“I won’t,” Alex said.
“You will,” CeeCee replied. The mantis set out toward the back door. Human eyes had trouble following; the demon’s carapace was brilliant green and yet the moment it touched any shadow, it seemed to fade out of existence. The mantis flared back to bright visibility when the shadow was past. Visible, vanished, visible, vanished, until it reached the back door. “Let’s go,” it said to Alex.
“No.”
“Yes,” Blood-Claw said. He yanked Alex’s arm, jerking the big bald man off-balance and dragging him a step toward the door.
“No,” said Alex’s companion. He got to his feet: not fast, not slow. The man was bigger even than Blood-Claw. Despite the glasses, he didn’t look bookish—a farm boy who’d worked from dawn to dusk tossing hay bales. He had the plaid shirt, the cheap jeans, the farmer’s tan: Unlike the Darklings, he’d spent his life soaking up fresh air and sunlight. “Let’s all calm down…”
“Shut up, Cal,” Alex snapped. “Just stay the fuck out.”
“Alex…”
“I mean it. Back off. I can handle this.”
“Sure,” Blood-Claw said. “You can handle us.”
“I can keep saying no,” Alex told him. “Whatever you do, I’ll keep saying no, and when you’re finished, I’ll press charges.”
“Sure you will.”
The werewolf yanked the bald man’s arm again. This time Alex didn’t resist, but said, “I’m under duress,” over and over as Blood-Claw dragged him toward the back.
Lilith looked at Cal. She raised an eyebrow as if asking, Are you going to give us trouble? Cal clearly considered it … but even as Alex was dragged away, the bald man’s eyes were on Cal, saying, Don’t you dare butt in.
So Cal didn’t move. Lilith sneered at him and said, “Glad you know your place.” She reached down with one finger and flicked the hundred-dollar bills toward him. Then she left to go have a drink.
OUT BACK, THE NIGHT WAS CLEAR
A big Midwestern sky without a speck of cloud and a yellowish half-moon shining down across the fields. If you turned your back on the roadhouse, all you’d see would be wheat: a thousand acres of grain, and a sky with a million stars. The air smelled of pot; what else would you expect behind a fleabag roadhouse? But whoever had been smoking up ran off when the mantis appeared. Now the soft Great Plains wind slowly sighed the stink away.
Lilith was the last out the door. By the time she arrived, Blood-Claw had passed Alex to CeeCee, who held the man’s arms and legs with four of its six appendages. Pincers scissored tightly; the mantis’s upper arms were lined with spikes for ripping prey. They hadn’t done much damage yet, but Alex’s shirt had been torn. If you possessed the nose of a vampire or werewolf, you would have smelled blood trickling from the little nicks on Alex’s arms.
Lilith walked up to Alex. She took his chin in her hand. She wasn’t as tall as the bald man, but she was not a short woman. She stared into his eyes. “Say yes.”
“No.”
Her face moved closer. “Say yes.”
“Not going to happen.”
She gave his jaw a shake and squeezed hard. “Say yes.”
“No.” The way she was squeezing his face, he had trouble getting the word out, but his intention was clear. Lilith let go in disgust.
Alex exercised his jaw; it obviously hurt. After a few moments, he said, “You can’t use your powers on me. That’s against the law.”
“Oh, the law,” Lilith said. “I’m trembling.”
“It’s also against the Dark Pact,” Alex said. “If you break that, you’re fucked.”
Blood-Claw rolled his eyes. “You have no idea what’s in the Pact.” This was true. The contents of the Pact were one of those Taboo Truths: never to be divulged, on pain of death. Spokespeople for the Dark claimed that the Pact forbade all Darklings from using their powers to “exploit” mortals. In practice, however, there seemed to be plenty of loopholes. Perhaps the Pact’s only true rule was, “Don’t get caught.”
Still, the Elders of the Dark publicly disapproved of using magic to bludgeon mortals into submission. It made the Dark look bad; it hurt the brand. And damaging the Dark’s reputation had more deadly repercussions than breaking human law. The Elders ran a tight ship. Every Darkling knew that.
