathering it with mustard. It took only about a minute for her to gobble it down, maybe another to toss back the water and the Diet Coke. She let out a mighty burp (then looked around nervously, but no one was there). Somehow she wasn’t as frightened as she should have been. Her belly was full, she was in a beautiful room, and she was safe. Strangely, she sort of felt happy.

  Chloe looked around: the beams and floor planks were ancient wood, dark and polished just enough to keep the dust away, not so much as to be shiny. The room itself was small but cozy: there was an intricate Oriental rug in dark colors in one corner, on top of which sat a lightly worn velvet armchair. Over its back was another chenille throw. An old-fashioned floor lamp with a slightly cracked marble base and brass upright lit the room with a soft orange glow from three fake candle lightbulbs. If Chloe had the money—and the right house—this was exactly how she would decorate it.

  She rose and stretched, feeling her joints and muscles snap into place. Back to my old self, finally. She pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket and turned it on. Three-quarters battery left. No one had left her a voice mail, not even her mom. She must have bought that whole “I’m going over to Keira’s” thing, thought Chloe. She called Amy and was a little surprised when she didn’t pick up—both Amy and Paul had seen the whole Rogue-Alyec-Brian-Chloe mess last night—shouldn’t they be worried?

  Amy’s voice mail beeped.

  “Hey, it’s Chloe. I’m fine. I’m staying with some …” She paused for a moment, trying to think of the right word. “Uh, distant cousins and friends. Don’t call—I’m going to keep my phone off for a while. Save the battery. I’m safe, and I’ll call you later.”

  Chloe then left a message for her mom, who wasn’t home. “Hey, I’m going to be with Keira for a little longer. …”

  She heard the sound of old-fashioned high heels clicking down the hallway outside her room, growing louder as they came closer.

  “Um, love you. And, uh, I’ll call you later—I’m turning off my phone. Okay, bye.”

  Chloe quickly shut off her phone and put it away. Soon a woman appeared at her door, finishing up a conversation half in Russian and half in English on a tiny cell phone dangling with charms. It took Chloe a second to realize that she was the same woman from the night before who had taken her to this room, just in more professional clothes.

  “Yes,” she said. “Two dozen. And tell Ernest thanks for the purple pens. The kids love them. Spaceba.” She hung up and gave Chloe a weary smile. “Sometimes I feel more like an office manager than president of this little place. How are you feeling?”

  “Uh, fine, thank you …”

  It was hard to tell how old the other woman was; her body was Tinkerbell perfect, small and curvy with a tiny waist and amazing calves that were highlighted by what looked like six-inch stiletto heels. She had short, elfin blond hair and black eyes. The skirt and jacket suit she wore were a little flashy for Chloe’s taste but obviously expensive. There was something more about her, though … the way she held her head, the way she stared without blinking, a certain smell that Chloe couldn’t put her finger on.

  Chloe knew this woman was just like her. A cat person.

  “I’m Olga Chetobar,” she said, extending a hand with long, perfect nails. One of them had a little golden charm dangling from the end. “I’m president of Firebird’s, well, we call it ’human resources’ department. We find and rescue, shall we say, strays and bring them home.”

  “Home?”

  “Sergei will explain—he’s very anxious to meet you.” Olga checked something on her phone again.

  “Thanks for the—uh, lunch,” Chloe said, wondering if it would be rude to ask about a shower, new clothes, or getting in contact with her mom.

  “Don’t get used to it,” the older woman said with a warm smile. “We all pitch in together around here. You will soon, too.”

  “I don’t mean to be rude—it’s great here—but when will I get to go home? I think my mom is going to start to worry.”

  Olga held up her hand. “Sergei takes care of this. Your mother will be informed that you were witness to a potentially lethal crime—which you were—and are in police custody. Or federal witness protection. Or something. Maybe he already told her? I don’t know the details—his people always do a good job, though. Come with me now.” She looked at her watch, something expensive with gold and diamonds. “He is expecting you.”

  Chloe pulled on her Sauconys as fast as she could without tying them and followed Olga out of the room. They walked down a dimly lit narrow hallway, possibly the one from the night before. In the daylight she saw that the walls were decorated with reproduction vintage paper with little roses and stripes and things, and the floor was made up of little tiny planks of different-colored wood.

  “Sorry we practically put you in the attic,” Olga said over her shoulder as her tiny feet rapidly tapped their way toward a narrow stair. “We were a little unprepared and figured you shouldn’t be disturbed for a while. This place can get busy and loud during the workweek.”

  Chloe had to double-time it to catch up, practically tripping down and around two flights of narrow stairs tightly clustered around a center well.

  “What is this place?”

  “Firebird Properties, LLC,” Olga said crisply, proudly, looking at her watch again. “A real estate and marketing company. Mainly we deal with investment and commercial properties, not so much with housing.” Olga flowed off the stairs and was halfway down a new hall as she spoke; Chloe had to run to keep up. It was a much more modern area, with gray wall-to-wall carpeting and art prints framed on painted walls.

