The Waif's Tale

by C. L. Stegall

  "Yes," Dawn replied, still giving the evil eye to Cairo, who completely ignored her. "She handles all of the vendor relations."

  I smiled. Vendor relations. It was a nice way of saying 'our flunkies.' Vendors were the human folks who provided the Valensi with supplies such as foodstuffs, trash services and general maintenance.

  These people were scouted, recruited and initiated. Every single one of them was scared out of their wits when dealing with the Valensi. Certainly, not one of them would ever divulge our presence or our location. The preparation that went into becoming a vendor was not pleasant but the financial rewards were superlative. The bottom line was: money talks. If the fear didn't keep their mouths shut, the money sure as hell would.

  I decided this wasn't really news. I turned to Dusk. "Fancy a game, sir?"

  Dusk actually smiled. It freaked me out when he did that. Still, I understood. That man so loved the game of chess. Decades ago he had had a special chess set constructed that was hand-carved from both ivory and obsidian. Each piece was polished to perfection, the kings standing four inches tall. The chessboard was polished teak, inlaid with squares of marble and ebony. I had no idea of the worth of the set but we all knew that if anything happened to it, heads would roll. Quite literally.

  It was during the quiet times like these that I felt the most at home, here, in the Abode. I heard Cairo and Dawn verbally jabbing at one another; London and Vi were in a couple of chairs in the corner sharing whatever the latest gossip might be; and, Dusk and I battling it out on the chessboard. Life had dealt me a pretty good hand, if occasionally harsh at times. I had survived. I loved my life. I was at peace with who I was and where I was and it was a marvelous feeling of satisfaction.

  "Check," Dusk said.

  "Damn. I wasn't paying attention." I smiled and refocused on the board.

  "That shall be your downfall, madam."

  "I will not go down without a fight," I said. I whipped my hand in a flourish as I spoke.

  "That's what I'm counting on." He winked and we continued our battle until, in the end as always, he took my king. "Checkmate, m'dear."

  "You suck," London observed. She had moved to sit on the back of the sofa, looking over my shoulder, minutes before.

  "Thanks for that," I said, tipping my king over.

  "Seriously," she said, "You've been playing against him for, what, twenty years now? You still haven't figured out how to beat him?"

  "Oh, and I suppose you know how to beat him?"

  "Sure," she said, as she flipped my ponytail over my head. "Cheat!"

  I was after her in an instant but London was incredibly agile and fleet of foot. She had taken to gymnastics early in our tenure with the Guard as a way to maintain her flexibility. I had to admit that some of her moves were breathtaking.

  "Enough!" Dawn said pointing at us. "You want to rough house, do it in the gym like normal people."

  "Who's she calling normal?" London asked, eyeing me.

  "Not me, I'm quite certain," I replied. I looked over at Cairo. He shook his head and held his hands up palms out in supplication. At that, we all turned to Vi.

  "Don't bring me into this, you little shits." She darted off behind the bar, which had long ago been deemed a safe zone from any our antics. Bartenders were unassailable.

  We turned back to Dawn, who stood with her fists on her hips, that matronly expression of disapproval plastered all over her beautiful porcelain face. London and I turned to one another.

  "Time to make a hasty retreat?" she asked.

  "Aye, aye, cap'n," I said. We were out the door before Dawn could begin her tirade on our lack of social graces.

  London and I made our way to her quarters where we both sunk into her sofa, laughing at our clean getaway. London's quarters were the polar opposite of mine and certainly not in line with her name. She took great pride in her Japanese heritage, garnered from her mother's side and it showed here in the depths of her home.

  The room was painted in shades of red and off-white, like parchment against a sunset. There was beautifully stroked Kanji lettering here and there and one wall was home to a gorgeous red and white kimono with the hand-sewn image of a golden crane emblazoned on the back. Above the kimono were two crossed katanas, adorned with elaborately decorated handles.

  "I always feel like I'm stepping into another world whenever I come in here," I said, my eyes taking in the room.

