This one is slightly older. She lies upon a chaise lounge. It’s shaped as a stiletto heel reminiscent of Scarlett’s. This one is very old-world. 1950s with a shorter, still narrow, heel. This elongates the elegant piece. The woman is draped along the chair with the back of one hand over her forehead. She dons a long satin gown with necklaces, bracelets, and a headpiece. A large wispy feather sticks out from the diamond and pearl beaded headband worn over long flowing locks. Her other hand grasps bunched fabric. Below the hem of the hiked satin slip, two bare feet point out naturally.
Continuing around the oceanic pool, I find one more woman etched in stone. Unlike the others, this is not mystic or romantic. It’s dark. Vines twist around her. Jagged branches bound her as though she’s a kidnapped victim. However, she seems to be the one controlling the rope. Her arms are splayed upward from her sides as if she’s raising the dead. Her face is breathtakingly beautiful. Equally terrifying. Her facial expression is entrancing and powerful, and… Something else. Nearly imperceptible but lying beneath her hypnotizing grin—malevolence. Her eyes follow me. The irises appear to be made of chrysocolla.
Sexy would be another word. Her body type is that of nude models in the 1500s. Curvy in all the right places. Her ample bosom peeks above twined thorny creepers. It seems as though the vines branch out from her very essence. Her expression says: “I already know all your weaknesses. And… I plan on abusing each and every one, until I get what I want.”
A fleeting memory flashes through my mind. Thirteen-years-old. Middle-year training. Skylar Safrin, prototype of ‘mean girl.’ Evil bitch. Snide remarks and humiliation, yet, I’d do anything to feel part of her clique. Approval, acceptance, all of it—fake.
A never-ending vanity runs along each side of the fountain. Bubble light bulbs frame the reflective glass. Potion bottles, robes, plush towels, and pink powder puffs line the mile-long counter. I eye the delicious spread ahead of me as though it’s a decadent Thanksgiving meal. Perfumes with simple labels: ‘Lavender-Laced Honey Ice Cream,’ ‘Pumpkin-Pied Butter Cookie,’ ‘Peachy-Cobbler Shortbread.’ Lipstick bottles swirl around a crystalline display: ‘Nectar,’ ‘Violets,’ ‘Black Cherry.’ Lotions and creams: ‘Baby Face,’ ‘Plumpy Lips,’ ‘Cashmere Body.’
Oh, no I can’t stay for supper. Gotta stalk a stranger on my way to kill Satan. Also—might have a creeper lurking behind me. Just thought I’d take a quick peek at all these goodies for the sake of additional torture. A child’s stubby fingers splayed out on glass. Sharks swim in slow circles one transparent slice between true danger. But I want to play…
Silk robes and slippers fit snug in a basket. There are changing room suites, tiny hotel rooms minus the beds and other furniture. Each features a love seat, vanity, shower, more amenities, and a separate vanity for hair. This is filled with products as well. I go in and rifle through my bag. Near the bottom, I unearth a wig. It’s a brunette shoulder-length, asymmetrical cut. I pull out a pair of cat-eye sunglasses. My aviators are too telling. I top off the disguise with a nude trench coat.
On the way out, I spritz myself with ‘Peachy-Cobbler Shortbread’ and a smear of ‘Cherry Bomb’ lip stain. A bite of stuffing and mashed potatoes out the door. A fleeting look at the ‘Cashmere Body’ cream.
I really wanted some turkey.
24
I head back to the bar in my new guise. It’s very rustic. The kind of establishment that’s been in place so long, it doesn’t exist to you anymore. Just a blur between buildings you frequent. One day, you take a longer look thinking—Has that always been there? Then—Oh my gosh, it hasn’t changed.
I spot my follower in the last booth. His back is to me and he’s looking down at a beer bottle, twirling it lazily in his hands. I see dirty blonde hair curling up around the rim of his hat. The suntan lotion and clean aftershave was real. I slide across from him before he looks up from his hands.
