Inhuman Resources

by Jes Battis

  “What’s happening to me? Where am I going?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Are you worried that I’ll leave you, or that I’ll get killed because of you?”

  “Both.”

  “The probability of those things happening simultaneously is pretty low. Unless the roof falls on me while I’m breaking up with you.”

  His hand was moving down my neck. I was losing focus. Shit.

  “I’m afraid of everything,” he said. “That you’ll break up with me. That you’ll die. That I’ll put you in danger.”

  “I shot you in the chest last year. Who’s putting who in danger?”

  “You did what I told you. And I knew I’d come back.”

  “You said you weren’t sure.”

  “I was. I always do.”

  I looked at his eyes. They were exactly the color of brown eyes. I was starting to feel warmer. Everywhere. This did not bode well for argumentation.

  “Are you immortal?” I asked him.

  “Kind of.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. Can you explain materia?”

  “Yes. I had to study a textbook on it.”

  “But do you believe everything you read?”

  “No. Especially not the footnotes.”

  He held his left hand a few inches away from my face. His right hand was still touching my neck. I felt a surge of power. A lily appeared, hovering above his palm. The petals were liquid glass, and at the core of the flower there was a mineral structure, humming with light. The flower revolved slowly before my eyes.

  “Does this mean that you’re a flower?” I teased.

  “Sort of.” He smiled. “It means that I’m different. My cells are more plantlike than human. That’s what allows me to regenerate.”

  I just stared at him.

  “Say something.”

  I reached my fingers through the image of the flower. It trembled and vanished, leaving a faint impression of smoke behind. I touched his face.

  “So you’re a plant.”

  “That’s a simplified explanation. But sort of. Yes.”

  “Wow.”

  “Does that freak you out?”

  I smiled. “Not at all.”

  I kissed him. His lips were dry, but he responded immediately. His tongue flicked the edge of my mouth. I put my hand on the back of his neck. I loved the soft hairs there. Sometimes I dreamt about them.

  “Take me to Trinovantum,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Tess. It’s not that simple.”

  “It is.” I kept my hand on his neck. “I know that Braxton tried to kill me. He probably tried to kill Ordeño, too, so that he wouldn’t be able to complete the treaty. But I can’t put all of the pieces together until I visit the hidden city. I think that’s where the murder weapon came from. And it’s where Ordeño was trying to escape to, just before he was killed. That’s why we found him underneath Las Meninas.”

  Lucian stared at me for a long moment, considering this. “What do you propose to do once you get there?”

  “Get me an audience with Lord Nightingale. All I want to do is talk to him. He’s the wild card in all of this.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “But I know you can do it.”

  His face was close to mine. His breath smelled like dulce de leche. “Did they teach you this in your interrogation classes?”

  “Maybe.”

  I reversed our positions, so that he was standing in front of the washing machine. I pressed him lightly against it. He gave me a questioning look.

  “Really?”

  I stared at him. “Really.”

  Instead of arguing, he pulled off his shirt.

  “Sit on top of the machine.”

  “Is this some private fantasy of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled himself on top of the washer. “It’s a good one.”

  “I don’t need you to talk anymore.”

  Lucian grinned and smiled, but didn’t reply. That was one of the things that I loved about him. Such a good listener.

  I undid his belt and pulled down his jeans. He was wearing blue underwear that I didn’t recognize, but they had the right effect. I slid them down. He was already half-hard. I rubbed his legs, and I could feel the muscles twitching slightly beneath my touch. He was shivering.

  I took him in my mouth. He groaned and put his fingers in my hair. Everything vanished into heat and momentum. I felt his feet knocking slightly against the washing machine. I jerked him off with my right hand, while letting my left linger on his legs, just brushing them lightly.

  I was thinking of cold water and the color orange. I don’t know why. For a second, I imagined that his whole body was a liquid with something gold and luminous at its core, like a perfect weapon.

  He started breathing quicker, and his muscles tightened. I took it out of my mouth, but kept moving my hand.

  “Fuck,” he whispered. “Don’t. I’m going to come.”

  “Then come.”

  “I don’t want to.” His eyes were clenched shut. “What about you?”

  “Who said we’re finished when you come?” I kept moving my hand. “We’ve got thirty minutes left in the spin cycle. That’s enough time to deal with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Lucian.” I pressed my mouth against his. “¡Cállate!”

  His knees buckled. I kissed him harder. He said something with his tongue still in my mouth, but I couldn’t understand him.

  I wasn’t listening anyway.

  16

  We stood in front of the Picasso. I took a deep breath.

  “Ready? This could get a bit hairy.”

  “I think so. What’s it like to travel by speculum?”

  “You’re about to find out.”

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes. “Now what?”

  “Just take my hand and step forward.”

  “Does the magic require physical contact?”

  “No. I just like holding your hand.”

  I smiled. Then I felt his fingers in mine.

  We stepped forward.

  I felt nothing. Then a blow to the back of the head. Then cold.

  I opened my eyes, shaking the dizziness off.

  It was night. We were standing at an iron gate. I had no idea how we’d gotten there. I had felt a pinching sensation, then nothing, and now: an iron gate.

