by Liz Braswell
A small smile curled at the edge of her friend’s lips, and her ears dipped a little. “Chloe, I think maybe you have answered your original question. Perhaps a spiritual guide who keeps us all connected is what is called for in this age.”
Chloe blinked.
“Anyway, you still have that five-thousand-year-old curse to lift, people to win over, and French to pass, so your plate’s pretty full right now, as they say,” Kim added, lighting a candle and picking up a handful of sand to continue her benedictions.
“Yeah, thanks for helping me,” Chloe said a little glumly, brought back from her philosophical daydreams about the future to the reality of schoolwork. “And thanks for crashing the meeting, too, by the way. Things with Sergei were getting a little tense.”
“No problem.” It was strange hearing modern phrases come out of Kim’s mouth with her little fangs showing.
“But of course he’s going to be a little weird about just handing over leadership of this Pride to a sixteen-year-old, right?” Chloe looked to her friend expectantly. “I mean, who wouldn’t be?”
Kim paused in her ritual and stared at Chloe unblinkingly, for a long enough time that Chloe actually began to feel uncomfortable.
“Hey, drink up,” Alyec said, toasting her and tipping back a frosty mug of India Pale Ale.
Chloe looked around the library, realizing how much she’d missed the Thursday night cocktail parties at Firebird. Everyone was dressed up and taking drinks that were served on silver trays. The older Mai who had grown up in Abkhazia or Russia or Georgia had straight champagne and expensive shots of vodka in glasses made of ice.
Igor, Valerie, Alyec, and the other younger members of the Pride tended to drink beer, but Chloe was enamored of the sophisticated drinks she could never afford, the ones that they talked about in magazines and Sex and the City: pink cosmopolitans, three-olive dirty martinis, Bellinis with champagne and peach nectar.
When she’d lived there, Sergei had always watched Chloe carefully and never let her have more than one. So she sipped slowly.
I’m the One now, though. Doesn’t that mean I’m old enough to drink?
It was pretty amazing, she thought as she sat on a velvet love seat among the younger members. Here she was in a library out of a mystery novel that was full of lion people—her own people—a secret feline race living among humans and all of them gorgeous.
“I want a full veil,” Valerie announced, throwing a much-thumbed Martha Stewart Weddings magazine down onto the coffee table for all to see.
So much for the cool, sexy, secret stuff. Chloe sighed, but she looked at the page interestedly.
“That’s a patriarchal tradition for this day and age,” said Simone. She was the beautiful, red-haired dancer Chloe met at the hunt. When she moved—even casually—it was hard for anyone, male or female, to take eyes off her. “Though the lace is pretty.”
“Patriarchal, whatever, bah. This is what I want.”
“Whatever you want, it shall be yours,” Igor said, kissing her on the forehead.
Alyec and Chloe smiled at each other, rolling their eyes.
“Kim suggested adding some traditional Mai stuff,” Simone pressed. “You going to do that?”
The couple looked at each other, lips pursed in thinking expressions. “I think it’s a good idea,” Igor finally said. Valerie nodded.
Chloe had just sat through one group “service” that Kim led—it was always a personal religion, the cateared girl had emphasized, but a surprising number of Mai showed up. Instead of psalmbooks there were scrolls in languages Chloe couldn’t read. Some of the service was in English, but most was in Russian and Mai. Kim had poured out little measures of dried meat—it looked suspiciously like cat food—and honey and wine at the base of each statue. Kind of interesting, from an anthropological perspective, but not something Chloe really felt she could get worked up about.
“But you have to throw a bouquet,” one of the other girls said. “That way one of us unmarried girls can catch it.”
“Agreed.” Valerie laughed.
“Are you going to have your father bring you down the aisle?” Chloe asked, thinking about other possible “patriarchal” aspects of the service.
“I don’t know who my father is,” Valerie said, shrugging. “He’s probably dead.”
“Oh,” Chloe said. “I don’t know mine either.”
The other girl nodded, as if it were obvious.
