Nine Lives of Chloe King

by Liz Braswell

  “All right.”

  “Good, I look forward to seeing you later. Good luck in school.”

  Click.

  Chloe slowly closed the phone.

  Let’s make a deal, she sent a mental message to the Fates or the Twin Goddesses or her biological mom or whoever was casting the dice for her life. Can you at least switch off crisis weeks? Like, one for school, the next for Amy and Paul, and the next for everything else? Does it all have to happen at once?

  Something hit Chloe’s head with a small but pointed thunk and snapped her out of her thoughts. Lying on the ground next to her desk was a slightly squished Godiva chocolate. Alyec was grinning wickedly; he must have stolen or sweet-talked it away from the cheerleaders.

  Chloe smiled back and whispered a thanks, unwrapping it immediately and popping it in her mouth.

  God really does work in mysterious ways, she reflected.

  Lunch was a chilly affair that almost made her wish school would hurry up and end so she could face her next set of crap. Chloe sat across from Paul and Amy, who were obviously trying to interact normally—without even touching each other or making eye contact—until the bell rang and Paul gave Amy a perfunctory kiss goodbye. There wasn’t so much tension at the table as there was a complete freeze on normal, casual behavior. I knew this would happen, Chloe thought. When Amy first told her she and Paul had hooked up, it was obvious that, unless they kept dating until college, it could only end in tears for the trio of friends.

  She stayed after for an hour to work on one of the many chem labs she’d missed, called “Forming Ionic Compounds.” Mrs. Mentavicci was much more laid back in these sessions, and when she wasn’t grading something—or playing solitaire—she actually helped. Chloe began to see the lure of being tutored. Without the tenseness of a forty-five-minute time limit and having to deal with a lab partner, she was able to work slowly and methodically and actually understand what she was doing.

  Afterward she took a bus over to Sausalito. Chloe didn’t want a car to come pick her up—while luxurious, it was also incredibly disempowering; she felt completely in the Mai’s control. It was a good place to think, under the shaky fluorescent bus lights that made everything clearer and more real. Every rivet in the floor, every grommet on the ugly matted upholstery of the seats stood out.

  But she could only focus on one thing: There was a chance that Brian could be dead or dying by the time she got to Firebird.

  It hadn’t been immediate with Xavier, the guy she’d kissed at the club. When Chloe found him lying on the floor in his apartment a few days later, he was covered in sores and unable to breathe properly—but still alive. Barely. A few more hours—maybe minutes—and he wouldn’t have been. She had never followed up on what happened to him. Now was definitely the time to open up that line of inquiry again.

  When the bus stopped, Chloe was the only one to get off. The sky was overcast, the clouds high in the atmosphere. Chloe drew as far into her hoodie as she could as a cold wind cut through tree branches and telephone poles. She let her feet slap the ground, willing herself to make ugly, human noises, to challenge the sky and the wind and the graceful lion woman within her. She kicked rocks and pebbles and wished she was thirteen again. Or at least fifteen, before everything had changed.

  She reached the gate and realized how tiny she must look against it: a wastrel teenager in a faded sweatshirt and jeans, under a guardhouse that protected one of the largest real estate firms in San Francisco—as well as a dying race of ancient feline warriors.

  “Oh, Miss King—would you like me to send a car down to you?”

  “No thanks, I’ll walk,” she said, slipping through the tiny invisible pedestrian “door” that cracked open out of the imposing double gates and led up the long gravel driveway. Chloe couldn’t help notice the trees and the topiaries and the bushes and all sorts of beautiful garden things she had never explored while she lived there. She had stayed inside, except for when she escaped to see her friends.

  Chloe chose to go around the back, avoiding the lobby and the receptionist and the crowd of people who would be there. Staring at her. Bowing to her. Directing her to Sergei.

  Though she didn’t remember exactly where the hospital room was, she pieced it together through memory and smell. Chloe tentatively knocked on the door before opening it and going in, as quietly as she had through the gate.

  “Hey.” Dr. Lovsky was there, checking off something on Brian’s chart. She gave a little bow.