THE MANTIS DEMON TOOK ITS TURN
“Let me handle this,” CeeCee said. Slowly, carefully, the mantis turned Alex around. Alex struggled, trying to break free, but CeeCee had the advantage in both the number and strength of appendages. Fighting only drew more blood as the demon’s rough pincers scraped the man’s skin.
When Alex and the mantis were finally face-to-face, CeeCee leaned in and stared. Just that: multifaceted insectile eyes looming less than an inch from Alex’s human ones. Intimidation, pure and simple—a giant bug playing on primitive human fears. As it stared, it twitched its mandibles, close enough to brush Alex’s face. Softly, softly, it chittered, “Say yes.”
Alex leaned his head back as far as he could … but he didn’t look away, nor did he close his eyes. After a moment, he forced his mouth into a smile. “I get it,” he said. “You’re just asking me to head-butt you. If I attack in any way, you get to fight back.”
The mantis said nothing.
“I’m smarter than that,” Alex said. “I’m smarter than the three of you put together. I don’t give a fuck what powers you have. I have brains.”
Lilith gave a “Tsk” and rolled her eyes. “Can I just bite him, for fuck’s sake? I’m getting a headache.”
“Wait,” Blood-Claw said. “We’ll see how this idiot’s ‘brains’ measure up to the Big Gun.”
Lilith gave another “Tsk” and leaned against the wall of the roadhouse. She turned her back on the others and stared sulkily over the wheat fields. “Whatever.”
“Turn him around,” Blood-Claw told CeeCee. The mantis maneuvered around to Alex’s back, then turned the man to face the werewolf.
“What now?” Alex asked, trying to sound bored. He didn’t quite manage it.
“Look,” Blood-Claw said, “we’ve tried asking politely…”
“No, you haven’t. You tried buying me off. Maybe you can’t tell the difference, but humans can.”
Blood-Claw made a face that said, I’m tired of this shit. But here’s a crucial thing: He still didn’t ask politely. Not even sarcastically. I don’t know what would have happened if Blood-Claw had asked, Please, may my girlfriend have some blood? Probably Alex still would have told them to fuck themselves, but none of the Darklings even tried.
That’s what you have to understand. This story is a legend that Darklings share among themselves; heaven knows how much they’ve embellished it to their tastes. Remember though that to the Dark, the three Darklings are the heroes. They’re the ones being reasonable. Alex is the incomprehensible villain.
But never once in this story do the Darklings just say please. Like crossing running water, it’s something they flat-out don’t do.
THE HALF-MOON SHONE DOWN FROM THE SKY
It beamed like half a searchlight on the guard tower of a prison. And maybe on your Earth, were-beasts only Change when the moon is full. On my world, however, were-folk transform when they want. It’s harder at some times than others, and the exertion can be draining. Still, they can wolf out on demand … and it’s terrifying.
Lots of humans think they know what it’s like when a werewolf Changes. The muzzle grows … fur sprouts … clothes rip … bones crack as they rearrange. It’s gross, but not too scary.
Seeing a werewolf Change for real—oh, that’s different. The Change = Terror. It’s that simple. Because it’s magic.
You’re not just witnessing something that looks and sounds and smells like someone being torn apart. You’re struck by an overwhelming enchantment that shocks every cell in your brain.
You can’t control your response. No human can. Courage is irrelevant—courage can’t toughen your skin against bullets, and it can’t keep you from
shitting yourself when a werewolf transforms in front of you.
You can even close your eyes; most people do. It doesn’t make a difference. The terror still gets in.
That’s what happened to Alex. Blood-Claw Changed in front of him. Knowing what would happen, CeeCee let go at the last moment and stepped away before the excrement was released.
Alex screamed. Then the piss and the shit: an outburst from every orifice. Vomit too, after Alex collapsed to his knees … but first, the bloodcurdling shriek.
AND BOOM, CAL WAS THERE
He must have been waiting inside the back door, listening for a cue to charge in. The farm boy just missed seeing Blood-Claw’s Change, so he was in full possession of his senses—apparently not fazed by the sight of an eight-foot-tall wolfman towering in the moonlight.
