by Ash Krafton
"Yes," Shiloh said, and I pinched her leg.
"See you around." When Toby climbed out the cold air rushed inside and devoured all the heat. Shiloh turned up the heater full blast.
I honked the horn and drove off, watching in the rear-view mirror. Dahlia settled back in her seat with a pleased smile, waving through the window at Toby, who lingered on the corner. Her power pulsed with rosy tingles, a warm happy glow; the girl was definitely in like with him.
As I headed uptown to drop her off at her apartment, I kept a mental finger on the thread of her power, remembering a time long ago when I'd once felt that bright and optimistic feeling, hoping that her luck would be better than mine had been.
"What a night." Shiloh rested her head against the window once we dropped Dahlia off. "I'm pooped."
I circled the block and headed back downtown so I could get back on the parkway. "You look it, honey. Why don't you close your eyes?"
"I'm okay." She blinked drowsily. "I just get so tired these days. I guess school is catching up with me."
I suspected it was more than school that sapped her energy. "How do you feel?"
"I dunno. Tired, mostly. But sometimes my stomach hurts. I can't eat the way I used to."
"I can't eat the way you used to." I laughed, remembering her hollow legs.
She chuckled weakly but there was no humor in it. "Yeah, well, I can't eat sometimes, period. Even normal stuff, like tomato sauce or cheese. It makes me throw up and I'm always in the bathroom. And it just hurts, all the time."
"Maybe you need to see a doctor. Where's the pain? High up by your ribs? Down lower?"
She shook her head. "It's everywhere. And anyway, I told my dad a long time ago, when it first started. I had to go to his family doctor, and he was the one who said I was sick in the first place. He's the one that said I had hypolution."
"Oh. Rodrian told me about your therapy coming up." I glanced over at her as I slowed for a red light. We were near the intersection where we'd dropped Toby earlier. "Are you worried?"
She slumped down further in her seat. "Doesn't matter. It hurts so much sometimes that I think that maybe it'll be a good thing to go through with it. What can hurt more than it already does?"
She finally closed her eyes so I didn't say anything else. Waiting for the light to turn, I looked through the window and noticed a figure huddling against the glass of a store-front, taking shelter from the wind. It was another thing I hated about the winter; the nights were crowded with homeless who sought shelter in corners and on stoops and near steaming subway grates. I lived in a palace, for the love of God. How was any of that fair?
The cross traffic streaked past and headlights briefly illuminated the person squatting in the shadows. A glint of shiny caught my attention as light gleamed on the metallic print of the person's hood. As the light changed, I realized I recognized the shirt.
Dark red that blended with the cold bricks behind him, except for shiny streaks of jagged metallic paint that streaked down the hood and sleeves. I hesitated and the car behind me tapped its horn, causing the hooded figure to raise his head from the spot of warmth he'd created between his chest and knees. We looked at each other through the glass as the driver hit his horn in a longer, irritated-sounding blast.
Toby.
I swung the first turn I could but, by the time I managed to find my way through the one-way streets and much-too-long traffic lights, he was gone. I circled the adjacent blocks and scanned the streets. I didn't see him again.
Shiloh had fallen asleep and missed the whole episode. The ride home was long, quiet, and full of troubled thoughts of the young Were and whether he found a warmer place to sleep.
My dreams that night were only more of the same. Hard to rest easy in a mansion when all you could think about is a kid sleeping in a doorway.
Monday came and brought with it a fresh influx of petitions. I never thought I'd ever have wished for it but, just once, I longed to get a petty letter about choosing colors for bride's maids dresses or how do I tell my friend to leave my boyfriend alone or something—anything—that didn't turn my eyes blue at work. I knew I'd get caught sooner or later and the hell if I knew how I'd explain it to Barbara. She was big on eye contact.
I sorted the envelopes into their usual piles of column and petition, noticing that the petition pile was three times the size of the column. How did Sophias manage to help everyone who needed it? I was only skimming the DV by taking mail requests. There had to be even more out there that needed their burdens relieved.
