by Liz Braswell
“We can’t just run away—the Mai have looked for me for so long—they won’t just give up. And the Rogue will, too!” Chloe protested.
“Then we’ll go into hiding. I’ll tell the authorities about what happened to me and we’ll go into a federal protection something or other. Start over. I don’t care.”
“I can’t just leave everyone!” Chloe wailed, wishing she sounded less teenage-y.
“And I can’t just let you die!” her mother shouted back. Her eyes blazed; her jaw was set with frustration.
Suddenly Chloe understood. Her mom felt helpless that she couldn’t protect her daughter. She felt ignorant and left out; her daughter’s life was suddenly flooded with ancient cults and mythological races and Anna was angry because she had no control. And that was one thing she treasured more than almost anything else.
Of course, the whole situation really was out of control: Sergei was dead, the Rogue was still on the loose, Brian was probably still on the Order’s hit list, the Mai were leaderless and lost, and, Chloe slowly realized, there was only one person who could fix it.
She squared her shoulders and kept her voice calm. “Mom, I know this is all upsetting, but running away really won’t fix anything. The Mai can track me like bloodhounds. And … I can’t leave them. I’m their only leader now.” When her mom opened her mouth, Chloe gently cut her off. “You saw me die and rise from the dead. You see my claws. This isn’t just a highschool varsity club or something—this is serious. And I’m the only one who can stop this cycle of violence,” Chloe found herself saying. Wow, do I really believe that? When she thought about it, she realized it wasn’t a “belief”; it was a truth. She had to be the one who stopped it. Or else it would keep on going. Forever.
Or until everyone involved was dead.
“And I can’t let you keep on being involved,” her mother said shakily. But Chloe could hear her resolve cracking.
“Neither you nor I have that choice,” Chloe said. “If I don’t go to them, they’ll come to us. And I swore you would never get hurt again.”
“Why can’t I swear that about my own daughter?” Anna whispered, putting her fingers to her temple. She wasn’t crying, not quite, but it was obvious she was holding it back.
Then someone knocked on the door, causing everyone to jump.
“Hey,” Paul yelled cheerily through the glass, holding up a bag of Krispy Kremes. Then he saw the looks on everyone’s faces. “Did I come at a bad time?”
Her mom insisted on driving if she couldn’t forbid or direct. Paul and Amy sat in the backseat, stuffing themselves with doughnuts to get through the tension.
Almost like old times, Chloe thought wistfully. Something about being in the passenger seat made her feel like she was ten again. Her mother’s jaw was still clenched, teeth gritted; even her earrings swung determinedly from her ears.
Chloe sighed, tracing the little bits of rain that built up on the window before marching their way down to the side and bottom, held up against the glass by wind. Someone once said something about a leader being only as good as the friends and advisers she surrounded herself with. Maybe I should give Paul and Amy a little more credit.
When they arrived at Masa—the restaurant was as neutral a meeting ground as any—they were led discreetly to the back, where Olga, Igor, and Kim were already waiting. Her mother’s eyes bulged when they all said, “Welcome home, Honored One,” and bowed. Chloe gave her mom a weak grin and shrugged.
It was a rectangular table and Chloe immediately made for one of the long sides, next to Olga, but her mother nudged her and shook her head the slightest bit, indicating the head of the table with her eyes.
“If you really want to stop the violence and lead your people, you have to lead them,” she murmured. “Take control, Chloe. No one’s going to take it for you.”
Chloe nodded, seeing something in Anna King’s eyes that she’d never really paid attention to before. Something that involved a high-powered job and politics. Something about being a woman and a partner at a major firm. I’ll have to ask her about that someday, Chloe thought, slipping into the chair, sinking into its soft leather. She tried to concentrate on the impression the ass of the previous person had made on the seat to avoid the nervous feeling in her stomach.
Igor and Olga were obviously surprised and uncomfortable with the unscheduled presence of the humans.
“Igor, Olga, this is my mom, Anna King.” Chloe indicated with her hand. Olga got over whatever shock she felt and shook hands warmly.