“‘And you can tell Rolling Stone magazine that my last words were... ‘I’m on drugs!’” I say conspiratorially across the table.
“‘Russell, I think we should work on those last words,’” he replies, without glancing from his sweaty bottle. It’s my favorite line from the movie Almost Famous.
“Hey, Vee,” he says, finally lifting his sea-churning aquamarine eyes to meet mine.
“Hi, Brooks,” I reply, squeezing the webbing between my thumb and forefinger.
“What can I getcha?” The bartender calls over. He’s young, probably 25. Cute. Goofy grin.
“I’ll have a…”
“Dirty martini—filthy—with three olives,” Brooks finishes for me.
“Okay. What gives? Why are you here?”
“Well, I—” He’s interrupted by the bartender who sets a large martini glass in front of me. A red stirrer stabs three gigantic olives. I take a sip. It’s salty and perfect.
“Vee, you look really great,” he says, looking into my eyes. “Although, this hair was never my favorite.” He laughs as he reaches over and tugs a lock of the wig. The playful gesture flushes my cheeks. I pick up the stirrer and slide an olive into my mouth. As I chew, I take a sip of my drink.
“You too,” I say, putting my glass down. I cradle my chin in one hand, abashed. Nervous habit. “What are you doing here?”
“Lookin’ for you, of course,” he chuckles. Dimples.
“Well, you found me,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
“Yes, I did. Well, actually, you found me.”
“Oh, so you’re telling me you didn’t see me just now?”
“Well, I did think that short blonde head looked familiar.” He takes a swig of his beer.
“I’m not short,” I say stubbornly. Five-seven is respectable. “I thought I smelled sunscreen and aftershave.”
“I need to brush up on my tailing tactics. Too close to the target,” he responds, twirling his bottle again.
“Target?”
“Okay, okay. Subject.” He leans back and laughs. His surfer physique casually slouches in the booth. The definition of cool.
“Whose orders?”
He laughs mischievously this time. Rough sea waves. Rickety boat. A lashing storm pelting skin.
“No orders, Vee. Lani was worried. I was too. We never heard from you after you left that day.”
My heart clenches at the mention of ‘that day.’
“I know,” I say. “A lot happened that night.”
“I figured. Just glad to see you’re okay,” he replies tenderly.
“I’ve been better, but for the most part I’m whole.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Actually, out your way. Can you believe that?”
“Can’t get enough of the beach, huh, Vee?”
“You know it. So, you wanna accompany me?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he says, taking out his Slab. He goes up to the bartender and pays our tab with virtues. I slip off the wig, glasses, and trench coat and stuff them in my bag. I finger comb my natural hair. That’s better.
“Ready, Veevee?” he asks when he’s finished.
Veevee. Ten-years-old. Sand buckets and shovels. A compact Brooks finishes an intricate sandcastle. More like a sculpture of a medieval palace. He breaks into a slapdash grin before sprinting off to the surf.
“All set.” I down the rest of my martini and stuff the remaining olives in my mouth. Not very ladylike, but I’m not one to waste two glorious, vodka-soaked green olives in an empty glass. I grab my purse and follow him out the door. We start to make our way up the cobbled gemstone path. The crowd has thinned a bit during our afternoon drink.
“How’s Shane, Vee? I haven’t seen him on Realmcast since before I last saw you. You know he’s on there all the time.”
“Oh yeah, I think he’s taking a break for a little while,” I respond vaguely. I’ve known this guy for a very long time, but I don’t want to say the words out loud. I’m going to get my brother back.
“Is he here? In Crystal?”
&n
bsp; Technically, yes. But I go with—
“Not sure. Last time I checked, he was lying low in Dark.” Not quite the truth, but the day before the Great Reveal, that was his last known location.
“At your parents?”
“Yeah.” Shane lives in our parent’s house. He could have moved into Onyx Hall when he became leader, but he wanted to stay home. I understood completely. Plus, it’s not just a house, it’s a mansion.
