by S. M. Beiko
A Crown of Horns
I’d been letting the shower run over me for the past fifteen minutes, my skin one overheated red welt. I sat in the corner of the tub, only just now satisfied that I had gotten all the black crap out of my hair and scrubbed from under my fingernails. The scene with the Allens as they collected Barton stabbed me afresh every time I pictured him, limp and reduced in his father’s arms. They didn’t bring an ambulance, didn’t want to make a scene, but Rebecca Allen looked ready to assault me when I tried to apologize, tried to explain.
“You stay the hell away from my son!” she screamed as she got into the back seat with Barton’s prostrate body. The car doors slammed and they peeled away, leaving only scarlet hatred in their wake. They earned that right. I had practically killed him. Or whatever was left of him.
I shut the water off. I wasn’t ready to get out just yet, so I slicked back my dripping, spiky hair and drew my knees up to my chin, digging them into my eyes to calm myself. I wanted to let flow some loud, body-wracking sobs, but I heard a rustling from the other side of the shower curtain and drew it aside so I could check who it was before going all hopeless-weepy-shower-scene.
Sil was rifling through my ruined clothes, covered as they were in the scum from this afternoon. She recoiled in a savage sneezing fit, growling all the while.
“What is this?” she said through bared teeth in the direction of my laundry. “What happened to you?”
I let the shower curtain go, switching from despair to anger with the swish of the plastic. “Go away, Sil.”
Her snout nosed through the curtain, and a paw followed.
“I said go away!” I snapped, pushing her head off as it tried to sneak through.
It was strange to hear her whimpering like a chastised dog. “Please, Roan. We need to talk about this.”
“Sil, I’m naked and I’m upset and I don’t want to talk to you.” I pulled my legs in tighter. “If you had actually been there for me, you’d know what happened!”
Silence. I watched her shadow retreat out of view and was satisfied.
The next thing I saw was a ball of Sil crashing through the daisy-patterned shower curtain, which tore away from its moorings with her in it.
“Goddammit, Sil!”
Sil freed herself from her vinyl wrappings, shook herself, and came in for more investigative sniffing. “Are you hurt?” she asked, but I pushed her away again.
“Knock it off, okay? I’m fine.” On the outside, maybe. Inside I felt ripped to shreds, and wondered what it was going to take to ever feel ready. “Where were you? I seriously needed your help and what were you doing, napping?” I stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel from the rack to cover myself.
She sighed. “I can’t follow you everywhere, Roan. I didn’t think you’d be careless enough to throw yourself at the river when you knew those things would be there waiting for you.”
“I’m careless? You knew I wasn’t ready to face those things and you left me alone to get a crash course in demon dissection!” I cried. “If you had been there, you could’ve gone all Flareon on them and none of this would’ve happened!” I sank to the floor beside the tub, staring blankly at a clump of hair underneath the sink. I just wanted someone else to blame. “Barton got hurt. Bad. And I know it’s my fault, okay? I know I couldn’t protect him.” It was stupid of me to think I could.
Sil rested her front paws on the bathtub lip and put her head against my arm. “Perhaps you set your sights on him as an ally too quickly. You should accept this and just let him go.”
I levelled Sil with a disgusted glare. “So I put him in the line of fire and leave him to die?”
Sil shrugged her little fox shoulders. “What do you want me to say? What use would he have been to you, hobbled as he is? He was a target waiting to be struck. You need to focus and train, and most of all surround yourself with strong allies who can help you in this fight. What chance do you have of defeating Zabor with a powerless cripple, anyway?”
Sil yipped as I hauled her out of the tub, half-throwing, half-dumping her onto the floor, where she slid across the bathroom tile. She recovered gracefully, taking a defensive stance and turning her hot Fox glare on me.
Ifrit be damned. “You’re a shitty excuse for a spirit guide, you know that?” I found myself shouting, now on my feet and ready to rumble. “I know Barton was meant to help me do this horrible godforsaken task you forced me into. Now he’s suffering because of me, and your backhanded comfort is that I should just move on? You pathetic. Little. Creep!” I pitched my dirty laundry at her, then stormed out of the bathroom and tore through my drawers for fresh clothes. “I refuse to give up on him. I don’t care what you say. I’m going to save him.”