  "I'll take that as a compliment, then," London replied.

  "We have different ideas of refuge do we not?" I asked. I smiled at her, knowing how much she hated how staid my own quarters were.

  "If I've learned anything over the past, what, almost eighty years, it is that peace comes in many different forms. You have yours. I have mine. Nothing wrong with either one." She turned away for a moment and I thought she was going to say something else. Instead, she stood and walked over to the little refrigerator in the corner. I had one just like it in my room. "You want a pop?" I shook my head as she then turned and retrieved a bottled soda. I didn't really care for the carbonation of the drinks.

  "Sarah," I said, speaking gently. "Is there something on your mind? You seem a tad preoccupied."

  "Observant as always, my friend." She returned and sat on the sofa, facing me. She now had my full attention. "What do you think of the magistrate's new gal pal?" she asked, sipping on her soft drink.

  The question was an interesting one and I bit my tongue for a few seconds, thinking about how I truly felt about the magistrate having a girlfriend. In the end, it was really none of my business. "I don't actually know Cassandra. Why?" And there was the crux of it. London was a gossip girl, that was for sure, but the tone of her question was not along those lines. I wondered what she was getting at.

  "You've spent an awful lot of time with the man. Do you not care that he has taken up with some woman you don't know?"

  "London, I am not his mother."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it."

  I paused, shocked at what she was hinting. I had no attraction whatsoever to the magistrate and could never have. First off, the man was thousands of years older than I and he was far from my type. I frowned in response to her question and decided to let her have it. "Are you fucking bonkers? You think that the magistrate and I—"

  "You have to admit you've spent nearly as much time with him as you have the Guard over the years. Plus, it's been twenty years since Thorne. Who have you been with since?"

  "Firstly, you're off your rocker. Secondly, how do you see it fit to pry into my life like this? I do not track your every move, do I?" I was getting peeved, now.

  "I care about you, Paris. I'm only asking because I'm concerned."

  "Concerned about what?" I asked. She hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue on this line of thought or not. Then...

  "You're always alone."

  "No, I'm not. I'm with the Guard or, Asaro, training. Or, I'm hanging out with Garrett or the magistrate. Hell, I'm almost never alone!"

  "Calm down, sweetie," she cooed, placing her hand on my knee. I stared at her wondering if I should punch her or not. "You're my best friend in the world. I only want to see you happy. That's all."

  "And, you think I need a man in my life to make that happen?"

  "Or a woman," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders and a snarky grin. That cooled my heels and I was dumbfounded for a second until she laughed out loud. "Seriously? You've never even thought about it? Maybe that would be a nice diversion?"

  "Wait. You—"

  "Oh, God, no!" she cried, her eyes wide in realization of my assumption. "Not me. Just, someone."

  I took a mental step back and began controlling my breathing. This conversation had taken an unexpected turn. I ran the whole thing through my head once again and tried to gain some perspective. True, I had not been with anyone since Thorne but that whole experience had kind of turned me off of relationships for good reason. It had taken me years of denial and then introspection to fi
nally get past that betrayal.

  I did spend a lot of time training with the magistrate so, maybe, I could wrap my head around why London would have made that assumption, warped as it may have been. Did I have any interest in women? I searched my inner thoughts and fantasies for a moment or two. No. Nothing there. Okay, so the question du jour: was I lonely?

  "Sarah. My sweet friend," I began. "I think I see where you're coming from with this. but, trust me. I'm not lonely. I have a good life. I'm happy as I can be right now. Like you said earlier, peace comes in many forms. I am at peace. Isn't that enough?"

  London took my hand and I could see that, for some reason, she wanted so much more for me. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why. As she smiled, I saw that there were tears welling up in her eyes. "Paris," she said, gripping my hand tighter, "I love you like a sister. I always have. I worry for you in the same way."

  "Why on earth would you worry about me?" I asked. "After all that's happened over the past eighty years? Why?"

