by Liz Braswell
Amy was still blowing her nose and trying to hide her tears; Alyec answered for her. “Yup, she’s helping with the overall installation. The gestalt, if you will. Putting the ’Wicked’ in ’Something Wicked This Way Comes.’” There was an extraloud sniff behind the scarf. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Alyec asked nonchalantly. “And where’s your little friend?”
Chloe whacked him with the back of her hand.
“What, he finally came out of the closet?” Alyec asked, faking concern.
“He’s not gay,” Amy protested, blowing her nose and crumpling the napkin up. “It would be easier if he was,” she added weakly.
“Well, he does have a bit of the mama’s boy,” Alyec said. “I mean, he’s nice and all, but not exactly a stud. Oh, come on.” He grabbed the tasseled ends of Amy’s scarf and tugged them a little. “I’ll bet he never really got your juices going, someone like you.…” He pulled Amy in and suddenly dipped her so low that her frizzy hair was inches away from the wooden benches, his face inches from hers.
“What are you doing?” Amy demanded, the sadness momentarily banished from her face.
“Cheering you up. I could kiss your tears away if you wanted, but that would be fatal—wouldn’t it?”
The two were frozen there for a long moment. Neither Alyec nor Amy blinked or looked away. Tension crackled.
Chloe found herself staring, too. And then she found herself getting really annoyed.
“Let me up, douche bag,” Amy finally snapped, breaking the spell.
“As madam commands; I live to serve.” With one fluid curve of his arm he pulled her upright, then brought it below his stomach for a formal bow.
“Thanks for, uh, staying with me,” Amy said, turning to Chloe. “And for the little lesson about how all men suck,” she added with a glare at Alyec, then marched off toward the art teacher, who now looked like she was conducting an invisible orchestra with a large paintbrush she had found somewhere.
Chloe watched her friend go; as angry as her steps were, she still fidgeted nervously with her scarf and the places where Alyec had touched her.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Chloe demanded, turning back to him.
“I was cheering her up, like I said.” He sat down on the step above her and picked up a flyer that someone had left there, as though the incident was almost completely forgotten.
“Alyec.” Chloe tore the paper out of his hand so hard that her claws threatened to come out.
“I wasn’t really going to kiss her,” he said innocently. “I don’t want her dead.”
“You weren’t really joking about kissing her either, were you?”
The silence between them was as deep and long as the one between him and Amy—but for very different reasons.
“Chloe,” he said with a smile, “you knew I was a flirt. You’ve always known I’m a flirt. It came free with purchase.”
Chloe glowered. She knew what he said was true, but still… It was one thing when it was Keira and Halley and whoever else. He’d told her he didn’t really feel anything for them—besides the unavoidable fact that they were human. But her best friend? And right in front of her?
“And what if you could?” she demanded, thinking of Brian and Xavier and her talk with Kim. “Would you have?”
“Chloe, why are you getting so pissed?” he asked, frowning. “Nothing happened—I really was just cheering your friend up.”
But she didn’t believe it. There was definitely something different between him and Amy than the other girls. For one thing, she hated him. And for another, the opposite of love isn’t hate. It’s indifference.
“I just—“She couldn’t put it into words. She was just pissed. That was all—she didn’t like what she had seen and it had pissed her off and he was her boyfriend, for chrissake.
“I didn’t realize you were so jealous,” he said, a little coolly. “Do you really think you have a right—what about that sick human lover of yours?”
It hit her like a slap; he had never spoken to her that way before. But from the day she first saw her claws, the afternoon when she was on the phone with Brian and IM’ing with Alyec, she knew this moment was coming. It was all fun and games with two boyfriends, two different races, one in love with her and one, well, in “fun” with her, but now was the moment of reckoning.
“Fair enough,” she said, swallowing and choking back tears, the same way Amy had just a few minutes earlier with Paul.
