Marked by the Demigod

by Alessa Winters

  It's not like she can demand that, but at the same time, it'd be like pointing her friend towards a wall and expecting her to smack against it. "It's not all bad," she says, and it's hollow, especially with her anger. "I can't...I can't explain it, but it's not all bad."

  Tears fill Trixie's eyes, but don't fall as she reins herself back. "I'm not going to like him. Ever."

  "I think he could live with that."Aimes jokes, but it falls flatter than the pancakes. "Not very many people like him."

  "If he goes around doing things like that, no wonder." Trixie looks visibly relieved to have the conversation switch over.

  There's a lull, where they both eat for a few minutes, and it's miserable.

  "Wait, did he visit at Vegas?" Trixie blurts out.

  Nodding, Aimes tries to cast back for a good story of him, and finding it remarkably difficult. "Remember that guy staring at me? He's one of the bad guys."

  Trixie's eyes widen. "He wants you dead?" She breathes, immediately jumping to the most dramatic option. Which happens to be correct.

  "Yeah, Jake got me...out. So I wasn't followed."

  Trixie pales more. "I told him you were from the Midwest."

  "That was good." Aimes points. "That helped. A bit. We think."

  "So how do we take down the creepy staring guy?" Trixie says, casual. "There's got to be a way." She shakes herself, as if shaking herself from a rut.

  Not knowing how to reply, Aimes nods. "What time do you have work?"

  Trixie shoots her such a vile glare that Aimes regrets changing the topic. "Doesn't matter." She snaps. "My best friend was missing for days, I can use a sick day." And she scowls so hard it looks like she'll burst a blood vessel. "I can't believe you'd ask, you were in a hole in the ground and then in a hospital --". And she rants on, and Aimes just nods.

  Trixie drops her off, and Aimes collapses back into her bed, pulling her trustworthy laptop up next to her, the knot in her chest throbbing.

  Her work email is full of good wishes from her coworkers, asking how her grandmother was doing, and when they could expect to see her back, that sort of thing. It's heartwarming, their concern for her non-existent grandmother and the excuses Katya crafted for her, and she spends a few blissful hours replying to programming emails like a champ.

  After replying, her coworker Evan immediately starts texting her, and it's also heartwarming for it's utter panic.

  EVAN WORK (1:01 PM): Please tell me you'll be back soon.

  AIMES (1:01 PM): tomorrow.

  EVAN WORK (1:03 PM): The Pasadena systems have gone to shit.

  That hurts her chest, but in a different way, cause who knows how long Dave had been there, guarding the location, and how long he's been keeping things together by the skin of his teeth.

  EVAN WORK (1:04 PM): Sorry bout your grandmother.

  And at that, the knot in her chest and the death of Dave seems to morph into one big hurt, and she curls up around her laptop, viciously grateful to be alone.

  Trixie's words, there's got to be a way, echo in her brain for the next few days, as she tries to set up in Dave's old office and unravel the mass of things gone wrong in the library systems. It's as if his life force was keeping everything together, and now that he's gone it's...fragmented.

  The programs that Aimes herself installed on the computers are patchy, the wiring to the building going haywire, and internet doesn't seem to come through to the wireless systems quite as easily. Aimes is only one of four different tech workers hell bent on fixing it.

  Never has she known an AT&T guy by name before, but now she does, and his name is Brent. And he's just as confused as she is.

  The new head librarian, one of the quiet ladies who ran the children's department, brings cupcakes every day and iced water bottles every afternoon. It hurts, like attempting to cover a stab wound with a normal band-aid, but she's trying.

  So Aimes throws herself in the mix with an equal part of bitter grief and relief at focusing on something else. And Dave's office is quiet, secluded, and air-conditioned.

  Which is why, when a whisper of air displacement ruffles her hair, she only turns around to face Iakov.

  To her pleasure, he looks much more healthy than the last time she saw him, his hair combed and his skin smooth and well rested. His light grey suit might even be pressed, and she doesn't know if she's seen him this put together since they first met.

