by May Dawney
Claire’s fingers trembled against her skin as she took a hold of her arm, two fingers on the cotton ball. She pressed.
She could still feel the needle, even though she knew it was out.
Alena disposed of the needle in the yellow bin, then stood headed to the bathroom. The tap ran, then Alena returned. “Here.” She handed her the glass. “Let me tape that on for you.”
While Claire brought the glass to her lips with a trembling hand, she watched Alena cut off a band aid strip and tape the ball of fluff down.
“There. All done.” Alena took her in. “Feeling better?”
She wasn’t. Her heart was thumping, she was still lightheaded and nauseous, and she was sure that if she stood up, she’d pass out. “Y-Yeah.” She smiled with as much bravado as she could manage.
“You’re a shitty liar. Don’t play poker.” Alena took her hand, which made Claire lightheaded for a whole different reason. “I’ve got something for you. Might take your mind off.” She smiled, squeezed her hand, then let go.
Claire stared at her hand as if it wasn’t a part of her. Someone else touching it shouldn’t give her butterflies like that. And yet…
“Here.” Alena reached down and pulled the bag onto the table after sliding the kit to the side. “Clothes. That should tide you over at least until things settle a bit. We have a washer and dryer, obviously, so you can rotate.”
Claire pulled the bag further along the table’s surface with her unpoked arm and peeked inside. The clothes were colorful, like her own, and the bag seemed to contain at least the basics. She was too tired to fully appreciate the gesture. “Thank you.” She set the bag down by her chair.
“You’re welcome.” Alena took her in. “Feeling a bit better?”
“Yeah.” She was. Still queasy, but the little distraction had been enough to get her over the worst. “I just want to sleep.”
“Yeah, of course.” Alena’s gaze lingered on her a few seconds longer, then she got up. “Okay, get some sleep. We don’t want you keeling over on us, now do we?”
Alena’s concern did funny things to Claire’s insides. She ducked her head down in the hopes her hair would hide the redness quickly settling on her cheeks. “I guess not. Thank you.”
“Sure thing, Alice.” Alena collected the kit and the tubes of Claire’s blood. “Can you get into bed by yourself?”
She wasn’t sure, but Claire nodded. “I’ll manage.”
“Okay then. I’ll wake you up before dinner. Good night.” She headed for the door.
“Alena? Wait.” Claire twisted in her chair to look at her.
“Yeah?”
“What did your dad say?”
Alena watched her, then shrugged. “That it’s war. Don’t worry about it. Sleep, you still look like you need it.”
Claire wanted to ask more. “War” was something different entirely than a struggle, and much more severe. But Alena looked so tired and beat down that she didn’t dare. She nodded instead. “Thank you.” Claire waited for her to leave before she deflated. What had she been drafted into? Would she be stuck down here for however long this possession thing lasted?
She told herself to stop thinking; she couldn’t deal with anything else today. As much as she felt like an intruder in this room, she needed to sleep.
Getting up made the world spin, but she remained upright with the help of the back of her chair.
There wasn’t a lamp by the bedside, so she had to walk over to the door, kill the lights, and find her way to the bed in the pitch black. She left her shoes by the door. Mechanically, she leaned down to pull away the covers and slipped under them still fully dressed.
Her mind was spinning with all the information she had absorbed today and with all the experiences she’d had. Alena’s lessons spun her mind in circles like a hamster in a hamster ball. She still saw Alena squirming on the ground whenever she closed her eyes.
Also, her arm stung and the pillow was lumpy.
Claire smacked the latter a few times with her non-stinging arm, found a relatively soft spot, and nestled down. She pulled the blankets and her knees up in the hopes of getting warmer than the icicle she felt like and closed her eyes.
Exhaustion sucked her down into oblivion, and she descended with gratitude.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I almost got lost today. I locked myself into the room with the boy’s deteriorating corpse and called him to me. Then, when I felt his spirit connect with mine, I didn’t try to coax him further, but instead went to him beyond the Veil. He fled, and I gave chase. At first, I kept my shell in mind, but as we fell through world upon world, reality upon reality, I lost track of it.
