by VK Fox
Ian stroked her back absently as his expression went through an array of tiny changes. At last he spoke, “It’s far from perfect. It might even be far from good, but we give up having a normal life because someone has to. Our bravery and sacrifice save lives, preserve peace, and allow this reality to continue as its own unique instance. I am proud of Dahl for his bravery and for his selflessness, even if I wish I could protect him from it. The things you said are true, but it isn’t the whole picture.” Jane chewed her lip. There had to be a better way, a way that didn’t involve child soldiers. “You’re looking at the hard parts and not all the people we protect. You don’t see all the good we do.”
Chapter Five
Last December - Five Months Ago
Someone was in the bedroom. Everest lay still, keeping his breathing even and peaceful, wondering if he could risk opening his second sight. It could be his once-a-week pity partner had wandered over, but something was off. It didn’t smell like his ex; it smelled like sweat and excitement and something slightly alien.
Everest reached for his Glock on the side table in one quick grab. He opened his second sight and its glow filled the room like a night light. Mordred was naked, which was not something Everest anticipated he would see in a bedroom context. Dahl had bonded the shapeshifting ability, which was rare for a King Arthur agent, so nudity wasn’t totally new. That must have been how he got in. Everest gazed with his luminescent eye. The possible futures were not reassuring. They were unexpectedly on the edge of many things. Images of graphic, disturbing scenes: blood, sweat, bodies—a queasy number of violent and sexual potentialities. The kaleidoscope of horror instantly overwhelming, Everest cut his future sight. He could die in this moment while staring into the next.
Mordred managed to sound caustic regardless of his words. “It’s all right, I’ve got it under control now.”
“You’ve ‘got it under control now?’ What was happening before?” Everest’s pulse throbbed. Nervousness and anxiety were side effects he’d come to deal with, but given the onset timeframe, this must be the real thing.
Mordred shrugged, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, like they were having a nice, normal rendezvous. “Hard to say with Dahl. He has all these plans and contingencies and layer upon layer of inscrutable tedium only to be undermined by his own impatience and immaturity nine times out of ten.”
“So you don’t know why you broke into my house in the middle of the night?”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Apologies.” Everest took a galvanizing breath, “So you don’t know why Dahl broke into my house in the middle of the night?”
“Maybe he got lonely.”
Forcing his gun to stay silent with no small effort. Everest peered through his second sight again: the possibility of plastering Mordred’s brains all over the wall was there, but it would really be Dahl’s brains, and Dahl didn’t deserve to be shot in the head. Everest responded as calmly as he could manage, “Well, this has been a nice chat. I’ll see you out.”
Everest stood, careful to keep the gun casually ready as he slid out of bed onto the soft carpet. His loose hair fell in his face as he edged to the dresser to retrieve a pair of pants for his guest. His wouldn’t fit—Dahl was shorter but a lot more muscular—but Adam’s would. He stood at the drawer, his hand resting on the neatly folded article of clothing he couldn’t bring himself to lift. Why was everything so astonishingly hard? His life was made of ragged ends he couldn’t quite hold together. He glanced back at Mordred’s smug expression. He’d rather send Mordred out the door naked than give him something of Adam’s. Getting a shirt for himself was tempting but putting it on would leave him open for a few seconds. He closed the drawer and gestured to the door. “This way.”
Mordred shuddered and took a stumbling step forward. Dahl was resurfacing. Everest’s stomach lurched. Why couldn’t Mordred keep things under control? The previous iteration wasn’t riddled with complications. According to Adam, personality changes last time weren’t an issue. Mordred had been in control twenty-four seven from the time the link was formed at fourteen. Everest’s mind pulled an image of Omar. Poor boy. His body only made it to sixteen, and Everest knew his mind must have been gone long before.
Everest diligently locked the memory away again. He could still do things to make this moment go more smoothly. Grabbing a folded throw blanket from the end of the bed, he tossed it to Mordred.
“Cover up.”
“Awwww, have I embarrassed you?”
Everest raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve seen the way he looks at you, I take it.”
