by C. M. Fenn
Leaving me the book was a kind and thoughtful gesture. I knew Mikhail was shy but I never expected this extreme reaction. I force back feelings of hurt and confusion at his mixed signals.
I step away, eager to leave. “Well, it was good seeing you,” I say quickly, not looking up into his face. I wave briefly, and head down, walk swiftly in the direction of the library. The whole way there, I try to convince myself not to let the meeting with Mikhail discourage me. This might be the point at which another person would give up, maybe say, “Oh well, I tried.” But I couldn’t do that.
An image of Mikhail flashes in my mind. He’s standing alone, hovering awkwardly by his Big Bike in the garage of Minor Calm as the other Realmwalkers are greeting me for the first time.
What’s it like for him? It’s hard enough to have to face the evils and dangers of Chaos, but to do it all alone? No. I won’t give up yet.
A smiling Angel greets me in the library. “Are you ready for tonight?”
I grin back at her. “Let’s do this.” I clap my hands together, ready to begin.
“First, we start with manipulating and shaping the space here in Major Calm.”
“Whoa, already? Isn’t that one of the more difficult abilities?” I say surprised.
“It’s one of the more important abilities,” she stresses, “which is why we’ll tackle it tonight. Don’t worry, I’m confident you’re capable.”
I follow her out of the library, nervous and hoping I’m ready for this. There’s no sign of Mikhail or anyone else as we make our way toward the residential wing. Angel stops once we get to the area where the three halls of rooms branch out.
“I believe you’re down this hall?” I nod as she points down the middle hall.
“Would you like to stay there, or do you have a preference elsewhere?” I briefly note how easy it is to forget I’m speaking to a child. What nine-year-old says “elsewhere”?
“Well, I’m particularly fond of Ember,” I say through a grin as I think of the spunky redhead, “but there aren’t any empty rooms down her hall.”
Angel smiles meaningfully. “Just because there are no available rooms doesn’t mean there’s no space to build one.”
This hadn’t even occurred to me.
“It just so happens there is space available. Plenty, actually.”
The next few hours are spent creating a living space for me directly across the hall from Ember’s room. I observe Angel’s mind as she examines the fabric of Major Calm. She walks me through the steps she’ll take so I know what to expect when she acts.
I watch, amazed, as she pushes and pulls at the substance of space, creating a pocket. With her help and guidance I’m able to stretch the pocket. I spread out the space, in a way that’s similar to the way I had spread my consciousness out the day before in school, only now I give this space a defined shape, structure.
Together we form a room, large enough to fit all the necessities and furnishings I would need to live comfortably. At Angel’s insistence, I create an additional wing to be an art studio.
“It’s important for us to have hobbies here. We need the option to busy ourselves with tasks that make us happy. Without some creative outlet, we’d probably all be really grumpy.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I could always use the time to try to improve.”
“You know, you may come to find that the gifts you possessed before coming to Chaos have dramatically improved.” She smiles mischievously.
“How’s that?”
“You already know that Chaos has physically changed you in order to help you cope with the demands of this lifestyle. Your mind has been expanded, strengthened.”
“So having a quicker mind will help my art?”
“It’s not JUST quicker.” She waves her tiny hand dismissively. “Oh, you’ll have to see for yourself. You’ll be busy for a while training but do try and grab a few minutes to yourself sometime soon. Give your artwork a try here—you’ll see what I mean.”
With my room complete, we make a trip to the warehouse, and I select furnishings as Angel records them on a list. She says she’ll leave it for the next shift of Walkers, and they’ll move everything over for me. I feel bad that the others will be doing all the work and heavy lifting, but Angel insists it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
“Besides,” she assures me, “the boys enjoy throwing their muscles around whenever they can.”
When we return to the library, we’re surprised to find a concerned Lang-hao hovering over a squirming form laid across one of the sofas.
“There you are,” Lang-hao says urgently and darts toward us. I’m able to see now that the person on the couch is Crank. He’s grimacing and writhing in obvious pain.