Once the boy was lost to me, I was lost myself. It took every ounce of power I had to pull myself back, and I promptly fell asleep, all energy I possessed spent.
I write this four days after the event, four days in which I slept and puked, then slept some more. The living are not meant to cross the boundaries of the Veil, but I am the Chosen One and I have seen Gods. One day, I will destroy them all.
– Simon Magus, “In Search of Heaven; Treaties of the Veil”
“CLAIRE?”
The voice was soft and familiar. Claire smiled. She hummed when it repeated her name—then realized it was Alena’s voice. She hurried to open her eyes.
A vaulted room greeted her and for a second or two, she didn’t know where she was. Then it all came pouring back. She groaned and pulled the blankets up over her head.
“Claire?” Alena sounded bemused.
“Yeah?” The covers probably muffled much of her voice, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t have gone to bed more than an hour or so ago.
“Time to get up.”
“What time is it?”
“A little past six. Dinner is at six-thirty.”
Claire tilted her head up so she could peek over the edge of the covers.
Alena sat on the side of the bed, fully dressed, hair damp. She arched a brow and a small smile played around her lips. “Evening.”
“Evening.” Claire stretched out her legs and rolled onto her back. “Is everyone going to be there?” She needed to buy a few more seconds to get to her senses.
“Yes. We try to keep meals communal. Mei cooks for us all.” Alena patted her leg over the covers. “There will be a meeting after dinner, during which you’ll host Madame Stravinsky. My dad wants to talk to you before, though.”
Acid filled Claire’s stomach. “Oh. Okay.” She slid down a little more. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to being possessed again, most of her trepidation came from meeting Alena’s dad. If he was really was as powerful as Alena had made him out to be, he was a scary man, indeed.
Alena patted her legs. “Come on, up. Best not to keep hungry mages waiting.” She had a grin to her voice, but Claire was pretty sure the warning was genuine.
She pushed the blankets down and waited for Alena to stand up before she slipped out of bed.
Alena had left the door open. The soft glow of the tunnel lights out in the hallway was the only illumination in the room. She pulled her shoes on while Alena waited.
“Did you sleep well?”
Claire nodded.
“Still tired?”
She nodded again.
“Me too. We’ll get more sleep tonight.”
“I hope so.” Claire rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. She could sleep for a week and still be tired.
“We will. Ready?” She walked out into the hallway.
Claire followed along and closed the door. She imprinted as much about its non-descript wooden nature into her brain in the hopes that once she wanted to find it again, she could. “What’s for dinner?”
Alena laughed. “Unless the sky fell and hell froze over, I guarantee you that the answer is Chinese.”
She turned out to be correct. The scent of soy sauce and spice hung heavily in the tunnels and got stronger by the time they reached the kitchen.
Alena led her in
and joined the frenzy of plate-grabbing, glass-filling, and laughter.
The only one who sat at the table already was Alena’s father, Gregorios Senna. He was shorter than she’d expected, but he was imposing none-the-less. He was balding, rotund, and well into his sixties—maybe even seventies. He looked up from the plate Roos put in front of him and his gaze went straight through her, as if he could read her every secret in her eyes.
Claire only noticed she’d stepped back when her back hit the wall. Her heart lunched up into her throat where it pounded so hard, she became afraid everyone would see how scared she was. There was just something about Mr. Senna—she couldn’t think of him as anything but that—that made her want to run. His eyes lacked all of Alena’s warmth, and he didn’t smile at all.
“Claire, good of you to join us. Welcome.” Mr. Senna pushed his chair back and stood. He extended his hand.
Claire stared at it. It took several seconds before she realized she was supposed to shake it and she stumbled forward to do so.
His hand was warm and his press crushing.
“T-Thank you.”
