by A. J. Vrana
Miya watched him leave, then turned to Ama, who appeared lost in her own world. She didn’t want to interrupt, but her tailbone was sore from sitting on the edge of her seat, so she got up and helped herself to the futon.
Her mind was preoccupied with the last thing she saw before she found herself back in her own body: the Dreamwalker. She glanced at Ama, wondering what the white wolf knew that she didn’t.
“Do you find it difficult to accept the notion of reincarnation?” Ama asked.
Miya propped herself up on her elbow. “I guess not after all this. I wonder, though—do you think it’s possible that I knew Kai as well? In another life?”
“That would be my guess, especially if Abaddon claims he knows you.”
“Do you think this was meant to happen? Like destiny?”
“You sound doubtful,” Ama laughed, “but reincarnation isn’t so straightforward. Things don’t happen just so you fulfill some kind of arbitrary destiny. A person can have many past lives.” She pushed the chair back and stood up, then leaned over the table and stretched like a cat. “Kai’s past life with Abaddon may or may not be entirely separate from his past life with you. Perhaps the two of them have lived multiple lives together—some with you, some without you.”
“You said that Abaddon might be a spirit who’s been repeating the same cycles until it turned him into a monster,” Miya recalled. “Can someone really mess up so many times and never learn?”
“Sure, they can. It’s no secret that we’re drawn to what’s familiar, even if it’s something bad—like abusive relationships. No one wants to be in an abusive relationship, but if it’s what they’re used to, they’ll continue seeking out abusive people.” Ama whisked to the side as if prowling. “Sometimes, it takes multiple lives to learn one life lesson. You may not be conscious of it, but it’s all inside of you—the culmination of your soul’s experiences. It’s what you were born with; it’s your fate. And fate is always the beginning.”
Fate is the beginning. Kai, too, said those words. His past life with her and his past life with Abaddon may have been two separate paths at some point, but they were now coalescing—here, in the present. Miya realized that the past, long-thought forgotten, had been right there with her all along. It was alive, and it was breathing down her neck.
“So why bother being so cautious?” Miya asked. “You watch your own skin. You don’t like danger. But if you get infinite chances, doesn’t life lose meaning? Isn’t dying irrelevant?”
Ama shook her head. “Life is precious. Every little thing we do leaves an imprint and affects who we become in the next life. If you’re careless because you think you’ll get another chance, it’ll come back to bite you. Besides, it’s instinct to preserve one’s own life. And instinct can be far more powerful than what we think we know.”
“Where did you learn all this?” Miya flopped on her belly. “You’re like a spirit encyclopedia.”
Ama shrugged. “I’ve lived with an old kook most of my life. He taught me a lot, but I learned some on my own, too.”
A light flapping noise caught Miya’s attention, and she looked over to see a raven perched on the window sill.
“Hey! It’s you!” she exclaimed.
Ama followed her gaze to the window. “Kai’s new friend. He seems to like it here, much to the dismay of his master.”
“Kai has a bird-friend?” Miya laughed as she imagined him sitting at the table whipping scraps of food at the raven. “I’ve been seeing this guy everywhere. He was in the dreamscape, too. He helped me.” She turned to Ama. “I saw you with him while I was there.”
Ama smiled—a smile different from all the others. It was warm, laced with affection and nostalgia. “He raised me.”
“The bird raised you?”
Ama shook her head. “The master of the bird—and the bird.” Her lips pulled back further, the warmth giving way to mischief. “Who’s to say who is who? He’s very old, after all.”
Miya was flooded by an image from her dreams, of a small figure standing in front of a giant redwood tree, then erupting into a conspiracy of ravens. She recalled the yearning that welled up inside her when she first saw him and wondered if he was the one Ama was referring to.
“Is that why you’re here? Why you know so much? Because you’re helping your caretaker?”
Ama’s eyes shifted to the raven. “Aside from my own curiosity, yes.”
“Why does he want to help?”
“The only thing that shithead helps with is crapping on my roof.” It was Kai, emerging from the bathroom with damp hair and a clean t-shirt.
