by D. J. Bodden
He headed south, generally speaking, going east or west at random when the crossing signal was red. Every so often, he’d look up at the curtained windows and wonder what was happening inside. If he wondered hard enough, he found out.
“—can’t believe you would—”
Children, giggling and being chased by a heavier set of footfalls.
“—leaving? I can take you to the—”
The thoughts from the next room made him blush and withdraw hastily.
The city seemed empty on the weekend, at least compared to the human tide that swept over Manhattan during the week. There were still people on the sidewalks, but there was more than enough space to walk without having to weave through a crowd. It was halfway through the fall school term and starting to turn cool - not as many tourists, and most residents weren’t up and about yet.
He cut into the park at 79th street, took a seat on an empty bench, and watched people walk by. If he just relaxed and didn’t try particularly hard to reach into their heads, he could pick up hints of emotion emanating from them. It was like looking at a painting of brightly colored wildflowers and squinting so he couldn’t see the details.
A loud creak from the other end of the bench caught his attention, and Jonas turned to see Phillip sitting on the other end.
“You want to talk about it, kid?”
Jonas looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“You do it on purpose?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
Phillip took off his bowler hat, set it on the bench beside him, and leaned back. “Well then, that’s good at least.”
Jonas wasn’t sure how to respond. There seemed to be a lot of… complicated history between vampires and werewolves. Anything he said could be a potential land mine. He wondered how long the two groups had been fighting.
A man and a woman in black spandex jogged by together, projecting pain and happiness, snapping Jonas back into the here and now.
“How do you deal with not being normal?” Jonas said.
“Me? I was born into it, same as you. Wouldn’t know much about being normal,” Phillip said.
Jonas mulled that over. Maybe that’s why he’d never had many friends. At least Amelia liked — used to like — that he was a little weird.
“Are you worried about your girl being afraid of you?”
Jonas turned and looked at Phillip, eyes wide. “Is she?”
“Sure. Some women like power, but no one likes power where they don’t expect it. The way you sicced Bert on whatever was after you and your girlfriend the other day, that isn’t normal for a hoodie-wearing nerd who listens to that electronic plinking stuff.”
Jonas bristled, about to fire back, when he realized Phillip was waiting for the reaction. Phillip, the 240-pound-or-more werewolf bodyguard that Jonas had been about to mouth off to. “I guess I’m not normal, then,” he said.
“Of course not. You’re Alice Black’s son.”
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Jonas said.
Phillip turned his head to watch a woman walking three dogs through the park. The dogs all looked back at him. One of them barked and the woman jerked its leash. “Do you know what the hardest part about being a werewolf is?” Jonas was about to answer, but Phillip waved his hand. “Rhetorical question, because you have no idea. The hardest part about being a werewolf is not being a werewolf.” He turned and smiled, only it was more like baring a mouthful of large, sharp teeth than smiling, and his eyes gleamed yellow. When he spoke again, it was a deep, growling sound instead of his normal voice, like a monster in a fairytale. “Being a werewolf is fun, Jonas. It’s the wind rushing through your fur, and chasing down prey under the moonlight with your family at your side. It’s the absolute certainty that you’re the biggest, baddest thing under the stars and everything that bleeds is your prey. You hunt, you eat, you breed, and you sleep. That’s it. And it’s paradise.” Jonas could feel an all-engulfing hunger oozing from Phillip, like the werewolf wanted to swallow the world, and Jonas realized he was on the verge of running away in terror.
With a shudder, Phillip drew back into himself — just a large, fit man with somewhat regal features. He picked up his bowler hat with exaggerated care, brushed a speck of pollen from it, and set it on his head. “Your mother changed all that. She came in the night with silver and fire. She laced our drinking water with wolf’s bane. She hunted us in our dreams and killed us until we willingly put our heads in the collar, fed off her table scraps, because there is something in her — and you — that looks at the world and says ‘Submit.’ And I respect that.”
Jonas suddenly had a very different view of Phillip: a wild creature whose collar was too tight, whose hat made him uncomfortable, and who would rather run barefoot than walk in the finest Italian leather shoes. “Why do you do it?”
“We’re pack animals, Jonas. We follow the strong, and it has been good for us in many ways. We don’t kill each other over territory anymore, and hunters don’t come for our mates and pups during the day. Once in a while, the forestry service lets the deer population get a little out of control, and they’ll shut down a national park for us. Different one each time, like a business retreat without clothes. And I get to see my old friends, because they’ve lived long enough to get old. We have elders now, Jonas. Do you know we can live to see eighty? We never did before, not until Alice Black.”
Phillip paused, listening intently, and sniffed the air a few times. Satisfied, he continued, “There are rumors your mother isn’t what she used to be,” he said, giving Jonas a searching look, his nostrils flaring.
Lie detection by smell, Jonas thought. He wondered how much of Phillip and Bert’s interactions were based on scent. No wonder we freak them out. He wanted to tell Phillip the rumors were true, that his mom wasn’t okay, but with everything riding on her abilities, he just couldn’t. All he could think about was Madoc’s voice, on the bus: Don’t trust the wolf.
Jonas remained silent, keeping his face blank.