“Crank!” I gasp as I see his leg is twisted and bent in an unnatural way. One of the bones that runs from his knee to his ankle is broken. The sight of it pushing sideways against the skin of his leg is enough to make me retch.
“Angel, Faye is busy top-side and we need a healer,” Lang says in a rush.
Angel hurries to Crank’s side. “Hang in there, Oscar. I’ll try to be quick.” He nods his head as he breathes heavily through clenched teeth.
“What happened?” I ask Lang quietly. Angel speaks up before he can respond.
“Addy, come here please.”
“What?” I ask surprised.
“Please come here. You need to learn to heal and there is no time like the present,” she says calmly.
I’m shaking and dizzy as I approach the sofa.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.
“Watch me very closely, Addy. I don’t want to drag this out too long, for Oscar’s sake.”
I nod quickly. I try and push my thoughts out toward Angel, but all I can think about is the leg that’s twisted grotesquely in front of me. Like a car wreck, it’s horrifying to see, but I can’t tear my eyes away from it. I try again to push my thoughts out but it’s a weak attempt. Oh gosh. I can’t do this.
I can’t do it. And Crank is suffering because I’m failing. This thought forces me to look into Crank’s face. His pain rocks me and snaps me out of my panic. My friend is hurting. I CAN do this. I have to.
I take a deep, slow breath and force my hands to stop trembling. With renewed purpose, I send my mind out to join with Angel’s. Her process is clinical and emotion-free. She’s not uncaring in her manner; she’s merely saving herself from being overcome by the clutching grip of panic.
I watch as she extends her awareness deep into Crank’s body, into his actual leg around the area of the break. She mentally examines the injury.
She narrates as I observe. If the injury is not life-threatening, the first thing we do is block the pain signal to the mind. I watch in fascination as she travels to his mind and stops the flow of information entering the area that interprets pain.
A huge sigh of relief escapes Crank. “Gracias,” he says wearily, lapsing into his native tongue.
“You might not want to watch this Oscar,” Angel warns him gently.
He throws an arm over his eyes and nods. “Go ahead.” For a moment I’m nearly overwhelmed with concern and sympathy for Crank. I force myself to focus on the task at hand.
Angel places her small hands on Crank’s leg and with surprising strength for her size, she sets the bone, all the while observing with her mind to make sure she accurately aligns the two pieces of bone.
What happens next is peculiar. I can sense Angel sending out information. She’s sending it to the bones, muscles, and tissue of Crank’s leg. It’s almost like a foreign language. While I can’t understand the words, I instinctively understand the meaning and purpose. It’s as if she’s entreating the body to heal itself. Encouraging it.
Incredibly, it listens. The cells already have the blueprints and instructions. Angel’s just giving them a shove to get them going. Torn muscles begin to repair themselves. Inflammation reduces. Bone builds more bone as the broken pieces stretch out like a bridge to join and
fuse with each other.
All this happens at an alarming rate. All the while Angel nudges and shoves the process along, not letting it slack.
This is unbelievable. I think to Angel.
She stops sending her message out and the body stops healing.
Now you finish. She thinks at me.
But I can’t. I don’t know how. I don’t know where all the pieces go.
You don’t need to, she insists. The body will do the work. You must understand—the body WANTS to heal itself. All you do is press fast-forward.
Without knowing exactly what I’m doing, I push my thoughts out to Crank’s leg. I think of Angel’s message and try my best to mimic it, sending it out tentatively. Very slowly, hesitantly, the broken pieces begin to mend again.
Very good. Now, be more firm. It must not be a question, not a request for the body to heal itself. It must be a command given with authority.
Certain now that the message I’m sending is correct, I send it out more forcefully and am filled with wonder as Crank’s body responds to my command.