Ama paid him no mind, ignoring his reappearance. “My master is an ancient living spirit, a god with a mortal form. He’s been watching the cycles of time far longer than any of us can know, and this is a vital moment in those cycles.”
Kai took pause, his posture stiffening. “Living spirit? Like Abaddon?”
Ama shrugged. “Minus the malevolence. His existence isn’t rooted in a focused cause the way Abaddon’s is. And he’s sacrificed quite a bit to remain in this realm.”
Again, Miya envisioned the small figure by the redwood. “Is he going to interfere?” she wondered aloud. “If this is an important moment in the cycles, is there a chance to break them and get rid of Abaddon?”
Ama glanced between her companions, then sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know if he’s going to interfere. I can’t say my master is a force for good or evil. His alignment is more...chaotic. All I know is that he’s interested in what Abaddon might be up to. Perhaps he knew Abaddon, and others, once upon a time.”
“Others? Like the Dreamwalker?” Miya offered.
“He mentions her from time to time.”
“So are we just collateral damage?” Miya continued as Kai muttered under his breath. “Is he watching us through the raven because we’ll lead him to the Dreamwalker or Abaddon?”
“We’re bait,” Kai concluded, his voice dipping.
Ama leaned back in her chair, frowning. “I wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t have sent me here if he only considered you slabs of meat to lure out the goblins.”
“Great,” Miya sighed, then noticed the orange-red glow of sunset gleaming over the horizon.
“You’ve been here quite a while.” Ama stood and headed for the door. “But you should probably stay the night. Once the sun goes down, it’s not safe out in the woods.”
Miya’s mouth popped open. “Why can’t Kai take me home? I’m pretty sure there’s nothing out in the woods scarier than him.”
Ama glanced back from the threshold, her bright, brassy eyes glistening. “Nothing of this world, no.”
Miya stared after her as the door creaked shut, and she was left alone with the Big Bad Wolf.
“Kai?”
“Hm?”
“Is Abaddon the reason you blacked out before finding Elle?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I think so.”
She turned to the window to see that the raven hadn’t left with Ama. “So, does the bird have a name?”
Kai grabbed a pear and threw himself down into a chair, clunking his head against the top of the backrest. “He’s not my pet bird.”
Miya raised an eyebrow. “Oh? But you named me after your favourite food, even though I already have a name?”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Sorry, but you’re not my favourite food, Lambchop. I prefer bunnies. The cute, fluffy kind. Meat’s way more tender.”
“You’re evading the question, Big Bad Wolf.”
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “The bird is not a pet,” he trailed off to take a bite of his pear, then smiled balefully. “But you are.”
Miya narrowed her eyes, then turned to the raven. “Maybe I’ll give you a name.” She grinned defiantly while Kai glared back.
“Don’t do it,” he warned.
“Kafka!”
Kai blinked. “What?”
“The raven!” Miya spread her arms. “I hereby christen him
Kafka.”
“The bat-shit Czech guy who wrote the cockroach story? That’s—” His sentence was cut short as the pear vanished from his hand. Kafka, now a safe distance away, pecked contently at his juicy prize, having plucked himself a meal straight from the wolf’s jaws.
Miya burst into a triumphant laugh and fell back on the bed. “You deserved that!”
Kai jumped to his feet and came at her with ungodly speed, grabbing her by the waist and yanking her towards him. She squealed as he darted onto the bed and trapped her legs between his knees. He tickled her mercilessly while she tried to kick him off, but he evaded her attacks and laughed, then dove down and nipped her neck.
Miya shrieked and choked on her own spit, hacking and coughing as she latched onto a pillow and curled into a fetal position, waiting for the assault to subside. Her eyes stung with tears as she dissolved into a fit of intermittent giggles and hacks. All the while, Kai grinned ear-to-ear as he rubbed her back to soothe her angry lungs.
He crawled off and helped her sit up, her mania fizzling out as she sighed contently.