  Brian was in a slightly different position from when she saw him last and had all sorts of tubes and wires on him. A drip in his arm. Something in his nose. He looked fragile and was the pale color of chicken fat. Small.

  “How’s he doing?” Chloe whispered.

  “Talk as loud as you want. He’s on so many painkillers, it would take an earthquake to wake him,” Dr. Lovsky said, hanging the chart back on the end of his bed. “Stabilized—I’m going to take a closer look at his head today. He’s pretty resilient for a human.”

  “Speaking of human …” Chloe closed her eyes and ground her teeth. A leader isn’t afraid to tell the truth. Think of Washington and the cherry tree. Or Honest Abe. “… I probably should have told you this before, but when he thought he was going to die, he, um … he kissed me.”

  Lovsky’s clipboard slipped perilously until it was hanging from just one of her claws.

  “H-how hard?” she managed to stutter.

  “Uh, pretty hard, I guess.” Chloe fidgeted. “A teensy bit of tongue,” she added, flushing furiously.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” the doctor shrieked, running a clawed hand over her head. “Honored One.”

  “Because I thought you would just give up on him—assume he was going to die.”

  Strangely, Dr. Lovsky didn’t argue with that. She seemed to be one of those rare people who didn’t protest when they knew the other person was right. “I kissed another boy before I knew who I was, too. …”

  The other woman just tapped a tooth with her claw.

  Chloe cleared her throat. “Is he going to be okay? Can you do something for him?”

  The doctor shook her head. “I was … involved in a case years ago with a Mai and a human who had only kissed. He died. The hospital couldn’t do anything—and it was a damn sight better than anything here.”

  Chloe was cowed into silence—there was definitely a story behind and beyond what she had said.

  Calie then frowned, looking puzzled. “But… I have seen no evidence of toxic shock or anything even like that. Yet. It’s kind of odd. … I’ll keep an eye out and prepare some ephedrine.” The doctor stomped out, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

  And now, to my doom.

  As Chloe made her way upstairs, she played a mental game with herself, trying to decide what she would rather do than meet with Sergei. Pull a hangnail, definitely. Deal with a yeast infection, possibly. Clean her room, almost certainly. Work a midnight sale at Pateena’s, absolutely. Spend the afternoon at Aunt Isabel’s? Maybe. That was a close one.

  Working at Pateena’s, much less working midnight sales, weren’t really an option anymore, though. Since the owner of the vintage clothing store had told Chloe to not bother coming back at all if she didn’t show up on that Wednesday weeks ago, Chloe had given up her job as a complete loss.

  She tried to slip past the cheaply dressed receptionist who sat alone at her island of mahogany and dark wood in the middle of the lobby. The only thing keeping her company was a giant vase of expensive flowers.

  “He’s waiting for you in his office,” she said without looking up. “Honored One.”

  Was there the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice?

  Chloe sighed and slunk over to Sergei’s door and knocked. The door seemed to open of its own accord, and Olga let her in. Her dark eyes lit up a little when she saw Chloe—but she also looked worried.

  “Chloe! Honored One! Come in!” She gave Chloe a squeeze on the should
er, not quite a hug. Sergei’s right hand was a direct, uncomplicated, and genuine woman; Chloe was pretty sure she knew where she stood with her at all times.

  Sergei stood up from behind his desk and gave Chloe a very proper, angular bow. It should have been amusing, considering how short and square he was, but with his heels together and his perfectly trimmed beard he gave the impression of a foreign dignitary. The door clicked shut behind her. Well, here we go, Chloe thought, sinking into a chair next to Olga. If I really am the One, why don’t I feel like it?

  “Chloe,” Sergei said, sitting back in his chair, “let me begin by saying how glad we are to see you again. We missed you while you were away.”

  “While I was home,” Chloe found herself correcting him. She wished she hadn’t. The Fine Art of Making Friends and Influencing People, not by Chloe King.

  “Yes, while you were home,” Sergei said easily, as if it wasn’t a concern. “So I take it you’re not back for the long haul, as it were?”