Phillip chuckled. “Anyhow, if they’re just rumors, that’s fine. If they’re not, there are going to be a lot of my kind watching you to see if you’re ‘normal,’ or if you’re your mother’s son. I, for one, hope your blood runs Black. I’d like to see my grandchildren, someday.” He flashed a grin.
Yeah, no pressure, Jonas thought.
“And speaking of children,” said Phillip. “I heard you had a run-in with my boy, Kieran, the other day.”
Jonas blinked. “You’re his father?”
“Guilty,” Phillip said, smiling. “Bert over there, eavesdropping on conversations like a pup, is his older brother.” Jonas saw the bushes that Phillip was pointing at move. “Kieran is the runt of the litter, with three bigger brothers and a sister.”
Kieran? A runt? “He didn’t look like a runt… almost broke me in half.” Jonas’ hand went to his chest.
“And I’m sure he felt awful about it,” Phillip said.
Jonas nodded.
“Kieran’s a good kid, Jonas. Doesn’t have to be told why things have to be the way they are, not like his brothers — they take after their mother. I’d be indebted to you if you’d be a friend to him. His brothers haven’t been gentle; it isn’t our way.”
Jonas got the impression that Phillip took his debts very seriously. “Sure, I like Kieran,” he said, nodding.
“You should, he’s a smart boy. Almost as smart as vampires think they are.” He laughed at his own joke. “A little too conflicted, though. Makes him hesitate. If he grows out of it… well, we’ll see, won’t we?”
♚
Amelia never called, and Jonas left before his mom came out of her room. He decided there was no use waiting around to see if she’d walk outside before sunset again; there was no way he’d be able to stop her, anyway.
He got to the Agency a full hour before training. Inching open one of the gates in his barrier, he said, “Hi, Doris. Is Eve around?”
She lifted her head off her shoulders and held it out to him, apparently able to operate her body at a distance. Jonas wondered how he was supposed to take it.
Like a football helmet, Doris said, her eyes flashing green again.
Jonas reached to take the head, then stopped, his eyes wide. Sam was shouting and jumping up and down in his head, and Jonas suddenly remembered the warnings he’d been given about the receptionist. “I don’t think I should do that, Doris.”
The mental attack that followed was powerful, full of rage and frustration. Doris went straight for the weakest point in his defenses — the gate he’d opened for her. As soon as she was past the entrance, though, Sam dropped the portcullis, and sealed both outer and inner doors, trapping her inside. Jonas and Sam stood in the adjoining guardroom as Doris screamed and thrashed around, ramming herself into the solid stonework without so much as shaking the dust loose.
“That was close,” Jonas remarked. Several guardians were eyeing the crazed receptionist nervously, fingering their crossbows.
“Yes,” Sam replied, “I don’t know how this would have gone if she’d made it inside.” He was wearing a padded vest over chainmail, with a wide-brimmed steel helmet called a chapelle de fer that looked like a silver sun hat. His appearance had changed along with Jonas’ fortifications.
Gouts of green flame roared up, making the guardians step back from the arrow slits.
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” Jonas said.
“From your little brick wall? Hard not to. But yes, sir, we’ve come a long way.”
Jonas watched for a few more minutes. Doris’ persona in the mental realm wasn’t funny looking; it was terrifying. He could barely see her – blackened bones wreathed in green flames – as she shrieked and attacked the gatehouse walls. But her attacks had little effect. It was as if something was pulling her up short, like a dog on a chain. The flames didn’t even leave scorch marks on the stone. He sighed, “I guess we’d better let her out.”
“If you say so, sir.” Sam snapped his fingers, and two guardians cranked the wheel that raised the counterweight and swung the outer doors open.
Jonas was back in the lobby, and Doris calmly put her head back on her shoulders.
Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you? she said.
“I guess not, Doris” Jonas answered. “I was already having a bit of a rough day, though.”
He paused, waiting for some kind of apology, but Doris just stared at him. All Jonas could feel or hear was an ambient buzzing, like he was standing near a transformer, or a swarm of bees.
Jonas cleared his throat. “Eve?”
I’ll call her, Doris said, reaching for the phone.
“Thanks, Doris.”
♚
A few minutes of tense silence later, Eve walked out of the elevator. She’d only come a few steps into the lobby when she stopped and said, “Doris! You stop that right now!”
The buzzing cut out like someone threw a switch.
Eve looked at Jonas. “She tried to get out, didn’t she? She’s always like this after a failed attempt.”
The buzzing started again, but this time Jonas felt Eve reach out and snuff it at the source, like someone pinching out a candle flame. Doris glared at them and her eyes began to glow green again, then she grunted and turned to face the wall.
Eve silently waved Jonas over, mouthing, “Come with me,” and they rode the elevator down. The doors opened on a square room with a coffee table in the center. The standard tray with fruit was there, but the table was solid wood and only had four legs. The front-right corner had been sheared off. “I haven’t been here before, have I?”