“It is so nice to meet you,” she said in her thick accent—which got noticeably thicker whenever she was stressed.
“Hello,” Igor said curtly.
“My friends, Paul and Amy.”
The two Mai nodded at the two human teenagers; neither Olga nor Igor had been at the fight at the Presidio. They were busy getting actual work done, she thought with a mental snort. Not playing power games like the two old men who ruled both sides.
“This is Olga and Igor, the Mai’s top two, uh, officials,” Chloe said.
“Nice to meet you,” her mom said, a little coldly.
“Paul, Amy.” Olga nodded in their direction. “Mrs. King.”
Kim just gave a little wave—somehow completely adorable with her cat paws.
“You know these people?” Igor asked her, astounded.
“They’re my friends,” Kim said nonchalantly
“I’m sorry if I compromised security,” Chloe said, indicating that the other Mai should sit down, too, as well as her mom. All three did, looking at each other a little distrustfully. “I … wasn’t sure what was going to happen next and I wanted to keep them safe.”
“Of course,” Olga said promptly. “They helped save you, yes? They are certainly welcome with us.”
Igor didn’t say anything.
“Before we go any further with anything …” Chloe took a deep breath. “You should know that Sergei was trying to have me killed when this happened.”
Kim’s eyes widened until they looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets. Olga slowly shook her head.
“That’s ridiculous,” Igor said.
“Unfortunately, it’s not.” She told them the whole story, as accurately and in as much detail as she could remember it. Especially Sergei’s exact words.
“So basically Sergei and the Rogue had been working together to find and kill all other possible Chosen Ones, including my sister.”
“There’s no reason,” Igor scoffed.
“He wanted to keep power, and he was afraid of it being taken away.”
“But you are the One,” Olga said helplessly. “Why would he do that?”
“I just told you,” Chloe said, trying not to lose patience. Her mom gave the slightest shake of her head: Calm down, Chloe.
“I don’t believe it,” Igor said again, taking a gulp of his coffee.
“Okay, believe it or don’t; the fact is that he’s dead and the police are making an investigation. What do we do now?”
Everyone around the table was quiet. Olga delicately sipped tea the waiter had brought. “We’ll talk about it at the meeting with you and all of the Pride tomorrow night,” she said.
“I’ll teach you the main opening prayer phrase; I think that will be enough for now,” Kim volunteered.
“Prayer…?” Chloe’s mom turned to glare at the cat girl. Kim’s ears flattened and she shrank under the older woman’s look.
“More of an—an invocation,” she stuttered, “a traditional opening to a speech.”
Chloe tried not to smile.
“Let me be entirely clear on one thing: I don’t entirely approve of all this,” Anna King said firmly, “though I respect the needs and beliefs of Chloe’s native people. But if anything happens to Chloe, just remember: unlike you and the Order, I have nothing against guns.”
Igor started to roll his eyes, but Olga kicked him under the table. Chloe imagined her mom posed with an automatic, screaming and wav
ing the weapon back and forth, firing round after round at unseen enemies. In Chloe’s vision she still had her reading glasses on and her swinging silver earrings.
“What do we tell everyone right now? About why you’re not there with them?” Igor demanded.
“You tell them the truth.” Dipshit, Chloe almost added. “That it’s really dangerous right now, that the Rogue is hot on my tail—that I’ll see all of them tomorrow back at the Cat Cave.”
“What?” Olga asked, startled.
Whoops. It’s only funny to me, Chloe realized. “Uh—Firebird.” But Paul and Amy were smiling. “You also tell them that there is to be no retaliation. Not from individuals, not from the kizekh.”
“But loyal Mai will insist,” Igor sputtered. “If I myself had the skills …”
“You—tell—them—there—will—be no retaliation,” Chloe said again slowly. “No one is to do anything until after the big speechifying tomorrow night. Everyone’s eager for blood—and the Tenth Blade will be prepared and waiting once they see the news. They’ll be expecting an attack.” She hoped this sounded reasonable.