Blood-Claw had taken on his feroform. When were-beasts Change, they can choose to become a full-fledged animal, or else they can choose their feroform: half animal/half human. The hybrid form combines the benefits of both other possibilities—huge claws, for example, but also opposable thumbs—plus it’s taller and heavier. Enough to match a grizzly inch for inch and pound for pound.
Cal, the farm boy, didn’t waver. “Back off. This is over.”
Lilith said, “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Get out.”
“FUCK!” Alex screamed, even louder than he had when he saw the Change. “Cal, I told you!” he said, tears running down his face. “I told you to stay away!”
“You know I couldn’t,” Cal replied.
“But you should have! I didn’t want you to see…”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me!” Alex was down on his knees, dripping with his own urine. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I could have done this alone. I don’t need a fucking Boy Scout to hold my hand when I cross the street. Don’t you get that, Cal?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Lilith said. “Do this after we’re gone. I’m thirsty!”
“The answer is still no,” Alex said.
“Tough shit.”
Lilith moved toward Alex—not in a fast vampiric blur, but stomping with anger. Cal stepped between her and Alex. She yelled, “Get out of the way,” and slammed her palm against Cal’s chest with enough force to knock down a moose.
She bounced back and landed, ass in the dirt. “What the fuck?” she screeched. Then she said, “That cocksucker hit me. You saw it, right? He hit me.”
“Big mistake,” CeeCee said. The mantis brandished its claws and began weaving its head in that cobralike motion.
“See what you’ve done?” Alex said to Cal.
“It had to happen sometime,” Cal said, half to himself. “I guess tonight’s the night.”
He reached up and took off his glasses. At the very same instant, Blood-Claw lashed out with a strike intended to rip out Cal’s intestines. The wolf’s talons tore across Cal’s belly, shredding his shirt to ribbons … but they had no effect on what lay underneath.
“Hey,” Lilith said, “this freak is wearing blue underwear.”
CeeCee stabbed Cal in the back with sharp mantis pincers, then raked down with its chitinous spikes. Cal’s shirt ripped off completely, freeing what he wore beneath.
“A cape?” CeeCee said. “What kind of a moron wears a cape? Oh, FUCK!”
I’LL LET YOU FILL IN THE NEXT 12.7 SECONDS FROM YOUR FANTASIES OF “DIRTBAGS GETTING WHAT THEY DESERVE”
Some hours later, Lilith, Blood-Claw, and CeeCee were found battered but alive in the ghoul-and-zombie quarter of Marrakesh. The three were reckless enough to consider going back for revenge—not on Cal, of course, but on the more vulnerable patrons of the roadhouse.
Luckily for all concerned, the Darklings didn’t know the roadhouse’s location. They’d spent weeks idling through the Midwest, indulging themselves and raising hell. By the night in question, they’d stopped paying attention to where they were. They couldn’t even agree on the state.
Oklahoma?
Nebraska?
In all the infinite versions of Earth, the farm boy with the cape must show up first. He’s the only one who shines brightly enough; until he breaks the ice jam, the rest can’t make their entrance. Even beings as old as time—warrior gods, Champions Eternal—have to stay in the shadows, like chess pieces locked in the box. Crisis after crisis may shatter and remake the world, but humans must cope on their own until the superpowered Boy Scout takes the field.
Only then may the curtain rise. The floodgates open and the genies in crazy costumes come streaming from their bottles.
But the farm boy and his kind weren’t genies at all; they were human. Even the ones not native to Earth were human in their hearts.
Ordinary humans with superhuman powers. Inevitably, they were called the Light.
2
Crystallization
MY SECRET IDENTITY
My birth name is Kimberlite Crystal Lam. (Blame my father. He’s a geologist.) By the time I could talk, I had normalized into Kimberley, for the same reason my parents stopped being Letao and Xiaopu and became Michael and Beth.
I’m third-generation Chinese-Canadian. Twenty-one years old. A third-year student at the University of Waterloo; that’s in the smallish city of Waterloo, Ontario, an hour west of Toronto. I’m following in my father’s footsteps by studying earth sciences, specializing in geology.