“I know the way you feel about him,” Alyec continued quietly. She had finally gotten beneath his carefree, joking exterior, and this was how. Happy now, Chlo?” I keep hoping you’ll change your mind. But whatever we have, even if it’s just for kicks, it would be nice if you kept the same rules for everyone.”
Run away.
It was a powerful instinct; she hurt and didn’t know what to do or say. She fought it; she was the One, right? She had faced down psycho-killer assassins before.
“Fine,” Chloe said through a clenched jaw. “You’re right.” She stood up and shouldered her bag. “I have to think about this. I’m going home now.”
“Chloe,” Alyec said, a little more gently, a lot more uncertainly. “I didn’t mean for us to fight about this—”
“No, you’re right. I shouldn’t keep the two of you dangling. It’s wrong. I’m going home, good night,” she said with finality, and walked off to the bus stop.
Chloe had only gone for the bus to put some literal space between her and Alyec, but she got off after a couple of stops. The only time she had to think anymore was when in transit, and she wanted to make it last as long as possible. In the cold dusk air, by herself, the irrational passion drained away. True, the whole Alyec-Brian thing would have to be worked out sometime, eventually, but that wasn’t the real issue of the fight.
The real issue was how she couldn’t have a relationship with Brian. The real issue was a stupid curse because she was Mai and because of things that people had done five millennia ago. Chloe was suddenly overcome with panic and she froze: she really could be responsible for the deaths of Xavier and Brian. They could really die or already be dead.
She shook herself and ran a hand over her face and scratched her scalp, extending her claws, trying to snap herself out of it. This had all better—
Chloe stopped, suddenly aware of an almost-noise. Something so slight it could have been missed even by her Mai hearing or dismissed as some random night noise—a mouse, a rat, a can being blown—but it ended too sharply. Like the moment she noticed it. A very slight crunching of gravel, a …
She started walking again, picking up the pace. If it was a mugger or rapist or whatever, she had no doubt she could handle herself. But those were monsters of the past; the things she feared now were more complicated and dangerous. She shook her head and kept walking.
What I really need is a vacation. Yeah, that was it. The sort of place inspired by sequined flip-flops, flowery beach bags, expensive sunblock, and fruity drinks. She and her mom could go somewhere fun for Thanksgiving instead of Grandma and crazy Aunt Isabel’s; maybe bring a lot of good, crappy books, lie out on the beach, swim. …
There it was again.
Perfectly matched with her own footsteps.
“Okay, come on out!” she yelled, planting her feet and resting her thumbs around her backpack straps. “You sure picked the wrong day to screw with me!”
A low wind hit her coldly in the shins and made ripping noises as it tore through fenders, hydrants, and other metal obstacles. Pebbles eddied around Chloe’s feet like they were caught in an invisible wave. A man rode slowly past on a Vespa, staring at the crazy teen in the street. His headlight had no power against the gray in the air and lit up nothing besides itself.
“I warned you! We have a truce,” she shouted. The wind shifted direction and threw the words back into her own face; her voice couldn’t have carried more than a few feet.
No one appeared or owned up to making any noises.
“This sucks,” C
hloe muttered. “I am out of here.”
And then she turned and ran.
Eight
“Hey, Mom,” Chloe said wearily, closing the door behind her. It was only half an act. She threw her book bag onto the counter and went over to the fridge, looking for something easy, filling, and comforting.
“Bag off the counter,” her mom said without looking up from the magazine she was reading on the couch—Utne Reader. “I have some risotto from Lixia’s we can nuke and a salad, so don’t spoil your appetite.”
Carbs. Nice, warm, comforting carbs. Just what Chloe wanted. She grabbed a Diet Coke with lime and wandered over to the couch, where she plopped down, head in her mom’s lap and feet propped up on the armrest.
Anna King looked over the magazine at her daughter. “Hard day at work? How was your exam?”
