I stopped looking down.
The further I climbed, the colder it got. My naked skin goosebumped and my clammy nightshirt stuck to my chest. Nothing existed except grey strands, misting away into the distance on either side. It was like being wrapped in sheep’s wool, still oily from the sheep. No one was there; there was no sign that anyone else had ever been there. But I had no other ideas. I kept climbing because it was the only thing I could think of.
My hands were sticky with oil; the wool started to catch between my fingers. I stopped, rubbed one hand down my front, and I noticed a tunnel to the side. It led off into the grey distance. How many others had I missed? I hung, swaying on the strands, panic rising in my throat. Above me I saw other tunnels, hundreds, leading from mine. Davy could be anywhere. They could have taken him anywhere.
My laboured breath groaned in the muffled air. My arms ached with climbing. I choked back tears: I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t ever go home. Everyone would think I was mad. They’d think I’d done something to Davy. Even Tol would, because there was no other explanation. And the worst thing was, I had: I’d told the creatures to take him.
But none of that mattered, really. It was simple: I couldn’t go back without Davy. There was no point. Knowing that made me strangely, back-to-front glad, because I did need my baby. I wasn’t the blank failure at motherhood I’d thought I was.
But my arms hurt so much, and my breath wheezed in my chest. I was tired and I was sore. Even when I’d been little and skinny — the way I’d been when I met Tol — I couldn’t have climbed in there for long. Even when I hadn’t been heaving an extra four stone of chocolate and flab and helplessness.
Then I heard… something.
Was that Davy screaming?
I closed my eyes, stifled sudden laughter. Who’d have thought I’d ever be grateful for Davy’s screaming?
But I was, I was, I was. I climbed on, more quickly, following the screams. It was the strangest experience, as if the force of his yelling was pulling me onwards.
I climbed too quickly. Turning from the upwards tunnel to one of the sides, my hand slipped. I tore through the strands I was holding. The sudden jerk of weight on my other hand ripped the twined strands there. My feet slipped. There was a sickening jolt, and I was falling.
The strands grabbed at me as I fell through them; soft, treacherously weak. It was like falling through cloud. Davy’s screams got fainter. I stretched my arms and legs out, praying frantically. Strands wrapped around my limbs, held me for an instant, tore. The next layer held me a little longer and then I was hanging in a web of grey fibres, arms and legs outstretched, staring upwards at the fluttering edges of the strands I’d fallen through. When I tried to move, I couldn’t.
Strands were wrapped around my arms and legs; I was held like a fly in a web. I glanced around, half wondering if somewhere behind me, somewhere I couldn’t see, there was a spider — the sort of monster spider that would live in a web like this. But there was nothing, nothing moved. All I could hear was Davy, still screaming, the pitch rising, frantic.
What were they doing to him?
My arms and legs were hopelessly tangled and heavy. I couldn’t pull myself away. Strand stuck to strand, as if the force of my landing had bound them together. My head was free, though; I lifted it, turned to the side, tried to chew through the strands I could reach. I got a mouthful of oily wool, bitter and sticky. Where my tongue touched the fibres, they shrank like grey candy floss. My mouth watered, sour saliva filled the back of my throat. I turned to spit it out and my shoulder pulled free of the web, uncovered by the shrinking wool. A wave of hope flooded through me. I didn’t spit. I turned to the other side, licked the wool on my shoulder, felt it dampen, sinking away, as acid flooded my mouth again. Against the background of Davy screaming, I worked my way free. Fibres that wouldn’t melt stuck to my lips, prickled against my tongue.
I was sticky and damp and my mouth hurt, but at last I could pull my legs out of the web. Davy’s screams pulled me onwards. I reached up and took three strands, twisted them together and pulled. I heaved my body upward, testing and careful and all the time aiming for the sound of my son’s cries.