“It’s funny …,” Chloe said slowly, thinking about it. “Everyone is all concerned about finding out who my biological mom is, but no one has said anything about my dad.”
“Uh, Honored One.” Simone coughed delicately. “Lineage in the Mai is always determined through the mother because you always know who your mother is.”
“Yeah, but—”
Alyec cut in. “What she is trying to say, Chloe, is that in the past your husband was not always the father of all your children.”
She knew it was impolite, but Chloe couldn’t help gaping. Was this a cat-legacy thing? Or was it just a result of the violence and chaos in Eastern Europe?
Somehow Chloe didn’t think it was the latter. The implications were … not nice images.
“So, have you and Alyec talked at all?” Valerie asked, changing the subject. “You know, about this?”
Alyec began to choke on his beer.
“I’m sixteen!” Chloe said, stunned at the implications of the woman’s question.
“Oh, I didn’t mean now,” she said, laughing heartily. “But do you, you know … have any plans? Going steady?”
Everyone was staring at her and Alyec interestedly, even Igor. Her boyfriend was completely silent for once and seriously blushing.
Suddenly Chloe got it. There were fewer Mai than Rhode Islanders—probably fewer than the Amish. Every couple was a pair of potential breeders.
“Oh, look at the time! Gotta go,” she said without attempting to disguise the lame excuse.
“Yeah, I’ve got to go find my mom. Uh, early night,” Alyec said instantly, also getting up.
“Oh, Chloe, you are so funny,” Valerie said. “You too, Alyec. You’re a perfect couple.”
The perfect couple left as quickly as possible without knocking furniture over or books off their shelves.
“Well, uh, good night,” Alyec said when they were outside.
“Uh, yeah.” Chloe kissed him, but it was short and sort of perfunctory. He didn’t hold it either. When they finally looked into each other’s eyes, they laughed nervously.
Seven
A = 33 degrees, B = 95 degrees, a = 6 cm
What is the length of b?
In the last couple of months, Chloe had grown claws, fought an assassin, died twice, and become the leader of her people. It just didn’t seem fair that she had to deal with this as well.
She took a deep breath, thinking about the late-night study session she’d had with her mom. Law of sines.
a/sin A = b/sin B
6/sin 33 = b/sin 95
6/0.5446 = b/0.9962
b = ~10.97
That seemed right.
Chloe heaved a deep sigh and peeled the exam off her desktop, where it had stuck from the pressure and hand sweat. Maybe elbow sweat, too.
She handed it to Mr. Hyde, the calculus and computer teacher who had been quietly waiting for her at his desk, solving a puzzle in Scientific American. He took the test from her as if he had forgotten she was there, faintly surprised and pleased. He was ascetically thin and all Vulcan, except for the ears and the sense of humor. All arching eyebrows and flawless logic.
“Listen,” he said, a little louder than his usual softspoken self. “I was kind of thinking of having you as an alternate on the math team next marking period, after Christmas.”
Chloe almost dropped her books again. Her? She wasn’t a geek—just kind of good at math. Or at least better than a lot of other sophomores.
“I don’t know. … I’ve never been much of a joiner.”
“Just think about it, okay?” he begged. “I’d really like you on the team. You’d be a great role model to younger girls.”
“Uh, sure. See ya.” Chloe got out of the classroom as quickly as she could, waving her hand behind her. Her on the math team? If one more thing gets freaky in my life, just one more thing, I swear I’m gonna—
“Hey, Chloe. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Paul called out to her. He was flipping through the comic books that he had just bought, brown bag under his arm.
“Jekyll and Hyde just basically asked me to join the math team. As an alternate,” she added quickly.
“I didn’t know trig was one of your superpowers. Speaking of, how are things over at the cathouse?”
“They want me to be their leader.” Chloe leaned against the wall and slid down it until she was sitting on the floor. Paul followed suit. She dug through her bag, hoping for a candy bar or something, but only found an old cough drop. It was a little dusty from being at the bottom of her bag, but she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth anyway. Cherry. Her favorite. “You?”
