Chameleon Moon

by RoAnna Sylver

  He stared. Despite her obvious suspicion, he hadn’t actually expected anyone to ever say yes. But she still didn’t look up, lost in something he couldn’t see or hope to touch. “Sure didn’t expect to be back here. Hearing that name… and now this house? Now he’s here? Was—was moved here? I don’t know. I should go see him, talk to him a little, but… I don’t know. Just a whole lot of past-blasts at once. Not sure I like ‘em.”

  “You and Hans—what, grew up in this house?”

  “No, I—” She paused, glanced over at him, then away again. “I never lived here, and—shoot, I don’t think he did either. This was Ev’s old place. No, we all just kind of… knew each other somewhere else. For a while. Then we… we lost touch. Like you do. I mean, it was more than…” She cleared her throat and shook her head, then shook off the rest of the memory. “Anyway. I always hoped he was… doing better.”

  Regan was quiet for a moment. “But you don’t know me, right? And you probably would. I mean, the scales and all.”

  “I don’t remember you. But you know, that doesn’t actually mean much. Jeez, this was almost ten years ago. We were kids, and we all… had other stuff on our minds. Besides, dragon people are more common in Parole than you think.” She paused. “So are panic attacks. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Literally or figuratively. Looks painful.”

  “It, uh… it’s not fun.”

  “Boy, I know it. I wish bad brain stuff was an actual guy I could punch in the face. PTSD, panic attacks, anxiety, flashbacks, hallucinations, anything that gives you hell, could just send ‘em to me, I’d fight them all.” She rocked back and forth on her heels, looking genuinely pleased by the idea. “Stuff’s a lot harder to fight when they’re stuck in your own head.”

  “Yeah… didn’t stop me from trying, though.”

  Danae looked over with a nod of sympathy, but Regan didn’t have the downcast look she’d been expecting. He couldn’t help it. The primary source of his mental and emotional anguish did, in fact, have a very smug, smirking face. And even if this particular face was translucent and un-punchable, at least by Danae’s small but eager hands, the mental image alone made the last of Regan’s tension fade. It also made him smile.

  Danae’s eyebrows knit together she took in Regan’s expression, and her own shifted from confusion, then hesitation, then hope. “Was that an actual joke, lizard man?”

  Regan couldn’t quite speak, but he could nod.

  Danae’s own crooked smile grew until she actually laughed. And for the second time since this all began, Regan actually felt a split second of something he couldn’t identify. He realized after a moment that it was relief and security. And that the first time he’d felt it was when Zilch’s hands freed him from the same mental torment he could smile about now. Like their touch, laughing made it easier to breathe.

  ❈

  The second time Evelyn sat down on the highest center balcony that day, she did it on her own terms. And this time, she’d brought her own water. Another round of exploration, trying her thumbprint on more doors—some opened, many more didn’t—revealed a small side kitchen with a fridge filled with nothing but glorious plastic bottles. More water than she’d seen in years. Her head was filled with transcendent, heavenly visions of swimming in it, taking real hot baths, real showers, smelling moist, perfumed air, sinking beneath the surface and letting it close above her head. Riches beyond compare. She’d grabbed as many as she could carry and took them up to the room she shared with Rose and Danae, then made a second trip.

  When her hoard was complete and the fridge was empty, she headed out here, cold bottles in hand and hoping to find someone to share them with. She found Regan. He was coming the other direction but didn’t look like he was going anywhere, hands in his pockets and eyes out of focus. If he could look pale under his greenish scales…

  “It almost looks pretty from up here,” he observed with only a little irony, looking down at the blackened city spread out beneath them, and the vast, glowing red-orange crater in Parole’s center, a little wider every day. With the day progressing, the foot traffic was starting to come out, along with the few cars supported by gasoline rations. Traces of Parole’s thriving metropolis past remained in the tall buildings left—skyscrapers and church steeples, some with lights on. If Regan squinted, he could see the beauty under the layer of ash.

  “I always thought so.” Evelyn took another gulp of cold, clear water. She wasn’t sure if guilt or the icy water in her stomach made her suddenly nauseous. “I’d look out at it all the time from up here. Me and Liam.”