The moment turns surreal as I realize what I’m doing. I’m healing a broken leg with the power of my mind. I’m actually doing it and I’m suddenly giddy. I’m suppressing excited laughter as Crank’s leg finishes healing. I’m staring at a perfectly structured and intact leg.
“You’re a true Mimic, Addy. A natural,” Angel praises. “Well done!”
I release a pent-up breath as relief and pride wash over me. Oscar jumps up and begins testing his leg out by stretching and bouncing.
“Good as new, Addy! Maybe even better. Way to go, thank you!” He hugs me tightly. At this close proximity, I’m overwhelmed by a horrid stench coming off Crank’s entire being. It’s horrible yet indescribable. I’ve never smelled anything even remotely comparable to this putrid scent.
“Ugh.” I hold Crank at arm’s length to look him over. “What IS that?” I notice thick black sludge splashed all over his body and clothing. Clumps of it even hang from his dark hair and black grease smears his right cheek.
“Oh yeah,” Crank says sheepishly. “I kind of forgot about that. Sorry.”
Lang-hao laughs out loud. “Addy fixes you up and you thank her by sliming her with Shade guts. Very thoughtful, Crank!” he teases. The brown skin of Crank’s face turns a shade of red in embarrassment.
“It’s all right, Crank,” I say, trying to make him feel better. “I don’t mind. I guess having Shade guts on me makes me feel more like a Walker,” I laugh.
He smiles now, visibly pacified. “No outfit is complete without it!” he says.
We’re all laughing when a very tired and disheveled-looking Ember comes into the library. I look behind her expectantly but no one else follows her in. She too is covered in Shade guts, only hers are intermingled with singes and black smoke residue.
“Hey!” I say happily, wanting to hug her but not badly enough to endure that awful stench again.
“Hi girly. How goes training?” she asks as she drops herself down into a high-backed chair.
“It’s going great. But what about you guys?” I ask the three sludge-covered Walkers. “How’s Chaos been?”
“Busy,” Lang says.
“Busy?”
“Very busy,” Ember agrees. “There’s been a massive increase in the number of Lesser Shades the last few nights. It seems all we’ve been doing is fighting Lesser Shades.”
“Is that unusual?” I ask.
“A little.” Crank answers. “But it happens sometimes, I guess. The population of Shades is always fluctuating.”
The others nod in agreement. “Crank, are you ready to go back out?” Ember asks with some reluctance. “Boss is restocking the bikes, but I know he’s eager to leave as soon as you’re well enough.”
“I’m good as new thanks to these two here,” he says as he pulls Angel and I into simultaneous side hugs. We both laugh and squirm to try and get away from his horrible odor.
“Go on, get out of here!” With a crinkled-up nose, Angel pushes Crank toward the door.
Once the others leave, Angel turns to me. “We got a lot done today, Addy. You should be proud.”
“Thanks, Angel. I kind of am,” I say cheerfully. The good mood doesn’t last long, however.
“Well, Simone’s probably waiting for you. We went a little over again today on time. You’ll have to give her my apologies.”
“Oh, right,” I say evasively. “I’ll head that way now. Thanks again!” I leave as quickly as I can, hoping to avoid questions about how last night’s session with Frenchie—no, Simone—went. I can’t let Angel down. I can’t bear to disappoint her. It’s her trust in me that drives me through the halls until I’m standing in front of Simone’s closed bedroom door.
I knock quietly, half hoping that if she’s inside, she won’t hear me.
“WHAT?”
She heard me.
“Simone, it’s me,” I say.
No answer.
How do I get her to let me help? I can’t force her.
“Simone,” I call again.
Silence.
Then, “WHAT?”
I drop my forehead against her door. For the greater good. For the greater good.
“Come on, Simone,” I call plaintively. “You know this is what Angel wants. Let’s just get through it. For her.”
Silence.
I almost think she’s done talking and am about to leave when I’m startled by the door opening.
“What the—” I nearly shout with surprise. I’m looking at a total stranger.
“Who—” Is all I manage to say as I stare with confusion into the face of a shockingly beautiful, though unrecognizable, face.
