Marked by the Demigod

by Alessa Winters

  But while the lack of information doesn’t sit well with Aimes, it's not, well, not actively causing her pain. She dreams, way too much, and it's all the kinkiest sex she's never had, not with Rocky and not with her college boyfriend and not...not with Jake. Yet.

  She didn't text that one to Katya.

  Trixie calls for a lunch as soon as Aimes comes back from one of her one-day conventions in the Midwest. They meet at Timmy Nolan’s cause a lunch that can be justified with a beer is an excellent lunch.

  And Timmy Nolan’s is dark enough that any vulnerability is so easily covered up.

  And they have fried pickles.

  Trixie picks at her meat pie, a frown visible on her face, as Aimes waits for her to talk. "Remember that guy? The one with the dating?"

  Aimes nods, cause she has sure as shit didn’t want to ask but really wanted to know. "Yeah, the one who wanted to know the personality thing," she ribs, sitting back.

  The back of her neck prickles, but she doesn't look back, not wanting to deal with the staring and whatever drama Trixie is about to unleash.

  "He asked me to be his girlfriend, all traditional like. You know, to hang out all the time, and do shit together." She prods at the meat pie, as if it isn't her favorite food and delicious. "I said yes?"

  "Hey cool." Aimes knocks shoulders with her, casual, cause if she treats it like a big deal then Trixie would.

  "You're okay with that?" At Aimes surprised face, Trixie continues, "I mean, with the whole thing how Rocky shook out and such."

  Aimes deliberately eats one of her fried pickles, the back of her neck feeling like whoever it is is staring a hole into her. "Sure, it's good for you." She risks a glance behind her, doesn't see anyone. "Besides, it could be fun. You like the hanging out?"

  Trixie nods, staring down at her food. "Yeah, he's interesting. Has other friends, so it wouldn't be just me. That's...that's good, right?"

  Sometimes the depth of Trixie's lack of experience floors Aimes. "Yeah, that's good, that means you won't get sick of each other." She takes a bite again, struck with the sudden thought about how she has no clue if Jake has any friends.

  She scowls into her pickles, then forcibly relaxes her face, one muscle at a time, in time to see Trixie raise an eyebrow.

  "Hey Aimes," she dips her voice down, "there's this guy staring..."

  Of course. "Great." She picks at her pickles. "Remember how I mentioned this?"

  Trixie doesn't stop staring over her shoulder. "Aimes ---" She reaches out and grips her wrist and --

  A flurry of motion, and someone's hands slam on the table, and they both jump.

  His face, too close to Aimes, jolts closer. "What did you do?" The man snarls. His skin is pasty, too white, too uneven, like he had a childhood with bad acne.

  Aimes scoots back in the booth, and the man stands up straight, face full of fury.

  There's a moment of shocked silence, when nobody moves, and Trixie's hand is tight over her wrist. The waitress stares at them from behind the bar, her order pad clutched to her chest, eyes wide. From behind the kitchen, the dishwasher comes out, keeping an obvious eye on the situation.

  The man's eyes flicker back and forth between Aimes and Trixie, eyes moving too fast, as if he’s high out of his mind.

  Trixie clears her throat, and Aimes jumps again. "I think, sir, I think you got the wrong table." Her voice wavers with a hint of confusion.

  The man stares her down, and she shrinks a bit in the booth. "Do you know who she is?" He demands. Even his voice is rough.

  Sir," Aimes starts, heart pounding in the back of her throat, "Whatever you're thinking, you're probably wrong, it's..." She looks at Trixie, whose face is ashen, "it's a misunderstanding."

  The man just stands there, his face angry, for a few seconds too long. "A misunderstanding." He says, flat, like she’s the biggest bullshitter ever.

  Trixie's hand tightens around her wrist, but Aimes ignores it, instead deliberately making eye contact with the man. "I can call Katya --"

  And he punches her in the face.

  Later, she will reflect that it was probably hilarious looking to outsiders, but in the moment it just fucking hurts. Her head snaps back, her nose crunching. Trixie screams and grabs her beer and throws it in the man's face.

  He sputters, and the dishwasher vaults over the bar, grabbing the man by the arms and holding them down.

