Blood Lite II: Overbite

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “Alice did her intake and didn’t explain about our special students,” Mrs. Richter said. “Magda, this is Elly. Good luck.” She shoved me into the room and closed the door behind me. The snick of the lock startled me.

  Uh-oh.

  The room was pretty big. There was a broad expanse of carpeted space covered with scattered toys and tiny furniture. A wall of cubbies lurked on the left, some with things in them, some empty. The narrow windows in three walls were all higher than my head, and the glass had wire net in it. None of them looked like they opened. An upright piano stood against the right wall, with a big basket of semimusical instruments (flutes, thumb pianos, maracas, and bongos) on the floor beside it.

  A large table to the left held art supplies. Five kids sat around it, their legs dangling from tall chairs, and all of them hunched over, with big paper in front of them. They wielded fat brushes loaded with poster paint.

  They were perfect. Three boys, two girls, all blemish free, rosy cheeked, and happy. One of the girls was a nice shade of cocoa, with tight reddish-brown curls, and the other was a peach-skinned blonde with green eyes and ringlets. One of the boys was blond as well, and another had black hair and blue eyes. The third boy had olive skin and a shock of red hair. They were all gorgeous.

  Not a clear matched set, but maybe the two blonds—

  “Let me introduce you to our Specials,” Elly said. Her voice was warm and reassuring, though she looked pretty frazzled for so early in the morning. “This is Ian.” Elly tapped the black-haired kid on the shoulder. He looked up at me, and his blue eyes narrowed.

  “Hi, Ian. I’m Magda.”

  “You’re stained,” he said and returned to his painting. It was black and red and showed a horned figure holding a pitchfork in one hand and a spear in the other.

  I glanced down at my uniform. Nope, no stains yet. Maybe the kid was mental.

  “This is Jezra.” Elly tapped the red-headed kid. He cocked his head and stared at me with amber eyes. A dusting of freckles flecked his nose. If I were choosing a kid for myself, he was the one I’d choose; he didn’t look like any other kid, but he was beautiful. My Dark Master liked stereotypes, so he wouldn’t like Jezra. That made me happy.

  The little boy smiled at me. He looked impish. “You’re interesting,” he said. He had loaded up on green poster paint and seemed to be painting trees, though they looked more like blobs. Maybe they were green apples.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re interesting, too.”

  “This is Fanny,” said Elly, patting the blond girl on the head.

  Fanny glared up at Elly. Elly snatched her hand back and covered her suddenly blazing cheeks with both hands. “Sorry, Fan. Sorry. I forgot. No touching.” Tears tumbled from Elly’s eyes. “Magda, no touching Fanny. She doesn’t like it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “This is Dwyn,” Elly said, more subdued, indicating the blond boy. Her eyes softened. A smile lifted her cheeks. She looked like a proud mother.

  Dwyn laid down his brush (he was painting a picture of a big red heart) and stared at me. He stood up on his chair and leaned toward me. His gaze was hypnotic. I’d been thinking Jezra was my favorite, but I could feel something twisting in my chest, an impulse to love and worship this little cherub. Then there was a snick in me somewhere, a kind of snapping like a stretched rubber band being released, and the impulse vanished. I leaned a little toward Dwyn to see if my spell would work on him.

  Dwyn smiled. “You’re funny,” he said.

  “And this is Keshia,” said Elly, gesturing toward the brown girl.

  Keshia looked at me, as most of the others had, evaluating. “You’re connected,” she said. “To what?”

  “Um,” I said. I had the feeling I was in trouble. These kids were special, all right. Maybe special the same way I was. Maybe beyond my ability to snatch.

  Dilemma. Two horns. Maybe more.

  Magda in a pinch again.

  So what else was new.

  Keshia pouted. “Answer me,” she said.

  Fanny poked me with her brush, which was loaded with orange paint and left a big streak down the front of my overalls. One self-prophecy fulfilled. “Answer,” she said.

  “What was the question again?” I asked. I glanced at Elly, wondering if she was as strange as these kids were.

  She looked defeated. And totally, dreadfully, unrelentingly normal.

  “What are you connected to?” asked Ian. “What stains you?”

  “Oh, uh,” I said, “a bad bargain.”

  “With who?” asked Dwyn.

  “I dare not speak his name,” I said. “And anyway, I can’t pronounce it.”

  “Did he send you here?” asked Jezra.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You supposed to do anything?” asked Fanny.

  “Yeah.”

  “Involving us?”

  “Not you specifically,” I said. “But yeah.”