“Yes. Pure, undiluted loathing is hard to forget.”
“No, Everest. I mean how he always looks a little too long.”
“Shut up and put the blanket on.”
“He’s like a tree under power lines. Survival means growing more and more twisted.”
Everest wanted to backhand him. Mordred so enjoyed the sound of his own voice, “Put. The. Blanket. On. You have seconds before I have a pissed-off teenager to deal with, and it will go better if he isn’t nude.”
“Yes, mother.” Mordred complied with an eye roll. As he finished wrapping his expression changed, and now Dahl was in his bedroom wearing only a throw in the middle of the night. He started shaking.
“What… what’s going on?”
“You broke into my room. You were probably going to murder me in my sleep.” Everest had to stop himself from adding “Good try!” or giving him a light punch on the shoulder, or anything else that seemed oddly natural in this situation but in reality would have been stupidly inappropriate.
Dahl was looking foggy, “I don’t remember anything.” His eyes were staring into the middle distance. He suddenly focused on Everest’s shoulder and arm.
“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.” Dahl immediately went red, and Everest was hit with a surge of empathy. Gods, he’d been there. Saying something wildly out of context because your brain was doing its best to just keep going. Stringing words together was daunting, let alone the right words. Everest was still gazing through his second eye. Empathy was good. Connection was good. He needed to humanize the situation as much as possible. Tattoos were something they had in common, the perfect place to start.
“Yes,” He brushed his hair aside, showing the single, twisting, photo-realistic tentacle winding around his shoulder and arm, cradling a rabbit. “The tentacle is in homage to H.P. Lovecraft, of course, and the rabbit is for my bond.”
“Is it resting or ensnared?”
“A question I have pondered many times.” Everest forced a tiny smile. He was almost out of danger. The violent tension bleeding away. “What does yours say? I can’t read runes.” Everest’s eyes settled on Dahl’s bicep and intentionally avoided examining the horrible layers of scar tissue and shallow scabs on his inner forearm. What was he doing to himself?
“Might for Right. It’s from-”
“The Once and Future King. I know, I’ve read it.”
“I’ve read yours too. Ian read it to me when I was a kid. It’s one of his favorites. I even learned Lapine.” Dahl’s eyes were suddenly shiny, and his muscles tensed. “Please help me. Please. You know the truth.”
Everest’s heart twisted. He had no idea how to respond, so he stood silent.
Dahl was still speaking, “I believe in what you’re doing; what I think you’re doing. I would be on your side. There are other ways—” He couldn’t continue. The words stopped. Mordred didn’t want them speaking of it anymore.
The trajectory of the near future was changing so rapidly it made Everest ill. The punchline was, of course, this conversation could easily flip, and it would be equally true. When you danced with the devil you had better wait for the waltz to stop. Mordred was every bit as lethal to him as he was to Dahl.
Everest cast his sight forward, much farther than he considered accurate. The two of them were standing on a neon-lit dais in the shape of a skull. He would learn two
halves of a secret. The first would drive him insane. The second would save Dahl’s life. Everest closed his second sight. He could turn things around even this far in—at the paltry cost of his sanity, but any options were surprising. Did he want to change tracks? There were many versions of the future where his mind was whole, his body was healthy, and his conscience was a corpse at the end of a rope. Everest refocused on the present. He sidled to the dresser, took out a pair of Adam’s pants and a shirt, and lay them on the end of the bed. “I’ll step out while you get dressed.”
Dahl was sitting on the thick burgundy carpet by the gas fireplace, staring across the room and holding a towel to bleeding phantom wounds. They were waiting for Ian to come collect him—an arrangement Dahl had objected to loudly, but as he didn’t have keys and was in no shape to walk, Everest had gotten to make the decision. Everest couldn’t drive while on his meds, and cab drivers became annoyed when you bled all over the seat, so Everest had called Ian for a ride. Dahl kept slipping in and out of functionality, a combination of Mordred’s attempted influence and blood loss from the side effects of shapeshifting. Thank gods he wasn’t behind the wheel.
