by Krista Walsh
I smirked at his retreating form. The man was too easy to rile.
He led me to a low-rise building of lofts a few blocks away, the lobby nothing like the shoddy, light-flickering space I’d expected.
“Never took you for living a trendy lifestyle,” I said, and peered up into the open ceiling while we waited for the elevator.
“I needed the space. And I’ve never embraced the concept of having less than I deserve.”
The elevator pinged, and Jermaine slid the cage open, gesturing for me to lead the way.
We rattled up toward the top floor, the glowing red 5 on the button fading in and out.
“I won’t tease your patience any longer, Gabe. The truth is the cure isn’t finalized yet. Not FDA approved and all that.” He flashed a grin, and I squeezed my fists into the folds of my coat, a slow burn of anger tickling the back of my throat. “But it’s shown great potential.”
“In whom?” I asked, drawling the question. “It’s not like there’s a wide pool for testing.”
“You’re not as rare as you think you are, although I’m sure that pretty face of yours makes you think so. We get samples from all kinds of creatures, and we’re within a few tests of cracking open the mysteries of the universe. One magic word and we’ll have a cure for whatever ails you — scales Bob can’t hide, the embarrassing habit Lisa has of turning into a wolf under the full moon — anything you can think of.”
I said nothing, but aimed my pretty face at him so he could feel my glare through my sunglasses.
He cleared his throat and shoved his hood off his head. “Look, before you start thinking I brought you here under false pretenses or whatever, I have the studies. You know I’m good for it. I just need some blood. If we add our results to theirs, the cure for your problems could be just around the corner. Within a year.”
I let him talk while I focused on taking steady breaths.
The elevator slowed and Jermaine heaved the cage open, stepping out without turning his back to me. Wisely.
“We could make history together, man. You’d have the full use of your eyes.” He slapped my arm, and I restrained myself from punching him back. “Imagine that. You already have the face — now you could hit the ladies with a smoldering look without worrying about turning them into art pieces for the building lobby.”
His attempt at wit inflamed the restless anger permanently simmering under the surface of my practiced calm, but it also tweaked the heart of my longing. It was true my Fae side had gifted me with nice bone structure and an inability to gain weight on pizza and beer among other things, but my great-grandmother’s side, the Gorgon side, had cursed me with a deadly gaze. Growing up had been a challenge, even out in the middle of nowhere where my mother had raised me. More than one child still sat in the park, chipped and covered in lichen.
The idea of losing that curse — of becoming human, even if it meant packing on some pizza weight — filled me with rare hope.
Jermaine opened the door to his loft and flipped on the light switch. Fluorescent light spilled over the open-concept kitchen, the high-shine island gleaming with stainless steel appliances. Two barstools sat at the island and a dining table sat behind me, tucked into the corner.
Beyond the kitchen, in the dim light of the streetlights streaking through the rain-spattered domed window, was another large stretch of space. The room was divided between a lounging area, with white couches and a wall-mounted sixty-inch television, and a full laboratory, complete with smoking vials and computer screens with spinning images of what looked like a white blood cell breaking apart.
“Why don’t you come have a seat. Can I grab you a beer?” Jermaine gestured to a brown leather dental chair next to the workstation before his head disappeared into the refrigerator’s double doors.
“No more for me, thanks,” I said. “I had enough at the bar.”
The alcohol didn’t actually give me much of a buzz thanks to the same fast metabolism that made me the envy of gym rats everywhere, but I saw no reason for him to know that.
I settled in the chair and picked up traces of fear from the pores in the leather. Years of other people’s energy trapped in the fibers.
The effect of the emotions sent tingles through my hands, but while I kept my guard up, the sensation didn’t alarm me. I was certain that every dental chair across the mortal world carried the same traces.
“So what’s in it for you?” I asked. “I can’t believe you’re looking to help me out of the goodness of your heart.”
I wasn’t even sure his chest cavity contained one of those.
The fridge door closed and Jermaine sauntered over, bottle in hand and that same shit-eating grin on his face. “Money. Lots of it.”
He set his drink down on the desk and pulled his hoodie over his head to reveal a black muscle shirt with a generic logo on the chest. Never one for classy dressing, Jermaine.
I, at least, wore an open dress shirt over my black T-shirt.
In spite of his soft frame from years of overindulging, defined muscles lurked beneath his flesh. I cast another wary gaze over him, wondering what other secrets he hid behind the unconvincing charm.
He pulled a wheeled stool up beside me and grabbed a vial of clear fluid from the rack to his left.
“This is what they’ve given me to work with. Not a large quantity, but with the two of us working together, I don’t think we’ll need more.”
Something in his voice — the tremor of…excitement? — put me on edge. “Who’s ‘they’?”
A hesitation. So subtle I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t listening for it. He’d rehearsed his story well, but he was still lying.
“A company in Norway. They make it their business to study freaks like us.” He said it with a wink, trying to bring me into the group. I hated groups. “Of course, a bunch of them are freaks themselves of one sort or another. Some want a cure, some just want to understand what they are.”
He grabbed a syringe from another rack and snapped the orange tipped vial to the needle.