  At first I thought it was overgrown with vines, but as I looked at them more closely, I realized they were packed too densely to be weeds. They were actually different plants growing on trellises. One had silver-edged leaves, like chervil. Another had pendulous flowers that were wine-colored. It resembled hanging fuchsia but probably wasn’t.

  “Are we in Trinovantum?” I asked.

  Lucian stood beside me. “This is the entrance to the Conclusus.”

  “What exactly is that?”

  “The garden that encloses Trinovantum.”

  I looked at the sky, which was alive with stars. “Did we go through some kind of temporal shift?”

  “It’s always night here.”

  “How do the plants survive? Even night-flowering plants require sunlight.”

  “These don’t. They’ve been grafted and bred for centuries. They’re all adapted strains of nocturnal fauna.”

  “Oh.” I could see what looked like colored lights dancing past the gate. “Are those lamps?”

  “Sort of.” Lucian placed his hand on the gates. They opened silently, revealing an even stone path. “Follow me. Stay close, and don’t touch anything.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  He gave me a look. “I’m serious. You aren’t supposed to be here, and you can’t stay here for too long. Don’t touch anything, and especially don’t eat anything.”

  “Is it like a Persephone thing?”

  “You don’t want to find out.” He stepped th
rough the gate. “Let’s go.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Of course. Gardens always are.”

  The path was shaded by trees. After a short space, it divided into a crossroads. A stone basin had been placed at the center of the junction. Flame burned inside of the basin, coming from the stone itself. That was a tough trick. The flame cast no heat, and had a slightly violet cast to it.

  We turned to the left, and some of the trees gave way to stone enclosures. Night flora bloomed within them: trumpet-shaped moonflowers, which clung to sculpted iron trellises; evening primrose with wan pink petals; evening iris the color of sherry; and vesper iris, magenta with white spots, which I recognized from my mother’s garden. The iris blooms were surrounded by light green leaves that exuded a sweet, familiar smell. I realized that they were nicotine plants. Instantly, my fingers reached for a cigarette that wasn’t there. I’d left my emergency pack on the kitchen counter.

  I pointed to a vivid white flower edged with purple. “What’s that?”

  “Datura. It’s quite poisonous. The leaves are sometimes called thorn apple, or Devil’s apple, and they contain a neurotoxin.”

  “I can see why you didn’t want me to touch anything.”

  “Only about half the plants here are poisonous. I think.”

  I spotted white gaura and yucca flowers as well, the former resembling a spray of icicles, the latter so thickly clustered they looked more like coral, or bone.

  The trees began to thicken again as we continued.

  A small shadow crossed my feet. I looked down, and was surprised to see a black-and-white cat sitting at my feet. The cat regarded me with bright eyes the color of spearmint. Two other cats, one entirely black, the other calico, sat a few feet away from the first one. All of them appeared to be watching us.

  “What’s with the cats?” I whispered.

  Lucian smiled. “Don’t worry. They’re harmless. We have a lot of them here.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s one of the places they go whenever you can’t find them. Cats can move between worlds fairly easily.”

  “And they come here?”

  “Often. Probably because of all the birds.”

  I looked up for the first time, scanning the boughs of the trees that shaded either side of the path. The branches were thick with birds. Some perched silently, while others preened their feathers. A few appeared to be sleeping. There were numerous types of owls, but the only ones I could recognize were the spotted and the great-horned variety. The others came in varying shapes: compact and gray, oblong and white, masked, variegated, and pygmy-sized. Some had amber eyes, while others had eyes that resembled bottomless pools of black liquid.

  The owls occupied the highest branches, and smaller nocturnal birds, like nighthawks and frogmouths, clung to the lower branches. The nighthawks shook their white-banded tail feathers at me. I felt chastised.

  “Should we be asking their permission to be here?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt,” Lucian replied.

  “I was kidding.”

  “The Striga have their own court here, along with the other fowls. They watch over the gardens and hunt prey.”

  “Like mice? Or humans?”

  “Sometimes both.”

  “Right.” I gave them what I hoped was a polite smile.

  “Well, I’m sure they’re doing a fabulous job.”

  “Wait until you see the night bugs. They work twice as hard.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know exactly what that means.”

  Lucian chuckled. “Just follow me. You’ll see.”

  We came to a walled-in grove with a fountain at its center. The fountain was made of a glossy black material that could have been hematite, but I wasn’t sure. It almost looked like polished obsidian. It was shaped like a giant lotus. Night lilies floated within it, their petals so narrow and sharp that they looked like porcelain knives. They drifted with the movement of the dark water.

  Seeing the flowers made me think of Lucian’s tattoo, and I was struck once again by how closely it resembled a real flower.

  “How many different types of lily are there?” I asked.

  He smiled slightly. “Lilium belongs to a large family. There are red Martagon lilies, Tiger lilies, yellow Bosnian lilies—” He frowned. “Some of them I only know by their names in Spanish. Llilácea. Azucena. Lirio mariposa . Those are the kind that butterflies like best. And ninfea.” He gestured to the fountain. “This is the night-blooming water lily, or lirio de agua. That’s my family’s flower.”