“No one’s seen him for a few days now. For the most part, everyone thinks he’s at one of his solo training missions. Getting ready for the upcoming season. Drills. Conditioning.” The last word floats down provocatively as he steals a sideway glance.
“Conditioning?” I ask. We both laugh, hard. I recall a television show we watched when we were younger. A guy on it was describing what his football team was doing back home. He had to explain to another participant what conditioning was.
“Oh, you know, runnin’ around the track,” we say in unison wistfully.
Brooks pulls me into a shady alley between two beaming crystal apartment buildings. We walk over to the wall. I lean up against it.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“What about Levi?” Three words loaded with sleeping grenades. “Everyone’s looking for him.”
“He’s in Hell.”
“Figured. Levi the Leviathan.”
“When and how did you figure it out?”
“Lani, she had a vision. Levi’s natural state.”
“Oh no,” I say, imagining the gruesome scene.
“Why are you really going to Turq, Veevee?” He props himself against the wall with one tanned arm above my head.
“I don’t know if I can tell you, Brooks,” I say, looping a finger in his jeans belt loop.
“Listen, Lyv. I wanna help. Lani does too.”
“I need the staff, Brooks.” I look up into his eyes; their intensity strikes me. Each iris forms an ocean swell about to plunge into the perfect wave. If only I had time for a swim.
“What for, Lyv.” Statement.
“I gotta go see him, Brooks. On his turf.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not. No one is.”
“Who do you think you are, Vee?” he asks, pacing the alleyway.
“I know what I’m doing.”
“You remember when we were kids and you found that map?”
“Not sure I know what you refer to…”
“Yeah, it was a treasure map. X marks the spot,” he says as he stops under a balcony. He jumps up. His fingers brush the awning. He lands and jumps again, but this time he latches onto the lowest rung of a fire escape ladder and swings back and forth. “Anyway, you decided we should find the treasure. So, into the woods we go…”
“I knew what I was doing then too.” I harrumph, crossing my arms over my chest.
“We got chased by a bear, Vee. An adult black bear.”
“Okay. I’ve got reinforcements this time.” Not quite a lie—I’ve got Persephone and Holy Relics.
“Seph’s a program, Vee,” he sighs, lackadaisically meandering back.
“Not just her. Trust me, Brooks. This is between the two of us.”
“Vee, you know I listen to you, so don’t come yelling at me when a bear starts chasing you,” he responds, hands up innocently.
“I won’t. Just help me get the staff,” I say, heading out into the sunlight. He follows.
We reach the SkyChariot stop right beyond the town limits. We take the stairs up to the platform. It’s very high off the ground. The train resembles the ‘people mover’ that used to reside in Detroit. Not too busy today, we score two recliner seats near the back. The chariot soars through the air above trees. As we see the world whiz by, a question springs forth.
“So, Brooks, how did you find me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, no sign of you in Lunar. This was the next logical stop.”
“True. Did you go there?”
“No, just checked in with your sources.” I do have a lot of sources in my hometown. The train continues to rocket through the sky, a moving brush of scenery.
“So, Lyvia, what happened that night? Haven’t heard or spoke to you since.”
That night. When I boarded the train in Turquoise, I would have never guessed the turn out. “I went out to the reveal. I saw Levi, but he disappeared.”
“That’s it, Vee?”
“That’s it.”
“So you need the staff to get to Hell for a conversation?”
“Kind of. I need to talk to him and that’s where he is.”
“Okay. I’ll leave it at that.”
The train swishes to a stop in Emerald. Fields of wheat, beans, and other crops span this particular stop. Other stops in Emerald are akin to stepping into a tropical rainforest. The imagery turns from green to red as we enter Ruby. We swish to a stop downtown. I follow Brooks down the stairs to the paved walkway. The buildings are dense. Sharp ruby and black marble skyscrapers stab the sky. The concentration of architecture resembles old-world New York City.
I already know where he’s headed. Pizza. Ruby has the best pizza. Still, I prefer Onyx’s square deep-dish style. Ruby’s giant, floppy slices are second best. He orders two slices with virtues and we stand at a high-top table. The pizza cheese is hot and gooey, greasy. I blot mine off with napkins. Brooks folds his in half and takes a huge bite. When I finish blotting, I do the same.
