Darkest Fear

by Cate Tiernan

  The blond woman’s eyes widened as she focused on Rafael. She was probably ten years older than him but clearly thought he was worthy of her notice.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, her voice much softer. “This girl just can’t get a simple order right.”

  I decided it would be a good time to wash dishes, so I wouldn’t, I don’t know, punch her in the nose. Leaning down, I stacked the dirty crockery better so it wouldn’t tip as I carried it back.

  “Vivi can do simple orders,” Rafael said, surprising me. “And medium orders. And even complicated orders. But your order is on another level entirely.”

  Standing up with the bin, I saw her smiling at him, and I recognized the fake girly bashfulness that Cammie Nederflander had used on Harry Donner right before the homecoming game. Almost snarling with disgust, I edged past Rafael and went into the back kitchen.

  As I loaded the waist-high dishwasher rack, I heard him asking her to walk him through it, step by step. He wasn’t being flirty, exactly, but his manner was definitely calming her right down. Finally, the world’s most asinine drink was completed, and I actually heard the woman giggle.

  Giggle.

  I pulled the handle on the dishwasher viciously so the strong jets would drown her out. After that load was done, I heard the metal ladder move against the concrete floor out front, so I knew Rafael had gone back to his mural. Which meant I had to go be the counter person. I just prayed that the ridiculous-drink person was going to limit herself to one.

  She did, but she took ages to finish it. She chose a table close to where Rafael was working and sat so she could watch him. I groaned to myself, though I probably watched him just as much for the next two hours.

  Finally the woman seemed to get tired of Rafael actually working, so she went up to him and I saw her slip a piece of paper into his pants pocket. Gritting my teeth, I started to put the lids on all the metal containers of cream cheese and butter. I don’t care, I assured myself. It’s not like I want him. No, I was objecting to her stupid feminine wiles because they seemed so fake to me.

  Yeah, that was it. I objected to her on philosophical grounds.

  It was a relief to lock the front door at midnight. This time last night, Talia had locked the door, we’d cleaned up, and then I’d gone home and a jaguar had attacked my friend. Twenty-four hours ago. It was unbelievable, and I was glad I wasn’t here by myself. Not that Rafael could protect anyone from a murderous haguaro. If anything, I’d have to protect him. This thought made me grin, and I indulged in further fantasies as I washed everything and put food away into the big fridge.

  In the meantime, I saw shadows and underpainting appear, outlining flowers and plants and animals. I’d never had a shred of artistic talent, so seeing Rafael draw and paint so beautifully and easily was fascinating to watch. Plus, he was, of course, much higher on the “hot” scale than any guy I’d ever seen in real life. And didn’t seem to realize it, which made him that much more compelling. It was almost as if meeting Rafael, knowing someone like him existed, had flipped some kind of awareness switch in me, so I could now actually feel attraction. Now I knew what it felt like to want someone.

  Not that I would ever act on it. For one thing, I was a total awkward newbie with a gift for choosing the wrong people and then realizing I couldn’t stand them. For another thing, even if Rafael was somehow not another wrong choice, I had no wiles. Zero wiles. This girl had no game at all. To even try would be to court disaster. Finally, if I could possibly surmount obstacles one and two, I still couldn’t ignore the big white jaguar in the room—my nature, which had been thrown in my face just last night. How could I ever get serious about anyone, especially now that I knew I might accidentally change under extreme circumstances? It left me only one choice—to go out with fellow haguari. Which, no thank you.

  But he certainly was fun to watch, and his painting was magical. As I finished sweeping, an enormous white morning glory bloomed on the wall right below the ceiling.

  “That’s beautiful,” I said. “I love morning glories.”

  “These big white ones are called moonflowers because they bloom at night.”

  “Oh.”

  “They glow in a dark garden,” he said, outlining a vine in deep gray paint. He sounded dreamy, as if he wasn’t aware I was there. “Their scent is sweet, but not cloying like jasmine. Just . . . light.” He looked up and saw me standing there, and seemed to come back to himself. “Oh—is today Sunday?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve locked up and everything’s done.”