  "I watch you, day in and day out. I know you better than you know yourself. It's almost like you're blind to what you are truly capable of and that is what scares me most. That's why I worry. I want you to be happy. I want what's best for you, even if you don't realize it."

  "I don't understand. Why are you scared? What are you talking about?" I was so confused that I was tempted more than ever to slip into her mind to read her thoughts. In the back of my mind, I kept an internal list of all of the people that, for whatever reason I so chose, I would never enter their minds. Their inner thoughts and feelings were off limits. London's was the name at the top of that list.

  "I know you, Paris," she said. "You make out like all is well, that nothing can touch you. but, I know. I see it. You want to let loose so often. And, I commend you on your self-control and the grasp you have on every moment that comes up against you. Lately, though, I've noticed more and more of those moments. You keep a tight lock on that sharp tongue of yours but one day it will betray you. Mark my words."

  I tried not to laugh out loud at her concern, knowing how rude and inconsiderate it would be. Still, I smiled and wrapped my arms around her in a great and powerful hug. "You sweet thing," I said. "Just because I sometimes want to toss out a verbal barb here and there doesn't mean the end of the world. It's okay. I'm fine. I'll watch my tongue and you watch my back. How's that?"

  I felt her nod against my shoulder, her grip on me never lessening. We sat there for a long time, just holding on.

  CHAPTER 54

  1959, The Citadel, Age 82

  M y time with the magistrate had lessened significantly. After having mastered the art of blocking my thoughts, even from someone as powerful as he, our practice sessions moved into somewhat darker territory. We began exploring our subjects' "unconscious mind," as Freud had put it.

  When we are awake and active, it is our conscious mind running the show. However, according to Freud, the unconscious mind consists of the processes within the mind that happen automatically and are not necessarily available to introspection. These can include memory, automatic actions, habits, even hidden phobias and desires.

  We stood in the center of the magistrate's living room. A wooden chair placed before us held our subject. John Reichardt was a serial killer. He had been captured by one of our people, purely through accident of choice. He tried to strangle the girl. Needless to say, he only pissed her off and, since she happened to be local and only a few miles from the Citadel, she decided to deliver him to us for... whatever purpose.

  Reichardt was currently hypnotized into a deep sleep. My boss was a fucking master of the art, let me tell you. As belligerent as this murderer was upon being brought into the room, it was within five minutes that the magistrate had him under and sleeping like a baby.

  "That's a very handy talent," I commented, on the hypnosis. The magistrate nodded and winked at me but offered nothing more. I dropped the subject. If he ever wanted to pass that talent on, he now knew I was a willing student. As if he hadn't gathered that about me decades ago.

  "Let's see what you've learned," he said, his deep baritone voice still soft from the trance-speak he'd delivered to Reichardt. "We will both go in. Allow yourself to be seen by both him and me. Let us see what horrors lurk in the depths of this man's mind."

  I saw his eyes close and I began my breathing technique. Slower and slower, until I was taking only one breath a minute. I let my thoughts slip free and enter the mind of the murderer. At first, I encountered nothing but darkened corridors. The map of his mind. Then, I turned a corner and saw the magistrate waiting for me before a large, very solid-looking door.

  "Before this," the magistrate said, looking back down the dark corridors, "was only his conscious mind. Within it were all of the thought processes he could control and all of the action-taking that was purposeful to him." He turned to the door, which stood three feet taller than even the magistrate's head. "Behind this door is his Id, his unconscious mind. Let's see what secrets might be hidden from even Mr. Reichardt himself."

  He stepped up and grasped the handle of the door, turning it downward. It took obvious effort. It seemed that Reichardt's mind liked its privacy. Nevertheless, the latch finally gave way and we entered into madness.

  Before us lay a dark, dirt road speckled with what looked to be severed fingers. Upon closer inspection, the fingers were all small pinky fingers and most certainly from women only. I stared out at the road and then looked to the magistrate.

  "His trophies."

  It seemed that, after strangling his victims, Reichardt liked to keep souvenirs. "Well, that's disturbing," I said.