“I make it a point to help them where I can. The pay is good and, the way I see it, every step in figuring out what makes us different can only help us put our gifts to better use, am I right?” He held out the readied needle. “Roll up your sleeve for me.”
Warily, I peeled off my coat, left it hanging behind me, and rolled my sleeve up past my elbow. In my periphery, I watched him closely, grateful that my sunglasses shielded him from seeing my suspicion.
“A bit of blood and we’re on our way,” he said, drawing his stool closer.
That trace of excitement in his voice spread to a glimmer in his eyes, and I drew my arm away. “How about you stick yourself with that thing first? Not to say I don’t trust you, but one can’t be too careful.”
Jermaine adopted a feigned pout. “Gabe. After all I’ve told you, do you think I’d risk everything by hurting you?”
When I still didn’t offer my arm, he puffed a breath out between his lips and then grinned. Before I could push him back, he pressed my arm down against the armrest and plunged the needle into my neck. I cried out and grabbed his wrist with my free hand, but the angle didn’t allow me to pull him away.
He kicked the stool to the side and threw one leg over me, straddling my waist to pin me to the chair.
“I don’t understand creatures like you,” he said, and a second syringe, this one larger and filled with some sort of blue serum, appeared. The needle flashed briefly in the fluorescent light before he drove it between my ribs into my heart and pressed the plunger.
I cried out again, braced my hands against his chest, and forced him off. He crashed into his desk. I rolled out of the chair on the opposite side and yanked the needle out of my neck. There was blood in the orange-tipped vial, so I stuffed the vial into my pocket.
Anyone was free to call me stupid for trusting the son of a bitch enough to come up to his place, but I drew a line when it came to leaving my bodily fluids with people wh
o wanted to hurt me.
My head spun and my breathing quickened as whatever he’d injected into my heart flooded my system. I had to give the asshole credit for being prepared. It took more than an average sedative to take me out, yet his concoction seemed to be doing the trick. And quickly.
My legs gave out and I crashed to my knees, taking the end table beside the couch with me. I couldn’t catch my breath, and my vision blurred until I couldn’t make out the pattern of the rug beneath me — nothing but a jumble of color that sent shooting pains up into my head.
Jermaine grabbed my arm to roll me onto my back, and I winced at the bright lights overhead. He stepped one leg over my waist and sank slowly to his knees, straddling me once more. As he loomed closer, I saw his distorted features, his eyes bulging and black. My own blurred face reflected back at me across his wide, shining pupils. It took my addled mind a second to realize not eyes but lenses stared down at me. Jermaine’s face was obscured by large goggles.
“You have such gifts, Gabriel. Such potential,” he continued, as if he’d never been interrupted. I wanted to throw him off again, but my limbs felt too heavy to lift. “If you had more ambition, you’d be unstoppable. No one could stand in your way.” He stopped and laughed. “Well, I guess that’s not true, but they wouldn’t be going anywhere. Your world could be beautifully decorated. But you can’t bring yourself to do it, can you?” He slapped my cheek and I barely felt it. “Fortunately, I don’t have your reservations. With just a drop of your blood and your beautiful eyes, I can do what you’re too afraid to do.”
While he spoke, he pulled off my sunglasses. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face away, but he slapped me again, and this time the sting sent fire through my veins. I squeezed my hands at my sides and flexed my arms, straining against the weight pulling them down.
“Don’t worry about me, Gabe. You won’t turn me to stone. Not with these babies on.”
I thrashed my head from side to side when I felt the pressure of his fingers around my left eye trying to pull up the lid, his thumb sliding against the socket.
“If you don’t want to use these for their true purpose, just give them to me,” he crooned.
But he’d put false confidence in his serum. It had kicked in quickly, but had already started to burn off.
With one good swing, I clocked him in the ear, cringing as his fingernails tore into the fine skin under my eye. I grabbed his head and belted him again to knock off his goggles, then bucked my hips to roll him off me.
Getting to my knees, my eyes still squeezed shut, I felt around for my sunglasses. Jermaine’s hand slid over my ankle, but I kicked out, my foot connecting with something that crunched under the impact.
He swore and released me, giving me enough time to grab my glasses and coat and escape.
*****************
“You gave me a hard time over my story and that’s the best you can come up with?” Daphne asked once Gabe wrapped up.
His eyebrows rose over his sunglasses. “Is it your turn to accuse me of lying?”
“It does fall a little flat,” said the human girl. “This guy tries to steal your eyeballs and you just walk away?”
“I’ve got enough on my conscience without adding him to it,” he replied, and each word fell heavy on the table with sincerity.
“I call bullshit,” said Daphne.
The Suit chuckled. “I believe I must agree with our sorceress. I feel your rage simmering three feet away from me. I find it highly unlikely that in the heat of the moment you chose to run.”
“Then answer me this — why would I bother taking the risk of fighting him without my full strength when I could have looked him in the eye and turned him to stone?” When no one jumped in to answer him, Gabe nodded. “Exactly. We might not agree on many things, but I have to side with the sorceress on this one. Jermaine wasn’t worth the kill.”