  He nods at her, brisk, instead of a greeting, and even his relative health can't quite make her feel better about...him.

  "Yes?" She whispers, the quiet library an almost oppressive silence. It’s fine when it’s just her, but with him it presses down, full of things they should be talking about.

  He quirks an eyebrow at her, then sprawls in the rickety swivel chair, the very one she sat in when Dave was telling her the news all those months ago. "Are you avoiding me?"

  Aimes raises her eyebrow at the computer, typing in some lines of code, cause she's practically having to rewrite the entire thing all over again and the computer is protesting that fact. "Hard to avoid someone who can teleport at will and...hasn't."

  His eyes bore into the back of her curly hair, but she tries to ignore it. "It's not quite teleportation, really, it's much more of displacement," he complains.

  Aimes resists the urge of smack her head on the already misbehaving keyboard. "Right."

  There's a long pause, where the only sound is her clacking on the keys and his breathing.

  "I'm sorry."

  Her heart pounding, she swivels in her chair around, relishing in the small movement. "What?"

  He tries his winning smile, which absolutely does not work on her. "I'm sorry?" He leans forwards, reaching out his hands as if to grasp hers, to hold them close. His face twists, as if saying the words is an affront.

  Instead of holding his hands, she crosses her arms against the chill of the air conditioning, and stares at him.

  "I'm sorry I put you there without explaining," he all but mumbles. "I thought...I thought you'd rather be safe than know everything."

  She blinks at him, slowly, and he blanches. "Did anything happen?" She asks, skirting around the apology like it’s toxic. "You look...better."

  He hems and haws, then shrugs. "I've been looking for information, rather than trying to run." And it's an admission, an admission that costs him something, some energy or pride or...something.

  Before she can stop herself she leans forward and puts her hands in his. He twitches, before grabbing back as if this could save him. "Did you find anything?"

  He tries the smarmy grin on her, too vulnerable to be convincing. "Only that they're well protected, but I...hurt them. When I." He nods at her, clearly not wanting to start an argument again. "I think I can get one down, make it so none of this is needed but..."

  Her stomach sinks, for he's going to lock her away, keep her out of danger. "Don't you dare hide me, I'm far too busy at work."

  He quirks an eyebrow at her. "I was thinking having you stay at Katya's, and take Katya with me."

  She raises an eyebrow right back. "Take Katya with you?"

  "The thing, the thing that has kept me alive, that kept Vanya alive, all this time...I don't think one of us can kill the other." The tone in his voice is as if he is about to ramble, and ramble hard. "I don't know why I couldn't see it before, but it makes sense, yes? Why they've always sent their lackeys after me, why they've sent killers instead of themselves, and..."

  "I'll do it, then." Aimes says, quick, and it stops him cold, face paling. "It'd get them off our back?"

  He nods, then quickly shakes his head. "It has to be someone who can die," he says, fervent. "Someone...disposable."

  "Katya's not disposable." Maybe in the grand scheme of things with wars and gods, but not today, not in the bureaucracy and in the community and the nitty gritty nature of the city.

  "No, of course not, but she's had her entire life training to be dealing with people like me and would have a better chance of living
and..." his face twists, as if his next words tastes nasty. "And if she dies, I'll be okay."

  She can see where he's going and hates that she does.

  "You could always find someone else to replace me," she says, and it's a surreal conversation for a quiet over air-conditioned office of a dead man. "You'd just have to get away quick enough."

  He blinks at her, for far longer than necessary, and with a sense of detached horror she thinks he might cry. "I don't...I don't think I'd be okay. Even if I got away." He rasps out, as if yet another emotional confession drains him dry.

  She raises an eyebrow at him, and he smiles at her, handsome and devastating. Her hands in his are suddenly sweaty, even with the chill of the air.