  Blood starting to leak down her lip, Aimes tilts her head back. "Oh my god." Her lip goes numb, puffy. "Oh my god."

  The dishwasher scuffles, and he and the man disappear outside. The waitress rushes to the table with extra napkins, which Aimes clutches to her nose.

  Trixie twists her head to face her, her eyes so wide she can see the whites all around. "Aimes, Aimes, oh my god."

  Aimes nods, feeling her hands start to shake. "Um."

  Somewhere in the mess, the waitress calls the police, and they sit Aimes and Trixie down in the back and ask a shit ton of questions. A nurse dabs at Aimes's nose and declares it somehow not broken, though her lip is split open.

  Trixie's shaking harder than Aimes, and everything feels so surreal, so awful, and there's blood all over Aimes's shirt and the waitress comps their meal and gives them both gift cards and Aimes isn't sure she breathes during any of it.

  After a few minutes of annoying questions, Katya breezes in, barely giving Aimes a glance as she does, but giving the police a quick clean smile. "Hello, Officer Daniel," she says, extending her hand for a shake.

  The officer writing stuff down sighs, somehow relieved. "This one of your guys?"

  "Fraid so, Officer. May I," she gestures to Aimes and Trixie, and the officer nods.

  "I'll talk to the manager, see about getting the tapes." He flips his pad closed, nods formally at Aimes and Trixie. "Someone will follow up in 2-5 days from the department."

  It's surreal how fast he packs up and gets the hell out of the back office, leaving Aimes and Trixie alone with Katya.

  Katya briefly makes eye contact with Aimes, before Trixie bursts out. "Who the hell are you?"

  Katya drags over a chair, sits professionally across from them. "Hello, my name is Katya, I've been assigned onto the man's case for a while," she says, smooth, as if she has never met Aimes before. "Can you tell me exactly what he said?"

  Trixie sits up straighter, taking the lead and for once, Aimes is just grateful instead of annoyed. "He asked what she did, then he asked me if I knew who she was and then--" she mimes the punch. "Aimes tried to say it was a misunderstanding, but he got angry."

  Katya locks eyes with Aimes. "Do you need more medical help?" It's such a jolt to be talked to directly that she barely stops herself from flinching.

  "Uh, no, but I'll need a new shirt before going back to work."

  Trixie buries her face in her hands. "Oh my god Aimes you're not going back to work," she says, her voice sounding closer to hysterical than Aimes feels. "You were just punched at a bar, you can't go to the library oh my god."

  "I agree, it'd be better if you go home and rest. I can have the officer call your place of employment and explain." Katya smiles, kind and practiced, at Trixie. "I do need to talk to Amelie alone, I apologize for the inconvenience."

  Trixie nods, her brows furrowing, before scowling. "Are you okay with that?" She asks Aimes, not even bothering to whisper.

  Aimes nods, dazed. "It's not my first time being punched, remember?"

  The corners of her eyes crinkle after a moment. "Kiddie karate doesn't count." But she stands, grips Aimes shoulder, and then walks out, the uniformed officer conferring with her in low tones.

  Katya and Aimes stare at each other for a few seconds, then Katya expels a breath, explosive. "He's a dryad, he's on a watchlist of violent people. My agency gets notified if he makes any sudden movements." She peers at Aimes's split lip. "He just...flat out punched you?"

  Aimes glances at the now-bloody napkin she's holding at her lip and nose. "Like a movie."

  "You don'
t need any more health care?"

  "Nurse says it's not broken, just a bloody nose and a split lip." Her mouth tingles, like it's going numb. Or, rather, losing feeling. "Um. He...he had been staring."

  "I bet he was, he doesn't like humans getting involved." Katya sits back.

  "So that's why he punched me when I said your name?" Aimes can feel her lip fattening, flubbing some of the words.

  She raises an eyebrow, perfectly put together, and Aimes just wants to curl in on herself. "That was probably a good instinct on your part, don't worry, just...perfect storm."

  "Yeah I gathered." Aimes picks at her shirt. The blood sticks to her skin, plastering the blouse to her.