  “Great. You got the bathrooms?”

  “Oh, no—I didn’t realize. I’ll do them now.”

  “Okay. And I need to close out the till for the week.” Rafael got down and started putting lids on paint cans.

  I got the bucket of cleaning supplies and started on the women’s room, already dreading what I might find in the men’s room. Feeling a lot like Cinderella, but with no prince anywhere in my future, I started scrubbing the sink.

  “I’ve got the till, and I’m taking the trash out back,” Rafael said, walking past the open door.

  “ ’Kay. Thanks.”

  I finished that bathroom, cleaning the floor by dropping paper towels on it and swishing them around with my feet. Then I faced the men’s room, which to my relief was not as heinous as I’d feared. I was halfway through that one when it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard Rafael come back in. He’d been gone for several minutes, but he wouldn’t have left without telling me. He needed to lock up, anyway.

  Leaving the bathroom half done, I headed down the hall to the back door that led to the parking lot and the alley where the trash Dumpster was. The door was ajar, and I pushed through it.

  “Rafael!” He was sprawled on the gravel, out cold. Blood trickled from a gash over one eye. The big trash bag had split open and trash was everywhere. Then my ears picked up the sounds of sneakered feet running in the distance, at least a block away.

  Rafael had been mugged—the weekly bank bag stolen.

  Seeing his beautiful dark angel’s face with a lump on his temple and blood running down into his ear lit a fire inside me, and suddenly I was enraged. Without thinking, I raced out of the parking lot through the gap in the bushes, then paused and listened. The feet, two pairs of them, were moving fast, still running and headed toward the river. On the other side of Magazine Street, Leevey became narrow and unlit, leading into a less than great neighborhood. That didn’t even make me pause as I shot across Magazine and plunged into the tree-lined darkness.

  Naturally, I’d always been speedy and all athletic stuff came easily to me, so I could run flat-out without even breathing hard. It took less than a minute to pace the thieves.

  I am fast I am upon them

  I jump out in front of them

  They are like roadrunners their feet peddling trying to stop

  Their eyes are wide and scared their mouths are open

  Give it back! My words are not words they are a roar it is startling

  It is deep and threatening

  My head is as high as the tops of their legs they are staring down at me

  Down because I am on all fours I am a jaguar all of a sudden again

  I am a jaguar how why

  It was so fast it was easy it didn’t hurt

  This is the fourth time and yuck hot stink of urine yuck wrinkle my nose the pants are wet their fear is in their skin their sweat their hair

  The white guy holds a bag I want the bag of Ro’s

  I swipe at it my claws in don’t shred the bag

  The guy falls over sideways in a crumply heap he has fainted

  I am surprised I didn’t even claw him the black guy the one who stinks spins and turns

  He runs away

  He is my prey

  I can catch him I am strong I am fast I can bring him down

  My jaws can crush his skull

  I don’t want to crush someone’s skull

  I don’t want to think
that

  Down the street a light comes on lights up a porch I hear people speaking

  I can’t change back can’t change back can’t change back

  I pick up the bag in my mouth it smells like money like old money like hands like sweat like Rafael it has old smells

  I can retrace my steps I leave the guy on the sidewalk

  Stick to darkness stick to shadows I am black I absorb light I am dark and silent

  I slip through the inky darkness

  I stay out of headlights the cars are loud they smell bad like burning

  I need Dana I need cuva rojo Dana is not here

  What can I do I have to run back home run all the way to home I will be seen I will be seen

  This cloth these are clothes they smell like me they are mine

  Where is Vivi what can I do I close my eyes

  I think about Vivi standing on two feet Vivi so tall

  I can’t change

  There is a sound it’s Rafael he’s moaning Rafael is waking up

  I need to help him he can’t see me like this

  I have his money he is waking up I need to help him I don’t have hands

  I need to help him with hands oh my Tzechuri help me

  That’s it my bones are crunching down I am shrinking I am lessened

  And with startling rapidity I was a naked freak in an alley. Jesus.

