“Who are you?” the woman asked with a tone that sounded curious but territorial.
“I—I was just walking by. I live in that building over there.” Lucy pointed a finger in the direction of her building, the tallest in the area.
The woman relaxed her stance a bit. She chewed on a toothpick as she regarded the teenager.
Lucy shifted slightly, moving her legs to stay warm. “Do you live here? It’s been locked up as long as I remember.” Lucy noticed her breath in the air formed puffy wisps as her words left her mouth.
“Yeah? Well, I’m here now.” The music continued, coming from behind the woman. The song had changed. The one before had been a fast rock song, but this one started out with a man singing in a smooth, calm voice. Suddenly it transitioned to loud, fast beats, and the man’s voice became very powerful, almost as if he were shouting. The music grew louder with drums and guitar.
Lucy was hooked. “What is that music?” she asked.
“This? Led Zeppelin.” The woman half-smiled. “You never heard of them?”
Lucy shook her head and looked at her shoes.
“You’re missing out, kid. Zeppelin is classic,” the lady said and laughed. “I’m Ida. What’s your name?”
“Lu…Lucy,” she said, not sure why she was so intimidated.
“Well, Lu-Lucy, or should I call you Lucy-Lu? It’s nice to meet you and all. I’m not usually one for company. Still cleaning the place up. Maybe I’ll see you around.” And with that, Ida shut the door.
Lucy turned and walked toward her apartment building, considering her new neighbor. She was different than other women she had met in Spark City. She seemed stronger, fierce. Lucy wondered where she came from. Caught up in thinking of her encounter and the new music, she forgot to be nervous about her mother until she arrived at her front door after making her way up the ten flights of stairs.
She unlocked the door, pushing it open to encounter a closed-in smell. But nothing seemed rotten. Good. Vera hadn’t tried cooking again. Her mother often started cooking food only to fall asleep or forget about it. Lucy was grateful there had never been a fire.
Lucy entered the small living room. Vera was asleep on the couch under the apartment’s only picture window. Snuggled under blankets, for once her sleeping mother looked peaceful. Lucy checked that she was breathing, then turned off the TV she had left on. After a quick check of the bedroom and bathroom, she was satisfied they were alone.
Relieved, she sat and pulled off her boots and winter coat, then retrieved her oversized “Boycott Mondays” sweater from a drawer, pulling it over her head.
From under the couch, Lucy pulled out a long, flat box. She moved to the small round table that was their dining area. Pushing aside old junk mail, bits of tissue, and other clutter, she cleared space.
Carefully, she opened the box and laid out her important tools: two paintbrushes, one pencil, a sheet of paper, and three tubes of paint. She started sketching, and as she drew, she thought about the music she had heard, seeing it come alive on the paper in front of her.
She drew the old conservatory, and the pond and trees that surrounded it. Gazing at her sleeping mother on the couch, she feared it was only a matter of time before one of her mom’s drug-dealer boyfriends got violent. Lucy wondered whether her new neighbor, Ida, could teach her how to fight.
Chapter 3
Ida dressed better than her usual combat boots, skinny black pants, stretchy military green tee-shirt, and black leather jacket. Today was different. She had to actually think about making a decent impression.
How humiliating.
This wasn’t how she had expected to be treated after years of crawling on her belly in the stinking desert frontier lands, fighting an enemy that never quit.
It was bad enough she had to adjust to civilian life and find a job. The military had added insult to injury when they sent her to live in Spark City. It wasn’t as if she had another choice. She couldn’t go back to New York City. Her life there had been on the streets, and she’d requested not to be sent back for fear of getting sucked back into a dangerous life.
But Spark City, of all places? A city in the middle of what was formerly the United States of America, renowned for being dangerous and corrupt, and having the world’s largest population of hybrids. Not to mention it was well known that the mayor was the living embodiment of creepy.
She didn’t like creeps, and she didn’t trust hybrids at all. Ida had counted herself lucky there were no hybrids in her platoon. It had been all 100% human beings until one had joined her troop just before Ida shipped out.
She had heard that hybrids sometimes turned on their fellow human soldiers. But those were stories; she’d never really had to fight beside one. All the same, she was glad the hybrids were on the same side as the humans against the Heavies.
And now she found herself standing in front of a box of old clothes, regarding her scanty wardrobe. What would be acceptable for a job interview? Her appointment was in one hour, and she needed to get moving.
She had been issued a few civilian clothes, including a white button-down blouse and a navy-blue pencil skirt. She put them on and inspected herself in the mirror. She tucked in then untucked the shirt, hating that she had to wear these clothes.
Shit. She had no decent shoes to wear, and was out of time. She removed the skirt, opting instead to wear her black pants and combat boots with the white blouse. Adding her black leather jacket to the equation and grabbing her black scarf, she looked better than usual, but not by much. It would have to do.
She pulled an old brush through her short, wavy hair, then applied some hair product she had found in the barracks she had stayed in during her last night in the military. It made her tousled dark-red hair look slightly better.