Tight Dress’s lips had slid into a smooth smile while Gabe told his story, and that smile widened at his last words.
“A man who can show restraint is an irresistible force,” she said. “As long as I can be assured that he also knows how to lose control.”
The Suit rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Allegra.”
“You are in no position to judge me, Antony,” she drawled in return, his name flicking off her tongue in practiced syllables.
The human girl cocked an eyebrow. “You two old hook-ups or something?”
Allegra and Antony frowned.
“Siblings,” they replied as one, shooting each other dark glances. Then Antony’s expression warmed into something slier, and he added, “Most of the time.”
Allegra rolled her eyes at the stares her brother’s comment evoked, and the murmurs and laughs were silenced only when the quiet woman raised her hand.
“Perhaps it would be more expedient to stay on topic,” she said.
“Then how about you go next,” said Daphne. “For some reason we all keep looking to you to lead the way, but I prefer to know the woman I’m expected to follow.”
The red-haired woman stared at her for three heartbeats, her gray stare direct and considering.
“Very well,” she said at last, and crossed one leg over the other.
5
*****************
Vera Goodall
I have spent my entire thirty years trying to keep a balance. As a child, that balance meant finding time to play. As a teenager, it became keeping my friends. Now, as an adult, I focus on running my hole-in-the-wall used bookstore, walking my dogs, and enjoying my solitude. The balance is essential or I face the risk of vengeance taking over my life.
I was seven years old when my consciousness first transported itself into someone else’s mind. I’m sure it was just as much of a surprise for the woman as it was for me: the sight of a child-spirit sitting cross-legged in her sitting room. I was too young at the time to understand the complexities, but I knew my mission. It was in my blood.
My mother spent my youth teaching me my role and explaining my history. She told me how her side of the family hailed from the Norse gods, and it became a sly joke between us that since we didn’t have enough gods’ blood in our veins for our forebears to consider us the demigoddesses we actually were, we would settle for being semi-goddesses instead. And as the great-descendant of a vengeance god, the burden now fell on me to continue the tradition.
Fortunately, true cries for vengeance don’t come nearly as often in our modern era. Most people are happy to lash out in petty squabbles on social media platforms or actively pursue legal justice in a mostly effective system. But every now and then — especially within the circles of people who know of my existence — I receive a summons. A ritual call that transports my mind to a sacred circle where a man can request the death of a lover who had betrayed him or a woman can call for endless pain on a business partner who had robbed her. Then it would fall on me to carry out the deed.
After so many years of practice, I carry no guilt over my nature. I am not a murderer — that title falls on the heads of the people who summon me. I am merely the weapon of choice.
But I became bored of my task. The blood of a god runs through my veins, and the resulting effects make my missions too easy. I have enough strength that a gentle nudge could send a grown man flying into traffic while thinking he’d tripped on a curb. The deaths present no challenge. After twenty-three years, I wished more than ever that I’d been blessed with a sibling who could take over the family business.
So when a bony, hawk-nosed woman named Tiffany asked me to kill a man who had seduced her and promised her the world only to ditch her after their one-night stand, I debated whether or not to accept. Being the end of the business quarter, I had enough paperwork and accounting to fill my evenings, and I wanted to take advantage of the final nice days of autumn to keep up my nightly jog. Unfortunately, used bookstores don’t earn the revenue they once did, and practicality won over preference.
“He’s scum,” Tiffany said,
and crossed her arms.
I didn’t reply. The reason for her summons meant nothing to me — I needed only the confirmation that she meant it. It wasn’t the sort of transaction one could cancel.
“I just want him pushed down the stairs, you know? Something that makes him look stupid and incompetent. Maybe make it look like he tripped on that ugly rug and gored himself on one of his beakers. Can you do that?”
I inclined my head in a nod and watched for any hint of doubt. There was none. I read in her the tragic but all-too-common story of a woman easily led on by the men in her life. Too quick to fall in love, too susceptible to the lies. But she’d reached the end of her patience and this unsuspecting man would be the one to pay for her hurt.
“Bring him to your mind,” I said, and peered into her thoughts. It was my least favorite part of the process. People’s thoughts — especially angry people’s thoughts, which were generally the only thoughts a vengeance worker was wont to see — were jumbled and messy. Loud. Picking through them required effort, even when the person actively thought about what I’d asked them to picture.
It took a moment, but a shape gradually took form in the chaos. A shorter man, not quite stocky, but on the softer side. A man who indulged too much and relied on his metabolism to keep him from becoming overweight — a battle he’d begun to lose. He stood before me in ratty jeans and a nondescript band T-shirt under his gray hoodie. A scruffy beard in need of a trim shadowed his jaw and cheeks. Tiffany thought of him with a warm, charming smile, the sort of man to act awkward and goofy in public, and then be a cozy, teddy-bearish figure at home. Unfortunately for Tiffany, the charm was an act. I’d known Jermaine long enough in my professional life to see past the smile to the sharpness of his brown eyes. His blind ambition and intolerable ego.
Although I usually refrained from forming judgments about either the people who requested my services or the people they requested them against, I found myself thinking that Tiffany couldn’t have chosen a more perfect target.