Let’s just address the clichés head-on. Yes, I’m four foot ten, I wear thick glasses, and I hate getting less than 90 percent on any test. But also: When I arrived for my first year at UW, I reinvented myself as Kim. I cut my hair very short, bleached what little remained, and bought clothes that kept people guessing where I stood on the spectrum of male, female, and none-of-your-damned-business.
Also: In my last year of high school, I had begun my search for who I really was but hadn’t yet recognized the full scope of my options. I decided to call myself Kimmi. I grew my hair long, dyed it L’Oréal Ultimate Black #1, and wore clothes very, very different from the hiking boots, overalls, and shirts from Mark’s Work Wearhouse that now fill my closet.
Kimmi spent all her spare time with Darklings. One Darkling in particular: Nicholas Vandermeer. He hadn’t yet gone through the Dark Conversion, but it loomed in his future like the Rocky Mountains as you drive west from Calgary—visible in the distance, getting closer all the time, with no way to avoid what’s coming unless you crank the wheel hard and get off the highway.
I thought he might do that for me. I thought he might not give in to becoming Dark. I was wrong.
There. That’s my backstory. Everything else is window dressing.
8:30 PM, DECEMBER 21
It was the last night of UW’s fall term. I’d finished my exams and all my end-of-semester assignments. I had nothing to do until classes started again in January … but like a tiger walking back and forth in a rut, I’d gone to the lab to look at thin sections under a microscope.
Thanks for asking: A thin section is a slice of rock that’s been shaved down and buffed until it’s thinner than paper. At that thickness, most minerals are transparent and you can play tricks with polarized light to learn cool things.
No, really, I’m serious. Rocks and minerals are cool. I didn’t go into geology just to get a job, nor did I do it because the Vandermeers made their money in mining and petroleum so I had some pitiful idea that I could win Nicholas back by becoming a lithological genius. I didn’t even do it to please my father. But he’s the reason I love geoscience. He’s a geologist-in-residence at Banff National Park, and he taught me how awesome our planet is: the geosphere, the hydrosphere, the atmosphere … all the amazing stuff that surrounds us. How can anyone not want to learn everything about it?
So I scoped out rocks on my own free time. I wasn’t hiding in the lab just to shrink away from the world.
Seriously. I do like rocks. The Freudian substitution is just a bonus.
I HAD SOMEWHERE TO BE AT NINE
S
o at 8:45, I locked up the microscope and headed into the tepid winter night.
Outsiders sometimes think that Canadians all live in igloos, but Waterloo seldom gets much snow until well into January. We’d had a few minor flurries over the past two months, but not enough to stay on the ground. That night, the air was a notch above freezing, and I was still dressed for fall: a gray zip-up hoodie and cheap black knit gloves with the fingertips cut off so I could text.
I carried better gloves in my backpack. I also carried a scarf because the hoodie gaped at the throat, and if the breeze picked up, my neck got cold real fast. But the gloves and the scarf were only for emergencies. My home is in Banff, Alberta, up in the Rockies. Waterloo is two time zones east, nine hundred kilometers farther south, and more than a thousand meters closer to sea level. Compared to Banff, Waterloo winters were piddly wee puppies that could give you tiny nips, but only if you let them.
Albertans refuse to admit that Ontario ever gets cold.
THE CAMPUS WAS EMPTY—NO ONE IN SIGHT
A few unlucky souls were stuck in the gym, writing the last exam on the last night of the exam period. Apart from that, everyone else had gone home—as in “home for Christmas.” The only reason I hadn’t headed back to Banff was because I was a keener. (That’s Canadian for a student who’s excessively keen. The kind who’s never late and always sits in the front row.) I’d booked my flight home three months in advance, at a time when I didn’t know my exam schedule or if I’d be last-minute scrambling to finish some project. To be safe, I’d scheduled the trip for December 23, which left me loose for another two days.
The sky was black and clear, decked with thousands of stars. A perfect night for the winter solstice: the longest night of the year. For added appeal, the moon would start eclipsing at 1:00 AM, hitting totality around three. My roommate Miranda was so excited, she planned to stay up and see it. She’d trash-talked the rest of us for refusing to join her. “You call yourself science students? Do you know how long it will be until the next lunar eclipse on a solstice?”
All Those Explosions Were Someone Else's Fault Page 2