  “Woohoo! We caught one!” Jezra laughed, his delight infectious. The other kids all grinned. I smiled, then laughed. I couldn’t help it. Which made me suspect something about Jezra’s power. Even Elly giggled.

  “Oh, boy!” said Ian. “You’re a bad guy! We totally get to experiment on you!”

  “I, uh—”

  Elly was smiling.

  “What are you grinning about?” I asked her, trying to mask my panic.

  “It’s so much easier when I don’t have to protect the assistant from the children,” she said. She waved at the kids. “Carry on, children. Enjoy.”

  “Oh, boy,” Ian said again.

  Fanny held up her hand. “I get first dibs,” she said. “Jezra got the last one and wrecked her in a week, and Ian got the one before—”

  “And I haven’t had one in forever,” said Keshia.

  “You guys never let me have one,” Dwyn said.

  “Because you never do anything interesting with them,” Ian said. “We already know what you can do. It’s boring seeing it over and over.”

  “I haven’t had one in forever,” Keshia repeated. “I think it’s my turn this time, Fanny.”

  “How about we both work on her?” Fanny said.

  “Okay,” said Keshia. “What’s your next thing to try?”

  “I got this new ability about a week ago. I used it on the maid at home, and she fooshed and stopped working. Mom got mad at me. She had to call the mage doctor to fix the maid, and then the maid quit. Mom has trouble getting staff who stay. She said I can’t use power at home anymore.”

  “What if you wreck her? I get to go first,” Keshia said.

  Fanny looked grumpy. “Oh, all right. No fair sending her someplace we can’t get her back from.”

  “We can tie a rope around her.”

  “Oh,” said Ian, “like that worked so well the last time.”

  “I didn’t know those tiger-shark things were waiting on the other side to bite through it,” Keshia said.

  “All we got back were little pieces of that guy,” said Jezra. “No more visits to worlds like that.”

  “Send her to Gwylla,” Ian said. “See if she can get us more of that mack fruit.”

  “Forget that!” yelled Fanny. “It turned me blue.”

  “You don’t have to eat it,” said Ian.

  “Wait a sec.” I had thought my plans were nefarious, but these kids were on a whole other level. I felt like the floor had risen up to close around my ankles. “What happens if they hurt me?” I asked Elly.

  “We have excellent medical benefits at Exceptional,” said Elly. “If we can’t fix you, we’ll find care for you. It was in your contract.”

  Dwyn said, “I already tried my talent on her, and it didn’t work. I claim rights. I haven’t had anyone to use in a long time, and she’s different from the others.”

  “You already tried?” Ian yelled. “That’s cheating!”

  Jezra said, “Did you hear what he said? I’ve never heard of Dwyn’s talent not working on anybody but us. Magd
a, don’t you just loooove Dwyn?”

  “I could love him if he’d let me give him to my Malevolent Master.”

  “Wow,” said Jezra. “Maybe we should find out more about you before we—”

  “No fair,” said Fanny, pouting. “I want to—”

  Keshia came to me. “Sit down, Magda,” she said. She grabbed my hand.

  A hot jolt ran through me. My muscles tightened; then I relaxed and heaved a sigh. My power worked best with physical contact.

  Keshia froze, then thawed. She stared up at me, tilted her head, and smiled the kind of smile a catalog kid smiles when she’s wearing a very cute outfit and knows it. “Will you play with me?” she asked, and she suddenly sounded like a little kid instead of a calculating midget.

  “Sure, honey,” I said. I’d practiced my Like on the kids I babysat for in the old neighborhood, until His Infernal Majesty started making interested noises. I didn’t want to snatch kids I knew.

  Now that my Like had engaged, Keshia wouldn’t think of doing anything evil to me. I said, “What do you want to do? We could read, or—looks like there are a lot of cool toys here.”

  She kept hold of my hand and looked at the wall of cubbyholes. She shook her head. “You pick.”

  “Hey!” yelled Ian. “What just happened?”

  “Interesting,” said Dwyn. “Sorta like mine.”

  Elly straightened and stared at me, her eyes widening. She lifted a hand and flashed some finger symbols at me, but I didn’t know any sign language, so I just shrugged. Maybe she was casting a spell?

  Keshia tugged on my hand, still smiling. “Mags?” she said.

  If the kids weren’t impervious to my power, I’d better touch them quickly, before they got any warier than they already were. “How about some more art?” I asked. I settled Keshia on her chair and brushed Jezra’s hand with the back of mine. The jolt heated me again, and I smiled at him. He smiled back, then frowned, then smiled.

