Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

  He bit his lip. “I don’t enjoy leaving the chateau.”

  Ninkasi tilted her head.

  “Or, the property, anyway.” Orion filled their glasses. “Fortunately, the land is vast. Beyond the fields, there are forests. There is the ocean. The chateau is far enough from all the cities, so I can see the stars. I—can’t—” He hung his head. “I cannot tolerate the cities.”

  “You.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him, making a surprised smile. “I bet you know all of the constellations, don’t you?”

  “I've watched the stars with a religious fervor.” He reclined in his chair, looking through the window. “For as long as I have been free to watch them.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Ninkasi swished the wine inside her glass, and nodded at the sky. “Don’t you wonder what’s out there?”

  “I do.” He lifted a hand to his chest, and clenched a fist. “I also get this melancholy sense of—hmm—” He grinned. “I’m not drunk enough to put it into words.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

  “I’d fail the litmus.” He lifted the bottle. “There’s a bit left.”

  “You have a litmus test for drunkenness?” Ninkasi giggled.

  Holding the bottle over his glass, he waited to pour. “Have I made any grotesque personal confessions?”

  Ninkasi slapped her hands over her face. “I think I’m drunk.”

  “Then, we should toast.” He raised his glass.

  She laughed in spite of herself, and raised her glass for a toast. “You should take off your mask.”

  Orion looked away, sipping his wine.

  Ninkasi laughed again, this time with desperation. “It frightens me.”

  Tilting his head back, he finished the glass, slamming it against the table. “I’ll wear a scarier one next time.”

  “Do you plan on keeping me for a while?” She pressed her lips together and blinked, wrecked with a sudden surge of fear and defeat.

  Orion turned away from her. “It’s not my decision.”

  She looked at the ceiling and swallowed. It broke her to speak. “Then. . . you should teach me the constellations sometime.” She bit her lip.

  Orion exhaled. He cast her an endless, unwavering stare; an eternity passed, and he finally stood up from his chair. Fishing a lighter from his pocket, he sparked a cigarette.

  Ninkasi wrinkled her brow, studying him with confusion.

  He sat down. “Does it offend you?”

  “What?” She nursed her wine.

  “Smoking.”

  “No.” She shook her head, eyes wide.

  Orion observed her, taking a long draw. “Then, does it disgust you?”

  “No.” She tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”

  He lifted a hand to his chin. “Your face changed when I lit the cigarette.”

  “I think it’s weird.” She slouched against her chair. “Smoking and eating at the same time. But, by all means, do whatever you want. It’s your castle.”

  “There is a rigid set of circumstances under which I smoke.” Orion pointed a finger. “Dining isn’t one of them.”

  “Then. . .” Ninkasi’s eyes flitted across the room. “Why are you smoking?”

  Orion stood up, shaking his head. “You have to get me drunk to answer that.”

  “Do you like getting drunk?” She crossed her legs.

  “It serves its purpose.” He paced toward the door.

  “What purpose?” She leaned over the side of her chair.

  He crossed an arm over his chest. “Without a second bottle, your inquisition is futile.”

  She smiled. “Bring two next time.”

  “There’s not much to do under house arrest in this damned chateau.” He puffed the cigarette. “I might.”

  Mermaids

  IV.

  He peered inside: an aquamarine velvet armchair, wide enough for two, towered before a crackling fireplace. An ancient coffee table carved with runes stretched between the chair and the fireplace, on top of a kaleidoscopic Persian rug.

  Aleister sat on a stack of pillows, hunched over the coffee table, one hand pulling at his greasy hair, poring over a pile of tomes. A mess of books were cracked open to yellowed, curling pages, composed in ancient scrawl. Clutching a quill pen with his mangled left hand, he scratched in a notebook.

  Tilting his head back, Orion marveled at treasure trove of timeworn books, lining wall after wall, three stories off the ground. Billowing turquoise curtains tied open with silver cords revealed the higher balconies; ornate ladders slouched against towers of books fitted into the silver-arched walls.

