City of Souls

by Vicki Pettersson

  I thought of my mother, and how she’d once given her aura over to me, color blooming behind my closed eyes as she fed her soul into mine, her energy bleeding through and then beneath my skin. Of everything in this world, which oscillated with vibrational energy, lives were the most potent. A death, or birth—a sacrifice of one’s own soul—was a detonation that could change the world.

  Put her always above yourself.

  As my mother had done with me. She’d harnessed her personal energy and then drove it relentlessly into me. I smiled at the memory of power flowing from her mouth to mine.

  There was a way to fix Jasmine’s shattered chi without killing her. A single choice that would give Skamar the power she needed to beat the Tulpa, to force the manuals of Light to be written again so that my allies had havens outside the sanctuary once more. To save this world. I laughed because it was suddenly all so clear and simple.

  Jasmine’s eyes went wide as she realized what I was going to do, and as she opened her mouth—either to accept or protest, I wasn’t sure which—mine came down atop hers to mimic the way my mother had once settled upon mine. I shut my eyes and concentrated on transferring all the remaining aura in my body into hers. I gave it all up, and as it reunited in her body, I felt every ounce of power that had made me super, the Kairos, even the energy keeping me standing, fade away. I fed the entirety of my aura into Jasmine’s soul, reuniting the severed chi. As for my powers…well, they went somewhere. The Universe. Ether. I didn’t know. But even as I sagged with the loss, my senses dulled, I kept my lips fastened tight…and focusing on sending one final pulse of superpower arching from my body into Jasmine’s.

  I’d been near death enough times to know I was experiencing it now. This time, though, was both the best and worst because I was choosing it, meeting it full on, playing chicken, but with no intention of dodging at the last minute. I simply gave myself over to it, a release like falling backward into a pool, though the feeling that the pool had moved—that it was farther away than I’d judged—was disorienting.

  I felt the tunnel shake above and around me, and realized Jasmine was freeing herself with that final beat of power, ripping her restraints from the wall, her victorious cry sounding like it was coming from my own throat. There was a pounding like walls cracking. I heard the Tulpa screaming in the voice of a monster. It made me want to smile.

  I was the Kairos—racing through the tunnels beneath my city, choosing my battles, putting a mortal life above—always above—mine, but the word didn’t only signify some preordained savior of the Zodiac. The kairotic moment was defined as the critical time to act. The abandonment of hesitation, the appointed time.

  Fate, I thought, and I began, peacefully, to sink.

  What’s one person?

  Warren’s words, spoken so callously under a bulging sky at the entrance to the pipeline, were the first that I remembered when I woke.

  In a ditch.

  On the side of the road.

  Alone.

  And while it appeared I’d been left in the wake of a flood for some mortals to find, I tried not to give in to the feeling that I’d been thrown away, like refuse, for the second time in my life. After all, I thought as I rose to my knees, Warren wouldn’t just dump me anywhere. He always had it well planned out.

  Squinting beneath a full blazing sun, I tried to stand and figure out where I was. The latter proved the easiest of the two tasks. I was in the Las Vegas Wash, the end point for all the debris and unwanted things that were pushed out of the city. But I was surprised when my knees buckled and I toppled forward in that wash, surprising myself again when I discovered my arms couldn’t hold my own weight. It was, I thought, with a sense of detachment, as if my muscles hadn’t been used all year.

  Of course, the unyielding earth stopped my fall for me, and I rose again, more slowly this time, with a mouthful of mud, palms cut where they’d landed atop shattered glass. I knelt among choked weeds and stripped tires, slouched there for at least an hour. I stared at my palms the entire time, sunlight glinting off the cut glass in front of me, finally drying the blood that stained it—though I knew someone, somewhere, would still be able to smell it. But I was anosmic. My muscles were atrophied.

  And my palms didn’t heal.