“Oh, that was fine. It’s everything else that sucks.” Chloe ticked off things on her fingers. “Paul and Amy are breaking up. I think Alyec might like Amy. Paul’s dad is already dating his secretary. I have two boyfriends, both of whom are kind of … burdens right now. Mr. Hyde—not even my own teacher, mind you—wants me to be on the math team. And according to Kim, I’m supposed to lead my lion people into a new age of spiritual enlightenment.”
“Paul’s dad is dating his secretary?” Chloe’s mom said excitedly, leaning forward and putting her magazine down.
“Mom …”
“I know, honey. It’s just…” Her mother’s eyes unfocused, trying to imagine. “That little piece of fluff? She’s like an anime character. One of the evil ones.”
“While I appreciate the teen-appeal metaphor, can we please get back to me now?”
“Being on the math team will look great on your applications.” Anna began to play with her daughter’s hair, twirling a stray lock with her finger and trying to fix it to the top of her head under another lock.
“So would being the leader of a clandestine race of human feline warriors,” Chloe growled.
“I suppose …,” her mother said carefully, “if we couched it in different terms, like that girl did in her speech for Whale Rider Actually, that would be a great essay—how you looked for your biological roots as a teen and found far more than you ever expected….”
“Mom.” Chloe sat up and looked her mother right in the eye. “They really want me to lead them. You know, lead?”
There was a long pause. Her mother opened her mouth and blinked a few times, stalling—something Chloe had never seen her do before. Attorney Anna King was almost never at a loss for words. Even when she was the victim of kidnapping.
“Better make sure you get into Berkeley, then,” she finally said with a faint smile. Then she squared her jaw and her look turned serious. “Chloe, I know I don’t understand everything that’s going on with you and the other … Mai, or even have anything to do with it. It’s more than obvious what some of your other… friends and people think of me, your human mother. But whatever you decide to do, do it educated. Foreign kings and royalty have always sent their children, princes and princesses and whatever, here for college. You would make a much better leader of your people with a university degree.”
Chloe thought about this, sinking back into the couch. “I don’t think Sergei would mind keeping a heavier hand in until I’m ready.”
“He’s the one with the red hair and the gun?”
“Uh, just a gun that one time. Usually it’s claws.”
“It looked like he was trying to shoot me. Or Brian. Or that other boy,” her mother said levelly.
“At least he didn’t kidnap you,” Chloe countered weakly. “Are you going to try to press charges? Against the Order of the Tenth Blade?”
Her mother made a nasty face. “Who would I have for witnesses? Are your Mai going to stand up for me in court? And Brian—who seems to be the only decent one of the lot—has disappeared.”
Chloe winced guiltily. All cat business aside, if she revealed to her mother that “the only decent one of the lot”—and sort of her boyfriend—had been beaten half to death by his own friends … Well, it would just confuse the whole dating issue more, and that would definitely make Chloe’s life even more complicated.
“I can’t believe you’re just going to drop it.”
“I didn’t say I was going to drop it,” her mother answered, almost absently. “I just have to … figure out the right strategy.”
For the first time in the last few months, Chloe suddenly wondered if her mother was hiding something from her. Something strange, illegal, or awful. Parents with secrets … Not a comforting thought. Which reminded her.
“Hey, do you think Dad knew anything about what I am?”
Anna King was knocked out of her reverie. “No, I don’t think—“Then she stopped, shifting on the couch uncomfortably. “All of our fights about how to raise you—he even wanted to give you back to your own people at one point. I just thought he meant the Russians,” she said slowly. “He was so … adamant about certain things. Way, way too overprotective—”
“And then he disappeared. So there’s a chance,” Chloe interrupted with more bitterness than she’d intended. Maybe her dad had skipped town to avoid the assassinations, the kidnappings, and the general craziness of being caught between the Tenth Bladers and the Mai. Or maybe he was just trying to protect Chloe—the man who knew too much getting out so she could live a more normal life. Maybe he thought Mom was safer not knowing about anything.
Suddenly Chloe was exhausted. She fell back into her mom’s lap again. “Did I mention Paul and Amy are breaking up?”