  Orion tiptoed past Aleister, making a beeline toward his cherished bookshelf.

  Nero lurched over a keyboard, fingers clacking furiously, his head sandwiched inside a trifecta of holographic computer screens. One screen scrolled with unintelligible command lines; another displayed a host of monochromatic security feeds; the third linked into an official database.

  “I don’t recall sending you an invitation.” Aleister continued to scribble, reeking of cinnamon and singed calamus.

  Orion skulked to a bookshelf embedded in the wall beside the fireplace, and mounted the ladder in silence.

  “I know for a fact you’ve read every book on that shelf at least nine times.” Aleister dipped the quill in ink.

  “Time for a tenth.” Orion rolled the wheeled ladder closer toward the fireplace, fingers dancing across the spines of books, searching, scanning.

  “Don’t you want to learn something new?” Aleister shot him a sharp glance, and closed a heavy book. “Or get lost in the classics for a change?”

  Orion pulled a purple encyclopedia from the top shelf. “Old habits die hard.”

  Aleister heaved a book from the floor and slammed it against the table, leafing through antiquated pages. “That’s something old lovers say.”

  Swiping two additional, slimmer books, Orion jumped to the floor. Taking a seat in the armchair, he crossed one ankle over his knee. “What are you scheming?”

  Strange books, magical books spewed recipes intelligible only to Aleister’s initiated eyes. The books spoke with calligraphy, ancient symbols, sketches of human anatomy, pentagrams, and other curious geometric forms.

  Orion didn’t have the patience or the interest for such nonsense. But Aleister loved it, the tantalizing prospect of an epiphany, a deeper connection to nature, the endless intellectual circle jerk that antediluvian hoodoo provided.

  Orion failed to see how the past held any answers: it was the unfolding of the past that created their collective future, this fucked-up present mess. No amount of knowledge amassed in the past prevented the world from reaching its current state—so what was the point?

  “The bonfire for the equinox.” Aleister massaged his fingers into his temples. “We had a mild winter, and the vines are in bloom. I’m trying to find an alternative preparation for the sacrament—”

  “That foul-smelling snuff?” Sinking into the chair’s plush upholstery, Orion shut his eyes. “The one that turns your eyes red and makes your nose gush like a faucet?”

  “The sacred medicine.” Aleister’s eyebrow twitched. “The powerful salve that keeps my soul from slipping from the precipice into darkness.”

  Orion rolled his head from side to side. “I think you give it too much credit.”

  Aleister’s eyes flashed. “I think it would impart you virtue.”

  Orion pursed his lips, shooting Aleister a cold, hard stare.

  “Hey, listen to this.” Nero stood up.

  Aleister’s head turned toward the computer.

  Orion scowled at Aleister.

  “I’ve crawled every civil database in Jambu.” Nero sauntered across the library, pausing to rest his head on the mantle over the fireplace. “The floor plans for the Techthonic Innovations lab are absent. There is nothing registered anywhere, at the local, district, or federal levels.”

  Aleister snorted. “That’s illegal.”
/>   Orion turned his head. “Are you surprised?”

  “It’s suspicious as hell.” Nero stretched his arms above his head. “I’m running some preliminary tests to see if I can stream their security feeds. If there is security throughout the whole building—which there ought to be—I’m hoping the cameras provide enough information to construct a tentative floor plan.”

  Aleister closed his notebook. “We can’t go in there blind.”

  Nero shook his head. “Not if you want to blow it up.”

  Orion lit a cigarette. “That place needs to sink into the fucking sea.”

  Nero clicked his nails. “We can’t properly decimate a building without a floor plan.”

  “The blue butterflies have disappeared from the eastern forests of Ruta since she planted her rice there.” Aleister shook his head, twisting the cap on his bottle of ink.

  Nero cracked his neck. “That’s why The Brothers burned her fields.”