  Feeling shaky I grabbed my clothes and wriggled back into them as fast as I could. My ponytail elastic was gone, so my long dark hair hung in a thick curtain around my shoulders. Picking up the bank bag, I tried to rub away the teeth imprints that had dented the thick rubber. I headed back through the bushes in time to see Rafael get unsteadily to his feet, one hand on the knot on his head. His black hair was stained with blood, and a few spots had dripped onto the shoulder of his green shirt. He still looked like a devil, and I couldn’t believe any muggers had dared to attack him.

  “What happened?” Rafael said a bit groggily. “What are you doing?” He looked around the trash area as if to orient himself. Then he inhaled, and his eyes snapped into focus on me, suddenly sharp.

  “You got mugged,” I told him. “They must have knocked you out.”

  He looked at me intently, his head slightly to one side.

  “You got mugged,” I said again, wondering how hard he’d been hit.

  “You,” he said slowly, his chest rising and falling.

  “No, not me,” I said. “You got mugged. By two guys.” Jeez, did I need to get him to a hospital? “Remember? You were out here?”

  For a few moments he looked at me as if I were speaking gibberish, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Finally he said, “I remember . . . I hit them with the trash bag. Goddamn it! A week’s worth of money.”

  “No—I chased them,” I said, holding out the bank bag. “I . . . took it back.” At that late moment I realized how bizarre that would seem. And in fact Rafael was staring at me, his dark brows angling down sharply.

  “You chased them?” he said; then he shook his head and gave a little laugh.

  “I guess I didn’t think it through,” I said honestly. “I was just so mad. You had a big lump on your head and were bleeding. . . . Anyway. At least they didn’t get the money.”

  His mouth was open slightly; he was still breathing hard. “You’re . . . you’re—”

  “I’m fine,” I told him quickly.

  He frowned, looking confused again, as if waiting for me to say something else. At last he reached for the bag, unzipped it, and saw the money inside.

  “I’ll get a new trash bag,” I said, and darted through the back door. Rafael was still standing there looking thoughtful when I returned with a trash bag and the broom and dustpan. He was silent as we cleaned up the spilled trash, silent as he carried it to our small Dumpster and heaved it in. From the corner of my eye I saw how his T-shirt hugged his excellent chest, how his jeans outlined his strong legs. My gods, he was devastating, in a dark, mysterious way. Except he’d gotten mugged and needed my help. Hey! I had sort of protected him, like in my fantasy!

  “Well, the bathrooms are done,” I said briskly, ignoring that I hadn’t quite finished the men’s. I had to get out of here. “If you’re okay, I’ll go home. I mean, are you okay? You can drive? Or do you need to go to Urgent Care or something?”

  “I’m okay,” he said. His eyes were dark gray in the dim streetlight, but they seemed to penetrate my skull as if he could see right through me. As if he could see that I wasn’t normal. “Do you want to tell me . . . I mean, how you got the bag back from them? Why would they give it to you?”

  What an excellent question. Maybe because they saw my three-inch fangs? Just a guess.

  “I just . . . maybe I just surprised them? I said I would scream?”

  He narrowed his eyes, perhaps turning on his X-ray vision. “I’m not a little guy. They whacked me on the head with the butt of a gun. Why would they give you back a bag they’d just stolen?” It was like he was waiting for me to pull out my concealed Uzi.

  “I don’t know,” I said inadequately. “I was just so mad and I ran after them and yelled, ‘Give it back!’ And they were so surprised, and I said I would scream bloody murder . . .” Make a note: Improve lying skills.

  “They didn’t pull their gun on you?”

  “Whew, no. I’m glad I didn’t know they had one. Jeez.”

  “Look, just tell me.”

  “Tell you what? Look, I don’t know why they dropped the bag. It was stupid of me to go after them, I get that. But I’m glad I did, and now I’m ready to call it a night. You’re welcome!”