As lucid moments became more frequent, his eyes roamed across the shelves, resting briefly on each of Everest’s fondest possessions. Everest hid a bemused smirk behind his teacup—he could practically hear the gears turning as Dahl pondered the collection, trying to make it fit some kind of theme: a simple gold wedding band, a worn cat collar, a threadbare holocaust badge. Everest watched as Dahl’s face lit, his blue eyes sparkling.
“You’re an empath or an object reader?”
Everest gaped from his teacup and tried to cover his surprise. “Both, among other things. I’m interested how you puzzled that out.” Rain dripped outside, running along the gutters and into the flowerpots.
Dahl stood and wandered over to the lighted glass shelves, fingering a small copper-filled bone. “I’ve been trying to understand your collection. Like this.” He tossed the small object in the air and caught it again. “It’s obviously old and valuable. Is it a knucklebone? For gambling?”
“Close. It’s Mongolian shagai. Used for games and feats of dexterity. The one you’re holding belonged to Genghis Khan, given as a gift from one of his closest friends who later became a general in the Golden Horde.”
Dahl nodded, setting it down and running his elegant, calloused fingers along the edge of the shelf, “So it’s a priceless artifact belonging personally to Genghis Khan, next to this.” He lifted a diet Coke can. Everest jumped slightly as Dahl touched it. He didn’t want Dahl handling it, and he didn’t want to admit it.
“That’s one of my favorites.” He offered as an explanation for his reaction. Dahl turned it in his hands, peering inside, looking over every inch.
“It took me a while to puzzle together the theme. These are all objects with deep emotional impressions, yes?”
“Yes.”
Dahl’s face glowed. How could he still smile like that? He was so pleased with this new discovery and the fact he was clever enough to discover it. “So what’s the story behind this?” He absently sniffed at the can. The piece of trash was immaculately clean and tended. Everest opened his mouth, ready with a false explanation, and Dahl cut him off lightly, “Lies.”
Everest let his unspoken falsehood out as a sigh as he set down his cup and closed the distance, gently taking the can back, being careful not to brush Dahl’s fingers and to keep his second eye closed.
“It’s not for you.” He carefully replaced it on the shelf, letting his fingers linger briefly on the smooth aluminum. He’d found it by chance in a movie theater cup holder. Someone had smuggled it in so they wouldn’t have to pay $7 for a soda, and at the end of the movie they’d left it. But sometime in between it had become impressed deeply, perfectly with the feeling of a first kiss. Intense experiences lingered sometimes, leaving their imprint on a nearby object.
Dahl chewed his lip ring and went back to the dining table, his eyes traveling over the mementos lining the shelves, his lips moving slightly, inventing stories. “It’s a talent I’ve never thought about. It must turn the world into a treasure hunt. Do you use it off duty much?”
Everest shifted. Not using magic outside of work was a rule everyone bent. Admitting to it as an officer made him slightly uncomfortable, but twenty minutes ago they’d been grappling with extra-natural possession in his bedroom while in various stages of nakedness, so standing on technicalities was probably pointless. “Yes. It’s fairly easy for me, so I can run it a lot with only marginal side effects. It comes with a subtle visual cue as well, just a flickering glow, so no one notices if I’m careful. Future sight is the one that puts me out, and the one I use most on the job. What about you? Any hobby talents?”
“Flying.” Dahl said without hesitation as he lifted a silver locket and clicked it open, “Red-tailed hawk is my go-to. Falcons are fun, but they’re kind of flashy. Fantastic speed, though. I like vultures if I’m going sightseeing, but a hawk is a solid, versatile option.” Dahl grinned, “And you haven’t been alive until you’ve had to outrun a bald eagle. It shreds me, though, so I only do it on days I know I won’t be called in. It’s worth the blood loss. There’s nothing else like it.” He replaced the locket on the shelf and studied a peeling baseball. “Do you read people the same way you find keepsakes?”