“A little too weirdly timed, with his parents and all, don’t you think?”
Her mom reached over for the cup of coffee she had been sipping from. Unlike many things in the house, it was old and the handle had broken off and been glued carefully back on almost ten years ago. It was a dark aqua, kind of out in household furnishings since the early eighties, and clashed with all of the jade-and turquoise-themed pieces that fit into Mrs. King’s New Southwest style.
Out of place, old, and infinitely comforting. Her mom had used that mug since before Chloe could remember. She closed her eyes, squidging her butt more comfortably into the couch.
“So they’re not going to the fall formal together?” her mother continued, after a loud sip. “Maybe he’ll take you. Or all three of you could go together or something. I went to my junior prom with my best friends. We pretended we were Charlie’s Angels, undercover. With potato pellet guns.”
“Oh, those wacky seventies.” Chloe tried not to think of Alyec. She and Paul and Amy only ever went to dances when Amy dragged them. If Brian lived—when Brian got better—she would really have to decide what to do about him. Them. Us. Things had gotten too serious. Of course, there was still the question of Mai and humans and toxic kisses; just because Brian hadn’t died immediately didn’t mean there weren’t long-term effects.
Chloe sighed.
It was time to visit Xavier.
She didn’t have to scramble around her messy room desperately looking for his address this time; whether it was another Mai ability or something she’d always had and never used, Chloe had no problem remembering exactly where the apartment was—by landmark and general direction, though, not street names and house numbers.
She went immediately after school the next day; no makeup classes that afternoon. It was nice to get away from everything. I really do need a little more “me” time, Chloe reflected unironically as she skipped up the steps to the old house. And not just running at night across the skyline. She needed a good book or a hobby or to get out on the mountain bike her mom had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
Chloe rang the doorbell, her scarf unfurling behind her in the October breeze. Then, without even asking who she was, Xavier—or someone—clicked the thing that unlocked the door and Chloe went in.
Just three floors until I find out if Xavier is alive or dead.
She rushed up the stairs two at a time, trying to m
ake as much headway as she could before her nerves failed her. Once again the old-house smell of wood and lemony cleaner made her ache to live in a beautiful house like this, even if it was just an apartment. She hated her house—it looked like every other piece of two-story urban ranch mediocrity out there. One of the things that first drew her to living with the Mai at Firebird was waking up in an old gabled nook with perilously warped wood plank floors and the dusty quietude only an old house could have.
When she got to the right landing, Xavier’s door was already open a crack. She knocked anyway, not wanting to just walk in. Not like last time.
“It’s open …,” came a voice from inside. The voice was male—but she couldn’t tell if it was Xavier’s or not. It was hard to hear anything right now over the fast and heavy heartbeats that drummed in her chest—and the only words they’d exchanged had been shouted at the top of their lungs in the club and whispered outside in the parking lot.
The apartment looked almost exactly like it had the night she had come upon him rolling on the floor, dying. A few extra magazines were scattered around, a new candle placed on a windowsill. Still spare, expensive, casual, and Euro-bachelor-y. From the scraping sound of a pan and a spatula, Chloe decided he was probably in the middle of cooking something…. But was it him?
“Oh.” Xavier came in from the kitchen, dish towel under his chin and pan in one hand, spatula in the other.
Chloe almost threw up with relief. He was alive. And okay.
More than okay, actually. Chloe was shocked by how good-looking he was even in daylight: raven black hair, lovely tan skin, and eyes an incredibly, amazingly light brown. Very exotic. He wore jeans and an impossibly crisp white T-shirt, like he was just preparing for a “casual” model shoot.
“Chloe—right?” he said, raising his perfectly formed eyebrows. “The girl from the club?”
She was floored that he could remember. As far as she knew, he was just a rich foreign college student who was into picking up random American highschool girls. Her heart was finally calming down; for a moment there it was fifty-fifty she was going to pass out.