  I reclined on the slope of one bank, head on a boulder, and decided to lay there just a bit longer. Maybe another hour, like I was sunning myself under that beautiful, sweeping blue sky. Just until some curious mortal came along, a homeless person, or maybe some kids looking to see what the storm had washed away. Someone who’d be wondering, as I was, if there was anything in the wash that could be salvaged.

  Finally, I closed my eyes, giving the worry up to someone else’s keeping.

  26

  “How do you feel?”

  Feel, I thought numbly, how do I feel?

  I stared at the scrubs of the traveling nurse, and after a long moment nodded. It was an inappropriate response to the question, but one I could always blame on being the notoriously flighty and spoiled Olivia Archer.

  Formerly the Archer.

  Xavier’s former personal physician, now mine, had told me the day before that I’d make a full recovery. He didn’t understand why I laughed so bitterly at that, but he was mortal and had no true understanding of what, exactly, a full recovery entailed. Perplexed by my reaction, and perhaps annoyed, he finally gave me a sedative, and we both went away for a few hours.

  With a cheerfulness that was a little more forced, the nurse tried again, chattering about how she was brand new to the valley, but that she’d seen the storms and clouds on the television and wasn’t it great that things were back to normal? I turned my head to the window, mentally checking out. Beyond the pane lay a tender blue sky and a sharp winter sun. I knew it was bright and clear, but to me it appeared dim, like blinds had been drawn across my vision. I sighed, wondering if I’d ever get used to mere 20/20 vision again.

  The flowers sent by well-wishers were now addressed to me instead of Xavier, though I could no longer scent them moldering in their vases. The equipment left by the physical therapists sat nearby, though I’d refused their help and hadn’t touched it yet. On my more positive days I told myself I’d learn to move through this world as a mortal again by myself, and that if my mother could do it, so could I. I was still an Archer, I would think, and I’d strive to make her proud.

  At other times I wondered why Warren hadn’t just let me die.

  Because you’re mortal. It’s his duty to protect you now.

  And he probably would. Like an owner would protect a pet, just because it was theirs. At least he’d leave me alone now that I had nothing he could profit from. To think I’d been worried about him finding out about the powers I’d gambled away in Midheaven. Maybe if I’d told him I was broken, I could have deterred him sooner.

  So as the fog of injury and shock gradually lifted, I began to put the events leading up to Jasmine’s near drowning in order. So much of what transpired in these last weeks had been planned by either the Tulpa or Regan or Warren that I finally came to the conclusion my real weakness as a superhero hadn’t been lost powers, or being a target due to my kairotic status, but that it was my ignorance, my innocence. I was the only one who’d ever gone into that tunnel without a secret agenda. I’d actually believed that with a weapon at my hip and a clear sense of right and wrong, I could blast through any problem or person I came upon. Instead, brains had won out over brawn, and I found out belatedly that I had too little of both.

  I didn’t yet know the details of everything that’d happened after I gave the rest of my chi over to Jasmine, but the sky was evidence enough that I’d succeeded in healing the changeling, and a quick Google search unearthed a news piece about a young girl’s miraculous recovery.

  Plus, the city hadn’t collapsed in on itself like a soufflé.

  Meanwhile, in lieu of something as interesting as the weather to talk about, the local reporters used the news of my near drowning in a fla
sh flood to reignite a discussion about the Archer dynasty and its future here in the valley. There was a summary of Olivia Archer’s notorious party life, complete with glossy images of her at clubs, with different men, always smiling and beautiful and looking like she hadn’t a care in the world, which some reporters pointed to as a moral lesson. The insinuation was that carelessness and excess had nearly cost Olivia Archer her life; the subtext was that she deserved it. And if the inexperienced heiress couldn’t even avoid a dangerous seasonal flash flood, then how on earth could she be expected to run a multi-million-dollar company? Archer, Inc. stock prices plummeted and John’s blood pressure soared.

  I sighed as the nurse continued chattering as she made notes on my condition, a buzzing noise I was beginning to find annoying, but she finally paused for breath, looking up from her chart, pencil stilling in the air. “You know, I was there pretty quickly after they brought you in.”