  I looked at him strangely. “Family? Do you mean like uncles and cousins who live in Trinovantum?”

  I’d thought his family was long dead. The idea that I might have to attend a necromantic family reunion made me start sweating immediately, despite the moist, chill air that pervaded gardens.

  “More like antepasades. Ancestors. But they’re connected by tradition rather than strict heredity. Certain families have cultivated certain powers, and that includes particular styles and secrets for using necromancy.”

  “What’s yours like?”

  “My family? Or my style?”

  “Both.”

  He gently touched one of the floating lilies. It may have been a trick of the dim light, but I thought I saw a strand of white vapor move between his finger and the flower. I could feel a subtle type of energy connecting them, not precisely what I would have recognized as necroid materia. Although we could barely even recognize that. It was as different from elemental materia as dark matter was from the regular variety.

  “Lilium is an old family,” he said. “Proud, but not impervious. We’ve nearly been wiped out on more than one occasion, but we always seem to survive.”

  “And what sorts of things do you specialize in?”

  “That’s a trade secret.”

  “Come on.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t tell you everything, Tess. You’re not even supposed to be here. If Lord Nightingale hadn’t granted his permission, you wouldn’t have made it through the front gates.”

  “Is he like the head gardener?”

  “You could say that. He rules the Dark Parliament.”

  “Does that make him one of your cousins?”

  “No. He’s Vespertine. All of the flowers in his family are poisonous, and that includes datura.”

  “So I shouldn’t shake his hand.”

  He actually looked startled. “Absolutely not. Don’t touch him, even if he invites you to. And don’t eat anything he gives you.”

  “This is starting to sound like a fairy tale.”

  “Trinovantum is an old city, with old politics and traditions. You may find it easier to be here than most mages, because you have an affinity for earth materia. But what you call necroid materia is very different. It’s toxic, unless you know how to use it. And you don’t.”

  I nodded. “Sure. I don’t really want strange men touching me anyway.”

  “It’s not that you can’t touch him. You just probably shouldn’t.” His expression was curious. “Lord Nightingale exerts a certain influence over people. Physical contact only makes that influence more powerful. It’s best to keep your distance.”

  “I thought nightingales were sweet little birds that liked to sing.”

  “They are. But they’re also very determined. In medieval legends, the nightingale sang most sweetly when her heart was pierced by a thorn. She was willing to sacrifice herself in order to sing a perfect note.”

  “That’s beautiful. And scary.”

  “You’ve just described Trinovantum. It’s both of those things.”

  “But I haven’t actually seen a city yet. Just gardens.”

  “You will. They’re both connected.”

  We came to a thick hedge that was spotted with white blooms. Lucian gestured, and I felt a subtle wave of necroid materia stir around him, almost like a breeze. Shadows flickered along the surface of the hedge, and the leaves drew back, forming a
narrow entrance. Lucian stepped through it, and I followed.

  On the other side of the hedge was a small square of dark soil, enclosed by a glass wall. The wall was only about four feet high, but the threads of glowing necroid materia that coursed along its surface were warning enough to anyone: Don’t touch.

  The flowers planted in the soil were white and brittle. As I looked closer, I realized that they weren’t flowers at all, but rather skeletons of flowers. The petals were made of bone, and the leaves were a kind of ash-colored tendon, a black tissue that must have terminated in unimaginable roots. The flowers remained still despite the wind, their stiff, osseous petals looking more like spiked cactuses.

  “They look like fossils,” I said.

  “They are. Each of those flowers is extinct. All that’s left are the bones, but even they have a trace of power left in them.”

  “Like undead perennials?”

  “Basically. Some of them you might recognize. Those Hawaiian lobelias have been extinct since the nineteenth century.” He pointed to a group of extremely delicate floral skeletons in the back of the row. “Those are from the Palaeozoic Era. The stringy ones that look like algae are Cambrian flora. Next to them, with the sphenophyte bulbs on each branch, are Cooksonia.”

  “So this is where flowers go when they die?”

  “These have been collected over time. Most extinct flowers are simply gone, but we’ve managed to preserve some of them in fossilized form. We call this place the Bone Garden. As long as the plants stay in this soil, they can’t ever decompose completely.”

  I shook my head. “You know, I always thought that necromancy was about destroying cellular structures and tearing apart systems. Like chaos theory. But this place is full of life. It’s like an ecologist’s wet dream.”

  “Necromancy is a natural force,” Lucian said, “like entropy. When a system expands, it loses heat. The same goes for the universe. On a planetary level, death makes room for new life.”

  “Does that make you like a Venus flytrap?” I grinned. “A killer plant?”

  He smiled as well. “Maybe. Our power is linked to the earth, like yours. Only, your earth materia functions as a result of photosynthesis, mytosis, convection, and other biological forces that make life possible. Necroid materia comes from things that are already dead: compost, cadaverine, putrescine, necrotic tissue, and decay. Even the heat produced by maggots invading a dead body can be converted into necroid power.”