We both seemed to take that advice because we both went very still, staring at each other. His gaze was insistent. Worried even. Was he actually worried for me?
At last, I released a painful breath and shut my eyes. “Fine.” I spit out. “Idiot.”
“Thank you.” Itazura settled a hand over my ribs. His touch brought pain only for a few seconds, but when a familiar blue light flashed from his palm, my agony slowly drained from my body. I could inhale without wanting to die. The pain simply melted away, like the wax of a tiny candle. Within a minute, it had disappeared altogether, minus the soreness in my muscles and the burning in my back from the glass shards. My head had stopped aching too and I could think a little more clearly.
Exhausted I collapsed against the pillow, drawing in deep, beautiful gulps of air.
“Better?” Itazura asked. His smile seemed wearier than usual.
“Yes.” I nodded weakly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Itazura said, fiddling with one of his pocket watches—the broken one—again. The cracked surface flashed in the dim light.
“It’s broken,” I murmured.
“What? Oh, yes.” Itazura had looked down at the trinket as if he had just noticed the flaw. “It is.”
“Then why do you keep it?” I asked. “You’re always playing with it. Why keep a broken pocket watch? Can’t you afford ones that work?”
“I see working clocks all day every day,” Itazura said after a pause. “It’s a change of pace, you know? Mischief always likes a change of pace.” He stowed the watch back in his jacket pocket. I sensed he was hiding something but I was too tired to ask.
“How are you feeling, little thief?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I’m not dying,” I said. “In fact, if it wasn’t for the glass stuck in my back I’d be feeling pretty wonderful right about now.”
“Glass?” Itazura’s eyebrows shot up. “Exactly how did you manage to get glass stuck in your back?”
“The wendigo plowed me through a bunch of broken pocket watches,” I ran a hand through my hair. “Scratched it up pretty good. If I had been wearing one of my usual jackets I would have been fine but since I kind of charged off without thinking. . . .”
“You weren’t,” Itazura finished. “Roll over, little human.”
I shot him a suspicious glance. “The scratches on my back aren’t deadly. You don’t need to heal them. You only get to heal ribs and vital organs.”
Itazura rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to heal your back. That would be a waste of my energy. I’m not an idiot, no matter what you might believe.”
“So what are you planning to do?” I asked warily.
“I’m going to get the pieces of glass out of your back,” Itazura said. “I hear untreated cuts from glass can lead to a nasty infection. It’s probably best you get the shards out before the skin grows over them. Roll over.”
I grunted. “Is this going to be painful?”
“Next to getting your fingers nearly sliced off and having half your rib cage broken? Not really,” Itazura said.
I sighed and obeyed. My muscles groaned in protest at this movement and I winced as the texture of the couch grated against the tiny glass shards stuck in my back but the pain abated when I rested on my stomach. Itazura’s fingers brushed the edge of my shirt and I tensed.
“Wait,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Before you lift up my shirt,” I muttered. “Tell me this. Can I trust you not to do anything . . . bad?”
“That’s a very poorly worded, vague question,” Itazura said. “Being the god of all things mischievous and untrustworthy, trust is something I can never exactly guarantee. Try being a bit more specific.”
I exhaled, “Can I trust you not to try anything with me while you’re doing this?”
“Is my name Meroquio? Of course I’m not going to try anything with you,” Itazura said. “Quite frankly, little human, you’re scratched up, bruised, covered in blood and very grumpy. None of those traits pique my interests. Does that answer your question?”
I exhaled and forced myself to relax again. “Guess so.” A brief silence filled the room before I said. “But just in case you do–”
“You won’t hesitate to pummel me multiple times with your left fist, I know.” Itazura shook his head. “Janet. Relax.”
“Sorry.” I rested my cheek against the cushions. “Carry on.”
“Thank you.” Itazura slowly lifted up my torn shirt, moving it carefully so as not to irritate my skin any more.
He whistled. “That’s a lot of glass. No wonder your shirt got torn up.”
“That bad?” I asked weakly.
“Worse,” Itazura said. “Hold on. I think Laetatia keeps tweezers in this room for occasions such as these.”
I watched him as he flitted across the room to the private bar and began shuffling through the cabinets. “Mind if I ask why Laetatia would need tweezers?”
“Drunk people break glasses.” Itazura shrugged. “And they fall a lot. Add broken glass to a large crowd of rowdy, clumsy people and you get a nasty combination. Ah ha!” He drew out a shiny pair of tweezers from the drawer. “Anyway, Laetatia is the Goddess of Festivities. As such she keeps tools for all sorts of bizarre situations and injuries.”
“Thank you, Laetatia,” I murmured.
Once Itazura located a bowl for the glass pieces, he set to work. He moved nimbly, causing as little pain as possible given the situation. But that didn’t keep me from cursing every time he plucked a piece from my back.
“I hate my life,” I muttered into the pillows of the couch after Itazura extracted a particularly large piece of glass and placed it in the bowl with a clink.
“It could be worse,” Itazura said. “You could be dead. Then you wouldn’t have a life to complain about at all.”
“Somehow I think that would be an improvement,” I said.
