The Invisible Entente: a prequel novella

by Krista Walsh

  All I wanted after the competition was an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate sauce, so of course it was a night my parents had made a commitment to host dinner for their friends. We headed home straight from the range, and I confess I sulked the entire way, feeling in no mood to be social.

  As soon as we finished dinner, while the adults relaxed over coffee, I slung my bow and tripod cases over my shoulder.

  “Where are you going with those?” Mom asked.

  I tapped my cane against the floor, and jerked my head in the direction of the balcony door. “Just to get some fresh air. Maybe hold my bow over the balcony and threaten its life to make sure it behaves better next time.”

  The semi-joke earned some soft laughter, and I heard my father sigh.

  “Try to remember it’s against the law to shoot arrows into the sky, Mol,” he said, and I offered a brisk salute before escaping to the balcony to take a minute for myself.

  I hated feeling off-balance and knew the only way to make myself feel better, if I couldn’t get my hands on any ice cream, was to practice. After the day’s performance, I told myself I needed the extra time.

  The wind was cool and sharp on my cheeks, a fall wind, but it had died down since that morning. I picked up the steady hum of traffic on the highway and the piercing cries of birds heading to roost, but from the sixth floor of the high-rise, the day-to-day noises were less abrasive, allowing me a greater sense of solitude.

  I ran my hands along the curve of my bow to calm my nerves and then set up my tripod. With my foot in the locater at the base, I raised the bow until the back of my left hand hit the rubber ball on top of the tripod, marking my elevation. Slowly, I drew my fingers back toward my cheek, then let go to release an arc of air. When I drew again, I focused on the angle of my elbow and the gentle pressure of wind nudging my aim to the right.

  The practice soothed me, but just as my thoughts began to settle, a scream shook my bones. Loud, panicked — a sound of agony. This high up, I knew the source couldn’t be far. Right across from me, if I had to guess.

  With my heart in my throat, I tripped over my cane and jumped for the balcony door, planning to get my parents so we could call the police. But the screams got louder, more urgent, and without thinking, I tightened my fingers around my bow and turned around. My foot caught on the foot guide and the tripod toppled over, but before I could bend down to grab it, the cries morphed into a stomach-churning wail, and I knew my time was short. Mentally crossing my fingers that my ears would be enough to guide my aim in the right direction, I grabbed an arrow and raised the bow with trembling hands. I focused on my breathing and lost myself to my training. Breath, draw, breath…release.

  Across the alley, glass shattered, and by the way the screams grew louder, I knew I’d found the right place. I was amazed that no sirens had come blaring up the street from the noise, but I couldn’t wait for them to arrive — the man sounded as though he were being torn in half. His voice had dropped to a deep growl, a raspy, grating noise that burrowed deep in my ears and vibrated against my brain.

  Following the sound, I aimed again and sent up a silent prayer that the wind would stay with me. I wanted to startle, not kill. With a deep breath, I steadied my stance, emptied my mind, and loosed the second arrow.

  The screams stopped so abruptly that my heart jumped into my throat with the thought that I’d hit someone, but a moment later I heard shouts and the distinct sounds of a fight. Something was smashed — big, like furniture — and then heavy footsteps clanged down the fire escape.

  Again, I debated telling my parents so we could call the police, but now two of my arrows would be in the person’s apartment, and I didn’t think anyone would look too kindly on that.

  I don’t know where my decision came from, whether it was bravery or stupidity that compelled me, but I slid my bow over my shoulder, picked my cane up off the balcony floor, and stepped into the apartment.

  I expected the adults to ask me what had happened — to my ears, the sound of the fight across the alley had been loud enough to drown out the soft music playing on the stereo — and yet when I entered the living room, I interrupted a mix of relaxed laughter and groans, no doubt from one of my father’s horrible jokes.

  “Molly, honey, are you all right?” my mother asked. I heard her rise off the couch and approach me. “You’re white as a ghost.” Her soft fingers brushed my cheek and she pressed the back of her hand on my forehead. “No fever, but you’re sweating. Is everything okay?”

  I forced a smile, half of my brain wondering how I had heard something no one else seemed to, and the other half working on plausible excuses to run out of the apartment and get across the street. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. I might take a bit of a walk to clear my head. Walk off those delicious mashed potatoes.”

  I tried to appeal to my father with the horrible jokes and my mother with the compliment, but still I picked up the hesitation and uncertainty in Dad’s voice when he said, “With your bow?”

  I widened my smile. “It’s a talking piece. You’re always telling me to be more social. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “All right, dear,” said Mom before Dad pushed any further. I didn’t think I’d be able to fake my way through many more lies, so I was glad she let things go, as she usually did. I sensed Dad’s objection, the way he cleared his throat and mumbled something under his breath, but he didn’t argue.

  I took the elevator to street level and stepped out into the chilly evening air. A few droplets of rain fell on my forehead, but the weather held off until I reached the lobby of the building across the alley.

  Someone else was getting on the elevator, so I followed them on.

  “Floor?” he asked.

  I rushed through the logic of where I was going, a very loud voice in my head telling me to be smart and go home, but I’d been on the sixth floor and swore the apartment had been close, so I said the sixth.