* * *
Hand over hand, twist and pull, twist and pull. Shuffle feet, and climb. I was covered in grey fibres, itchy and awful. I didn’t stop, I only twisted and pulled and moved through the strange web world. Davy’s screams were getting louder, closer. The burning in my arms and the ache in my back didn’t matter — couldn’t matter — because I was moving towards him.
When I reached him it was very sudden: abruptly, he was in front of me. I was shocked by how colourful he was — how bright in the grey world. His body was cradled in the wool, his little blue sleep suit with the bear on the front was sticky with fibres and he was red-faced and howling.
“Oh, love,” I said. My voice seemed to vanish almost as soon as it left my mouth. “I’m here.” He stopped screaming, fixed his eyes on mine. I reached for him with one arm, balancing unsteadily. The wool around him shifted, turned. He was surrounded by the thin grey creatures — they were woven into the strands around him. I couldn’t reach him. He screamed again, his eyes on me.
Ours, something whispered hoarsely, and I couldn’t tell if it was speaking inside my head or not.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I replied, muffled and angry. “He’s mine. I’m taking him.”
They shifted around him, their stick-like limbs obscured his body, but I could still see his face, his eyes on me. It’d been a long time since I’d spoken with any authority, but I’d used to be good at it. I frowned and my voice deepened.
“Get away from my child. I am taking him home.”
There was hissing. Ours, ours, ours… round and round inside my head; they slithered around him, sinuous and untrustworthy as cats, as snakes, as anything boneless and shadowy.
I’d had enough. I reached for him through the barrier of arms and legs. They were tough but I was stronger.
“Get back.” They didn’t move. “I’ll hurt you.”
The hissing redoubled. And then whispering: Food, food, food.
Horrified, I snatched at Davy’s arm, but they were faster than I was. Two of them grabbed him and leapt upwards into the strands. His scream was piercing and frantic. They were trying to pull him between the fibres of the ceiling but he was kicking, obviously heavy for them. Their arms straining, thin muscles bulging, they worked their way between the strands. Davy’s screaming redoubled as he was pulled upwards.
I jumped for him, over the heap of creatures, grabbed his feet. My weight pulled him out of their grasp, and we crashed downwards, through the writhing pile. Long-fingered grey hands caught at us, held us helpless, dangling, until my weight proved too much for them and we dropped. One flat-faced creature, more determined or slower than the others, fell with us until it caught on a strand. We fell past, tearing the fibres as we dropped down and down into the fragile cloud-like softness.
Above us I heard horrifying, furious voices: Food! The food!
I pulled Davy close to me, tucked my head down around him and let us fall. I hoped the creatures couldn’t catch us — they had to climb through the strands, but we simply tore downwards, slowed only slightly by the fibres which fluttered past my eyes dizzyingly fast. I couldn’t stretch my arms to slow down without letting go of Davy, and nothing would make me let go of Davy again.
My nightshirt ballooned up around my chest. I hoped it would be enough to slow us even though it was mad to hope it would.
We hit the ground with an oddly muffled thump. Still, the impact drove the breath from my body. I gasped, coughed, tried to sit up. It was hard; I wanted to lie still and breathe.
Then, I looked up. The creatures were swarming down the central tunnel above us, jumping from strand to strand, their yellow eyes brilliant and glaring. A wild surge of adrenaline propelled me into the grey strands where the bedroom had been but there was nothing there. I f
elt with my hand in a circle, frantic, seeking any indication there was a way out. The creatures were close enough for me to hear them move, the sounds of their hands closing on the strands, their limbs moving through deadened air. My movements were faster, clumsy, desperate and at last there was a gap. I flung myself forwards into the grey and we tumbled out of the painting, onto the bedroom floor. Davy started screaming.
Before the creatures could follow us, I heaved the painting off the wall one-handed. Davy clung to my nightshirt like a monkey. I kept one arm around him, comforted by the feel of his hot little body against me, dragged the painting to the bathroom, shoved it into the bath and, as the first long grey arm poked out, I turned on both taps and the shower.