“It’s been a really long time since I had one of these,” I say around a mouthful.
“Same here,” he replies, taking a drink of his pop.
Red-checkered tablecloth. Flickering candle glow. Scent of burning wood.
“You think Lani will just give it to me? The staff? She’s worn it around her neck since birth. Literally.”
“I do,” he replies solemnly. “After what she saw.”
“I saw a picture,” I offer.
“No, Vee. I don’t think that’s quite the same. What she saw—lifelike? Horrifying.”
“I can only imagine,” I say, taking a swig of my drink.
“Me too.” He takes a bite of his pizza. Cheese stretches from his mouth.
“Hopefully, he won’t be in that form.”
“Vee, I really don’t think you should go alone,” he says, putting a hand on my arm.
“I guess maybe you could come with me up to that point,” I say, meeting his eyes. I can’t always rebuke help.
“Okay. Good,” he responds with a huge bite of pizza.
“So, we need the staff and Shane’s hockey skates,” I say. Hell Trip Checklist.
He looks at me questioningly.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” I say with a shrug.
“Doesn’t Shane have them?”
“No, they’re at the house.”
“I don’t follow. Why would you need his skates for a trip to Hell?”
“Well, you know I have my sources. I was told to bring them. Come on, it can’t hurt, Brooks,” I say, nudging his arm.
“Whatever you say, Vee.” He crumbles his napkins up and tosses them over his shoulder absentmindedly. There’s a trashcan behind him. He makes it. I walk over and stuff mine into the bin the boring way. We head back to the chariot. We’ve got a little while left. There are two unoccupied recliners facing each other again, and we snatch them up.
“What else is happening in Turq?” I ask, settling comfortably into the plush seat. I stretch out my legs.
“Well, Cory’s the same as always,” he replies, leaning back and doing the same.
“Is he still spinning donuts in his Jeep-Sandie?” He located an ancient Jeep Wrangler and modernized it to operate as a Sandie.
“What do you think?”
“I think if snow still existed, he’d have to get a winterized version.”
“True,” he replies, distractedly watching granite swirl below in shades of grey.
“How’s Lennon?”
“Len?” he says, tracing circles on the gla
ss. “She’s good.”
“Brooks. What gives?”
“What?” he asks, still running a finger on the transparent surface.
“Something’s up. You’re not much of a talker, but you can do better than this,” I scold.
“What do you want me to say, Lyv? I’m just confused is all. After what happened with us, then these new developments... Levi being the Devil,” he trails off, blowing fog on the glass and making a baby footprint with the side of his fist.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I reply honestly. “That night was crazy, and I’m not going to say I regret it. Because I don’t think I do. I do, however, believe in my heart of hearts, that I can’t be with anyone right now, and there’s no foretelling how long that will be.”
“I can respect that,” he says, finishing up his baby toes with thumbprints.
“That’s it? No resentment? No anger?”
“You know it doesn’t change anything with us, Lyv. That kiss… It just happened. But we’ve known each other so long, our friendship trumps all that. Promise. It was just a kiss.” He stretches his arms above his head with a yawn.
Was it, though? Conflicted.
“So we get the staff, and then what?”
“Then we go to Onyx, get the skates, and head back down to Crystal,” I answer.
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” he says.
“Yeah, well, that all depends on one person.”
I glance down and notice my fingers tracing an invisible fish. The same one that resides on a token in my wallet.
25
Passing over Granite, we briefly stop again in Emerald. The doors open and humidity saturates the train. Vines dangle right outside the entrance, too humid for me. Finally stopping in Turquoise, we disembark. Aquamarine stones pave the walkway until it turns into sand. The hills of white powder resemble snow. We walk down to the shoreline. Scattered turquoise-encrusted wooden homes begin to concentrate along the way. The sturdy wooden structures are whittled to appear as waves on driftwood.
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