  “Housing? Market? What … ?” Suddenly Chloe ground to a halt as she passed a big picture window on her left. She stared out.

  They were one floor above ground; the first thing that was obvious was a huge lawn sweeping down, spreading out to the road. When she pressed her face up to the glass and looked directly down, she could see a fountain in the middle of a circular gravel driveway that led gently along one side of the lawn and downhill to the road. There was, as Chloe had guessed there might be, a gate at the end of it.

  “This is that house,” she said slowly.

  “What house?” Olga asked, coming back to look.

  “The one that Alyec showed me. When I was depressed. He drove me out somewhere near Sausalito and showed me this incredible house. …” It had been a wild day. The fight with Amy, the car that Alyec stole from the senior running back, the way Alyec liked catching air on the San Francisco hills, the escape from the city to see this huge old mansion. From the outside it was all stone and marble and as impressive as a museum.

  And now she was inside.

  “Alyec took you here?” Olga asked, faintly amused.

  “I thought this was someone’s house.” Like somebody really rich, thought Chloe, though she didn’t add that part.

  “It is.
A few of us live here full time besides Sergei. Me, Kim, and Ivan and Simone. But it is also the headquarters for Firebird and for our people. … Sometimes it is important to stay out of everyone’s way, and this is certainly as nice a place as any. Nicer, even,” the older woman reflected without a smile on her mouth, but her eyes danced. Chloe couldn’t tell if the lack-of-facial-expressions thing was Russian or a cat-person attribute.

  “You mean this is a place where—?”

  “Sergei will explain,” Olga said, shaking her finger. Then she spun and tapped away again. “Come!” she ordered.

  Chloe followed.

  There were offices in this part of the building, and actual people. It kind of reminded Chloe of her mom’s accountant or their dentist, both of whom worked out of retrofitted nineteenth-century Italianate houses. When she was little, Chloe thought they were mansions—they were bigger than her, Amy’s, and Paul’s houses combined—and mentioned that freely, embarrassing the hell out of her mother.

  “Who was that?” Chloe asked after she stepped aside for another person. He was a young, serious-looking man with brown eyes, who gave her a cursory smile as he made his way past her.

  “That’s Igor, director of sales.”

  Olga walked Chloe through a lobby with fresh, expensive flower arrangements and real paintings. She spoke rapid-fire Russian with a girl in a gaudy T-shirt with rhinestones and then brought Chloe up to a half-closed mahogany door. It bore a neat brass plaque with the name Sergei inscribed on it. It sort of reminded Chloe of a coffin.

  Olga knocked at the door and then went in, beckoning Chloe to follow.

  Inside was a large, beautifully appointed office whose main feature was a huge dark desk in front of bay windows hung with dark green velvet curtains. Behind the desk was a man who at first glance appeared to be far larger than he actually was. His body was extremely square, wide, and short, and so was his head. There were a few lines under his eyes, not quite bags, but he seemed like the sort of man who had gotten handsomer as he got older. His light blue eyes were overshadowed by huge orange-and-silver caterpillar brows.

  He looked up from a stack of papers.

  “You must be Chloe” he boomed happily, throwing the papers down and leaping up. He came around to the other side of the desk in short but powerful strides, approaching her like a steam engine, his arms outstretched.

  As ungainly as his build was, the suit he wore fit him perfectly, immaculately, and, like everything else here, expensively.

  “Welcome home, kitten!” he cried, giving Chloe a big hug. “Another one home! Another little bird back to the nest!” He kissed her on both cheeks and then held her out at arm’s length. His strength was so great and his presence so powerful, Chloe found herself just sort of being manhandled, too stunned to resist.

  “Let me see you!”

  He looked deep into her eyes and face, examining her. After a moment he looked a little disappointed but tried to cover it with a smile.

  “Well, you don’t look like anyone I know—but that’s even better. A new face is a good thing around here.” He flicked her hair back in a paternal fashion. “And so pretty, too!” He chuckled. “We certainly are lucky to have you. I am Sergei Shaddar, leader of the Pride. And pleased as anything you have joined us.”

  Leader of the Pride? Sergei Shaddar? Suddenly it all clicked: Sergei, Alyec’s distant relative, who hadn’t helped his family emigrate. Owner of the mansion Alyec had brought her to. This mansion. It was all coming together.

  “I have sent her records on to the department,” Olga said softly.

  “Blood work?”

  The woman shook her head. “There is no need unless we find some sort of likely jumping-off point.”

  “A shame. I like the scientific stuff,” he confided to Chloe with a grin. “It is so modern. A drop of blood and we know who your parents are! If we knew who your parents were, that is,” he added. “So many orphans,” he said sadly. “So few whole families left.”

  “I’m sorry?” Chloe said, trying to understand what exactly he was talking about.

  “I’ll go,” Olga said, nodding—almost deferentially—to Sergei and backing out so that she faced him the entire time. She closed the door behind her.