I tried to snarl at Sil with some authority and did a double take when I saw her sitting primly in the bathroom doorway, appearing calm and complacent from under my black-stained jacket. “Good. I thought I lost you for a second, there.”
Sil’s tirade had succeeded almost too well in getting me out of my black mire of misery and back on my feet. “Oh,” was all I could say. Then I frowned. “Wait. Are you going to help me, then?”
She shook off my clothes as I pulled on fresh pants. “I’ll obviously help you learn to better defend yourself. But you came out alive, and judging by your clothes you came out the victor.”
“Not much of a victory,” I muttered, pulling my socks on. I swallowed as my mind swept through the montage of this morning’s dead girl plus Barton.
“Barton’s not a casualty yet,” Sil reminded me. “You may be able to help him. But we’ll have to see him first.”
I snorted. “Yeah, if I can us get past his mother.” I dug through my bag and pulled out what remained of the broken glass dagger covered in solidified muck. I had forgotten all about destroying my only weapon. “Sorry, Sil. I really don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You will. Have some faith.” Sil put her nose to the broken blade, and before I could do anything, it caught fire. I recoiled but didn’t dare let it go; how would I explain a giant burn mark in the carpet to Deedee?
“What the hell?!” But the fire wasn’t hot to me, and as I relaxed my hand around the hilt, the flames burned the black away. When they flickered out, I held a fresh garnet blade — longer this time, almost a sword. It glinted and I felt warm with possibility.
“Next time I’ll be ready,” I assured Sil. Assured myself. The day was young. I could fix this.
My phone went off somewhere in my discarded clothes. I lunged for it, hoping that it was Barton messaging me to say he was okay or that he hated my guts. Either would be okay, because it would mean he was alive and cogent.
It was Phae. Several messages asking where I’d disappeared to after the assembly. She said she was starting to worry, and that she just wanted to know I was okay. I definitely wasn’t, but I knew I’d have to reply sooner or later.
I went straight home, I lied. I’ve just been stressed. No need to worry. Going to a friend’s house.
She must’ve been waiting by her phone, because her reply came in a digital flash: Which friend? Do you need a ride? I’m free if you want to talk.
I didn’t know when the time would be right to talk to her without double-dealing through my teeth, but it definitely wasn’t now. I’m fine, no worries. The biggest lie I could conjure. And I left it at that.
For now, I had to concentrate on getting Sil and me undetected out of the house. “Can’t you just go invisible or something?” I asked her. “How else have you been avoiding Arnas and Deidre?”
“Lots of empty rooms and unchecked beds,” she replied as we left the bedroom.
We made it to the stairs, with me in the lead. I knew Deedee was a safe bet for being tangled up in her regular routine, but Arnas could be lurking anywhere, home-office layabout that he was. Sure enough, I heard the television on in the living room, volu
me set low. It was the local news, reporting on the girl I’d found this morning. She was my age and had so much ahead of her. Like all victims do.
I went to turn the corner towards the kitchen and, ultimately, the back door, when Arnas walked directly into my path. I was 0 for 2 for running into him. He was on the phone, and he jumped back from me as though I’d burned him all over again. “I’ll call you back,” he spat, and hung up.
I peeked around the stairs to see Sil within inches of me and tried to motion with my eyes for her to go back, but she didn’t move.
“What are you doing here?” A fresh interrogation.
“Uh. I live here?”
He scowled. “Why aren’t you in school?”
I thumbed casually at the TV. “You’re the one watching the news. A student from my school was found dead this morning. They let classes out.” Try not to look guilty, I commanded my face.
Arnas grimaced and walked into the living room to shut off the screen. Sil took the chance to dart around the corner and towards the door. I trailed behind, hoping to grab a spare jacket from the closet on the way, since mine was mucked up. All I could find was one of Deedee’s fancy wool trench coats with a hood. Barely appropriate for subzero weather, but it’d have to do.