  There it was. Wheeeeeeeeee plop! Like a lit firecracker half dud that lay unexploded between your feet. Do you pick it up or run?

  “I don’t know what my eventual plans are,” Chloe said carefully. Jesus Christ, I’m a sixteen-year-old kid! I shouldn’t be having to make decisions about the rest of my life or speak so carefully—politically—to someone three times my age and ten times better at it! I should be dating, fighting with my mom, popping zits in front of the mirror. “For now, I’m going to live with my mom.”

  “You gave us a bit of a surprise at the Presidio, leaving with your friends like that,” the older man said, eyes flicking briefly to the ground and back up to her as if it were a painful memory. “It really … hurt me,” he added softly.

  Chloe felt like vomiting. Right there and then. Was he the greatest actor in the world and completely evil—which she sort of preferred at this point—or just a man who had thought he’d found a daughter figure and whose heart had been broken?

  “I—I’m sorry. I just…”

  “It was difficult for you, we understand,” Olga said, reaching out to pat her hand. “All the violence must have been a shock.”

  “But we were there for you, Chloe. You know that, right?” Sergei sort-of pleaded.

  There. A little tiny spark of anger. Grab it, Chlo; follow it down to the source. It was the only “power” she felt she had right then.

  “I just died, for Christ’s sake! Again!” she exploded. “Tell me you wouldn’t want your mom after something like that.”

  “Still,” Sergei said, crossing his legs and trying a different tactic, “fleeing for a while is completely understandable, as Olga has said. We will always be here, waiting for you. But bringing a human into our complex?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it was cold, each word ending in sharp silence.

  She had been waiting for this, and she was still completely unprepared to answer it.

  Chloe opened her mouth, but just then there was a soft click as the door opened behind her. Kim padded silently into the room, as calm and tranquil as a breeze on a sun-soaked oasis. She bowed to Chloe and Sergei and pulled up a chair.

  “Kim, this is a private meeting,” Sergei said, both baffled and stern.

  The girl with the giant black cat ears nodded, smoothing some unseen wrinkle on the front of her long, priestlike black dress. “You are discussing the transition of leadership to the One, correct?” she asked coolly.

  “Correct,” Sergei answered through gritted teeth.

  “I too must cede my power—I no longer represent the spiritual body of this Pride. Chloe is now the high priestess. This must be discussed as well.” She sat down, and that was the end of the story.

  THANK YOU! Chloe thought at Kim. A thousand times, thank you. If the other girl noticed Chloe looking at her, she ignored it, as if it was all just business as usual. But there was the slightest gleam in her eye that the two adults didn’t notice.

  Now, if being the One came with cat ears and a tail or something else visually freaky, I’d be able to pull stunts like that without batting an eyelash, too, Chloe thought a little jealously. Kim got away with a lot because of her ingrained weirdness.

  The leader of the Pride let out a large sigh, as if he was giving up, changing his previous stance. “Chloe, this is just really hard. For a number of reasons,” he said frankly, “besides the personal ones—I really do want you back here. I like our little chess games and chats and … having you around,” he added quickly, as if he was a little embarrassed. Whatever else was true about him, the lion-haired middle-aged man really did like her, but did he like her so much that he had tried to kill her mom to keep her?

  “And think of me,” he went on, gesturing to the walls around him. “I spent my entire life and millions of dollars building this little safe haven for us, this little real estate empire, and bringing our people over. It’s a little strange to suddenly have to hand it all over to a young girl.”

  “I don’t think Chloe needs to involve herself with the business part of our Pride,” Kim suggested in a tone that made it sound more like a statement of the obvious. “At least not yet. It’s not really part of her ’job description’ anyway. She is our spiritual leader, leader in all things having to do with the Mai. Not humans.”

  “What does that mean?” Olga asked bluntly.

  “Well, in ancient days, she would have led us in the rites and rituals of the Twin Goddesses,” Kim said thoughtfully. “Or led us to war against out enemies. Or led the Hunt. Sacrificed herself, if need be, for the continued survival of the Pride. Now it means leading the Pride in whatever direction it needs to survive—and thrive— today in the modern era, in this new world.”