  “Planning escapes?”

  “No—this was before the fires started. We were dreamers, both of us, if you can believe it. We just wanted to make a difference. I guess we are… in our own way. For better or worse.”

  “Well, I think you’re doing a better job than he is.”

  Evelyn nodded after a few seconds, but didn’t say anything. They sat in a comfortable silence, looking down at the damaged cityscape below them, and the ever-present helicopters churning up the smoke above.

  “How are you holding up?” Evelyn turned to look at him at last. “I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.”

  “I’m… breathing.” He couldn’t remember why, but the anxiety was a constant presence, like a too-tight collar that didn’t let him get quite enough oxygen. He hadn’t drunk nearly as much water as she had, and had come to the conclusion that he didn’t actually need or even like it that much. One of the sole silver linings in all this was that his lizardlike adaptations were particularly well-suited to Parole’s hot, dry, smoky atmosphere. And sometimes, when the desperate edge of anxiety faded from his eyes, and especially when he smiled, the angles in his jaw and gleams of his teeth and scales reminded her more of a dragon. She hoped she would see more of the dragon eventually.

  “Glad to hear it. And I meant what I said before—we will find you the answers you’re looking for, Regan. Coming back here, I just…” she turned away from the cityscape, then found herself looking up at the house and turned away from that too. “Everything starts to blur together. It’s easy to get overwhelmed.”

  “I know that feeling,” he said immediately, firmly. “I mean, I had to have found a way to deal with everything before, how else could I live here, but now? I just want to hide, all the time. You know what the most intense part is? The smells. Tastes.” His tongue flicked out and back in. “Which are pretty much the same thing as smells to me—I think I can smell with my tongue or something.”

  “That does sound overwhelming. But kind of interesting too, I have to say.” She shot him a brief smile. “Gotta be better things to taste than Parole, though.”

  “Yeah. Lots of smoke, obviously.” He gave a sniff, and then a flick of his tongue. “Metallic. Almost sal… no. Bitter. I don’t know. Lots of different flavors of bitter, if that makes sense. Sharp… cutting? I don’t have words. Words haven’t been invented.” He paused, holding very still. “I think it’s fear. I don’t know if it’s everyone else’s, or mine.”

  “There is a lot of fear in Parole,” Evelyn nodded. “I’ve never smelled it… but I think if I could, I’d never take a single breath without wearing a mask.”

  Regan shook his head. “Still can’t breathe with one on. Rather smell the fear. And, hey, maybe I’ll actually taste something important.”

  “You’ll know when you taste it, I guess.”

  “I’ll keep my… tongue out.” He tried to smile, but it just came out looking tired. All the terrifying, gut-twisting words and scenes from the past several days seemed to fight to pour out of him right there. He wanted so badly to just tell her everything, if there was anyone he could trust he knew it was her—but he couldn’t say a word about Hans without risking another terrifying episode, or Zilch’s heart. Couldn’t tell her about what he’d done to the boy in the Emerald Bar. Saying he thought there was a cat following him just sounded ridiculous. Still, he had to ask questions if he wanted answers. “Evelyn? Do
you know anyone named Gabriel?”

  “Gabriel…” Evelyn repeated slowly, turning the name over in her mouth. “Name doesn’t ring any bells. I know a lot of names, but… nope, sorry. Haven’t seen many angels here lately.”

  “It’s fine.” Regan sighed, slumping back down his chair. “Just thought I’d ask. I thought that name was important, but…”

  “Well, that’s a new name, isn’t it? Before, the only one you remembered was ‘Hans.’ That’s progress, Regan, I’m happy for you.” She watched his face carefully for changes in expression; even a subtle unconscious reaction could be a clue. “Have you remembered anything more about him yet?”

  It wasn’t subtle. He shook his head, a scowl curling up at the edge of his lip, revealing a pointed canine. “Hans? No.”

  When Evelyn spoke, it was slowly and carefully. But with a red flag like that, she had no other choice. “You know, Rose and Danae told me they actually know someone with that name.”