He nodded and let her go. “Sit, please.”
She glanced at the seats. Which ones were usually occupied? Were there table arrangements? Her anxiety clawed up to her throat and her breathing shallowed.
“Hello, Claire.” Roos squeezed her shoulder. “Did you sleep good? Come, sit with me.”
“I did, thank you.” She sent Roos a grateful smile, then sat in the chair Roos pulled out. Of course, she didn’t correct her English.
As she scooted the chair forward, Mr. Senna’s gaze felt as heavy as a lead weight.
Claire kept her gaze on the table’s surface.
“Hello.”
She jumped and jerked her head to the side.
Curious dark eyes met hers and she blinked. For a second, a tingling sensation settled at the base of her skull. A young Asian boy cocked his head to the side. “Would you like me to address you in this language, ou préférez vous?” His voice was crisp, precise, and without accent in both English and French.
“E-English, please.” Claire answered without really thinking about it. She only spoke French with her grandmother and she wasn’t exactly fluent in it. She was also still catching up with On’s sudden materialization.
“Then I shall speak English.” He bowed lightly.
Claire watched, unsure of how to handle a boy that appeared to be much more together than she’d ever be. “Thank you. Uh, you must be On?”
“I am. I apologize for startling you. I did not mean to interrupt, but we have not met. My mother has taught me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. On’s way of speaking translated to the boy as well. He was by far the best dressed of the lot in a red cardigan and a white shirt, with combed hair. His dark grey dress pants were pressed. He didn’t smile, but his intelligent eyes soothed Claire. “If I am not mistaken, your name is Claire Mitchell?”
Claire took his hand and shook. “It is.”
“Good. I am Pó On. If you would like to talk to me, then please come to the library before ten a.m., between noon and one-thirty, or talk to me after dinner, when my reading is done.” He withdrew his hand.
Claire dropped hers back onto her lap. “O-Okay, I’ll remember.” She smiled.
“Good.” He took another little bow. “Then I will sit and eat now.” He turned without waiting for her to answer and climbed up on a chair on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Nathan on one side and an empty chair on the other.
Nathan ruffled his hair, which On allowed, but then he smoothed it back down.
Claire watched it and relaxed a fraction for the first time since she’d entered the room. It was so nice to see normalcy when her world had been turned upside-down.
“Here.” Alena leaned past her from behind and put a plate in front of her.
Some soft part of Alena brushed her shoulder and Claire swallowed down a shot of something squirmy and hot. “T-Thank you.”
“No problem, Alice.” Alena squeezed her shoulder, then withdrew to get her own plate and sit.
Claire tore her gaze away only when Alena looked up, and her cheeks stung ferociously when she realized she’d been caught staring.
She took in her plate instead. It was some sort of vegetable mixture cooked in soy sauce, served with enough rice to feed an army. It was a heap of food she was never going to finish, but a glance around the filling table told her that they all had portions twice the size her dad would have given her at home. Even On had a portion on his plate that was easily as large as Claire’s.
Apparently, eating a lot was normal here.
“I hope you’ve left me some.”
The clear, cold voice carried a thick Irish accent and it took Claire several seconds to decipher the words. Based on a face like thunder, the woman didn’t seem to be joking.
“Good of you to join us, Ellen.” Mr. Senna’s quiet, calm voice carried over the noise of clashing plates and conversation with ease.
Ellen. That name rang a bell. Claire racked her brain for the reference. Was she the um, what had Alena called it? Aos sí? Otherkin? She watched Ellen with much more interest now.
Overall, Ellen didn’t look un-human. Her face was doll-like with a tippy nose, high cheekbones and fine pink lips. She was about as short as Claire was and wore whitewashed jeans, some sort of hippie fashion inspired shirt and new-looking Converse trainers. The only thing off about her were her eyes, which were slightly too big for her head.
“I was busy.” Ellen sat down, then finally met Claire’s gaze. The cold anger in her eyes nailed Claire to her seat.