“No, this is where I live,” she said, leading him down the hallway to one of several generic, steel doors. Inside, however, it was anything but generic. The walls were covered in light blue plaster and silver-framed photos of Eve when she was younger, along with some shots of her family and friends. A white table sat in the corner, serving as a computer desk. On it was an older model iMac with a scratched, silver casing. There was also a four-post bed. But the one thing that really drew his attention, was the plushy raccoon on top of a small chest of drawers. The raccoon had a chunk missing from its ear that someone had roughly stitched closed.
“I got a little crazy with the scissors one day,” Eve said. “Mom made me sew him back up; she wouldn’t buy me a new one.”
“How did you get all this stuff down here?”
“The Agency. They made copies of my old room; they can do that you know… build exact duplicates of things.”
Jonas nodded and thought, Yeah, like they did in our apartment. But he didn’t mention it. Instead, he walked over and examined a family photo. “So, your parents don’t know?
“No,” Eve said, plopping down on the bed. “They got a jar of ashes and a made-up story.”
Jonas winced, thinking of his father’s funeral.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I got the originals. This is the room I grew up in.”
Jonas frowned. “If they make perfect copies of things, how do you know these are the originals?”
“I don’t,” she said. “But if it isn’t real, nothing else matters. It’s the cut on Rocky’s ear, the scribbles and carvings on my desk, and smelling the same detergent on my clothes and sheets that my mom always used… that’s how I know who I am. That’s my anchor, and what keeps me from going completely out of my mind.”
Jonas thought back to his own apartment, but he couldn’t think of anything he treasured. His mom hadn’t let him get attached to things; furniture was replaced as he got older, toys were boxed up and given away. In fact, considering how old his mother actually was, everything in the house was surprisingly brand new. If nothing else, he’d expected his parents’ room to be filled with bits and pieces of their past. Instead, it’d looked like something out of a catalog. All his mother seemed to have in the world, that she cared about, was Jonas and his dad… but half of that was gone.
Snapping out of it, Jonas realized he’d drifted off and that Eve was now giving him a look that said, Why are you here so early?
“Sorry,” Jonas said, didn’t mean to space out on you. “Mind if I sit down?”
“Go ahead.” She gestured to the office chair under her desk.
Wheeling it out, Jonas draped his jacket over the back and sat down. “Weather turned cold all of a sudden,” he said. “I would swear it was, like, 80-degrees just last week. Now, the sun can’t seem to warm things up.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Eve said, raising an eyebrow.
“Right. Sunlight. Whoosh,” he said, making the same hand gesture she’d used before. “I’m an idiot.” He gave her a sort of half smile and looked down. Every time he’d seen Eve, it had been around other people. And during those times, she’d either been showing him new things or trying to hit him. Now, they were alone in her room and she was wearing a form-fitting white t-shirt and pink-plaid pajama bottoms. “Umm, so what’s the deal with Doris?” he said.
“Why are you here, Jonas? Why are you in my room an hour before practice?”
Jonas hesitated, thinking, She’s not a wolf or a hunter, and I really don’t think she’s a demon. Before he could talk himself out of it, he blurted out, “My mom stepped out in broad daylight and burned half her skin off, the werewolves think there’s a demon in the Agency — said it smelled like sulfur — but I’m not sure I trust them, and there might be a hunter after me.” He took a deep breath. “And you’re the only person I can talk to.”
Eve opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. Then she said, “Did you know Doris is like, a zombie queen or something? I heard someone call her a lich, once. They said if she got out, the dead would start walking. That’s why the lobby’s warded�
� so she can’t leave unless someone lets her out. It’s like the old vampire story about being invited into someone’s house, only reversed.”
“Warded?”
“It’s a kind of spell, etched into metal,” she said, still clutching her pillow.
Jonas looked at her. I must have completely freaked her out, he thought. If this is how she’s reacting, I’m sure glad I didn’t tell Amelia. “Look, about the—”
Eve shut her eyes, tightly, like she had a nasty headache, and help up a hand to stop him. “I am still processing the enormity of what you just dropped on me, Jonas — TMI, by the way — so just…” She paused, took a deep breath, and loosened her death grip on the pillow, setting it aside. Then she placed her hands on her knees, and said, “Your mother, Alice Black, tried to commit suicide?”
“No. I mean, she went back inside. She… I feel crazy saying this, but… she told me she just wanted to make sure the sun was real.”
Eve blinked. “You mean like solipsism? Alice Black went solipsist in full daylight?”
“Yes, if that’s the term for it, my mom went solipsist.”
“I’m sorry, Jonas, I know she’s your mom, so the significance of this may not be sinking in, but she’s Alice Black. She’s been alive for five-hundred-and-thirty-something years without going catatonic, or on a murderous rampage — except when necessary — or… or…”
“Or?”
“Jonas, she’s been our hope. No one, except things much, much higher on the food chain than us, lives that long without going crazy. And if she’s losing it, that means I’m going to lose it at some point, and—”
“Eve, you’re only sixteen. I think you have a—”
“I’m seventeen!” she said. “What’s her anchor? Can’t you go to her room and—”
“I don’t know,” Jonas said, shaking his head. “Everything in the house looks like it came out of a high-end catalog. The only thing that makes sense is… it was my dad.”
“Your dad? How could she — but he’s dead, isn’t he?”