  Orion shook his head. “Lot of good that accomplished.”

  “It retarded production deadlines.” Nero leaned forward. “Cost them money. Spared the environment. . . tentatively.”

  “This is my point!” Aleister clapped a thick book shut. “If no one destroys her central hub of operations, she’ll continue to pillage, plunder, and desecrate—”

  “No, that was my point.” Orion took a long draw on his cigarette. “The facility itself means nothing. We have to destroy Echidna.”

  Aleister pointed at Orion. “That’s what I said!” He threw his hands into the air. “That is my plan!” He lifted a finger. "We'll put all other plans on hold! This plan is brilliant!"

  "Brilliant, Aleister." Orion exhaled. "Fucking brilliant." He rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll do my best to retrieve as much information as possible.” Nero glanced at the computer. “A facility like this should be notoriously high-security. . . which means there will be plenty of cameras to exploit.”

  “Nero!” Aleister stood and clapped his hands. “Get on it!”

  Orion cradled his books under one arm, and stood up from the chair. Observing Aleister’s distraction, he swiped the bottle of ink from the table. He left the library, smoking his cigarette, an insulted coal of anger smoldering in his stomach.

  Virtue. What would Aleister know?

  Hearing a knock at the door, her heart skipped: had Orion returned for her so soon?

  “We’re entering, miss.” It was the lilting voice of women.

  “Miss, we’re coming inside.”

  “Excuse us.”

  Her heart sank.

  Pushing open the door, three women filed inside, clad in flowing cotton dresses, with beaded leather belts, gemstone necklaces, silver bangles, flowers woven into coils of braided hair.

  A frail, fair-skinned blonde with pink lips hooked one arm around Ninkasi’s arm.

  A busty, dark-skinned girl with chestnut hair and kohl-sharpened eyes linked an arm around her other arm, and placed a hand against the small of her back.

  A matronly woman with silver hair put her hands on her hips. “Come.”

  The younger girls guided Ninkasi toward the door.

  “Hey!” She jerked free of their grip. “Where are you taking me?”

  The girls gently squeezed her arms and smiled.

  The older woman held open the door, gesturing to the hallway. “We are fulfilling the wishes of Master Orion.”

  “Master. . . Orion?!” Ninkasi glowered, fighting to twist free of the girls’ grip. “What wishes? Where are you taking me?!”

  The eldest lady breezed ahead of them, leading the way. “We will do precisely what he orders.”

  The blonde sharply dug her nails into Ninkasi’s arm, offering a cordial smile to punctuate the threat.

  They guided Ninkasi down a wide corridor, with gold-trimmed ceilings, curling columns, and refreshing pastel frescoes. Bronze candelabras dangled from the ceiling; light poured through narrow windows locked with elaborate wrought iron grates.

  They passed a series of doors, closed, locked.

  The eldest woman removed a jangling key ring crowned with a hulking ruby from her pocket, and sifted through the keys. She inserted one into a door at the end of the hall, revealing a spacious royal bathing area.

  Ninkasi balked at the door.

  The motherly woman pushed her inside, the young girls tugging at her arms.

  A fourth woman with curly black hair waited inside, in identical dress, holding a tailor’s measuring tape stretched between her arms.

  The girls at Ninkasi’s side lifted her arms, forcing her into a useful position for the lady with the tapes.

  Agile hands swiftly measured her arm length, bust, waist, hips. “Impeccable!” She stared at Ninkasi with wondrous eyes, and shot a nervous glance of excitement to the other ladies. “If you’ll excuse me.” She dashed out the door.

  Ninkasi followed her movements with a spiteful glare.

  The women herded her past a colossal vanity, golden furniture, a nook in the wall with pillows, a silk changing screen and a triple-paned body mirror.

  She did still look like shit, worse with each passing hour, sweaty, dirty, bedraggled. She never wore the same pair of underwear two days in a row, let alone four or five—she felt disgusting.

  Was this Orion’s idea of a shower and shampoo?