  “Only goes up to five.”

  I cleared my throat. “Five, then. Please.”

  He got out somewhere along the way, and I took the rest of the trip up to the top floor, striking east after I got out. I tapped my cane against the baseboard and listened for the sound to change when I reached the door. I hitched my bow up on my shoulder and turned my right ear toward the apartment, straining to pick up any noises from inside.

  Someone walking around, a groan, glass being swept up or kicked aside.

  Exhaling slowly, I knocked.

  A few moments later, the door opened. Although the man — or so I guessed by the smell of spiced body wash — said nothing, I sensed his surprise to find me on his doorstep.

  “Can I help you?” He asked, confirming my guess. His voice was rough and hoarse, as though he’d exerted himself. Which, I supposed, made sense. I couldn’t tell yet from the few words he’d spoken if he’d been the one screaming.

  “I was over across the way and thought I heard a fight. Wanted to make sure everyone was okay.”

  “And you took the risk of coming alone?” No parental worry, only surprise with a hint of amusement.

  “No one can accuse me of sitting on my ass, at least,” I replied. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, kid. Just fine. Had a misunderstanding with a work colleague. You know how these things go.”

  I didn’t, so I stayed quiet. I wondered how I was going to retrieve my arrows before my parents noticed two were missing.

  The guy made it easy.

  “Wild stab in the dark that you were the person who saved my life?”

  A slight stumble in his tone. He’d aimed for grateful, but halfway through the sentence I picked up the smallest trace of annoyance.

  “That was me,” I said. “Sorry about your window.”

  “Oh, god, don’t even worry about that. Fixing the thing wouldn’t have mattered if I were dead. Come on in a minute and I’ll get your arrows. I’m Jermaine, by the way.”

  “Molly,” I replied, and cock
ed my head to follow his footsteps, not taking more than two steps into the apartment. I made sure to keep my foot propped against the door so it wouldn’t swing shut behind me.

  “You have pretty incredible skills, Molly,” he said from across the room. “You practice a lot?”

  “A few hours a day.”

  “That’s dedication.” He was impressed, and I got the sense he was walking around an idea, using his questions to put feelers out.

  Glass crunched under his shoes, and when he spoke again, he stood facing me.

  “The other arrow doesn’t seem to be here. He must have taken it when he ran.”

  I cursed under my breath, wondering how I would explain that to my parents.

  Before I had too much time to mull, he shocked me by saying, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in earning some cash doing a few odd jobs for me? You’re obviously capable, and I’m sure your competitions don’t run cheap. I could use someone like you for my business.”

  I kept my expression neutral as best I could. “What’s your business?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t think that today was any indication of my regular habits. I’m a scientist first and foremost. Research into the nature of our being. Fascinating work, but harmless, I promise.”

  His shoes crunched over broken glass, moving toward me, and I tensed. He paused a few feet away, but I didn’t relax my grip around my cane.

  “Your arrow,” he said.

  I extended my hand, and he dropped it across my palm, its weight familiar and reassuring.

  “So, what do you say?”

  I frowned. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I can take you up on it. Between school and practice I’d never have the time, and I doubt my parents would approve.”

  Plus I believe you’re a great, lying sack of shit, and I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could shoot.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he said, and the change in his tone sent a shooting fear down my spine. My grip around my arrow and cane grew clammy, and my heart shifted up into my throat.

  He closed the distance between us and wrapped his fingers around my arm, squeezing tightly.

  “I do wish you’d reconsider. You cost me a pretty penny today in equipment, and lost me a specimen so rare I doubt I’ll ever find one again. I’d say you owed me a few favors, don’t you?”

  My arm throbbed under the increasing pressure of his squeeze, but I refused to react. Years of getting bullied in school had taught me how to deal with people like him, and my parents had always encouraged extra education. I twisted my arm to bend his wrist and jerked away once his hold loosened. In a fluid, practiced motion, I dropped my shoulder so my bow slid down my arm to my hand and nocked the arrow he’d handed me. My cane clattered to the floor.

  “Considering what I interrupted in this room, I don’t feel I owe you anything,” I said. “Just be grateful I didn’t call the cops.”

  I took a step backward, accepting that my cane would be left behind.

  “Now, if you don’t want me lodging a third arrow somewhere in you, I would very much appreciate you taking three steps back. And do not,” I rushed to add when I sensed him coming closer, “think for a minute that I will hesitate.”

  Jermaine sniffed, but the air around me cleared when he moved away. Although I was curious about why he would just let me go, I was too relieved to question it.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Jermaine,” I said, one foot in the hallway. “Please don’t be offended when I say I hope to never hear your voice again.”

  Not waiting for him to reply, I turned and ran for the elevator with one hand outstretched to guide my way. I didn’t breathe until I’d fumbled the cage door closed and hit the button for the lobby.

  *****************

  “I don’t believe your story on so many levels. Hell, I wouldn’t even buy it as a fictional tale,” Daphne said. “Why would a bright girl be so stupid as to go to a strange man’s house because she heard a fight? And I don’t care how good an archer you claim to be, you’re no superhero. Those would have been two impossible shots. Plus Jermaine wouldn’t have just let you go after you turned him down. You’ve heard all about him by now. He would have fried your ass.”