  Katya watches. "We should get you in self defense classes," she says slowly. "If...if your husband isn't going to show up when you're attacked, you should learn how to take care of yourself."

  The hair on the back of her neck raises, like it always does when the word husband gets brought up. "Was he supposed to? Show up?"

  "With the bond, he would know you were in danger before you did. And with you hurt...he'd know immediately, and all his instincts would be to come and find you." She nods, and hands Aimes a new set of napkins for her nose. Thank god, the blood is slowing.

  Aimes tilts her head back, trying not to sniffle through the blood. "Great."

  The nurse sends her home for the day with the instructions to take over the counter pain meds and to take it easy. So she curls up with her laptop and a pint of Ben and Jerry's, cause the cold feels really good on her lip.

  Katya's receptionist sends her a list of self defense classes, all looking like they're designed for not normal people who want to figure out how to not get hurt while still blending in like people with zero powers. Which...which is bullshit.

  She flips through the packet Katya gives her, and finds dryads. Basically, slow moving creatures that need to be close to their trees, and are predestined to have anger problems. Great.

  Her phone buzzes.

  DAVE (4:42 PM ): I hear you got attacked?

  Isn't that over dramatic.

  AIMES (4:43 PM): Eh, punched. By a dryad.

  DAVE (4:44 PM): They're jackasses.

  She cracks a smile, then immediately regrets it and clutches at her lip.

  DAVE (4:46 PM): Katya tells me to manipulate you into getting self-defense classes. Do I need to?

  A chuckle builds up in her chest, but she squashes it with another spoonful of ice cream.

  AIMES (4:46 PM): Not really. This isn't a thing I want to repeat.

  DAVE (4:50 PM): Good.

  She eats her ice cream for a bit, curled up on the couch and feeling exquisitely sorry for herself, poking around on some coding for a bit before emailing the receptionist back with a few class requests.

  Katya lurks at the back of the first class, still in her suit and combat boots, watching as someone - a honest-to-god fairy who doesn't quite glitter - makes the four people in the class drench themselves in sweat. It's not the most graceful Aimes feels, but it seems that every time she runs into Katya she's never at her best.

  As they towel off, Katya speaks with the fairy before gesturing Aimes back to her office, and she's so covered in sweat she feels like she sticks to the chairs.

  "You know, I'm tired of all my life revolving around this guy." Aimes slumps in the chair, past the level of caring to appear put together, as Katya takes some papers from her printer.

  Katya's eyebrows quirk. "Near as I can tell, you're the only person who's been mistakenly bonded to like this in all of recorded history," she says, as if it was blasé. "Granted, there was a whole section of the Middle Ages where nothing was recorded but..." She sits down. "We have no procedure for dealing with your case."

  As if that part isn't blatantly obvious. "And you needed to tell me that before my shower?"

  She blinks. "I wanted to be clear with you, we have no set protocol."

  "Yeah." Aimes replies, staring at the door and thinking longingly about the water pressure of her apartment. "Nothing makes sense and I wish it'd stop."

  Katya frowns at her, but it's a thoughtful frown of someone faced with a problem that isn't going how they planned.

  "I mean, I got punched cause I slept with a guy."

  Katya hesitates, and it's clear that she knows something about that and didn't think it would be the best to talk about it but that she probably should. "The dryad in response was killed last night."

  Aimes sits up straighter, her skin slicking off the chair. "What?"

  "It's a string of deaths that are all otherwise unconnected, all within the purvey of our offices. He was the last." Her voice is grave, but her face doesn't change from its mask of professionalism.

  Her breath catches in her throat, stuck, not hope but not separate from hope. "Do you think it's my guy?"

  "It's easy to assume that, but it's been going on for about seventeen months." They stare at each other for a long second. "This world is big, sometimes, and it's terrifying in what it'll do."

  Three months pass, and there's no more attacks and only a moderate amount of staring. Trixie dates the guy and is uncomfortable, and Aimes tries to not feel simultaneously lonely and empty.

  It sucks.

  9

  It starts while she's wiping out some particularly nasty malware some punk decided to download on one of the Studio City computers.