How could I even begin to be what they needed?
First of all, I had no idea what to do about Shiloh. She looked worse every day and I knew the stress was eating her. Rodrian would be unnaturally quiet when he stopped by, preferring to sit in the den and read. I'd taken to splitting the couch with him, enjoying the blaze of the fire and the comfort of his presence. Although we chatted, he still remained distant. I'd even gone so far as to tell him about Eirene, the visiting Sophia, hoping this momentous news would liven him up.
He didn't show any interest in the subject whatsoever. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he didn't believe me that Eirene even existed. Eventually, he'd call one of his blood dates and leave to meet her, leaving me alone in a big house full of silence.
What kind of Sophia did that make me? I lived under the same roof as people who really needed me, and I read books with them. Wow. Pass the Sophia trophy on over.
And why the hell was I avoiding talking to Marek? If I were any kind of Sophia, I'd march right over to his townhouse, bust open the door, and drain him of every icy miserable feeling inside him. I'd Mr. Clean his soul until it shined like daylight on a mirror. I'd bring him back to rights, and this whole mess would be solved.
So why didn't I?
There was only one reason: I was inadequate. A charlatan, a snake-oil simile, a cheap knock-off of a real Sophia. Couldn't ask Barb for advice, could I? Nope. Not only would I lose my job—because who wants to pay an advice columnist who couldn't advise herself—but I'd lose my friend when she found out I'd kept my oracular secret from her all this time. She'd also probably get a restraining order on me once she saw my eyes go crazy blue.
I couldn't ask Dahlia because what would happen to me if the DV found out I sucked at being a Sophia? Would they run me out of town with pitchforks and jeers? Would I be turned away from restaurants and shoe boutiques because their DV owners banned me?
God, what a mess. And, great. I couldn't even ask God what to do because I lost my VIP voucher for Heavenly advice when vampires killed my priest and best friend.
What a train wreck.
Slicing open the column envelopes, I pulled the letters free and began skimming them for potential column topics. As hard as I tried to get into my work, I couldn't stop my inner diatribe.
At least I got to see Eirene tonight, I thought. She was the only person I knew with whom I could commiserate. Only thing was, Eirene wasn't the most compassionate of people I'd met. Maybe I was short-changing her—we'd only met once, after all, so I hadn't exactly taken a lot of time to know her. Maybe it was simply her country's custom to behave so sternly with strangers.
The thought didn't do much to put me at ease. Prickly was still prickly and prickly made for an uncomfortable time, especially for a hugger like me. I just had to give her another chance. The main thing was that Eirene was a Sophia and she had offered to teach me what I need to know. She was my Obi Wan. My only hope.
I grimaced. She'd be the crabbiest Jedi ever. Still, it would be better than trying to figure out the Force on my own.
"I want to know your life, Sophia." Eirene and I sat in the parlor of her hotel suite, where a spread of bread and cheeses and spicy crab dip covered the coffee table. Cheesy crabs equals amazing. "What makes you who you are?"
It wasn't worth a memoir, but I told her anyway. "Okay. I've lived in this area all my life. Grew up a little north of Allentown and went to college in Philly. I practiced nursin
g for a while before taking a job at The Mag, where I work now. I write an advice column, which is either coincidental or destined, considering that I'm Sophia."
"You make it sound like a list, dear."
"What else could it be?"
"I want to know who you are. The Sophia doesn't choose someone simply because they have a fitting occupation. What is within the woman matters."
"I don't know. I mean, I don't think I am anything special."
"Marek Thurzo thought you were special. Did he not? Wasn't he the one to discover you?"
Marek thought I was special, all right. So much so that he dumped me, despite me being his potential salvation. "I guess. He said there was a spark in me, a willingness to champion a lost cause. I've always been compassionate, to the point of self-sacrifice. It's not something to brag about."
"But it is something." She leaned to dunk a piece of bread into the creamy dip and set it on her plate. "Compassion, true concern for the plight of another, is rare today. Your description of self-sacrifice, however, confuses me."