We were silent for a long while, except for my grunts of pain. Without conversation to distract me, memories of my dream slipped back in. Funny, it played through my head more like a bad memory than an actual dream. Every detail seemed so fresh. The words. The sensations. I touched my neck where the girl had wrapped her fingers around my throat and squeezed.
Too late.
Always too late.
And maybe it was. If the wendigoes had raided the prison then my friends. . . .
“What’s wrong, little human?” Itazura asked.
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Then why are you crying?” Itazura asked.
“What?” I glowered at him. “I am not crying.”
“I would check again, because I think you are,” Itazura said.
He had to be messing with me. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I–I touched my face just below my eye. Wetness dampened my fingertips. “Oh gods, I am.”
“I know,” Itazura said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I croaked. “Just in pain, that’s all.”
“Little human, in the time I’ve known you you’ve been kicked half to death by a shape shifter, you’ve almost lost your fingers, you’ve broken part of your rib cage, and you’ve had a killer hangover that would put some gods out of commission. All of those things are far more painful than what you are experiencing right now,” Itazura said. “But you never cried. You don’t cry at pain. The only time I’ve seen you tear up is after your encounter with Meroquio. And you weren’t crying because of pain. Not physical at least.”
“Since when did you become so observant?” I murmured after a pause. And how had he noticed me crying in the middle of the rain? I had surely turned away before the tears started.
“I’ve lived amongst humans for a while. I’m good at figuring out how they work in a short amount of time.” Itazura shrugged. I flinched as he plucked another shard of glass from my back. “So?”
“So what?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you crying?”
“Kova said the wendigo hoard picked up a meal of souls when they went through the prison,” I said, instead of giving him a straight answer. “What did she mean?”
“Do you not know what a wendigo is?” Itazura asked.
“Not really, no,” I said. “I know I fought one today, but I’m not exactly clear on what she was. She seemed as if she could control wind, or something. And even though she was in human shape she looked. . . .”
“Not entirely solid?” Itazura finished for me.
“More or less,” I said.
“That’s because wendigoes were first created by the master of winds. Autumn, the Elder God. He was the most chaotic of those four,” Itazura said. “He created the wendigoes for a bit of fun, because he didn’t relate to the ways of humans. After all, weather and seasons go on, even when humans do not exist. Wendigoes were more to his liking.”
“And what do they do?” I asked. “They eat people?”
“Not exactly,” Itazura paused with his tweezers. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glance of his heavy expression. He seemed to be trying to find the best words to minimize my likely strong reaction. “They dine on human souls. Not their bodies.” He rubbed a hand nervously over the back of his head. “Basically, since the soul is what moves on into one of the realms of afterlife–Paradise, the Abyss or Purgatory–the wendigo keeps the human it consumes from moving on. It traps the soul in an eternity of torment surrounded by other souls as it is slowly driven insane.”
I guess Itazura pretty much gave up on finding the best words, because his explanation was probably the worst possible thing I could hear. My throat closed up. The invisible noose returned, but this time it wasn’t a dream. More tears sprang to my eyes, the beginnings of a flood I couldn’t stop.
“Then . . . when they went through the prison, my friends were–”
“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion so soon,” Itazura said.
“Why not?” My voice cracked. “It seems pretty obvious. My friends were trapped in a cell with no weapons. If one of those creatures found them, they wouldn’t be able to run or fight back.” Hysteria started to take hold and my flood kept coming, much to my horror. I could count on two hands how many times I had cried in my life and yet in the last two days, I had cried twice. Both in front of the damn God of Mischief. “They’re gone. One of those things ate their souls and now they’re suffering because of me.”
“Janet.”
“If I had acted faster, or given in to Meroquio or something, then maybe they would be alive. But I didn’t. And now they’re all suffering because of me, because I couldn’t save them.”
“Janet, stop,” Itazura said, but I kept going like he hadn’t spoken at all.
“You said the clock wasn’t ticking on them. That they would be fine. ‘They aren’t in a burning building, little human,’ that’s what you told me.”
My fingers dug into the cushions. I wanted to rip them apart. I wanted to rip something other than my heart apart. “Well, they were on a ticking clock and I failed them. Just like I failed before. Just like I’ve always failed. I’m–”
“Janet, shut up.” Itazura snapped, gripping my shoulder hard enough to make me wince. The words died in my throat at his hard tone. I’d never heard him speak in such a severe voice. “Great Abyss, I hate it when you humans do this. You go over all the things you should have done in your head as if somehow that will make things any better.
“I may not believe our world is completely governed by fate in time but I do know this about the clock. It can’t be turned back. Not by guilt. Not by anger. Not by placing blame. Not by cursing or wishing or wallowing around in our sorrow. Time keeps on going. And it’s cruel, but you can’t do a damn thing about it. Even the gods can’t turn back time.”
I turned my head into the cushion, as if I could block out his words but he jerked my shoulder.
“Janet, look at me.” Slowly I turned my head and found Itazura kneeling beside the couch looking straight into my eyes. “Whatever happened to your friends isn’t your fault. You couldn’t have protected them. And even if you had persuaded Meroquio, the word wouldn’t have gotten out in time. I said I would release them after the majority of the human race found out about this.