  “It does sound rather implausible,” Allegra agreed.

  “I like the story,” said Gabe, slapping the table. “Gives me hope that the human race isn’t as doomed as I fear it is. But I will concede it’s a difficult tale to swallow.”

  Antony picked a spot of lint off his knee. “It sounds like the little girl wants to keep up with the grown-up players.”

  Vera’s gray gaze roved over each of them, sliding to Zachariel when the daemelus brought his fist down on the table.

  Beside him, Molly jumped and raised her cane as though prepared to use it to fight him off.

  “Do not accuse her of lying,” he growled, his brown eyes swirling with a reddish hue. “I can attest to her story. I watched from below, saw that monster move into the window to search for her arrow. I couldn’t pick up any of the conversation, but I saw Molly run back to the other apartment building, and a moment later, Jermaine appeared in the window again. She is not guilty of this crime.”

  Gabe grinned. “How about that? For the first time up we have witnesses. I guess we can rule you two out, big guy.”

  The red in Zachariel’s eyes faded, but returned in a flare when Allegra quirked a smooth eyebrow and said, “Not necessarily.”

  “Explain,” he grumbled.

  “You seem terribly protective of this human. I would not be surprised if it turned out you are lying to protect her.”

  Molly twisted in her seat toward him, surprise etched on her face. Glowering, Zachariel reached into the deep pockets of his coat, drew out the arrow he’d taken from the shattered glass, and slammed it on the table.

  “This girl saved my life,” he said. “For that I am in her debt until the opportunity arises to return the favor. If I were lying, I would consider the favor repaid.”

  Molly’s brow furrowed. “You’re not paranoid if someone is actually following you. I knew there was someone.” She paused. “Not sure how I feel about that, actually.”

  She slid her hand over the table and ran her fingers over the arrow point before drawing it closer to her.

  Zachariel said nothing, just turned to Vera as though awaiting her judgment. She stared back at him, considering, her long fingers tapping against her arm.

  “We’ll pay these two the same courtesy as we have everyone else so far and defer any accusations until we have time to evaluate the stories.” A red eyebrow rose on her pale forehead. “Because unless someone would like to change his mind and confess, it’s clear not everyone has told the entire truth.”

  A deep hush fell on the table as the enormity of the moment sank in.

  Each person had shared his or her story, and at face value, each had come across as genuine. The confusion, the disdain, the discomfort written on the storytellers’ faces had seemed sincere.

  But Jermaine had been so certain that one of them had done it.

  They remained in silence until Molly’s stomach grumbled, a reminder that time was passing and they wouldn’t be able to leave until they’d reached some sort of conclusion.

  “What happens if he got it wrong?” Daphne asked. “What if it was someone else? The guy was an asshole — he probably pissed off more than the seven of us.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” Allegra snapped. “He believed it to be one of us, so one of us must play the sacrifice.”

  “I vote for the human child,” said Antony. “She’s the easiest one to kill.”

  Zachariel’s chair flipped backward as he leaped to his feet. “I wish you would try. It would clear my debt to her all too quickly if I had the pleasure of tearing your head from your shoulders.”

  Molly shifted warily away from Antony, but he remained still and smiling. Gabe broke the tension with a laugh.

  “Angelic nobility with a demonic temper. Zach, you are a
n absolutely fascinating creature.”

  Zachariel growled again and Vera raised a hand. “Let us calm down. Zachariel, please sit. I promise no one will raise a hand against Molly unless we prove beyond a doubt that she is the culprit.”

  The daemelus hesitated before complying. Molly’s expression turned more fearful at the insinuation that her story might not have been believed.

  “I swear I told you the truth. I had no reason to kill him. I had no idea who he was, let alone that he was an evil son of a whats-its. I swear I’m not lying.”

  Vera dropped her chin in a nod. “Be that as it may, someone around this table is.”

  Six voices broke out in protest with varying volumes of resentment and hurt. Each person fought for the floor, so no one could be understood. Denials and insults were buried under the din.

  Vera finally raised a hand again to quiet them and gestured to Molly. “You were trying to say?”

  The girl cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. “I said if you were looking for liars, you were right.”

  A few new mumbles rose up, but Vera quelled them with her sharp gray stare.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I might not be able to see your faces or use crazy superpowers like some of you people, but I’ve had to develop my own skills. Since I can’t read body language, I’ve trained myself to pick up vocal cues, and I can say without a doubt that at least three people here lied.”

  Daphne barked a laugh. “That’s rich. Nice cover up there, kid, but you can’t deflect suspicion away that easily.”

  “Neither can you,” said Molly, “since you were one of the liars.”

  The sorceress’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. She sputtered, offended.

  “And the other two?” Vera asked before she could say anything.

  “Gabriel,” Molly said. “And Antony. It’s possible others did, too, but those are the lies I heard.”

  “This is preposterous!” Daphne exclaimed. “Are you really going to take the word of a kid who not only knows nothing about our world, but can barely make her way through her own?”