Ida regarded the tired hollows under her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping much. Black mascara, eyeliner, and dark-red lipstick against her pale skin finished off her look.
She grabbed her small leather backpack, slammed the front door shut behind her, and hopped on her motorcycle after popping on her helmet. Damn, there goes the hair.
Breathing in the chilly air deeply, she wound through the streets leading out of her neighborhood, past the two forested ponds. She drove the city streets, heading south to the center of R Section.
R was where the city’s tallest skyscrapers were centered, and where Spark City’s business and government were located. R was what kept Spark City running. All the streets were named with the letter R: Rock Street, Rushmore, Rutherford, Roosevelt, and so on.
She steered her bike along Rush Street, and parked it in front of the building where her appointment was scheduled. As she pulled off her helmet, she stared up from the base of the skyscraper, taking in the immense height: 60 floors. This was not a building she wanted to take a face-plant off of.
Ida hated when a dangerous thought infiltrated her mind. She feared heights because she often thought about falling. She couldn’t help it. Sometimes she thought falling would make everything so much easier—no more hiding her real self.
She pushed her hand through her hair, telling her head to push these thoughts out. Time to focus.
After clearing the front security desk, where the guard—a short, hairy man in his mid-thirties-had looked her up and down, she was directed toward the basement. Opting for the stairs instead of the elevator, she entered a long hallway and searched for office number 43.
When she entered the room, she found a reception desk. A woman in glasses with curly brown hair sat speaking through a headset. With barely a glance at Ida, she pushed a clipboard and pen toward her. Ida wrote down her name and the time before taking a seat.
Several others waited in hard, blue plastic chairs. She breathed in deeply, silently, willing herself to calm down. This was nothing out of the ordinary, but she still felt anxious. She hated interviews and anything that involved being judged.
A screen played a show from a major local TV station—WXSC. She’d seen enou
gh of the news to know that the station was controlled by the mayor.
With nothing to occupy her, she read the captions. The two journalists had long, concerned faces. She saw why. The headline said, “Marine Kills Eight, Self at South Shore Warehouse.” There had been rumors of violence and shootings in Spark City, especially among former soldiers. She made a mental note to research the crime reports when she got home.
Ida glanced at the other appointment holders silently waiting for their turns. Two men and a woman. One man, a tall, broad-shouldered black man with a scar above his temple, was suddenly called. Barker was his name. He followed a woman through a door.
Ida noticed the others looking at her, but their gazes turned when she met their eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, still wearing her leather jacket. The other woman wore pants too, but had a business-like suit jacket on—dark brown with small pinstripes. The man was older, with gray hair and stubble from days without shaving. He wore dark jeans, a faded green jacket, and looked hung over. Well, at least she wasn’t the worst looking person in the room.
After another twenty minutes, she was called. “Sarek.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said as she raised herself from the chair.
The woman had a clipboard, and escorted her down a small hallway to a tiny office where she asked Ida to remove her jacket for vaccination. “Flu? I already got a flu shot last month.”
“Well, you need to take it again,” the woman said as she prepared the pre-packaged syringe.
Ida stood. No way in hell. “I have a thing against needles. I’m not taking it.” She attempted her most forceful tone.
“But it’s required. Everyone exiting their military service must get vaccinated,” the office worker said.
“Not me. I’ll take my chances with the flu.”
“Flu can be deadly, you know.”
Ida felt her skin flush, her temperature rising. Despite being a medic, she never handled needles. It was a rule that she quickly established with her comrades: she handled resuscitation and they managed the needle, syringe, and other medical care.
“Look, I know you’re just doing your job. Do us both a favor and mark it down that you gave me the shot. I won’t say anything if you don’t.” Ida looked her in the eyes as if to reinforce their tenuous trust. “You don’t want me to vomit on your shoes and pass out, do you? That’s how much I fucking hate needles.”
The woman swore and muttered something in Spanish under her breath, hesitated, then put the needle back into the packet and shoved it in a drawer. She marked off the shot on the clipboard. Next, she led Ida down a hallway to another room for her interview.
There, Ida found someone, or rather something, she was not expecting.
From a distance, the person sitting behind the desk looked normal—but only until you got close. She had blonde-reddish hair done in a high bun. She wore glasses and had smooth peach-colored fur covering her entire skin. Her hands ended in long claws, and Ida noticed a tail rose from behind the creature’s seat, forming what looked like the top of a question mark.
She wore glasses, a gray suit, and black pearl earrings, and Ida noticed tiny holes in her face where long, pointed whiskers emerged.
A sign on her desk read Pamela G. Rose.
Ms. Rose typed furiously into a computer on her desk. Her work area wasn’t messy, but it was stacked high with two baskets containing paper piles. “One moment. Have a seat please,” Rose said in a smooth, sing-song voice as she typed.
Ida slowly took a seat, removing her jacket because the room was warmer than the waiting area had been. She continued looking at the hybrid, fascinated. The few she had seen had been in military uniforms. Seeing one in a civilian context was unsettling. She had heard that Spark City was home to more hybrids than any other city, and that they attempted to assimilate into human society. She was beginning to understand what made Spark City so unique.