  I blinked. “Sorry?”

  “At the hospital. Your lawyer flew me in from California as soon as he found out about your accident…remember, I just said that?”

  I squinted. Had she?

  “I mean, not to be vain or anything, but I’m the best there is. I took care of the Von Witt family matriarch and the…” She trailed off, seeing she was losing my interest. “Well, whatever the Archer family wants…right?”

  I huffed, and laid my head back.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, you were pretty out of it, mumbling about the water and how it was stealing your soul and being lost in the middle of heaven. Getting swept into that tunnel system must have been really rough for you, not just physically, but…” She shrugged at my raised brows, realizing she was making me recall something I’d rather not. I turned back to the window. “Well, they sedated you then, and you seem fine now, but I know these things don’t just go away. So, you know, if you ever want to talk about it or anything…”

  Slowly I turned my gaze on her. It didn’t burn red anymore, but from the way she startled, I was pretty sure the effect was the same. “Let me see your hands.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your hands, Ms….?”

  “Scaglia. But you can call me Angie.” She frowned as she came forward, and I could tell I’d insulted her. “I wash them religiously. I know my job.”

  I looked anyway. Fine whorls and liquid lines were laid like artwork upon each fingertip, the prints marking her as mortal. I swallowed hard, and managed an apologetic half smile as I glanced up. “I, um, read palms. Your arrival here is…fortuitous.”

  “Oh. Really?” She brightened at that, and began to speak again, but before she could get too chatty, I dismissed her.

  “Thank you, Angie.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She put her chart away and looked around for something else to do, anything else I might need, but there was nothing. Another small smile and she turned to leave, but she paused in the doorway, looking back at her right hand, wondering what I’d seen there. “By the way, your mother stopped by.”

  “What?” The word barely passed my lips. I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut.

  “At the hospital? After you were sedated.” She glanced up, noted my surprise, and realized she’d just said something that could get her fired. If she knew her job as she claimed, she would’ve read up on the Archer family history. Color spread to her cheeks and she began to stutter. “At least s-she said she was your mother.”

  “What did she look like?”

  Angie opened her mouth, her inhalation hanging on the air like a question mark. She searched for the memory for so long that I knew she’d never find it. Whoever it was had either messed with her memory or was well-disguised.

  “Honestly?” she finally said, shaking her head. “She looked pissed.”

  And Angie, a woman who knew nothing of superheroes or Shadow agents or worlds outside this one, crossed herself as she walked out the door. I leaned back in my stacks of supporting blankets and pillows and imagined what Zoe Archer was capable of when she was pissed. Then I closed my eyes to rest.

  Later, alone, with the curtains drawn and the house silent, I studied myself in a hand mirror. I looked past all of Micah’s impressive handiwork, tried not to get hung up on my sister’s beautiful face, or the physical scars I’d accumulated in the past year…beyond it all to that which even Micah couldn’t hide. Eyes so dark nothing shone in them. Funny, I thought with a sigh, but before my near drowning, I’d actually begun to believe my mental wounds to be healing.

  I leaned forward, scanning my body, tentatively feeling along my forearms, my waist, my neck, fingers finally playing over my face. I swallowed hard, meeting my own gaze, trying to see myself as soft and vulnerable as the world saw Olivia, laughing at parties, taking trips on a moment’s notice, lunch dates like they were a part of a regular business day. After a moment I lowered my eyes and shook the visual away. Yes, those were Olivia’s pastimes. But not mine.

  “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…” I muttered to myself.

  Couldn’t put Jo together again.

  “Then it’s up to you alone,” I told myself, lifting the mirror. “Again.”

  That’s when I finally saw something I liked. It was very close to the expression my mother must have worn earlier in the week at my bedside.

  I cleared it from my face when Helen entered. She flipped on the overhead light without warning, momentarily blinding me. I dropped the mirror, blinked, and covered my face with a pillow.

  “You should let me change your bandages.”