  A cove in the back of the room housed a black and white marbled tub, large enough for the entire swim team, seated deep within the floor. Painted silver stars twinkled against a ceiling of swirling black and navy blue; paintings between golden columns depicted trees, flowers, castles floating in the clouds.

  Ninkasi felt the hot steam rising from the bath.

  It was like a dream. Like some outdated fantasy movie she watched with her parents as a child, with glowing crystals, hairy puppets and forlorn castles. Like a twisted fairy tale she couldn’t escape.

  She sighed. There was no prince in sight; she had only her own wit and cunning to save her.

  Lifting an earthen pot, the elderly woman dumped an aromatic mixture of rose petals, jasmine flowers, and magnolia into the tub.

  The blonde girl curled her fingers beneath the edge of Ninkasi’s shirt, and tugged it over her head.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, Ninkasi clamped her hands across her bare chest and scowled. “I can do this myself, you know.”

  “You mustn’t disobey.” The blonde girl placed a soft palm against Ninkasi’s back.

  The dark-haired girl slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of Ninkasi’s pants, and pulled them to the floor. “Master Orion’s rule is second only to Lord Aleister’s.” Her hands glided around Ninkasi’s waist, brushing over her pelvic area, and she hooked her thumbs beneath the band of her underwear.

  Ninkasi squirmed, wiggling backward.

  “Master Orion is wise and generous.” The blonde girl steadied her. “You must trust him.” She brushed her nose against the back of her head.

  The other girl slid her panties to the floor.

  Securing an arm around Ninkasi’s waist, the blonde guided her to the bathtub.

  Ninkasi dipped her toes in the water, pleasantly scorching.

  She couldn’t believe she stood ass-naked before a bunch of indifferent women rubbing their hands all over her body. Only the purple security bracelet remained secured around her wrist.

  Her collar. Her tag.

  “Master Orion wishes for you to be as comfortable as possible,” the blonde whispered into her ear, stroking her hair. “I was told to tell you he apologizes that you were thrust into an uncomfortable situation.”

  “Yes, you were thrust.” The other girl squeezed her shoulder.

  Kneeling in the tub, she winced against the heat of the bath. The sooner she submerged herself in the water, the sooner three peculiar strangers would stop ogling her naked body. She inched backward, settling against her elbows and plunging into the water, sinking so the water climbed to her ears, her chin.

  The sweltering water soothed her, melte
d the tension and horror away from her bones. She adored floral baths.

  Maybe she could enjoy what luxuries she was offered until someone found her, brought her home. Maybe she should demand more, exploit the luxuries available to her—she had nothing better to do.

  There was no shortage of luxury in this place.

  But she doubted she had it in her. She hated when guys paid for her dates—she preferred to split the costs, carry her own weight—not be waited on hand and foot. It wasn’t her nature.

  She didn’t know how.

  Not that she had even had a date in what felt like eternity.

  Too many responsibilities with school. Too many responsibilities at home.

  Sending Noah to bed, to school with a lunch. Ensuring that her mother ate well, managing her online banking. Washing the dishes. Cleaning up dog shit.

  Maybe that was her problem—her whole life was wrecked by an excess of responsibility. Now she felt horror in losing that responsibility, her clear head, the definitive comfort of planning ahead, being smart, anticipating for the curveballs and pitfalls of life—

  Control.

  She heard the rustle of fabrics, something muted hit the floor. She heard the splash of feet in the water on either side of her.

  Ninkasi opened her eyes: the two younger women shed their clothes and joined her in the tub.

  Arching her back, she scrambled backward in the tub, covering her chest. “What are you doing?!”

  The girls smiled, swimming toward her like mermaids, clasping bars of soap.

  She heard the old woman’s voice behind her. “We are instructed to bathe and dress you.”

  Ninkasi opened her mouth to protest. “I—” She eeked backward in the tub, glancing nervously at the advancing girls. “I can bathe myself—”