  “Probably a different Hans.” He regretted the obvious evasion immediately, and shut his mouth. “I mean, wasn’t theirs from like ten years ago?”

  “Yes… except that he’s apparently resurfaced. He’s been in a coma, and—”

  “Yeah, no then, definitely not the same guy. Probably not.”

  Evelyn hesitated, proceeding very gently. “Regan, when I met you, you were alone in an alley with no memory except for your name and the name ‘Hans.”

  “No. No, I don’t remember any…” Regan shook his head as his still-sore frill twitched, remembering the terrifying feeling of suffocation and unseen hands around his neck with a prickle of fear. “Never mind. It’s gone. I don’t know where I heard those names.”

  “I’m sorry, Regan,” she said quickly but quietly. “We don’t have to talk about him.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He sucked in a fast breath; suddenly he just wasn’t getting enough air. Regan would never be able to forget the choking feeling of… he could only call it possession. A psychic attack, Evelyn and Rose had called it? It felt more like being restrained. Imprisoned, but far more forcefully than simply living in Parole. A violation, certainly, though even that concept was too terrifying to stay on for long. He remembered Hans’s warning about secrecy, and looked away. “If I knew him once, I don’t now.”

  “Okay,” she nodded and didn’t pursue it, but didn’t stop looking deeply concerned either. When she remembered a much better question a moment later, her relief was palpable. “What about family memories? Have any of those gotten clearer?”

  Regan’s relief was immediate; the moment his mind shifted away from the traumatic memory his borderline-painful tension faded and he relaxed back into his chair. “Sometimes I think so. Little things. Feelings. The sound of someone’s voice, like…” he shook his head, shut his eyes, let his head drop down. “It’s like hearing someone talk in the next room. Can’t understand what they’re saying, can’t see them, but I know who it is.”

  “You still thinking poly?” Evelyn’s tone sounded calm and neutral, but he thought he detected a very faint, hopeful note in it. He cracked his eyes open and looked up at her. It was hard not to hope to find someone like yourself. He knew that feeling now.

  “I never know what to think about myself.”

  “But…?” She hadn’t been imagining the hesitant hope in his eyes, because now he smiled just a little.

  “But sometimes I know how things feel.”

  “It was a good feeling, wasn’t it?” She recognized that smile. It was the same one she’d seen in her home, in the last five normal minutes of her life before everything turned upside-down. It was probably similar to one she wore regularly.

  “Yeah. I don’t know if… I mean, I can’t say for sure…” his face fell and he looked away. “What if I’m wrong? What if I never had that? What if I just… want it?”

  “Then you still found something out about yourself,” she said firmly. “That’s still important.”

  “Thanks. Yeah. I think that is one thing I know for sure.” He still didn’t look up at her and he didn’t smile. His snake-eyes narrowed, his head lowered until he was almost looking out at the world with a challenge. If she had to pick a word, she’d say ‘determined.’ And then she’d say ‘dragon.’ “I’ll get them back.”

  “Regan,” she said quietly, as if not wanting to break a fragile spell. “Get who back?”

  He opened his mouth so fast and with so much eager energy that for one wild moment she honestly thought he’d say a name. When he froze, silent, fire slowly fading from his eyes, her heart sank too.

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It’s okay, Regan. We’ll find them, wherever they are. Whoever they are, I’ll help you, I—”

  “I hate this,” he said through clenched teeth, and slowly drew up his feet onto the chair. He wrapped his arms around his legs and dropped his forehead down to rest on his knees, curling into a tight, armored ball of scales. “I don’t know who they are. I don’t even know if they exist! If they exist, I don’t even know if they’re looking for me, or if they miss me, or want me back!”

  “They do,” Evelyn said immediately, wholeheartedly. “Babe, if they knew you for a hot second, they’d miss you, and they wouldn’t stop until they found you again. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t deserve you in their lives!”

  He was silent for a few seconds, eyes squeezed tightly shut, face pressed down against his knees. When he looked up again, he wasn’t crying, but it was close. “I wonder if my family’s got parents, or brothers and sisters, or… I mean, probably not all of them, right? Nobody’s got… everyone, in Parole. Everybody loses someone, one way or another.”

  “Most of the time,” Evelyn nodded sadly, and he had to appreciate her honesty. “We lose a lot of people here. But not all in the same way. Most people without Chrysedrine abilities are evacuated as soon as they’re located.”

  “So if I’m the only one like…” he stared down at the short points on the ends of his fingertips. “Like this in my family… then I’ll be left behind.”

  “Yes.” She said, gently but again with no pretense. “But we are going to get out of here someday. That’s the second-most-important reason we fight; escape, reunion with our loved ones outside. Life outside Parole. The first is survival inside it. But I’m focusing on that ‘reunion with loved ones’ part for you, Regan. And you should too. They’re alive until proven otherwise and they do want you back. Whatever you find, it’ll be a good thing, not awful.” She smiled. “I’m just going by your reactions here, but honestly, that’s a pretty good road map.”

  “Well, I wish I had your super-sense of direction,” He did look up at her now, and actually flipped her some snark—but he was smiling, not bitter. It was a good sign. “You made a whole life for yourself with two wives and a kid.”

  “Awesome wives, and an awesome kid.” She took a chance and grinned back; not bragging, all fondness, still unable to believe her own luck. “If you think I make it look easy… it’s not. We all found each other. We all work and live and cry together and keep each other going. I didn’t even find them, they more… yeah, they found me. Then we all found each other, for real. Point is, I didn’t do anything all by myself here and you don’t have to either.”

  “Thanks.” He did feel better for a moment, but as usual, another practical concern raised its head, and he spread his hands. “But I don’t even know if I was with ladies, or guys, or another gender, or none, or…”

  “Well, you said you knew how things felt, right?”

  “Yeah,” his brow furrowed and his forked tongue flicked out, apparently a deep-thought reflex.

  “So, perhaps an awkward question,” she acknowledged, instantly reminding herself of Rose’s gift for dry understatement. “But have you… felt anything?”

  His eyes flicked over to her. “Are you asking me who I dig?”

  She gave him a little shrug and a faintly sheepish smile. It wasn’t an expression Evelyn Calliope wore often. “It might hel
p narrow things down if we knew who you were attracted to.”

  He thought for a second before shaking his head.

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. It’s been a very weird week.”

  “I know,” he said, and now he sat up a little, as if realizing something else, something important. “But I don’t know if I would even if it wasn’t.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Um,” his expression shifted to a near-perfect blank, though his eyes slowly widened. “I…really… this is gonna sound weird, and I swear I’m not messing with you… but… I don’t think I’m attracted to anyone. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “Not weird,” she assured him. “Not weird at all.”

  “I haven’t even thought about it,” he mumbled. “I mean, I’ve wondered, but like just in a vague ‘who am I, what was my life’ way. I haven’t really… felt anything about…Anyone.” He scowled for a moment, then let out a frustrated noise, neck frill flaring out. “But that’s not right either, because I know I have, all this means is that I don’t look at someone I don’t know or trust, like a stranger, and think they’re hot—I don’t think anyone’s hot when I first meet them! No offense,” he said hurriedly.

  “None taken,” she said just as fast, then let him keep going, actually looking relieved to see him venting a little frustration.

  “This is—do you see how—I don’t know how to make sense of this!” His hands rubbed the sides of his head and pointed ears, as if soothing irritated scales. “This isn’t my normal life, and I’m not in my normal place, so I can’t tell you how I’d be around people I’m actually with because I’m not—with them! So I can’t tell you who they are! But I do know that can’t even imagine letting someone I don’t know or trust, or—or love, near me! I don’t—how does anyone do that?” Evelyn’s eyes shot wide open, but she said nothing. “I’ve never felt that. Ever.”

  Evelyn kept her voice low. “You’ve never felt sexual attraction?”

  “No! Not for—” Regan took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve never wanted to sleep with anyone as far as I can remember. I’ve never thought about it.” he trailed off and shook his head, swallowing hard. “But beyond that? I don’t know. Because I…”