The five-foot-three, dark-skinned, exotic-looking young woman sneers back at me. What did I ever do to her? And when did we get a new Realmwalker? I thought that kind of thing was a big deal. I’m starting to think that there’s something disturbingly familiar about that smirk when it dawns on me.
This IS Simone.
The cocoa-haired beauty from last night is gone, replaced by this different, though equally breathtaking persona.
“You’re not that bright, are you?” she says, looking up at me with mock sympathy.
I sigh and find I’m gritting my teeth again—a bad habit I seem to exhibit often in her presence. I’ll soon grind all my teeth away if I can’t manage to control the frustration this woman causes me.
“Are you going to let me evaluate you?” I ask her bluntly, choosing to ignore her previous insult.
She stares at me for a long time, viscously, hungrily, like a wolf about to devour its prey.
I force myself to maintain eye contact, not wishing to give her the satisfaction of thinking she can frighten me.
Finally she responds. With an overly dramatic sigh she says, “I guess we could work together.”
“Wonderfu—”
“IF!” she interrupts loudly. Holding a bossy finger in the air, she continues, “And ONLY if you apologize first.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Apologize? For what?” I search my memory trying to find some instance that would warrant an apology from me.
“For your behavior last night,” she says matter-of-factly.
I can’t believe I’m hearing this.
“MY behavior?!” I nearly shout, trying hard to rein in my anger. I slowly turn my head from side to side.
“Unbelievable,” I say to no one in particular. I turn around and walk back down the hall.
“Fine!” she raises her voice. “Have fun explaining to Angel why you’re blowing off our sessions.”
I’m so upset at this moment that even the threat of letting down Angel isn’t enough to entice me to waste any of my time in that hag’s company. Whatever the consequences.
Chapter 29
I awake Tuesday morning as tired and achy as I did the day before. I get out of bed stiffly and spend the next ten minutes stretching
, hoping I’ll even be able to walk today.
After my failed attempt to help Simone last night, my rigorous training session with Kira was cathartic. I’d like to say that it wasn’t Simone’s face I pictured on the head of the practice dummies I pummeled for the rest of the night, but I’m not that altruistic.
My fighting skills continued to improve as Kira taught me how to spot and exploit weaknesses in my enemy. My confidence grew with each properly placed strike. While I realize my level of lethality is nowhere near Kira’s, I feel as though I’m shaping up to be a fairly competent combatant.
School’s monotonous and crawls by at a painfully slow pace. Again my thoughts continuously drift back to Chaos and my training. I begin to realize that while I exist in this realm, I’m becoming a creature of Chaos.
I belong to it. It consumes my mind so entirely that there’s no escaping it, which makes me sad in a way. Realizing how completely different I am from the students around me makes me feel alone here. Alienated.
I look around the halls as I walk from class to class. I search the faces of people I know, friends and acquaintances. Can they sense it too? Can they feel how I’ve changed, down to my very core? I suddenly long to be in California at the L.A. base, surrounded by my people. MY people. I hold on to that comforting thought, and it helps get me through the rest of the day.
When I arrive home, I intend to shower off the day’s worth of sweat I’ve collected from the hot Arizona sun. On my way to the back on the house, however, I’m stopped by a truly upsetting sight.
Mom’s sitting at the kitchen table. Her face is in her hands, and her body’s shaking, racked with uncontrollable sobs.
“Mom!” I drop my bag and run to her side. Dread overwhelms me. This is how I remember her after Dad died. Jana’s dead. I’m certain of it. Or Gram. Gram or Jana is dead.
“Mom, what happened?” I ask desperately, not wanting to hear her answer.
“Oh Addy,” she chokes out and looks up from tear-soaked hands. I’m surprised and confused to see her smiling. No, grinning. And now laughing.
She picks up a stack of papers from the table in front of her and hands it to me. Under a speckling of tear droplets, I read the following: