by Dawn Metcalf
Wish grinned and tossed the handful of white into the air. The startled bird ruffled its wings with a newspaper sound, and flew past Consuela on its way out the door.
She ducked aside to let it pass, staring after it in delight.
“Wow,” Consuela said to Wish’s obvious pride. “What was it?”
“A dove,” Sissy said.
“A wish,” he corrected.
Consuela stood, awed, and asked, “Whose?”
“Oh, that one’s a freebie,” Wish said. “I give those out all the time—a general wish for health or happiness, that sort of thing. It’ll go to whomever, wherever, even though they didn’t ask. I mean, it’s never wasted, right? There’s enough to go around.” He opened his mouth wide. “See?” Wish pointed to the gap and Consuela could just make out a nub of white bone buried in the tiny sea of red.
“It’ll grow in pretty fast, so I’ll be good to go.” Wish glanced at Sissy, who was shaking her head. “So, that’s it, then?” he asked her. “Are we good?”
“We’re good,” Sissy said. “Thanks, Wish. You’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Wish said, though even Consuela could tell he was lying. His nervous twitching had returned.
“Can you do me a favor? Ask V to come by,” Sissy said. “I know Bones will want to meet him.”
“V?” Wish sounded nervous about the request, but then something clicked; he stared at Consuela with open shock.
“You’re . . . ?” He pointed at her questioningly. “You’re that girl.”
Consuela rested her hands on her hips. “I’m what girl?”
“Wish,” Sissy interrupted with more than a hint of warning. “V first.”
“Yeah,” Wish said uneasily, glancing between the two girls. “Yeah, sure thing.” He patted the pins again in rapid succession. He thumbed one that said HEAVEN DOESN’T WANT ME & HELL’S AFRAID I’LL TAKE OVER.
“Nice meeting you, Bones,” he managed.
“You, too,” Consuela said as Wish scurried out of the office like a dog caught peeing on the rug.
Consuela looked at Sissy, who was blind, both eyeballs gone. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“His real name is Abernathy Squires,” Sissy said into space. “He’s a bona fide paranoid, obsessive-compulsive sycophant with a major martyrdom complex that borders on the tragic. Welfare kid, DCF, DDS, DSS—a whole long list of Ds.” She tweaked the muscles of her face to wink an empty socket and smiled. “But he means well. He’s an artist and he’s got a good heart.”
“How do you know all that?” Consuela asked. It was a ruthless description of someone she didn’t know.
Sissy shrugged. “He told me his name and I looked him up,” she replied. “My computer works in the other world, too.” She typed something expertly into some random document file on-screen as she talked. “If you make a wish, I don’t know if God can hear you, but sometimes Wish does.” Sissy gave a little smile. Consuela noticed she had a small dimple in her cheek. “Sometimes I think God might be like me, and that Wish is one of his removable ears.”
Consuela flinched, half expecting a rumble of thunder at Sissy’s arrogance. She said a mental, Sorry, Jesus, and quickly switched the subject.
“So who’s V?” Consuela asked.
Sissy pursed her lips. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t know much about him since he comes and goes a lot. I guess he’s not bad, mostly keeps to himself, sort of quiet and broody in that good-looking-guy-lurking-in-the-back kind of way, but he’s handy in a pinch. V can walk through mirrors.”
“Through mirrors?” Consuela said weakly.
“Uh-huh.” Sissy smiled. “It’s his power. He can see into the real world. Says there’s a whole other world in between, but I’ve never seen it.”
“So, not everyone removes body parts?” she guessed.
“What? No!” Sissy burst out laughing. “I guess you wouldn’t know that given the recent sample, huh? No, we’ve all got different talents. Yehudah thinks it’s inherited, while Wish thinks it’s all circumstantial and Joseph thinks it’s our totems at work.”
Consuela shook her head and folded herself into the nearby armchair. “Who’s Yehudah?”
Sissy blushed and smiled, shyly. Without eyes, she couldn’t look away. “He’s the Yad, which means ‘the hand,’” she said while gently touching her own palm. “That’s the thing Jews use to read their holy scroll. No one’s allowed to actually touch it. Same’s true with the Yad.”