Big shocker, I thought. "I'm too nice, or so I've been sneered at."
"Rightfully so."
I almost gasped. "Excuse me?"
"Too nice is not complimentary. It is a sign of epic weakness."
"Or maybe I'm just trying to be the change I want to see in the world."
"You are a Sophia who is only rudimentarily aware of her abilities and her duties." She sipped at her wine. "Focus on improving yourself. When you know yourself better, you will be better able to serve the world."
I really did not like this woman. I liked the idea that she might help me improve my oracular self, I liked her generosity with food, but I did not like her. How long would I sit here and tolerate her attitude before working up the courage to flip her off and walk out? Taking a big mouthful of dip only kept me from making a smart comment. It didn't give me a backbone.
Eirene didn't appear to realize I was coming to a boil beneath my skin. Or, if she did, she didn't give a turd. Some empath.
"Tell me about your family, your friends," she said. "The DV to whom you have grown close."
Lucky for me, the answers were the same for all three. I briefly told her about Rodrian and Shiloh, and our life together at the Stocks. She appeared keenly interested, sitting forward without wrecking her posture. I congratulated myself on picking the right topic.
"So," she said. "The child has hypolution. It is a concern, indeed. I have known many who did not survive."
"Lack of treatment?" I guessed.
"The treatment itself." She set her glass down and patted her fingers together. "It needs to be handled by a professional. Of course, in earlier times, there was no treatment. The strong survived, the weak did not. It is nature. Today we have advancements in technology and medicine and the DV have a greater understanding of their biological systems. Still. Blood in an uncusped DV can have drastic effects."
"Drastic?" I didn't like the sound of it. "How drastic?"
"The DV who is forced to cusp comes into an unnatural power. Their power lies dormant and forcing it to awaken often strips the Demivampire of the ability to control their power."
"Is it painful?"
She nodded. "And it is dangerous. Not only to the patient but also to others unfortunate to get in the way of their unleashed energy. Who is this family?"
I didn't want to blurt out Rodrian's business. He confided in me, for one thing, and I knew enough about patient privacy to respect it. Still, she knew about Marek and that I'd been involved with him. She was a Sophia, after all. If she knew, she could help.
Isn't that what I wanted? For a Sophia to help Marek? This was one of those times to err on the side of helpfulness. And if I wasn't enough to help Shiloh, it was my duty to find someone who could. "It's Thurzo."
"Marek's family," she confirmed.
"Yes." I prepared to duck her criticism.
It never surfaced. "Good. It is proper that you are shown your due. You deserve a nice home. Of course, in my land, where the Sophia is venerated, this is the very least of tribute but it is a start. Remember. It is one thing to provide guidance. But to directly assist in treatment of hypolution?" She clucked her tongue. "That is asking much, even from one who is so selfless and giving."
She made it sound so sissy. I almost hackled. Well, I goose-bumped. Same thing. "I wouldn't call it directly assisting. I'm more emotional support."
"Result is the same."
Feeling I'd lose no matter what I said, I changed the topic. "Is it only the DV that recognize the Sophia?"
"Who else would?"
"Weres, perhaps?"
"Weres." Her upper lip curled as if she tasted something bad. "Surely you do not mean lycanthropes?"
"I do."
"What would possess you to even consider them? Animals! They are beneath the regard of the Demivampire, and should be beneath yours, as well."
"But, they're people—"
"Once, perhaps, but no longer. Their blood is tainted. Poisoned. They lure the unsuspecting Demivampire into taking their blood, cursing them to wretched animal form. The world would be better if it were purged of the filthy lot of them."
Marek would have enjoyed this particular conversation. I could imagine him leaning back, crossing his fingers over his chest, and wearing a smirk that said See? I told you so. "Did you just refer to the Horus Bird Phenomenon?"
"Do not romanticize it with elevated titles."
"I'm not." Lifting my chin, I tried to look smug and well-informed. "Marek owns a laboratory that researches it. That's the terminology they use."