  He glances at their hands, as if noticing. "I think I'd be very much...not okay. If you were gone," he says.

  Swiveling her chair back and forth, she regards him, and he just grows more and more uncomfortable. A sense of somewhat sadistic glee rises within her. "Iakov, are you getting awkward?" She pokes at him with her foot.

  He gives her a scowl, but there's no heat in it. "Shut up," he says, has voice drawling. "I'm trying to be meaningful here."

  She pokes him again with her foot. "And?"

  He narrows his eyes at her, but the anger and panic is gone, and it feels much more like they're on normal footing. Or normal for them, like this is a normal visit while she was out on location and he just had wanted to nebulously see her.

  "Amelie," he pauses as her face scrunches up, "Aimes, you are..." he trails off, as if lost in his words. "I didn't think I'd actually like you this much." He blurts out. "When I started this, I thought...I didn't think."

  She quirks an eyebrow at him. "That's why I want this threat gone," she says, trying to school her voice into being as matter as fact as she could possibly get. "Cause I don't like running."

  He leans back, almost tipping the cheap office chair. After a few second, his face twists, and he nods. "Makes sense." He stands. "This was your friend's office?" He says, voice stilted.

  She nods, looking back at the computer. "I think he was the only one holding this building together."

  He looks alarmed, as if taking her literally, before glancing at the computer. "And fixing these is what you do."

  "Sorta."

  He hmmms, and leans back, brows furrowed. "When can you leave work?"

  He stays her entire shift, where she manages to rebuild the code with a lot of swearing and a medium amount of sweat, and he takes her arm in his, formal, as they walk out.

  No one pays them a bit of attention, as they step out of the busy library and onto the busiest street in Pasadena. She feels rather than hears his quick intake of breath as they move through the crowd, back around to the employee parking lot. His bicep remains tense, the entire way to her car, as if he thinks his brothers will be waiting once more, only relaxing once the car is in view.

  It occurs to her, that she rarely sees him walk somewhere.

  "Are you coming home with me?" She asks, facing him direct, watching the trepidation and the confusion flit across his face. "I wouldn't mind the company."

  Instead of answering verbally, he opens the door and climbs in.

  It's the most surreal drive back to Burbank she's ever had. He doesn't say anything, just an expression of deepening discomfort, and doesn't speak up until she closes her apartment door, where he exhales violently. "Sorry your friend doesn't like me." He blurts.

  It had been so far from her mind that she just quirks an eyebrow at him and doesn't reply.

  20

  The next morning, she wakes up to him warm and pliant next to her, still asleep. Both cats are curled at his feet, and only blink at her.

  She slides out of bed without him even twitching, feeling only a small pang of jealousy at how sound he sleeps. Sneaking out to the kitchen, she sleep makes a pot of coffee and grabs the packet of information Katya had given her ages before.

  The last few months had aged the pages, and she flips past the werewolves and the shapeshifters to the section on deities.

  It has very little on how they're killed, of course, so she flips to the bigger packet she had been given on Iakov. There's the single line about how he had killed his own father, which again seems over dramatic. But if there's anything that is constant it's Iakov and his brothers being needlessly dramatic.

  It gives her nothing of use, so she flips back to the general section of info Katya had given her, scanning for anything useful, but nothing jumps out...

  Her eyes drift over to the kitchen when the coffee perks over to done, and almost as if it's calling for her, her gaze drops to the cutlery drawer.

  The first time he had come back, it was because he had been shot with a bronze bullet.

  She scrambles up to her kitchen, yanking the drawer open with more force than necessary.

  The bronze knife, the mysterious one from all those months ago, lay still in its plastic casings.

  "Son of a bitch," she whispers, because he had given her that answer so long ago. "Of course."

  She glances back at the bedroom, where he's still fast asleep...and pours herself a cup of coffee cause she's not about to go and stab the shit out of someone before breakfast.

  She sits, the coffee cup warming her hand, staring at her purse. Her heart should be pounding, but instead it's stone cold calm.