“I don’t get it,” Consuela said. “What does his hand have to do with anything?”
Sissy shrugged again. “What do your bones have to do with anything? Or, for that matter, your skin? We all have a power that can cross over from this world into the next. For you, it’s your skin. For me, it’s my parts. For the Yad, it’s his blood. He can draw protective shields of warding with his blood.”
“Ew,” Consuela said.
“No more ‘ew’ than walking around without skin.” Sissy sounded a little affronted.
Consuela raised a forefinger. “Point taken.”
Sissy cooled and clicked on her screen saver.
“Is that why you invited me over?” Consuela asked. “To meet the neighborhood?”
“Well, you’ve only met Wish.” Sissy chuckled. “You haven’t met Joseph Crow or V or the Yad—don’t offer to shake his hand, by the way . . .”
Consuela didn’t have a brow to furrow. “Why?”
“It’s a modesty thing. That’s what I was talking about. He doesn’t touch girls. I mean at all.” The subject seemed to make Sissy uncomfortable as she hurried on. “Then there’s Nikki, he’s a cross-dresser from Silicon Valley, you’ll like him—he’s sweet. Maddy’s in hibernation or whatever, right now—long story—and I haven’t seen William Chang in ages, but he could be holed up in Quantum; he does that sometimes. We call him ‘Abacus.’” Sissy’s voice slowed. “Then there’s Tender.”
“‘Tender’?” Consuela laughed. “Is that a name?”
Sissy hesitated. “He calls himself Tender because he tends the Flow,” she said. “But I think it’s more like all those before him were ‘pre-Tenders’ and he’s the real deal.”
“So what’s he like?” Consuela asked.
“He’s not like us,” Sissy said, too quickly. “He cleans the Flow. All those dark and unpleasant bits we haul around and leave behind? Tender has to clean them up like a janitor. It’s not a great job, but someone’s got to do it, otherwise we’d all be knee-deep in karmic hell.” She spoke with grudging respect, but Consuela noticed that Sissy slowly wound herself tighter and tighter in her chair, hugging her forearm to her chest. Consuela wished she could look the Watcher in the eye to see what was wrong.
“What?” Consuela asked.
Sissy made a face, nervous, embarrassed, and upset. “It’s . . . he eats pain. Digests it.” She touched her own abdomen almost protectively. “The Flow calls him, and he answers. He takes pride in doing his job—and it is really important—still . . .” A shudder slid down her limbs. “When he’s called, he’s like . . . an animal.” Sissy muttered to herself, “A sleek, sharp-toothed animal.”
Consuela imagined a young boy with sharp, pointy teeth chewing red-brown waste. A shark in a sewer. Her stomach turned. Or would have.
“The Yad calls him ‘Bottom-feeder’ and Joseph Crow calls him ‘Vulture’ for good reason,” she murmured. “And he’s kind of . . . intense.”
So was the awkward silence that followed. Consuela felt she had to break it.
“Anything else I should know?” she asked lightly.
“Yeah,” Sissy said. “He’ll come looking for you soon.”
Consuela stammered. “Me? Why?”
There was a knock at the door. Consuela turned, half expecting teeth.
“V?” Sissy swiveled in her chair. “Come in.”
The door opened and a young man walked in. He had black hair and olive skin like an Italian oil painting, his face smooth and serious. His button-up
shirt hung open at the neck and Consuela could see the sculpted muscles of his chest. She concentrated on his eyes in case she was staring. They were deep brown.
“Wish said you asked to see . . . ”—his eyes locked on Consuela sitting in the armchair and he faltered, midstride, his deep voice sliding to a whisper—“. . . me.”
He stopped, black boots settling heavily on the floor. He looked at Sissy, then back at Consuela with the oddest expression, almost a plea.
“V, this is Bones,” Sissy said. “Bones, this is V.”
“Hi.” Consuela waved, trying to be friendly. This was clearly an awkward moment, although she wasn’t sure why.
V stared at her. Swallowed visibly.
“Hi,” he managed.