“My dad has a girlfriend,” he said, staring at the floor with large, unblinking eyes.
Okay. That was officially “it.” The last freaky thing.
“How long?” she asked, also staring at the floor. Paul got embarrassed easily and he looked dangerously close to freaking out, so it seemed the safest thing to do.
“I … I don’t know. I think they knew each other—I know they knew each other—she’s the daughter of some friends of my parents.”
Daughter!
“Korean?”
“Yeah. A lot more … traditional than my mom. And a lot younger,” he added with an angry smile. “She’s my dad’s new secretary.”
“Oh, you are shitting me,” Chloe sympathized.
Some of the anger drained out of his smile and it became broader, if sadder. “I don’t think they actually had an affair before my parents began the divorce—I don’t even know if they’re sleeping together now. She still lives at home with her parents—she’s thirty-two.”
They sat quietly for a moment, side by side. That seemed like all Paul really wanted: someone to listen and understand and not react. Chloe understood the feeling all too well.
“Would—would you do me a favor?” he asked, sniffing a little.
She nodded.
“Don’t tell Amy?”
Chloe felt her stomach freeze. This was the beginning of a whole new “it.”
“I’ll tell her myself, but not yet—I just found out, and …”
Of course it made sense: things were already weird between her two best friends. Now was not the time for further complications, sympathy, or anger. But he had made Chloe his confidante—once again the three of them were split two to one, but this time Amy was the odd man out.
And if she ever finds out I knew about this before her and didn’t tell, I’m toast.
“Yeah, whatever. Sure,” Chloe said.
They sat there for a few minutes, not speaking. Chloe looked down the empty hall of the math wing, so silent, it was almost like it had already been evacuated for the summer or Christmas vacation. Long rows of green and blue lockers, recently repainted, reflected glossily in the tiles of the floor, extending their length six feet into a blurrier universe. Doors were left open here and there and the very slightest hint of fresh air managed to tunnel through the ancient smells of paste, dirt, textbooks, and copy paper.
Very soon, Chloe realized, this would all be a memory. Whatever happened with the rest of her life, as a cat or as a human, less than three quick years would pass and all that would remain of these turbulent days were memories, like this silent, still image of her and Paul on the floor.
A bell rang and there was a school-wide shuffling and shifting as those who stayed late or were in detention finally got to go free. Chloe rose to her feet and pulled Paul with her with the ease of her Mai strength.
“I dare you to give me a piggyback ride,” he said weakly.
“Don’t tempt me.” Chloe smiled. “You know, I could have your dad’s girlfriend killed,” she said brightly as they began to walk down the hall together. “I know an entire organization of assassins now. Two organizations, actually.”
“As much as I don’t want to sound like a sensitive New Age boy,” Paul said with a sigh, “I think my dad might have something to do with this as well. You know?”
When they got to the lobby, Amy saw them and waved; she had something that looked suspiciously like a giant portfolio under her arm.
“Hey, guys. How are things?” It sounded forced. Even for Amy.
“Not too shabby,” Chloe answered, shrugging.
“How’s Brian?”
Chloe tapped her tooth, remembering at the last moment to keep her claws sheathed. It was really much more satisfying the other way, but they were in public. Finally she decided. If she had no control over the rest of her life, at least she could keep things clear with her friends.
“He kissed me.”
Both of her friends’ jaws dropped, and Chloe wished they could see themselves. They actually made a pretty good couple. It sucked that they were breaking up, considering Chloe was just getting used to them as an item.
“He’s not dead,” she said shakily, hoping it was still true. It had been at least two hours since she last called Dr. Lovsky. “And he hasn’t shown any symptoms yet, either. They’ve got him pretty closely monitored, so if he goes into anaphylactic shock, at least they’ll be able to catch it. He was a dumbass,” she added before Amy could open her mouth. “I guess he thought he was going to die—he was so out of it from the blood loss.”