The arm kept coming, reaching for me, for Davy. I put him on the floor, turned back to see a grey head emerging from the painting – teeth bared and snarling. I swung my legs into the bath, let myself fall onto the frame with hands outstretched. There was a horrid crack, a splintering, and it broke in two. I stood on it watching for anything else, but there was nothing. Davy lay silently on the floor, his eyes wide, watching me. The water poured down over my hair, drenching me in cold. I stood in the shower, feet on the painting, watching the bath water turn grey.
* * *
When Tol came home he peered carefully around the bedroom door.
“Hi,” I said, trying to sound normal. “We’re awake.”
He sat down on the floor beside us and tickled Davy’s naked foot — the one that wasn’t in Davy’s mouth.
“Good day?” he asked me carefully. In the light from the window he was pale and tired, dark circles under his eyes.
I smiled at him and he smiled back. Suddenly there was painful hope in his face.
“What happened to the painting?” he asked.
“I didn’t like it much after all. Nice thought, though. Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Never buy art for someone else. Or underwear.”
I felt my lips curve; he had bought me underwear before — and he had always made me laugh. I was sorry about the painting — almost — because, in the end, it had done what Tol bought it for. But I couldn’t tell him that, because I’d have had to tell him how. And the how was too insane for anyone to believe. Even me.
“See any more grey men?” he asked, carefully casual, reading my mind. His smile was anxious.
I grinned at him, flipped back my shower-damp hair. It felt wonderful to have clean hair again. “That was crazy, wasn’t it?”
He smiled, but he was too clever to comment. A rush of love for him ran through me, warmer than sunlight.
“Don’t worry,” I told him, grinning because I couldn’t help myself — I’d spent all afternoon thinking up the line. “I won’t be seeing them again.”
Anna Dickinson lives in Edinburgh with her husband and two young sons. She doesn’t like pictures of trees; you never know what’s hiding in them.
Sharks & Seals
by Jennifer Brozek
* * *
It was never a good thing when her tattoo started itching. Corelli looked down at the simple line tattoo of an eye inside a pyramid on the back of her plump right hand. When the All-Seeing Eye woke, it meant that people were watching her with a very specific intent — people she was not already aware of. She raised her head and looked around as she walked down the street. There. In front of her, two guys in scruffy clothing walked towards her with a purpose. She looked behind and saw a third, a girl, closing in. They were the hunting dogs, she was the fat quail waiting to be taken.
Corelli did the only thing she could do: she dug into her purse, pulled out a few Red Hot candies and ate them. The cinnamon flavor burned in her mouth and gave her confidence as it warmed her body. There was magic in the taste and the sugar did not hurt, mixing with the adrenaline of sudden fear.
“Hey, Corelli. Reggie wants to see you.” Mike said.
Mike and Sam, she identified. Reggie’s Seconds. She looked back behind her and recognized Vicki’s teal hair. This was quite the group to send out looking for her. It was important enough to send his top guns, but not too dangerous for the younger sister he doted on. Of course, Corelli looked soft with her round curves and extra weight. Most of the Children of Anu were whip-lean street kids. They assumed because she didn’t look as hard as they did she couldn’t hurt them. They were wrong.
“What’s the magic word?” She stood her ground.
“Now.” Mike reached forward and grabbed her arm. His fingers bit deep into her flesh.
“Careful. You don’t want to get burned, do you?” Corelli said with a deceptive calmness.
Mike’s hand, the one holding Corelli’s arm, burst into flame. She watched while Mike danced around trying to put his hand out. Cerridwen always hated Corelli’s brand of sympathetic magic. It was too chaotic and too improvised for the old woman’s liking. Cerridwen was always going on about the Will and the Word. It sounded like something out of one of the fantasy books the old woman liked to read. Whatever. She’s dead and I’m not.
“You will continue to burn until I stop it,” Corelli said. “If nothing else, it should teach you some manners.”