// Bones.//
Consuela sat up, alarmed, as the last threads of violin-voice faded fast.
“What was that?” she demanded.
V frowned. “What?”
“That . . .” Consuela stared at Sissy. “Did you hear it?”
V stood silent. Sissy paused, unsure.
“I didn’t hear anything except you saying hi,” she said. “V?”
V shook his head. “No.”
“But . . .” Consuela felt stupid, but certain. Déjà vu and the feeling of almost echoed inside her. She searched the ceiling, the walls, the floor.
“What did it sound like?” V asked.
Consuela felt his eyes sinking into her sockets. She looked away quickly, straining to hear it again, to put into words the sound of an electrified hum singing her name and prove that she wasn’t totally crazy.
“Nothing,” she said finally. “I guess this is all a bit much.” She didn’t even believe her own lame excuse. Neither did V. Sissy rescued her by interrupting.
“Well, I was hoping that V would show you around a bit, offer a few pointers, give you some time to get acquainted,” the Watcher said brightly, her closed eyes facing V. “Won’t you, V?”
V hung his head as if the weight might pull him straight through the floor. He sighed like he’d been punched. Consuela got the impression he’d rather do anything else, be anywhere else, than with her.
“All right,” he said softly. “If that’s all right with . . . ?”
“Bones,” Sissy reminded him.
“Consuela Chavez, actually,” Consuela added.
V nodded. His eyelashes lowered and lifted once. Slowly.
“Right. Consuela Chavez. Bones,” he said, stepping back. “After you.”
Consuela stood. He watched her move, but pretended not to. She pretended she hadn’t noticed right back. Two could play at this game.
“See you later, Sissy,” Consuela said as casually as she could.
“Ha ha. Funny!” The Watcher jeered, pointing at her empty eye sockets. “It’ll be a lot easier when I get these back in.” She swiveled in her chair, following their footsteps as they approached the door.
“And V?” Sissy called.
He stopped, hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look back. “Yes?”
“Explain things, if you can.”
His fingers tightened on the doorknob. Consuela barely heard his answer.
“I’ll try,” he said, and held the door open like a gentleman, allowing Consuela to go first. She shied from the sudden sun-drenched wildflower field bursting right outside the threshold.
“What’s that?” she blurted.
“Echoes of the real,” Sissy called tiredly. “Everything bumps up against everything else in the Flow. You’ll get used to it.” She waved her hand. “Have a nice walk.”
V shook his head and Consuela stepped out, crushing flowers underfoot. V closed the door behind them and sighed.
“Okay,” V said, more to himself than her. “Where to?”
Consuela glanced around. The mysterious tension made her itchy. “How about a nice, relaxing tromp through Mother Nature?” she quipped. “Got a machete?”
V laughed. It transformed him from brooding to strikingly beautiful. Consuela was strangely happy that she’d caused it.
“Not on me,” he said. “And we don’t have to stay here. We can go anywhere in the Flow, but it’s good to have an end point in mind.” He hesitated, then offered his hand, fingers curled like a question. “Step when I step,” he said. “Intention is key. Move like you know where you’re going. The first one’s a rush.”
Consuela placed her hand in his. He watched her phalanges slide over his skin, folding them gently in a guitarist’s grip.
“Ready?” he asked, keeping his eyes on their fingers.
His tremulous confidence fed hers. “Sure.”
Consuela might have imagined him squeezing her hand, but by then they’d taken their first step.
Visions of the Flow flew by, a hundred scenes reduced to smears of color. Her mind reeled trying to follow it. Four steps and they stopped.
“Wow,” she said.
“Dizzy?” V asked.
“A little,” she confessed. They were in a small kitchen, retro-tiled like a fifties diner. A red-checkered potholder stood out against the yellow countertop. The silver stovetop gleamed.
“Give it a second. It’s like a roller coaster,” V explained.
“I love roller coasters,” Consuela said, mildly giddy.
He gave a sort of half smile. “Me, too.”
“Can we do it again?”
V chuckled. “Sure. Hold on.”