  First, a little twinge. Something small, something behind her rib cage, a little like heartburn and a little like that feeling you get when you run too far. But it's so small she absentmindedly pushes the heel of her hand into her breastbone, then goes back to deleting the programs.

  Then, later, as she's doing some grocery shopping with Trixie, it flares back up, less like heartburn and more like drowning. She stutters to a stop and gasps.

  "Aimes?" Trixie slides a hand on her elbow. "You okay?"

  Aimes stares at Trixie, who's holding an avocado like she forgot about it, and catches her breath. "Yeah, just...yeah." She thumps herself on her chest. "Just..."

  Just she doesn't know what's going on, and she follows Trixie with cart, feeling on the edge of catching her breath the entire time, her heart stutter beating, not quite painful but not quite something she can describe.

  In line, Aimes leans against the cart a little too heavily, and Trixie gives her that sharp look.

  "You getting sick?" Her voice is nonchalant in a way that makes all the hairs on the back of Aimes's arm stand on end. "You look like you're gonna pass out."

  The thought had occurred to her.

  "I think I need to lay down, not feeling my best," Aimes says, and her voice even sounds like it's from a distance.

  Trixie wrinkles her nose at her. "Did you get your flu shot?"

  Aimes nods, and hands Trixie her card so she can continue to lean against the cart instead of pay. Trixie plucks her car keys out of Aimes's purse when she puts the card back.

  "I'll drop you off," she says, and her face isn't wrinkly anymore, but instead kind.

  Aimes nods off in the car, and when Trixie nudges her awake, it's like she can barely see.

  Of course she can see, but it's like everything is somewhat paled away, indistinct. If she focuses, it's normal, but...everything's just...fuzzy.

  Trixie dumps her on the couch and digs around in Aimes's bathroom cabinets for what feels like forever. Long enough that Aimes's eyes unfocus and everything around her starts to feel...uneven.

  It's like something else is there, heaving a weight onto her chest and pressing down, steady and sure.

  Trixie appears, sudden, in front of her, and holds the thermometer out. "If you're burning up I'm taking you to urgent care I don't care what you say." Her voice is kind, soothing. "There you go."

  As the thermometer is working at its glacial pace, Trixie sits next to her and cuddles into the blanket and it's...almost not bad. Like the weight of Trixie snuggled up on her shoulder balances out the pressure on her chest.

  A vague part of her wa
nts to panic, but a bigger part of her feels that the panic would be too much energy.

  The thermometer beeps, and Trixie takes it. Her sudden absence from her shoulder is almost a physical pain. "Nothing." Trixie says soft, standing up. "Do you want help to bed?"

  Aimes nods, and Trixie pulls her to her feet. "Text me if you need me, I'll bring back your car sometime this afternoon."

  She lets herself get pulled into the bedroom and watches, bleary eyed, as Trixie plugs in her phone and everything.

  "You better fucking reply to my texts today," she snaps, but it's friendly and familiar. "If you don't, I'm coming over, don't even think I won't."

  Of course she will, and Aimes closes her eyes and hears Trixie shut the door behind her.

  She wakes feeling like a horse kicked her in the chest. The light filtering through her window is morning light, and she gasps and clutches at her breastbone for a few seconds, before her heart stops pounding and breathing is normal again.

  Some time in the night, Trixie must've stopped by and left a glass of water for her on the bed, which she gulps gratefully before opening her texts.

  TRIXIE (6:31 AM): I already emailed your boss, you're off work today.

  KATYA GOVERNMENT (9:01 AM): Group members missed you at the support meeting last night. Everything okay?

  Aimes sips at her water, and the feeling of a harsh weight against her chest comes back. She considers going to the doctor but something...something just feels like she shouldn't.

  AIMES (9:29 AM): You're the best and I owe you one. Awake now and feeling bleh.

  Bleh feels like the most mild way of putting it.

  AIMES (9:31 AM): Feeling bad, sorry.

  Immediately,

  KATYA GOVERNMENT (9:31 AM): Sick bad or weird bad?

  Aimes pauses, absentmindedly kneading right where the weight sits behind her rib cage. Of course she would ask that, and there's no answer besides the fact that it is weird, in a sort of distant way that Aimes is groggy enough to realize.