She stopped breathing and if she could have, she’d have willed her heart to cease pumping as well, just to make up for the fact she’d dared to be alive.
Either by accident or on purpose, Alena bumped her hip against the back of Ellen’s seat and jolted her.
Ellen jerked and fixed Alena with a glare, but Alena smirked and sat down beside her father, whom she kissed on the cheek.
He patted her hand in return.
Ellen’s gaze didn’t return to Claire, for which Claire was extremely grateful.
Claire tried to grab Alena’s attention on willpower alone, but Alena wasn’t paying her any attention either; she was conversing with her father, their heads close together.
“You should eat.” Roos was watching her with a smile. “And not pay attention to Ellen. A lot is happening, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Claire nodded. “I-I’ll try to remember.” She picked up the fork Alena had left her and poked her food. It smelled great, but for the first five or so minutes of the meal, Claire watched in awe how three men, three women, and one boy downed their meal like hungry wolves.
Only Mei ate daintily, and with restrain. She didn’t seem perturbed at all by the frenzy with which her homecooked meal was consumed.
“You don’t like?” Roos cast a pointed glance at her plate. “Not good?”
“Hm? Oh! No!” Claire hurried to scoop some up and eat it. It seemed to sear her throat going down, but in a good way.
Roos chuckled. “Ah, I see. You wonder ‘Do they always eat like this?’ hm?”
Claire tried not to choke on her food. “N-No! I just—”
Roos laughed and leaned in. She cupped Claire’s ear with her hand. “It is the magic. It makes us hungry, so we eat a lot.” Her smile widened. “We spend lots and lots of money on food every week.” She pulled back with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.
“No gossiping. Our table manners are sublime, you hear?” Alena pointed a fork in her direction. “Non-mages just don’t know how to hold their food.”
Chuckles went up around the table.
“It’s always great to be looked at like an alien.” Nathan’s nullified his disgruntlement with a grin.
“We are not the aliens, my friend. It is our new, young friend, who doesn’t know about the world of magic yet.” Ndulu winked at her. “She
will learn.”
Claire dipped her head. “I’m sorry if I offended anyone. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Oh, let them talk.” Roos sent the others a glare. “Of course you stare, it’s impressive, hm? Magic is hard work. We work hard, like um…builders?”
“Construction workers.” Nathan flexed his non-existent biceps. “Well, they do, not me. I just like to eat.”
That earned him a round of laughs.
“Roos is right.” Alena skewered a bamboo shoot. “It’s the magic that makes the mages amongst us so hungry. It takes a lot out of you, even if you haven’t practiced any magic. Just being able to channel magic ups your metabolism.” She guided the bite into her mouth and chewed with a hum.
“How are you adjusting so far?” Mr. Senna’s calm voice carried easily over the various eating sounds and lingering chuckles.
Claire met his gaze but could only hold it for a second or two. “Good.” She gathered a bit of rice and tofu. “Everyone has been nice.” She resisted the urge to look up at Ellen, who hadn’t said a word since what Claire was already calling “The Incident” in her head.
“Good. You’ll fit right in. Any word on a prognosis on how long she will be fitting in?”
“Not yet.” Alena scraped the plate to get every grain of rice into a pile. “The test is still perfectly clear, and the gene test is an overnight one—it just takes a while.”
He hummed. “All right.”
She’d love to ask if it was a bad thing that the test was still clear, but Claire could feel Mr. Senna’s gaze on her, and the way everyone talked about her made her uncomfortable. She didn’t dare look up for fear of catching anyone’s eye.
“The test is never clear.” On sounded intrigued by the prospect. “How can it be clear?”
“Good question, brain boy. I’m not sure yet, but I’ll find out.”
The last part of the sentence seemed to be aimed at Claire, or maybe she just wanted to believe that Alena would try to reassure her, if she could. Just because it was a distinct possibility Alena’s worry for her wellbeing was all in her head, Claire didn’t respond.