“Rumors take time. If I had known this would happen. . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Look, if you want to blame someone, if that really makes you feel better, you might as well blame me.
“Isn’t that what a lot of humans do when they’re angry? Blame the gods.” He looked back at me. “Just don’t blame yourself. It really gets under my skin. This wasn’t your fault. This happened because of circumstances a whole lot bigger than you. More than you can even understand.”
“I know it’s bigger than me,” I murmured. “That’s why I can’t understand why you would go to me. Why not someone else? Anyone else?”
“It doesn’t matter why I chose you,” Itazura said. “But I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you would succeed. I’m sorry about what happened to your friends along the way. I didn’t want them to be hurt. Do you trust me on that?”
I laughed weakly. “Trust the God of Mischief?”
Itazura’s mouth twitched. “I don’t lie all the time, little human, as fun as it is.” He reached out and grasped a strand of my hair between his fingers, twirling it absently. “And I’m trying not to lie to you.”
I bit my lip and closed my eyes as more tears threatened to spill over. “I just wish–”
“I know.” Itazura murmured. “Don’t devote your wishes to the past, Janet. Those never come true. The future comes with so many more possibilities.” He shrugged. “Besides, they could have survived. There would have been a commotion. The vigilants wouldn’t be concerned with the prisoners. They could be all right.”
“Do you really believe that?” I stared up at him.
“There’s always a possibility,” Itazura said slowly. “But whatever the case . . . don’t blame this on yourself anymore. Blame me if you have to.”
“I can’t blame you,” I muttered. “Even though I wish I could. You’re making it difficult.”
“Really? How so?” Itazura asked.
“You’ve sort of saved my life twice. I wouldn’t be very grateful if I blamed you for this now.”
“True, but that hasn’t stopped you from verbally abusing me every chance you get,” Itazura said.
“You ask for it,” I countered.
He chuckled and let my strand of hair fall from his fingers. “Perhaps I do.” For a moment, we just stared at each other again. And maybe it was my imagination, but his face seemed to drift a little closer to mine. A strange gleam lit his eyes, something I couldn’t name. My mind had gone startlingly blank.
After what seemed like an eternity, Itazura stood abruptly. “We should probably get the rest of this glass out of your back.”
“Yeah.” I released a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding. “Good idea.”
We didn’t speak for the remainder of the night, an amazing feat considering how much we usually argued.
I guess in that moment, nothing more needed to be said.
woke the next morning to the feeling of a cool cloth dabbing against my still deep wounds. I flinched as the cloth pressed against a particularly nasty cut. “Ow.”
“Good morning,” Laetatia said, cheerfully. “Itazura said that your back might need cleaning this morning, so he sent me to handle it.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I muttered.
“You slept through it for quite a while,” Laetatia said. “I’ve been at this for five minutes and you’re just now waking up. Wendigo fights take it out of you, don’t they?” She cracked her neck as if yesterda
y’s ordeal had made her sore as well. “Though I guess you would be worse off if Itazura hadn’t healed your ribs.”
I tensed. “Listen, I didn’t ask him to heal me. It just ended up being worse than we thought and he’s damn stubborn so–”
Laetatia laughed, “Relax, I’ve already heard the explanation from Itazura. Funny, he started babbling too, when I found out. There, that should do it.” She rose from her perch on the edge of the couch, carrying the wet, slightly bloody cloth with her. “Since your injury could have killed you, I gave him a free pass. If you died, we’d be even worse off.” She turned to look at me, leaning back against the counter top of her private bar. “Of course if you hadn’t rushed off after us like an idiot, you wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.”
“I know, I know. I’ve heard it from Itazura already.” I huffed.
“I imagine. He was worried about you,” Laetatia said. “I haven’t seen him so concerned over a human in a long time. Itazura usually isn’t one to let many things bother him.”
I shrugged, “I’m sort of the host of a portion of his power. I’m not surprised.”
“Not just because of his power,” Laetatia said. “Think about it. If that was the only reason, he wouldn’t have risked it by making a pact with you in the first place.”
“But why else would he care?” I yawned, sitting up on the couch.
Laetatia’s eyes twinkled. “Because he cares about you.”
I froze mid-stretch. “What now?”
“Gods can grow to care about humans,” Laetatia said. “As more than just pawns or worshipers. It’s happened to nearly every god, outside of Mother and Father. And the Clockmaker of course. Even Cheveyo has cared for a few humans, and he’s usually much too fascinated with animals. That’s why gods sometimes have children with humans. Not because we want them. But because we get . . . carried away.”
“Except for Meroquio,” I muttered. “He just lusts over them.”
Laetatia’s mouth twitched. “Perhaps it’s hard for you to believe, but Meroquio used to fall in love with humans all the time. Real love. That is his domain after all.” She wove her fingers together. “But it was hard on him falling in love so many times. Humans kept on dying. Or leaving. It just became easier for him to turn to lust as opposed to real love. That way he can’t get hurt. And that’s why your gears didn’t mesh quite as well with him.” She scratched her chin. “Also, he’s not the only one who sleeps around. It’s a God thing. We get bored sometimes, you know?”
Hour of Mischief Page 15