"Research? What is there to know? It's a curse. It steals everything from a Demivampire—their memories, their power. Their destinies. The Curse of Horus is a tale to be told to young Demivampires, to warn them of what will befall those who stray too far from their own kind. If bloods mix, the curse takes hold. The Demivampire becomes an abomination."
She glanced around, as if worried someone could overhear. In a more subdued voice, she continued. "And so. What has his research yielded?"
"They are looking for a way to reverse the process."
"Prevention is key. Kill the shape shifters, eliminate their poisoned blood, and the problem ceases to exists."
I studied my lap for a moment, my lips pinched shut so I didn't get myself kicked out of Sophia class. Conversations with Eirene, I found, were strenuous exercises in diplomacy. I didn't realize the society of Sophia would be so bipartisan. "Killing is wrong."
"Is it not wrong to cause destruction? Is it wrong to eradicate a disease?"
"People, Eirene. They are people."
"Your concern should only be the welfare of Demivampire." She waved to Dorcas and the maid cleared the table. "Is your heart in the vocation?"
"How can you even ask that?"
"It is my duty to ask. We are a small but vital resource to the Demivampire. A faulty Sophia will do more damage than good."
Yeah. Faulty. A good word for a nagging suspicion. "I know I haven't been nominated for Sophia of the Year, but...how bad am I? Am I hopeless?"
"Oh, no." She left her seat to sit next to me, patting my hand and doing this polite hug-thing with a light touch on my shoulder. "Not hopeless, dear. Just untrained. We can discuss your technique. You primarily practice through correspondence, yes?"
At my nod, she continued. "Then we will explore opportunities to expand your practice. Most of your...deficiency, I suspect, is theoretical. You must establish your station. Learn to take what you deserve. We will also approach the subject of understanding the importance of selection."
I shrugged. "Which is?"
She pressed me again with her polite half-hug. "Knowing who to save and who to let go."
Maybe Eirene was right, I thought, as I drove back to the Stocks. Tired as I was, I was grateful for the light traffic. I liked having the road to myself. It gave me the opportunity to drive lazy.
I also liked a chance to use my high beams. I cou
ld actually see the road that way. The Cavalier was getting a little old and could benefit from new headlights, as well as a long list of upgrades. Oh well, it was owned. Not having a car payment was a wonderful thing.
Eirene's words were stuck on repeat: I needed to establish my station. As much as I hated agreeing with her, she'd made a point worth considering. If I established my station, perhaps I would grow into the role a bit better. I needed to stop acting like a Sophia and actually be a Sophia.
It was time I got a promotion. But how?
I thought about what I did as a Sophia: I wrote letters. That was pretty much it. However, didn't Eirene say that correspondence was a good thing? Okay, then. I did most of my Sophia work at, well, work. However, it wasn't like I could apply for a Sophia-related position at The Mag.
I could, however, use a little leverage. Didn't my column bring in extra income for the company? Wasn't I working harder than ever to get more columns out to more markets? Sophia or no, I was an asset to The Mag now. I deserved a little something, I'd say.
Such as a real office.
I'd been in the same cubicle for almost seven years. Seven years of no privacy. Seven years of overheard conversations. Seven years of other people's aftershave and perfume and sneezes wafting in and contaminating every-thing in my cube. Once, I erected a beach umbrella roof over my cube but the nasty office manager made me take it down. I'd been considering plastic wrapping the top ever since.
Recently an office had opened up when an editor retired. Although it was being used for storage at the moment, I couldn't see why I couldn't ask for it. An office would give me the privacy I needed to get the petition letters read and copied into the column. Imagine that—doing work at work instead of at home. What a novel concept.
If I could convince Barb to give me the office, it would definitely help make it feel as if I'd earned some type of station—and this was as close as it was going to get to ranking up as an actual Sophia. After all, less distraction meant better Sophia action for my Demivamps. The two jobs were really closer to being one and the same.