  Olga, Sergei, and Kim looked expectantly at Chloe, who still had no idea what that meant. What would she suggest they do to become “more modern”? Get an MP3-player hooked up to the speaker system in the lounge, maybe?

  “The first thing I think we should do is hold an all-Pride gathering,” Sergei decided. “A meeting where we introduce you to everyone properly. There are those who won’t believe you’re the One until they’ve seen you in person. Kim, you should give her a crash course in our spirituality and the rites of the Twin Goddesses. I’ll fill you in on how we’ve been more or less governing ourselves for the past few decades.” He gave Chloe a weak smile. “As well as the traditions of leadership and the kizekh. We could order pizza …?”

  A peace offering. He really did want her back—if only part time.

  “Okay,” Chloe said, nodding, trying to look like it was no big deal.

  “Good—can we meet this Friday?” Chloe shrugged. Sounded fine. “And we should have the gathering soon thereafter.” He flipped a page on his desk calendar. “Tuesday, maybe.”

  “Shouldn’t you check everyone’s schedules first?” Chloe found herself saying. Even Kim had difficulty not rolling her eyes.

  “Chloe King,” Sergei said mock-sternly, “the first thing you should know about the Pride is that this is not a democracy.”

  Not a democracy. As Chloe followed Kim back to the sanctuary where the cat gods Bastet and Sekhmet were worshiped, those words repeated themselves over and over in her mind.

  Okay, let’s play this game. Pretend I’m leader of this entire group of felines. What do I think is best for them? Chloe asked herself.

  Integrate more, was the immediate and loudest answer. There must be a way to survive racially and socially and not resort to holing up in a mansion on the outskirts of town like vampires. Play video games. Go to the movies. Make everyone go to college.

  “Kim, I have no idea what these people expect me to do as the One or even what I should do,” she admitted aloud, sitting down on a bench as Kim bowed and said a little prayer to each of the goddesses: Bastet, house cat with the gentle smile and the earring; Sekhmet, with her teeth bared. The only sound in the room was the “moat” that separated the goddesses’ dais from the rest of the room, a gentle trickle of water meant to remind worshipers of the Nile.<
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  “What you should do will come with time,” Kim said, shrugging. “You are only sixteen and the world is much more complicated than it was in the days of hunting and gathering. As for the expectations of others, the wise will understand. Everyone else will have to be patient.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? If you asked me what I would do today, I would say breathe some fucking air and light into this place. Uh… not the temple, I mean Firebird,” she added quickly as Kim frowned. “’Sergei was right: the Mai shouldn’t be trapped here. They should be free to interact with the rest of the world and control their own destinies instead of being bound to some five-thousand-year-old curse. And a boring real estate company.”

  Kim watched her curiously, listening without judgment.

  “If it were up to me,” Chloe said slowly, thinking of Xavier and Brian, “I would do everything possible to get rid of the curse. That would be my number-one goal. It’s not fair to us or the humans we might accidentally wind up with. And besides that, it really adds to the whole cultish aspect of the Pride. No mixing with humans means a lot of dating at home and—well, pressure to keep it in the family. Having the place where you live for only a few years destroyed so you’re forced to move on makes everyone clingy, to a leader as well as each other. Lions roam free over hundreds of miles, going where and with whom they please … staying in their pride because they want to, not because they’re forced, you know?”

  Actually, Chloe didn’t know if that last part was true, but it sounded good. In the dreams she had there was a sense of power and freedom that was definitely missing from her own close Pride. Kim nodded, looking almost hungry for that freedom.

  “But let’s say we do that, huh?” Chloe said, slumping. “We somehow get rid of the curse, Mai and humans can interact again, everyone goes off and lives happily ever after on their own. The freedom of the Mai means their eventual integration and disappearance. I mean, there are six billion humans to meet and fall in love with and have babies with. The Mai would cease to exist in a couple of generations—is that the right thing? How can you have complete individual freedom and still maintain the culture of the Mai?”