  I cracked an eyelid to look down at my wrapped palms. They were folded carefully so that my printless fingers were hidden—good habits die hard—though the light caught on the smooth tip of my right thumb, making it gleam like a pearl, a beautiful taunt.

  “You should go to hell,” I muttered, pulling the covers up to my chin.

  The room grew uncomfortably still, though if Helen was going to strike, I’d have been six feet under before I even knew she’d moved. As it was, the undercover Shadow agent left in a huff, slamming the door behind her without another word.

  I smiled at the small power. She probably had orders to stick close to the remaining Archer, see if I couldn’t be as easily bought as my father, turned into a lackey for a secret paranormal organization. The Tulpa had to be growing increasingly desperate, weak, and with fewer resources than ever before. I thought of the way Warren would pounce on that. How Vanessa would be sharpening the blades of her steel fan while Felix joked about the chances of a Shadowless city by spring. I wondered if Gregor still parked his cab behind the Peppermill in wait of dawn and dusk, and if Micah ever wondered about my long-term medical prognosis.

  Tekla, I knew, was probably trying to determine the same via her charts and constellations and diagrams, though one never knew with her. She, more than anyone else, operated autonomously of Warren, and according to her own whim. Kimber wouldn’t be sorry to see me gone, that was for sure, and I wondered if Chandra had finally been given my Archer sign.

  My heart squeezed at the thought, and I turned away from it so fast I ran smack dab into another. Hunter.

  I turned away again.

  Hunter.

  Everywhere I turned.

  Hunter. Hunter and me. Hunter and Solange.

  “You knew me,” I whispered into my pillow, feeling the darkness draw in closer. He’d known me, shared my bed and body—even a surprising ability to wield the same weapon for a while—and he’d said there was nothing wrong with me. I wondered if he’d retract that now. How flawless he’d find me without even two superpower chips to rub together.

  Of course, the greatest hurt in all this was that Hunter had been looking for Solange long before Skamar’s appearance in this world alerted him to the existence of Midheaven. Even with all of Warren’s lies and denials, once he found out about Midheaven, he knew that’s where she was, and had been plotting his way to her, and using my greatest enemy’s soul to do it. Maybe someday I’d be able to look at
the manuals detailing how and why, and begin to understand.

  “Unlikely,” I said to the empty room, because meanwhile he’d made love to me even while knowing he would soon return to Solange. Sola, he had called her, I remembered with a sneer. The worst of it was, I’d really believed he’d felt something for me…and maybe he had. Lust. Possibly affection. Probably pity.

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t strong enough to temper those old feelings. That old love. And he’d had the nerve to be angry with me for revisiting Ben.

  It’s not what you think. There’s more. So much more that you don’t know…

  “Hypocrite,” I muttered, but there was no heat to the thought. I remembered all too well the division of the heart, and how difficult it was to step into a murky future when you still had the option of returning to a familiar, if dangerous, past. Solange and Hunter—or Jaden, as I needed to start thinking of him—had a history. He was right; I didn’t know what “more” had led to his actions, but in light of what I’d put him through, I couldn’t blame him for wanting to shield himself under the tapestry of that past. It was my own fault that I was the one stuck in this world, shivering and mortal and alone.

  I looked over at the phone. It was dangerous, stupid to even consider with Helen in the house, but emotions won out over thought. I picked the phone up and punched in a long memorized emergency contact number for the rest of the troop. I felt like a jilted woman drunk-dialing her ex, though without the benefit of alcohol. I felt even more stupid once the electronic voice announced the number was disconnected. I didn’t bother checking to see if I’d misdialed.

  “I am not disposable,” I whispered to myself, repeating it until Hunter, the troop, my mother, and the Tulpa were all smothered under my new mantra. No, I was recyclable, I thought with black humor. I lifted my shirt to reveal a belly with the glyph of the sun fading around a healed piercing. Those things that were recyclable could be reinvented in the world, right? I could become someone new. Again.