  As we walked along the road, the scenery grew more defined and more peculiar. On one side of the road were scattered rose bushes and other flowers, brightly colored and in full bloom. On the opposite side was a harsh landscape, although cultivated. I think the term used to describe it would be xeriscaped. Like a neatly organized desert.

  As we continued on, the road opened up to a large clearing in which sat a small town of sorts. The buildings, though, were twisted and curved, not structured in any sort of straight lines. The colors were all dull and lifeless. There were no people present that I could see. Then, I heard a voice.

  "You are interlopers, here."

  The magistrate and I exchanged a glance and then tried to pinpoint from where the voice had come. It was only a minute before a rather different version of Reichardt appeared from around the back of one of the houses.

  "Mr. Reichardt?" I asked. This version of the man, his mental image of himself, I presumed, was taller and more muscled. His eyebrows knitted down to a point above the bridge of his nose gave him a naturally angry appearance.

  "You shouldn't be here. Why are you here?" He stepped toward us with evident displeasure and I realized he was about to strike out at me when the magistrate raised his hand. The blow that should have befallen me was halted in mid-motion, barely after it began.

  "You can't do that! I am master here!" He was staring at me with murderous intent. It was as if he did not even notice the magistrate's presence. Out of curiosity, I stepped behind the magistrate, out of view of Reichardt, keeping my mental focus on him. His eyes never left mine.

  "Holy shit," I said. "This is some seriously warped psychosis going on here."

  "He is blind to me," the magistrate said. "I can only assume that this is the purest form of his hatred of women. Since I do not fit the mold of his hate, I am ignored. Interesting."

  I noticed the cold, observational tone of the magistrate's voice. He was not concerned for the well being of either of us. I took that as a good sign. That is, until Reichardt shifted appearance.

  I dodged from pure reflex, as the man leapt at me shifting into a half-man, half-wolf form, claws and fangs ready to engage.

  "Paris," the magistrate said, in that unconcerned tone, "you are not here, physically. Act like it. You can control yourself and the environment as much as he can. It is his mind and your mind t
hat are at odds, here. Take advantage of that. You are much more powerful than he."

  I understood immediately, halting in mid-stride and turning to face the monster Reichardt had become. I swept out with my hand, extending my reach through mental adjustment, striking him hard enough to break his neck. Of course, this was not the normal, physical world. He stood and shook himself off, using his long, clawed paws to snap his neck back into place.

  "Now, that is freaky," I commented.

  "Enough," the magistrate said, as the werewolf poised itself for another attack. "We will get nothing further from this one. Release yourself from his mind, Paris."

  With the speed of thought we were back, standing before the seated Reichardt in the magistrate's quarters. Reichardt was still sound asleep.

  "The man's an animal," I said to the magistrate with a wink. Rarely could I get a rise from the man but, at least, he gave me a slight grin.

  "Well done, Paris. We shall try again next week?"

  "Perhaps we could try a tamer subject?" I asked, turning to leave.

  "Where would the fun be in that?" he replied.

  CHAPTER 55

  PRESENT

  M y head swam as the nausea came and then faded quickly. I thanked all that was right in the world for my superior healing abilities. I was still in the passenger seat of the Lincoln. Doug, the monster, was rummaging in the trunk for the tools he would need to enjoy his night with a fine little girl.

  I took the opportunity to quietly slip out of the car, trying to limit as much movement to the vehicle as possible. I didn't bother to shut the door, just slipped into the night.

  We were parked in a secluded area, somewhere off of Interstate 95. A quick peek into Doug's mind let me know he'd used this spot before. Now knowing what he had in mind for me only firmed my resolve. I kept just out of the illumination provided by the headlamps of the car, which shone onto the ground surrounding a small but sturdy pine tree.

  I heard Doug's huff of exasperation upon seeing the passenger door open and his victim in the wind. In the light from the car's lights I saw that he help a length of rope and a pair of handcuffs. He turned about, trying to determine where I might have gone.