“That was fun,” she chirped, smacking him with the pillow she’d been clutching. “I like you better when you’re playful.”
“Playful?” he raised an eyebrow. “I heard tickling was a popular torture method.”
“Sadist.”
He grinned and leaned forward, then bit the tip of her nose. “You love it.”
Miya squeaked and wrinkled her nose from the sting, then returned the favour, grazing her teeth over his jaw. “Sometimes.”
Kafka finished his pear and watched them as though they were a spectacle. Noticing the attention shift his way, he sank his beak into his plush, blue-black feathers before diving from the window and flying away.
As soon as they were alone, Miya’s stomach growled. Loudly.
“...I’m hungry,” she said sheepishly.
Kai reached for his hunting knife. “I’ll go stab you a rabbit.”
“What!”
He flashed her a wolfish grin, his eyes filling with glee. “You know, those adorable, floppy-eared fluff balls that hump a lot.”
Miya whacked him on the arm. “You can go hump a tree!”
“Don’t worry,” he reassured her with mock sincerity. “You won’t even recognize the mangled bastard when I’m done with him. And there are softer, fleshier things I’d prefer to—”
“Not helping!” she protested.
He snorted. “Would you feel better if I said I was going to stab a wild hare? They’re kind of big and ugly, so sticking pointy objects in them is cool, yeah?”
Well shit, she thought, he got me there. Defeated, she hugged her knees and pouted. “It’s okay. I won’t starve.”
He hesitated, then clanked the knife down on the bedside table. “Sorry.”
“Huh?” Had she just hallucinated an apology?
“For not having more jerky.”
A smile spread past her cheeks, but she didn’t dare ruin the moment with a quip.
He turned back to her. “Guess the bitch was right about you staying the night.”
Miya shuffled back against the wall. “Hope you wash your sheets.”
“Never.”
“Ugh!” She hugged herself and cringed. He laughed, then got up and yanked the blankets out from under her before tossing them over her head. Miya felt him drop down beside her, his arm wrapping around her blanketed form and pulling her against his side.
“You get the wall,” he said as she finally dug her way out.
“Why do I get pinned to the wall?” she whined.
“Because you’re twitchy. If you roll off in the middle of the night and hit the floor, I’ll kill you.”
“Okay,” she squeaked.
“Good.” His lips quirked up, and he whipped the blanket into the air, letting it float down over their bodies.
“You know, you’ve never told me about your past.” She felt him turn onto his back. “Seems kind of weird lying next to a guy I know nothing about.”
“I don’t really talk about it,” he said curtly, then put an arm around her shoulders, his fingers absently running through her hair.
Miya took this as a good sign to venture forward. “Were you always alone?”
He shook his head. “Not always.”
Of course not. He probably wouldn’t have survived. “Did your parents teach you about human society?”
“A bit,” he recalled. “But it was mostly an old woman, Alice Donovan. She took care of me for a few years.”
“But before that—your parents...”
“Shot dead by hunters when I was ten,” he answered bluntly. “Saw a kid roaming around with two wolves, assumed the worst and panicked. We just happened to be in different bodies that day.”
Miya swallowed down her discomfort. His tone was cold—too cold for someone talking about the death of his family. Like he’d sealed the grief away long ago, and the key to that vault was likely lost at sea. “I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t remember it in detail,” he told her like it didn’t matter. “Just bits and pieces. I know I attacked the hunters afterwards, and they hit me pretty hard on the noggin with their rifles. Made me lose my memories for a while. When Alice found me, I couldn’t remember a thing.”
“I mean, your parents were killed. That would mess anyone up. Maybe you pushed it down and repressed it?”
He took a deep breath, his fingers going still in her hair. “Probably. I recovered from the concussion. The memories slowly trickled back. But the change—that took a while to come back.”
“When?” she asked quietly.
“Six years later, when Alice died.”
“Shit…” Miya trailed off. “Did something happen?”
“Lung cancer. Her death hit me hard, and I got a little unhinged,” he confessed. “Ended up having to run away.”