“She’s right,” Olga said. Chloe was still stunned at the older woman’s absolute faith in her as the Chosen One. She had been just as loyal to Sergei as Igor but had no problem accepting what the new, teen spiritual leader of the Mai said, no matter how far-fetched.
And it’s a good thing, too, considering the dagger eyes Igor’s giving me. …
“I believe we have a few hours lull before the storm,” Kim added. “It would be a good time to take stock and make plans.”
“Isn’t the investigation of Sergei going to lead the police back to you guys?” Paul asked. “I mean, they’re going to look at Firebird and all of his business associates and disgruntled employees. …”
“That’s right,” Chloe’s mom said. “Do you guys even have a plan for that kind of investigation?”
Igor and Olga looked at each other, then at Chloe.
Apparently not.
Fifteen
The next morning Chloe realized it was a Tuesday. But instead of going to school, she stayed in bed for a while and decided that with everything that was going on around her, one more day wouldn’t be the end of the world. She couldn’t deal with anything else right now. No after school makeups, no seeing anyone, no nothing. Nothing until seven o’clock that night, when she had to address the tiny tribe of homeless, leaderless Mai, over a hundred people she didn’t know, slit-eyed faces upturned to her, looking for hope.
Chloe decided to treat it like an oral report and not worry about it until later. She stretched and sat up, letting her claws emerge for just a moment from the tips of her fingers and toes. Her pajamas were an old pair of boxers and a giant Tide T-shirt her mom had gotten free at Target or something. Big. Orange. Ugly.
Alyec liked her in frumpy, oversized nightclothes, she remembered a little sadly.
Chloe shook her head. She had made peace with him last week along with her homework. She had made peace with Marisol. And Sergei is, uh, at peace. Now she needed a day of peace and quiet for herself, before the shit started going down again that evening.
I need to go on a bike ride.
She showered off the night ick and pulled on clean jeans, a T-shirt, and a Patagonia fuzzy she rarely wore to school for fear of Amy accusing her of being crunchy. Her mom was downstairs at the table, sipping coffee and going over bills.
“I’m going to go for a ride,” Chloe said, jerking her thumb in the direction of the mini-garage that held almost too much storage crap to fit the car anymore.
“Wear your helmet,” her mother said automatically. Then she looked up at her daughter. “Wait? Are you sure you should? What about the police … and the Rogue?”
“Screw ’em,” Chloe said with a fierce grin. Then she softened at the look on her mom’s face. “I doubt the police would even recognize me with a helmet. As for the Rogue—I promise I’ll stay in public places. He won’t do anything if there are innocent people—humans—around. I really need to clear my head for a while.”
“Me too,” Anna King said distantly. “This is … really … unusual stuff for me to deal with, you know?”
“You totally didn’t know what you were getting into when you adopted me, huh?” She said it with a smile, but inside Chloe felt really guilty about it.
“I realized what I was getting into when you were two and you pulled the bookshelf down on top of you. And then began chewing on all of my favorite Tony Hillermans,” her mom said archly. “I’ve been reading about other parents with children who want to reconnect with their … original ethnicity. But none of the case histories in it deal with the supernatural.”
That was a strange word. Chloe had never actually thought about it in reference to herself. Well, she tried not to think about the whole dying-and-coming-back-to-life thing in general. It was too weird. Was Sergei in that place of shadows now? Did he exist with the other lion shadows who prowled the darkness in that eternity? Or was there a Mai hell reserved for people like him?
“The good news is, if I get into an accident, I have seven lives left,” Chloe said with a grin.
“Don’t even joke,” her mother growled.
In some ways. Mom’s a better embodiment of the Twin Goddesses than Kim, Chloe thought as she pedaled to the park. Like when she made that speech about protecting or avenging her daughter if something happened to her—protective like Bastet, warlike like Sekhmet. Kim was deeply spiritual but didn’t really exhibit the qualities of either. If there was something like one of the Muses in the Mai pantheon, that would surely be Kim.