“Well,” Everest fumbled, “It’s more conspicuous. I have to touch people to read them, and often it wouldn’t go over well. If I ask first it sounds creepy. I like to do it though.” Everest’s eyes flicked over Dahl’s face, anticipating mocking or embarrassment. Dahl was listening, his expression interested and light, so Everest exhaled a little and pressed on. “It’s so much simpler than language. I wish it worked both ways. I struggle to say what I want to, sometimes.”
Dahl nodded, “I hear you.” He took a sip of water from the cup on the coffee table and sat on the floor against the couch, resting his eyes. Everest busied himself tidying, putting away sugar, wiping the counter, and stealing glances at Dahl’s sensitive face with lead in his stomach.
Chapter Six
Olive was vomiting, but at least she’d made it to the toilet. Ian continued to shoot withering glances at the bathroom door from where he sat on the floor under the blankets with his back against the wall. Bright streetlights edged the blackout curtains, and between the glow, the jet lag, and the crazy evening Jane’s internal clock was spinning.
She checked Ian’s watch strapped to her wrist. After putting the ridiculously large device around her wrist, mostly for comic effect, he’d removed the straps and threaded it with a black ribbon borrowed from Jane’s dress. She’d cinched and tied it so it wouldn’t slip off and admired her new gauntlet-sized timepiece.
The two of them had come to the mutual decision that Olive’s input was needed for further action, so until she woke the night was theirs. Neither of them continued serious discussion. Instead, the hours were spent chatting about lighter topics, making out, watching Alien 3 on pay-per-view, making out more, and finally drifting off to sleep. Now it was 7 am. Why couldn’t Olive have slept in? Jane dutifully stood at the ready, keeping an ear open in case she needed help. When it was clear she didn’t, Jane glanced at Ian, “So, she’s not your favorite person right now?”
Ian sighed, “Things have been strained between her and Dahl. I don’t know the details, but I see some of the hurt it’s causing him. It’s hard to watch.”
Jane chewed her lip, “He talked about her a little with me last fall, said they’d been together a year. It sounded serious.”
“Yes, he was. Dahl is a kind, loving person and very open with those trusts. It’s always been difficult, teaching him how to connect with others. He missed a lot in his early years. I worry that in my haste to help him regain trust in people I have failed to prepare him for the real world. He and Olive are not at the same stage of life, and I worry they never will be. She is much older than he is; she’s older than I am in fact, but she never
really grew up. She’s had many lovers and doesn’t like to be tied down; when she dates younger men, she usually breaks it off after a few months. Dahl’s never had a serious relationship before. I think they each viewed the romance very differently.” Ian shook his head, “He is also very set on the idea of monogamy at this point. I don’t know if there’s any way for things to work.”
“Set on the idea of monogamy?” Jane called out the bizarre phrasing before they got sidetracked.
Ian twinkled, “You’re Christian. You know about monogamy, right?”
Jane laughed nervously, “Ummm, yeah. Is that not the normal way of things on your street?”
“Sana Baba has existed for thousands of years across hundreds of cultures. Monogamy is not always the norm.”
Jane’s mouth was tacky. Did she even know the right questions to ask in a relationship with this man? “I’m kind of set on the idea of monogamy, too. Are you good with that?”
Ian chuckled, “Yes.”
Jane grinned, “Super. I mean, not for Dahl. So they broke up?”
“If they did, he didn’t say so.” Ian’s voice was back to serious, “Although I was starting to think he was falling in love with someone else. I know his suicide attempt last autumn drove a wedge between him and Olive too. Honestly, I have a hard time with myself. When he was younger…” Ian’s face fell, and he stopped speaking.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Jane went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Ian held her, “He was hospitalized when he was six, before I met him. His birth mother was an alcoholic who was too drunk to care for him. The first part of his life must have been terrible. He used to cut his arms. He swears to this day he wasn’t trying to kill himself, but it was bad enough that the doctors called it a suicide attempt. While he was in the hospital, the authorities took legal charge and placed him in foster care with Emilee. He made huge steps forward during the time he was with her. Then she became ill, and Sana Baba stepped in.”