Arnas hurried around the corner. Man, he was a terrible set of eyes for whoever he was working for. “W-where are you going now?”
I opened the door just in time to let Sil out, undetected. Hearing his classic stutter made me feel immediately less threatened; this was going to be easier than I thought. So I got mouthy.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I grinned, saluting and hustling out the door and into the deep-freeze. I’d left my bike neglected in a snowbank after the morning’s festivities and, pressed for time, I heaved it up onto my back and ran towards the street. Sil kept pace.
“I don’t think I’ll have enough room in my coat for you this time,” I panted, dropping the bike at the road, letting it bounce on its huge tires while I steadied it. Sil skidded to a halt and leapt, deft claws scrabbling up my body until she settled over my shoulder like a living fur stole.
“Hurry!” she hissed as I mounted, and we both whipped our heads around as a jacketless Arnas rushed out to his car. He was coming after me. I instantly regretted mouthing off. He scrambled into the driver’s seat, and for a split second he took the two of us in — delinquent should-be-dead niece and blatantly real fox in tow. I mounted my bike and pedalled hard, trying to ignore the slam of Arnas’s car door or the tires struggling out into the street after us.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I gritted my teeth, pumping my battle-sore legs, determined to get max power. Sil and I shoulder checked as Arnas’s SUV revved in our wake. The cold air burned my ears and skin as we cut through it. I wove into the oncoming lane, hoping that would deter him, but it didn’t.
“There’s no way I can outride him!” I shouted. “We’re going to have to bail!”
We were coming up onto the train tracks and the river on our left. In spring there was a clear path up to the pedestrian train bridge towards Omand’s Creek, but now it was buried in snow, and my tires could only cut through so much. I wrenched the handlebars and we plowed off the road, tumbling arse-over-teakettle down the short grade into the snow.
I heard Arnas’s brakes slam, tires skidding on the black ice on the road; he wasn’t desperate enough to pursue us at the risk of getting stuck in a snowdrift. I tripped to my feet, abandoning the bike, and Sil raced after me, clumps of snow falling from our respective coats as we bolted.
Arnas’s diminished screams carried on the wind: “You leave Barton Allen out of this! You leave him alone! You hear me?”
“Keep going!” Sil snarled, and neither one of us looked back as we pushed our bodies up the hill and over the pedestrian bridge, over the river and around the corner, down to the creek and up again, onto Wolseley Avenue. I stopped us a few blocks from the park where we’d met our river hunters, and we ducked into a back lane.
Sil panted at my heels, clouds of hot breath steaming around us. “Why did you stop?”
We’d risked more than I’d wagered in the last ten minutes — Arnas attempting to turn us into a new hood ornament, broken bones cushioned by frostbite, and a river hunter run-in, since we were near their territory now. I was cold and sweating and my skin felt like it was going to peel off from frostbite. So naturally I burst out laughing, and it hurt my ribs and made me collapse against someone’s badly painted backlot garage, but I laughed anyway.
“Pull yourself together,” Sil snapped.
I sighed. “It’s just . . . I have no idea where Barton actually lives.” The laughter bubbled up again, turning into sobs. “Maybe we can go back and ask Arnas?”
Everything had happened so fast, and I didn’t dare follow the Allens when they’d come for Barton. All I knew is that they lived in this general neighbourhood . . . but short of going door to door, I was screwed.
“Hmm” — Sil paced on the icy pavement — “did you touch him at all? When he was injured?”
The way things went down, I couldn’t remember that fine a detail, but . . . images played in my memory like scenes from an old film: the gash on his chest as I peeled his jacket from it, the way he had grabbed me before succumbing to unconsciousness. “Yes. I mean, well, he touched me.”
“Then there is a way to find him. His touch means that your body knows his spirit energy, consciously or not. You must try to pinpoint it inside you, and to see it outside.”