She shuffled next to him, burrowing a nest in the blankets. “How come?”
There was a pause before he answered, his tone the same as when he spoke about his parents. “I nearly killed someone, and not even for a good reason.” His voice sank to a whisper. “He was just a dumb teenager, like me.”
He stopped, like he was waiting for her to jump out of bed and run, or perhaps rain holy judgment down on him. When she did neither, he continued. “The kid got me pissed. When the fight started, I couldn’t stop. I could barely hear his pulse. Blood was everywhere. The sounds, the smells, the rush—it unlocked the animal in me.”
Miya watched his cavalier persona thaw away. She couldn’t judge him, but she was approaching some kind of understanding as the pieces fell into place. His poor socialization, his anger and disgust towards humanity, his seclusion from society; they were products of his experiences growing up, not merely his conflicted nature. Everyone he’d loved was taken from him too soon. Kai’s Hobbesian outlook—his belief that the world was cruel and barbaric—wasn’t just because he was a wolf.
Miya pushed herself up on her elbow. “Where did all this happen?”
“Granite Falls. A small town in Washington.” He adjusted his arm as she moved closer. “I fled to Black Hollow when I introduced Shit to Fan. And I’ve been living like this ever since.”
“You’re an American wolf?”
He reached over with his other arm and tapped her on the nose. “Siberian,” he told her. “My family’s from Siberia.”
“Russian?”
“Russian-Tatar,” he corrected. “Mom was Tatar, dad was Russian. You could say I’m a mutt. Russia’s not too nice to my mom’s folk, so even if I were just human, it would have been shitty there.”
With her eyes finally adjusted to the dark, Miya drank him in as best she could. It was true—he didn’t strike her as someone with North American ancestry. “Did Alice know you’re a wolf?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I told her a few times, but she thought I was just being a typical kid, making stuff up. After a while, I stopped mentioning it. Didn’t matter, anyway
, since I was stuck.” He raised an eyebrow, watching her curiously as the wheels turned in her head. “What about you?”
“Oh…I grew up in a house.”
“No one died, huh?”
Miya shrugged. “Only the goldfish.”
“That must have been rough, Lambchop.”
“The worst.”
“All right, let’s sleep,” said Kai as the conversation came to a close.
“Wait—why are we sleeping so soon after sundown?” she questioned.
“Because I’m tired.”
Despite suffering from insomnia, Miya’s eyes were peeled wide open. “But I’m not.”
“Don’t care.”
“But how am I supposed to sleep?” she griped.
“Count sheep. Masturbate quietly. Whisper sweet nothings to Abaddon so he leaves me the fuck alone.”
Miya’s head reeled at the prospect of staring at the wall trying to sleep. It was part of the futile cycle that resulted in not sleeping, and she hated it more than her basement cockroaches. So much so, that she was willing to stoop to new lows.
“All right,” she sighed. “You asked for it. One…Two...Three...Four...Five—” she counted in a monotonous, nasally voice while Kai remained motionless. She was almost certain he was holding his breath, trying to keep himself from throttling her. “This isn’t working,” she mumbled, so she threw her arms up and pretended to speak to the invisible presence she knew was lurking nearby. “Abaddon, baby, don’t be like this. I know you’re not as well-endowed as your marginally less evil punching bag here, but we all learn to love ourselves the way God—”
She was cut off by a low growl in her ear. “I think I smell a hungry grizzly outside.”
“Hey, I’m just following your suggestions.”
“You skipped one,” he cracked dryly.
“Then, don’t mind me.” Feeling facetious, Miya shuffled under the covers and slipped her hand into her jeans. But she hesitated, peeking over at her audience.
Even through the darkness, she could see the white of his teeth betraying that roguish grin. “Need my help with that?”
Miya’s hand shot out from under the blanket faster than an arrow. The thumping mass in her chest twisted and thrashed, but she smiled despite herself. Maybe Ama was right—maybe she did know this vulgar ass from a past life. She hardly knew anything about him, but she didn’t remember the last time she felt so at ease with someone.