“Please.” Vicki stepped up. “Please, would you join us for a talk?”
Corelli smiled a full and generous smile. “Certainly.” She blew on the tip of her index finger and Mike’s hand stopped burning. “However, need I remind any of you that you are speaking to me as a member of the First Circle of the Order of the Sacred Eye, or the fact that I have already passed your Test of Worth some time ago?” She saw Sam and Vicki shake their heads but kept her eyes on Mike. He was the one she was delivering her message to.
Mike held his hand down by his side. It was burned, bright red and already blistering. “No. Sorry.” His tone, sulky and petulant, also held a note of wary respect.
“Good. I’ll heal that after my conversation with Reggie — if you ask nicely.”
Mike did not respond. Sam stepped forward. “We have a car waiting.”
“Let’s go then.” Corelli nodded. She could not show an ounce of the fear she was feeling. The Children of Anu respected strength and destroyed weakness. They looked at the city as their hunting grounds. They were like human sharks and she hated dealing with them. They always saw her as prey, and, again, she knew it was because of her weight. She had no choice but to be strong and fearless. She was not certain what Reggie wanted but she had an idea what it might be.
“That was really cool.” Vicki said as they walked down the street. “Can you teach it to me?”
“Only if you give up being a member of the Children and become a member of the Order.”
“Oh. Never mind then.”
“Yeah. Sorry. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Vicki gave her a sidelong glance and smiled, bright red lips half hidden by unreal looking hair. “I guess we do.”
They stopped in front of an old beaten up town car and Sam opened the front door for her. “After you.”
* * *
Corelli had never been this deep into the Camden district. It was the Children’s territory and every magic society in the city knew it. It was also the industrial district and only people who had business — legal and otherwise — went there.
Until now she had not been sure they had a regular meeting place, but this warehouse appeared to be it. She took note of the address and the number of hungry-looking street kids hanging around.
“Thanks for coming by.” Reggie said from his spot at the table in the front part of the warehouse where at least he and Vicki appeared to live. Sam and Vicki peeled off to go do whatever it was they did on a normal basis. Mike stood off to one side. Close enough to be there if needed but not close enough to be part of the conversation.
“Thanks for sending people who can’t remember how to respect the leaders of a different Order.” Corelli glanced at Mike.
Reggie looked from Corelli to Mike and back again. “What happened?”
“He touched me
when he shouldn’t have.” Corelli sat down across from Reggie at the table, thankful that the chairs had no armrests to cut into her hips. “I told him I’d heal his hand after we talked… if he asked nicely,” she added as she dug out her lip gloss and a small mirror from her purse.
“We’ll see. He fucked up. Maybe he should suffer.”
Corelli shrugged as she put the lip gloss on. It wasn’t vanity, but more of her personal magic. The lip gloss would help her speak the correct words she needed to speak, even if she did not know everything that was going on. She paused as she saw Vicki, in the mirror, spying on them from a vantage point behind Corelli. She said nothing. She did not care what the teen heard of the conversation. In fact, it might be in her best interest in the future to cultivate Vicki as an ally.
“Don’t care. What I care about is why you wanted to meet me.”
“Coffee?” He gestured to the pot.
“Yes. Thank you.” She had started to say no but her magic overrode her. Apparently, drinking coffee with Reggie was the more correct thing to do. Perhaps it meant he was treating her like a peer. It made sense. They were a hungry group. The sharing of resources was significant. She allowed him to pour the coffee, accepted it, and added two packets of real sugar from the small selection he had set out. She liked her coffee sweet and, if necessary, there was magic she could link to the taste of coffee and sugar.
He watched her fix her coffee and sip. “The Children of Anu and the Order of the Sacred Eye have had a long history, haven’t they?”
She nodded.
“We were promised much based on our support of your Order in the December ritual.”
Corelli nodded again, listening to her inner voice for the needed words. “Yes. You were promised much based on the success of the ritual.”
Fat Girl in a Strange Land Page 14