They marched forward. This time, she was ready for it: stepping out into the Flow, knowing they could walk through space, doors, walls. V stopped abruptly in a town green. There was a redbrick church between two lazy country roads, a flagpole in the courtyard, and a gazebo strung with Christmas lights in the middle of what looked like a June afternoon.
Consuela swayed with delayed vertigo.
“I’ve got you,” he said, steadying her spine, then pulled away quickly as if he’d accidentally touched her breast.
“Thanks,” she said, covering his unease. “I think I’ve had enough for one ride.”
“All right,” he said gratefully. “Want to sit?”
She nodded.
They walked through the emerald grass. Black boots thumped and tiny bones clicked against the worn wood of the gazebo steps. The benches were peeling black paint and the rails were peeling white. There was an abandoned bird’s nest tucked under one corner of the roof and a few tired cobwebs hung in the rafters. The air was soft and still.
V placed his foot on the octagonal bench and Consuela hugged her knees to her ribs, preparing herself for whatever was coming next. V rubbed his fingers hard against his sternum, his knuckles turning white.
“You okay?” Consuela asked.
“Yeah,” V said, adjusting his collar. “It happens sometimes.” He flexed his fingers in and out of fists. “Okay,” he began, “So. You can cross into a place called the Flow . . .”
“I know that much,” Consuela said, waving off the intro. “Sissy told me.”
“The Watcher. Right.” V paused. “Well, we’re each called to our assignments—people who we’re compelled to save—to stop them from dying before their time.” Consuela nodded. He continued. “Sometimes we have to save them from something or someone or simply keep them from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Other times, it’s personal—something about them.” He tapped on his chest. “Something inside that has to decide to live.”
V cleared his throat and shifted position. “After a while, you’ll notice there’ll be a pattern to your assignments, a certain type of person that you’re drawn to protect.” He stretched for the words. “But these people are all important, destined to do great things, huge things, help lots of people—more than you or I could ever . . .” He was leaning forward, facing her, his eyes full and earnest. Consuela hung on his speech and the look in his eyes. Startled, he backed away, circling the floor, caught in the belly of the gazebo.
She watched him pace, her silence a question.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and wiped his h
ands on his pockets. “It’s just . . . it’s hard seeing you here.”
That caught her attention. “Me?” she said. “Why?”
“You . . .” V said. “You are not supposed to be here. You are not supposed to”—he gestured at her naked bones—“. . . look like this.” He shook his head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Nerves bubbled along her limbs. “What?”
“And it’s my fault,” V said in a rush. “It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”
“Your fault?” Consuela struggled to understand. “And you’re sorry?”
He tapped his fist against his lower lip. “I promise, I’ll fix it.”
“What are you talking about?” Consuela said, standing.
“I’ll fix it,” V insisted.
“Fix what?” Consuela snapped, strangely insulted. “This is me.”
“No, it isn’t,” V said patiently. “It’s a mistake.”
“A mistake?!”
“My mistake, all right?” V retreated, storming in circles. “I get it! I screwed up, okay?” he shouted while flicking his hand in the air. “I know it happens, but it’s never happened to me before! And no one’s ever shown up here . . . !”
“Will you stop?!” Consuela shouted. She took a deep breath the way her father always told her to do, tempering the Aguilar temper.
“Listen. You brought me here? You made me this way?” She laughed a little. “Fine. I forgive you, okay? It’s amazing. It’s . . . indescribable!”
V deflated, stricken. “Don’t . . .”
“No,” she insisted. “It’s wonderful!” She spread her arms, showing their glory—sunlight dancing on her luminous skeleton. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me!” V said, horrified. “Madre di Dio, please don’t thank me.” He ran his hand over his eyes and closed it in a fist, beating it lightly against his forehead. “You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”
“Well, I am here,” Consuela said. V retreated. She chased him. He wasn’t taking this away from her so soon. “You and Sissy say I get to save people. Me!” Consuela touched her own breastbone. “I get to be part of something good. Something real that makes a difference.” She had to convince him. She deserved this. She wanted this! “A huge difference,” Consuela insisted. “Not only for these people, but for hundreds, maybe thousands . . .”