  In a small, idle corner of her mind, she wonders if she's not dealing with the emotions right now or if she's actually calm.

  Could she stab someone, and what the hell is her life that she's actually considering it? How has her life evolved to the point that she's here, sipping coffee, with a Demi god in her bed and thinking of killing another?

  So she looks at this like it’s a code. What are the questions she is looking at, how do they each break down, and what are the logical fallacies of each.

  The first one: could she kill someone?

  She sinks into her too comfy couch, staring at her black TV, and can't think of a conceptual answer except...probably? If they threatened her enough?

  Had they?

  The answer to that question is yes. The image of Iakov's tattered chest and the rattle in his breath is enough to turn her stomach. Yes, they have threatened her enough, she's been hidden away enough, and Iakov is tired enough and hurt enough.

  She tucks her feet underneath herself and resolves to get a lot of therapy after this.

  Would there be...consequences? Legally?

  If Katya was willing to pull a gun on Iakov, are there any actual legal issues killing them? Would whatever shadow organization Katya's a part of prosecute her? If Iakov had Katya's help trying to take down them, then probably they're okay.

  Is there any jail Iakov couldn't get her out of? As she sips her coffee, she has to admit that it probably exists, by sheer probability of large numbers, and she immediately feels gross for thinking about all of this.

  Would Iakov and Katya let her in on any planning?

  Probably not. Iakov's word notwithstanding, she has no doubt that he would break a bedside promise for the sake of remaining safe and alive.

  He finally wakes as she gets ready to head back to Pasadena, the knife buried deep within her work purse, and he all but pouts as she's getting dressed. He's soft with sleep, warm, and when he wraps his arms around her middle and pulls her back into bed she doesn't protest.

  The cats curl up even more between Iakov's feet, provoking a low, rumbling laugh from him. "I think your kittens like me more than they like you."

  They're staring, wide eyed, up at Iakov, their purrs motoring through the sheets. "They like everyone more than they like me."

  Instead of having her drive, he teleports her directly outside the library, clutching her tight, his fingers not quite digging into her arms, not quite painful but not quite comfortable.

  "You gonna take me home tonight as well?" She asks, as soon as that teleportation jitters gets out of her system.

  "No, I'm going to leave you to get home f
rom Pasadena all by yourself with no transportation," he says, the sarcasm in his voice somewhat dimmed by the frantic way he looks around. His hands still on her, he nods, not so much looking at her but looking out at the rush of commuters walking into the Pasadena City Hall.

  Still disoriented, still somewhat angry at him, she rubs a hand on his arm in a way that she hopes is soothing. "No one here is going to hurt you, they just want to get to their own jobs."

  His gaze snaps to hers. "I know that." But instead of scathing, his voice goes soft. "It's just. A lot." As if suddenly aware of his grip, he releases her, and her skin prickles without his touch. "I'll...see you. Later." He hesitates, then disappears.

  No one around seems to notice, continuing to rush to work and to the coffee shop and back.

  The grand room of the library has its air conditioning back, and there's a small crowd of school kids clustered around the teaching computers, almost like it was before. The circulated air hits her face, and she loses her courage to contact the twins as soon as it does, as if it is blown away.

  So instead she shoulders her purse, the leather strap digging into her neck. "Right." She mutters, and climbs the four floors of stairs to Dave's old office and starts to program again.

  Halfway through her shift, her phone rings, startling her out of a particularly involving section of corrupted code. The air conditioning chills her, now that she's not concentrating hard, so she hugs herself while answering the phone.

  "Aimes, are you safe?" Katya says, her voice garbled.

  Aimes swivels to look at the door. "I'm in Dave's office," she says, struck by the weirdness. "Repairing the computer code."

  She can hear Katya's relieved exhale as soon as she says that. "I think they burned down your apartment complex."

  "You think?" She says, the sarcastic words falling out of her mouth as if in self-defense.