The air was crisp, perfect biking weather, the sun warm on her back. Amy used to make fun of Chloe’s helmet when they were growing up—she always ditched hers as soon as they were out of sight of home. But Chloe thought it made her look like a real biker, like a racer or maybe a messenger girl.
People smiled at her as she took a path into Golden Gate Park; other cyclists said “Good morning” or “Great day for a ride.” Chloe was both anonymous and recognized, greeted and then forgotten like all of the other people enjoying the nice day outside. A little kid on a pink bike with training wheels tried to race her a few feet and Chloe pretended to pedal furiously until the mom called her daughter back.
It was nice feeling her legs pump, the strange hunch as she leaned over the handlebars. But there was none of the familiar burn in her legs that she normally got, which was kind of ironic, really. The whole reason she’d wanted the Merida was because it had an electric pedal-assist motor and would require little effort on her part to take it up hills. With her Mai strength and endurance it wasn’t an issue anymore. I’ll bet I could totally do triathlons now. Except for maybe the swimming part—she wasn’t sure how good cats were at swimming or how much their natural aversion would affect her performance.
She biked past the people who played ultimate early every morning and watched a tall, brown-haired guy leap for a high-thrown Frisbee. Farther on there was some typical San Francisco-style political stuff going on: a shortish blond guy who didn’t look much older than she was standing at a table and handing out leaflets on the benefits of libertarianism. Chloe wasn’t quite sure what that was, but judging from the jeers of some surrounding grunge types, it probably wasn’t leftist.
She swung her bike hard to the north, exiting the park scant minutes later. The destination that had been troubling her in the back of her mind finally surfaced and made itself known: the Golden Gate Bridge.
The place where she had first fought the Rogue and thought he had died. The symbolic gap between her old life and the life of the Mai, holed up in their little mansion across the water in Sausalito. She and Amy and Paul—back when they were just a little younger, back when they were all still “just friends”—used to walk across it and dream of new worlds on the other side. After September 11 legions of National Guard were stationed around it, keeping it safe while making the locals uneasy.
What had once been
one of her favorite places in the world had become a source of trepidation for her, of turmoil and serious stomach upset.
It’s time to take it back. To reclaim it.
Chloe switched the bike to high gear and pumped as hard as she could, her legs outworking the motor. Trying not to think, she pushed herself forward and closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she was on the bridge.
It was a glorious day: the orange girders shining in defiance against the soft blue sky and cotton candy clouds, a color completely out of place in nature. The bay sparkled blindingly below, a dark blue on which powder white sailboats rode carelessly by. The hills in front of her were different glowing shades of green and dark green, like a watercolor poster in a tourist shop.
Chloe felt like shouting or singing. Since she couldn’t really do the latter, she let out a, “WHOOOPPPEEE!” that scared several walkers.
Chloe was filled with a happiness in movement she hadn’t felt in a long time. No hunting, no being hunted, no one around she knew to upset this; just the speed, the wind in her ears, her legs moving, the glorious view.
The prayer is the movement.
Chloe remembered something vaguely about Hopi snake dancers who prayed for rain with rattlesnakes in their mouths. The prayer was the dance, not a separate recitation or song or spoken verse. That was what she felt like now: all glory and joy in just being alive.
Thank you, Whoever.
The bridge was far too short in retrospect; as she passed over the other limit, Chloe wondered how it had seemed so endless those times she had driven back and forth, once with Brian nearly dying in the backseat.
She had no desire to return home yet, so she crossed over and made her way up the Marin Headlands, waiting to become tired as the hills took their toll on her legs.
It never happened.
As though she were spiraling to the tip of a giant soft-serve ice cream cone, Chloe coasted around the side of the hill and was confronted with another glorious view: the bridge from above, San Francisco in the distance, water and spray in between. There was only a small parking space and a thin coating of grass on the rocky promontory; most people came up, took a picture, and left. Those who stayed were respectful and quiet. Any noise from ecstatic children leaping at the top of the world was whipped away by the ocean wind.