“Holy cow,” Paul said, shocked beyond the realm of swear words. “Sooo glad I didn’t wind up with you for two minutes in the closet at Amy’s thirteenth birthday party.”
“Life sucks,” Chloe said, letting the misery descend on her for one brief moment, in the safety of her friends. Then she shook her head. “I’ve got to find out what happened to Xavier.”
Amy shrugged. “I’ve been checking the newspapers and public police records online every day since you asked a couple of weeks ago—nothing has come up about him yet. There was one obituary for a Xavier Constantine, but he was eighty-seven.”
“Well, that’s good news, I guess. Not for the old guy, I mean.”
“Are you going to check out his apartment? See if he’s even still there?” Paul asked.
She shook her head. “Not tonight. I’m … kind of exhausted. I’m just going to go home.” Chloe wasn’t sure she would be able to deal with it if she found out Xavier was dead—one of the reasons she had been putting it off for so long.
“Oh, you’re busy tonight,” Amy said, a little too quickly. She turned to Paul. “You want to hang, maybe? Watch the Star Trek marathon?”
As clichéd as it was, Chloe realized this was a train wreck she could only watch. She kept hoping her friends would not say the inevitable. Superhuman strength, night vision, and no way to salvage the next minute of conversation. She sighed.
Paul shifted uncomfortably. “Not tonight.”
That’s one. …
“Other plans?” Amy pushed, still trying to sound bright.
That’s two. …
“No, I just… I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”
That’s three!
Between Amy’s constant pressure and Paul’s stupidly excessive honesty at the wrong time, it was amazing they hadn’t spontaneously combusted earlier. Chloe found herself actually closing her eyes and wincing.
“Oh,” Amy said, color rushing to her cheeks.
“Well, I gotta get going,” Paul said, pretending to ignore everything that had just happened. He reshouldered his messenger bag—this one said Aladdin Sane on it—and went through the emergency exit that hadn’t been hooked to an alarm system since the seventies, when students started toking up in the alley. Exit the cowardly hero, stage left.
“I have to
go to the dance meeting,” Amy said shakily, too shocked and upset to react yet.
“You? You’re on the fall formal committee?” Chloe asked with more surprise than was strictly necessary, trying to get her friend to smile.
“Alyec bet me I couldn’t do a better job than Mrs. Dinan….”
“I’ll go with you,” Chloe volunteered, thinking about what a smart guy her boyfriend was.
The gym was decorated with little dots of students in socks and bare feet—No Street Shoes—with charts and clipboards, pointing at this set of bleachers and that basketball net, joined by the art teacher, who waved her arm around like she was painting the ceiling. A pile of fake ravens was thrown into a corner, bags of little evil glowing plastic spiders and caterpillars next to it. Probably favors or something. It was the only time Chloe had actually seen anyone excited about anything in the gym. But through the windows and skylights she could see that the sky was bleakly heading toward sunset, the layers of white clouds like dryer lint after a load of whites. This was the downside of fall—Halloween, leaves, apples, cider, and the beginning of the party season aside, this was a little bit of the autumn that set in before Thanksgiving and lasted through Christmas: dark and drear, cold and snowless.
Chloe led her friend to the closest set of risers, where she could cry in relative peace.
“We haven’t—he hasn’t said anything definite …,” Amy murmured, the tears finally coming.
“Sounds like he pretty much just did,” Chloe said as gently as she could. But sometimes her friend got so wrapped up in her own emotions, she wasn’t able to clearly see what was actually going on around her.
“Hey, pretty ladies.” Alyec neatly vaulted straight up over the side and onto the step where they sat, with an ease and grace that was completely inhuman. No one in the gym was watching. Amy sniffed back a tear; Chloe knew she liked being let in on the Mai’s secret lives, that even Alyec trusted her with it. But she still quickly lifted her bright green scarf to cover her face and blot her eyes.
“Hey, we’re waiting for you.”
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this …,” Chloe muttered.