“Now then,” said Rose, stopping her work and directing her attention toward Ida. She selected a folder from one of the piles and began to read the contents.
Ida would have thought a feline hybrid would have paws, as a house cat does, but Rose’s hands—if you could call them that—looked more like fur-covered human hands with very long nails. As a child, Ida had once come across an old book, the 2002 Guinness Book of World Records, and had been morbidly fascinated by a man with the world’s longest nails. The photo had been grotesque—his nails were gnarled into curly twists of dead skin. Rose’s nails were long, clicking the keyboard letters gracefully, darting in and out of her hands when needed.
“Ms. Sarek, may I call you Ida?” asked Rose.
“Uh, sure,” replied Ida, wishing for some water, and not sure why she was sweating. The situation was strange. She felt first date awkward.
Rose fixed her cat-like green eyes on Ida. “I see from your file that you’re new to Spark City. Are you settling in?”
Ida sat straighter in her seat, realizing her chances of finding work depended on this strange creature sitting in front of her. “Yes, I found a place to live, and moved in. Things are going well.” After a brief pause with no response, she added, “Finding my way around.”
“Glad to hear.” Rose closed the folder in front of her and pushed it aside. “What kind of work are you seeking?”
“I was trained on a lot of equipment when I was a soldier. I was an expert at learning new mechanical equipment or messing with the enemy’s communications system using computers. I can do just about anything. I’m a fast learner.”
Rose let Ida talk on for a while, then said, “And what kind of hours are you looking for?”
Ida was taken off guard. She hadn’t thought about it. Used to living entirely by the army’s schedule, she wasn’t sure. “I guess I would prefer flexible hours, or it doesn’t matter. I can work whatever is needed.”
“Ida, your file has some concerning information. Have you ever had problems with authority?”
Wow, cut the bullshit and let’s get down to business, thought Ida.
Ida said, “I had a situation where I didn’t agree with my commanding officer’s orders. He was putting the lives of my fellow soldiers at risk.”
“And you disobeyed your commander?”
“I did.” Ida looked at her hands. She was clenching her hands into tight fists, her body tense.
“Ms. Sarek, your file here says you were a medic in the army.”
“That’s true.”
“You didn’t mention you were seeking medical jobs in your application. Why not?”
“Not interested,” said Ida.
“I see.” Rose closed the file. “I will be frank. Placing you in a non-medical job will be difficult. Very unlikely. There is a lot of competition for work. Spark City’s unemployment rate is very high. You see this stack of papers?” Rose pointed to a basket overflowing with folders. “These are all job seekers like you, from the military. Skilled with computers, and smart too. The only difference between you and the other job seekers is your medical experience, which I see from my file was exemplary.”
Ida didn’t like where this was going. She shook her head slightly. “I’m not interested in medical jobs.”
“Well, I’m sorry then. I can’t help you.” Rose went back to typing.
Ida could feel her blood rising. Where did this damn cat-like freak get off, turning her away? She was tough—a soldier. She could snap cat lady’s neck in one or two quick moves.
Medical work was incredibly stressful because of her ability. She could save lives, but she was tired of trying to hide from others and couldn’t risk being discovered. Discovery might mean losing her freedom. She couldn’t handle being studied in a laboratory or having others dictate her actions.
Sensing Ida’s unease, Rose tried a new approach. Removing her glasses, she placed them on the desk, shifting in her seat, which caused her tail to sway behind her. “Look. I’m sure you’re a good person, Ida Sarek. I’m sorry, but employers will turn you down base
d on your file, and, well, there’s a lot of bias toward the violent unpredictability of former soldiers.”
Ida swallowed, still wishing she had water. Her throat was dry, and she could feel a headache coming on.
“The only place that might possibly hire you would be a hospital or medical facility. Since you’re not interested, you could look for other work, other…” Rose trailed off as she started looking for something in a desk drawer.
Ida stood, ready to leave. This hybrid, this job placement office, wasn't going to help her.
“Wait,” said Rose. She held out a business card between two long nails. “This is someone you can go to for a…non-traditional job.”
Ida reluctantly took the card and shoved it into her jacket pocket. She turned and left the room without a word, feeling as if she had wasted her time.
Chapter 4
The cool air outside was a relief from the stifling basement offices. Ida found herself on the busy street outside the building lobby. She stopped herself from getting on her bike right away, knowing she would speed off too fast, reckless. Hearing that she was unemployable was bad; having the message delivered by a hybrid was even worse.
She pulled the business card out of her pocket, wondering what the hybrid had meant by non-traditional work. Ida knew her military skills—fighting and weapons combat—were sought after in criminal circles, but she didn’t want to end up doing something that could land her in prison. She’d come too far and was too close to having a normal life, with a job and a roof over her head. Maybe she’d even meet a guy and settle down, have friends, and throw wine-tasting parties. All of this was possible, provided nobody discovered her real skill. She wondered how long before a boyfriend would get suspicious about why she always kept her gloves on. A voice in her head told her she’d never be normal.
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