  Without waiting for him I strode inside. He followed me and locked the back door. I got my purse from the small employees’ room, and Rafael turned off the lights as we went: hallway, employees’ room, bathrooms, back kitchen, display cases, counter area, front room left and right.

  Ro’s was in almost total darkness, the only light coming from the green “on” button on the cooler case and the red illuminated exit sign that had its own electricity.

  Rafael’s blood was dark against his short hair, drying against his skin. His fine-boned face was mostly in shadow but striped by the streetlight outside, and I saw where a swollen goose egg marred his smooth forehead.

  “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked. “Do you want to get some ice before we go?”

  “No—I’ll get some at home. I’m okay,” he said, setting the alarm by the front door.

  The street seemed well lit and noisy after the empty darkness of the shop. Together we walked around the building to the side entrance of the parking lot. Now I felt unexpectedly vulnerable, as if last night’s haguaro might be watching, might be waiting. Having Rafael here would be a liability, if I had to defend myself. What a weird thought.

  Part of me was waiting for him to tell me not to bother coming back tomorrow. Or ever. I had cried during the interview, gotten rattled by an order today (was that just today?), forgotten to do the bathrooms, and then, to cap it all off, chased muggers. I mean, thank the gods he didn’t know about the whole jaguar thing, because I was guessing that would definitely push it over the edge.

  “Vivi. Thanks. Don’t chase muggers again, but thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said again, and let out a breath of relief as I headed to my Honda.

  His small truck, with a camper covering the back, was the only other vehicle in the lot. He clicked the keys to make it beep. “Drive carefully.”

  “You too,” I said, feeling the tension in my shoulders. “Put some ice on that bump.”

  “Will do.”

  I got into my car, happy that I still had a job.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS A WEIRD DRIVE home. Once I was in the safety of my car, I began trembling from leftover adrenaline. After five years of never, ever changing even when I was upset, I had suddenly and involuntarily changed twice in two days. It was as if the nightmare with my parents had t
riggered something in me, something I had no control over.

  Last night I’d been scared, had felt threatened. Tonight I had felt fury—and then an unsettling sense of exhilaration as I chased my prey. Laughing grimly, I turned onto Esplanade Avenue. At a red light I looked down at my hands, imagined them as large, powerful paws. I had run so fast. Had felt so powerful.

  If there were no other cars at home when I got there, I decided I would go to some public place that was still open. There was no way I’d be in the house by myself, after last night. To my relief, when I pulled in through the side gate, I saw several rooms lit up. Not only that, but the kitchen door opened as I parked, and Aly came out.

  “Hey!” she said. “You just get off work? How’d it go?”

  “It was okay,” I said. “Are you going out? It’s past one.”

  She shrugged. “After last night I just wanted to . . . be around a bunch of people. I’m going to go meet Téo at the Fortress. What about you? You still freaked?”

  “My manager got mugged tonight,” I blurted, “and I accidentally changed again and chased the muggers and took the money back and one of them peed himself and one fainted and I almost thought I wanted to bite one’s head but I didn’t. It was awful!”

  Aly’s dark eyes stared at me for a long minute. “You . . . changed, and chased muggers . . . and got the money . . .” Then, unbelievably, she was laughing, her teeth white in the moonlight. Laughing so hard that she had to sit down on the concrete steps, she put a hand against her purple satin halter top and tugged down a short, swirly skirt that made her tan legs look amazing.

  “You chased muggers!” she gasped, then gave more peals of laughter.

  A blue hatchback pulled into our yard and cut its headlights. A tall, dark figure wearing green medical scrubs got out, and the car alarm beeped.

  “Hey,” I said to James as he walked wearily toward us. He was the roommate I knew the least, mostly because he was almost never there. Suzanne had said sometimes he was at the hospital for up to eighty hours at a time. My impression was that he was both too sweet and too shy for Suzanne, but maybe I just didn’t know them enough.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.