  “Chloe.” Sergei put a meaty hand on her own. His short fingers suddenly developed claws, much thicker and shorter than hers. He pressed them against the back of her hand, indenting the skin but not breaking it, and looked at her seriously. “You are a daughter of the Kings of the Hunt. Goddesses were your ancestors. You are Mai. That is what we are called.”

  “Mai?” Chloe couldn’t tear her eyes from his claws and touched them, picking up his hand and turning it over, staring at it in wonder. Sergei let her without questioning.

  “People of the Lions. The Desert Hunters. Children of Bastet and Sekhmet.”

  Chloe vaguely recognized the last two names or at least Bastet—that was the cat pendant Amy always wore. “We’re … Egyptian? I thought everyone here was from, like, Eastern Europe or something.”

  “No, originally we’re from Egypt and other parts of Africa. But then again, isn’t everyone?” He chuckled. “Our race is thousands of years old, Chloe. We are gifted and different—and there are very few of us left.”

  “How did you find me?” Chloe felt a little embarrassed asking; he was giving her the lowdown on their history and she was all like, Okay, but back to me.

  “There was no way of knowing for certain you were one of us.” Sergei shrugged. He pulled his hands from her and waved them around as he spoke; the claws made little whistling noises in the air. They slowly retracted back into his fingers. “Usually we … show our true nature at adolescence, fourteen or fifteen or so. Alyec mentioned that you seemed … different, and when we looked up your records, we found out that you were adopted from the Soviet Union—Abkhazia, to be exact. Then we watched you to make sure. Alyec was told to intervene and instruct you in secrecy when things started getting complicated with the Rogue and the Tenth Blade.”

  A thousand questions were whirling in Chloe’s mind.

  “Why didn’t Alyec just ask or something?” she demanded.

  Sergei gave her a patient, pitying look. “Chloe King, if you were already upset by things that were going on with you and someone just said, ’Hey, you’re secretly a lion woman, there’s a whole bunch of us here in San Francisco, join us,’ what would you have done?”

  Freaked out. She nodded slowly.

  “We would have speeded up things a lot more if we had known that Alexander Smith was after you and that you were dating a member of the Tenth Blade.”

  “We weren’t dating,” Chloe mumbled without thinking.

  “What?”

  “We weren’t really dating,” Chloe said more loudly. “He wouldn’t even kiss me.”

  “Of course not.” Sergei nodded as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Chloe raised her eyebrow.

  “Humans and the Mai can’t—ah, how shall I say this. Uh, mate,” the older man said, coughing in embarrassment. “It kills them. Like we are toxic.”

  Xavier! The guy she’d picked up at that club the night before her sixteenth birthday. They had made out in the parking lot, and when Chloe felt herself almost overcome with desire, she had left and gone home. Days later she went back to his apartment to see him: he was almost dead, covered in sores where her fingers had raked down his back. Chloe had even called an ambulance for him anonymously.

  “Oh my God—“Chloe covered her mouth with her hand. “I made out with a guy at a club, and he totally had to go to the hospital. …”

  Sergei raised his eyebrows.

  “Is he going to die?” she whispered.

  “Probably not, if you just kissed him,” he said slowly. “But keep this in mind for the future.”

  Thank God I didn’t kiss Brian, Chloe thought, and then quickly remembered that she had no intention of kissing Brian ever again. Or seeing him. Or thinking about him, she thought. It had been a
great relationship until the whole revealing-he-was-a-member-of-the-Tenth-Blade-thing. Chloe went over the facts in her head again; she couldn’t help it. He’d claimed he was trying to save her from the Rogue at the fight on the bridge—but some of his shuriken had come perilously close to her own head. And then there was the one that he’d neatly buried in Alyec’s leg when they were running away. … He’d said he was trying to stop them. To protect them from Tenth Bladers hidden in the Marin Headlands. But he never had liked Alyec. …

  And now Chloe began to understand why.

  “Anyway, think of it, Chloe! You have a real family now—people who are related to you by blood and who share your heritage! And you know what?” He pounded his fist on the palm of his other hand, causing Chloe to jump back. “I’ll sponsor you. You can’t live here all the time—”

  “What about my mother? When can I go back?” Chloe didn’t want to offend Sergei, but all of this family talk did bring Chloe’s mind back to her mom.

  Sergei sighed and shook his head. “Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. The Tenth Blade is trying to track you down. They believe you killed Alexander Smith; the streets are crawling with their agents. If you leave, you will be dead before you get halfway across town.”

  “Can I call her at least?” Chloe thought it might be best to ask this before admitting that she already had. …

  “I’m sorry, Chloe, but no. Even if the Tenth Blade hasn’t tapped her lines, they are almost certainly monitoring her every move. And if your mom called the police, then her line is definitely tapped.”

  “But … won’t she be suspicious? Where does she think I am? Oh my God—what are my teachers going to think when I don’t show up on Monday?”

  Sergei ticked off his fingers. “Your mother is being informed that you are part of a federal witness protection program and that she will be allowed to speak with you as soon as it’s safe. Your school has been informed that you have come down with mono and will be out for a while.” Sergei smiled. “We have even given them an address to send your homework,” he added, satisfied with himself.