I screwed my face up. “Oh wow, mystical fox lady, that sounds so easy to do, let me just tap into that.” I tightened my face and strained. “Nope, nothing, sorry.”
Sil’s hackles lifted. I wondered if she could burst into flames just from being annoyed. “Do you want my help or not, you ungrateful pup?”
“Well, come on, you aren’t helping anyone by being so extremely vague. How am I supposed to do any of what you’re saying with zero context?”
“Focus, that’s how!” she barked. “Focus, and concentrate. You’ve done it before with your eye when looking out into the world. Now, focus it inward, find the memory of Barton’s spirit, because it has imprinted on you. You’re a Fox, for pity’s sake. You were born to hunt.”
She was right. This was a hunt. I shut my eyes and held my breath.
I tried to visualize again, this time travelling inward and ordering myself to calm down. I felt a warmth spark and spread through me, banishing the numbness in my fingers and flesh, and kneading my muscles. If it was that easy to turn on my spirit-furnace, the harsh Winnipeg winters wouldn’t stand a chance.
I frowned. Okay, focus. I pictured a series of nerve lines, of threads, and I followed the synapses as I searched for Barton, putting the memory of him reaching out and grabbing me on a loop, until it felt as though his hand were right there on my flesh. The warmth ignited into a flame, and I opened my eyes with a jolt. The feeling stayed there, as if he was beside me, and I saw — maybe with my spirit eye, or maybe it was a helpfully conjured hallucination — whatever it was, it was a silvery outline that guttered like frozen lamplight, and it was beside me and waiting. I got to my feet without taking my eyes off it, and it shot into the air, leaving a bright streak behind it.
“Do you see the path?” Sil asked. “Do you feel it?”
“Yeah. I see it!” Maybe I wasn’t so dumb after all. I didn’t know if I could help him yet, but this was better than nothing. “Let’s go!”
It turned out that we weren’t that far away, and we found the silver bulb of light on Telfer Street, hovering over the porch of a plain raised bungalow, the only house with a ramp. Maybe you should’ve looked for that first, genius.
As soon as I reached the stoop, the light fell to the ground, a fading star.
“What if we’re too late?” I whispered. Was the light Barton’s spirit? Was he giving up the fight?
&n
bsp; I set a foot on the steps, but before I could even move, the outer door swung open, and Mrs. Allen’s appearance paralyzed me.
For a second we were both lost for words, me swallowing the growing lump in my throat, her looking menacing with her pinched, reddening face, but she finally yelled, “Get off my property! Get out of here!”
I backed away, hands up, surrendering. “Please, Mrs. Allen. I know it’s my fault, but I just want to see —”
“You think I’d let you anywhere near my son after what you’ve done? Get out of here before I call the police, you little . . .” Her tirade died out, and I followed her gaze down. She was staring at Sil — surprised, alarmed? Sil hadn’t erupted into fiery doom, and she was trying to do as I was — keep things calm. But something passed between them, and Mrs. Allen had a look of frightened familiarity, especially when Sil spoke. “We are only here to help, Rebecca. If you care for your son, you will let us in.”
She seemed to shrink back into herself, moving towards the door and clutching it for support. “But . . . you —”
“What’s going on?” said a third voice, this time male. I recognized Mr. Allen as he appeared in the doorway, dark face pale, sleeves rolled up, glasses askew. He was the spitting image of Barton and looked like he’d been neck-deep in something haunting. I focused my spirit eye and, yes, he was a Rabbit. But where his wife was anxious and flighty, he seemed more grounded, more still and composed. And maybe he would listen to reason.
“David, keep them here, I’m calling the council!” Rebecca pivoted to get past him, but he caught her by the elbow.
“Becca, stop,” he sighed. “We can’t afford a scene right now.”
“Don’t talk to me about what we can afford! If she’s here, she’ll attract the hunters, and Barton will be finished. Think of your son!”
“I am!” he snapped, eyes darting from his wife to Sil and me at the bottom of his steps. He let the tension in his body drop as he gathered her to him, and she buried her face in his chest. But he was looking straight at me even as he comforted her.