  I moved around the table and gripped Fanny’s and Ian’s shoulders, though Ian tried to duck.

  “Don’t you touch me, intruder!” Fanny yelled.

  My jolt hit, twice. Fanny struggled against it, her face twisted in fury. She pointed at me. An orange glow surrounded her hand, then concentrated at her fingertip. She shook her hand toward me, but at the last second she pointed away. A sizzling bolt of orange fire shot up into the ceiling and left a smoking, ember-edged hole a foot across.

  “Gosh,” she said. “What was I thinking?” She hugged me around the waist.

  Ian’s face unfrowned for the first time since I’d entered the room. He looked confused. His hand plucked at my overalls. “Mags,” he said, and he, too, sounded like a little kid.

  I exchanged glances with Dwyn. He dropped to the floor from his high chair and backed away from me.

  “Not gonna let you touch me,” he said. “How long does it last?”

  I smiled at him. “For always.” As far as I knew.

  “Damn,” he said. “You’re the most dangerous one we’ve ever had.”

  “Why don’t you let me touch you now? I’ll catch up to you sooner or later. Your power bounces off me.”

  “The power I tried first does, anyway,” he said, “but I have others. Did you make the other kids stupid?”

  “Shut up,” Keshia said.

  “You’re the stupid one if you think we’re going to let you get away with that, Dwyn-Dull,” Fanny said.

  “Who you calling stupid?” Ian said. He kept his grip on my pocket, but with his other hand, he flicked fingers at Dwyn. Dark feathers shot from his fingertips and splattered over Dwyn, who choked and dropped to the floor, spasming. Ian nudged me with his fist. “Get him, Mags.”

  “Traitor!” Dwyn managed to say between coughing fits.

  I knelt beside Dwyn, with Fanny and Ian still clinging to me, and Keshia and Jezra close behind. I reached toward Dwyn’s face. He tried to roll away. Jezra put his foot on Dwyn’s stomach, holding him down.

  The black feathers melted. Dwyn stopped coughing. He stared up into my eyes. “Now that you’ve done whatever you did to the others, will you give us to your Master?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I’d never used my Like on anybody with powers of their own before. The kids had gone mushy on me, but I wasn’t sure my power could overcome their survival instincts. If I did the summoning here, and Mr. Ugly showed up—

  Anyway, I was having doubts about the whole thing. I’d done dumb things before, and I wanted to learn to think through consequences better. It occurred to me that if I actually gave kids to His Awesome Awfulness, my soul wouldn’t be in very good shape when I got it back.

  “No,” I said. My dream of getting out of my first contract melted like snow in summer sun. Colors dimmed.

  It wasn’t like I knew what to do with my soul when I had it.

  Dwyn sighed and stopped squirming under Jezra’s foot. I touched his cheek. My jolt didn’t come. We stared at each other. He smiled a half smile. “We’re too alike,” he said.

  “Have to work it the way normal people do,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  Though if Dwyn had other powers—I just had the one. . . .

  Oh, well. “Let him up, please, Jezra, and thanks for your help,” I said.

  “Anytime,” said Jezra. He took his foot off Dwyn’s stomach.

  Dwyn sat up, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. My heart twisted; I felt again the overwhelming urge to adore and worship him.

  It passed.

  Fanny smacked Dwyn. “Quit it,” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just had to check.”

  Elly sighed and put a smile on her face. “Well, now that that’s all sorted out, shall we get back to work, children?” Her grin was eerie and extra wide.

  “Is that what you want, Mags?” Fanny asked.

  “Sure,” I said. We all headed over to the table. The children climbed back into their chairs, picked up their brushes, and got back to work.

  I edged around the table to Elly. She held up a hand, palm toward me. “Don’t touch me,” she muttered.

  I shrugged. My Like could work without touch. It just took longer.

  “Are all the kids at Exceptional like these?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “Some are worse. Some are normal. Well, special in a different way.”

  “Huh.” I wondered what powers, exactly, my kids had. It would be worth finding out.

  I couldn’t give these kids to His Mighty Maliciousness, but maybe, just maybe, I could give His Mighty Maliciousness to the kids.

  Season Tickets

  DEREK CLENDENING

  Drew couldn’t believe that some schlemiel would actually fall for it! He’d pulled a few fast ones in his day, but this was one for the ages. Maybe it wasn’t the most honest move he’d ever made, but it was for a good cause.

  Since his parents had booted him out of their basement, he’d been forced to find his own apartment, which meant that he now had expenses to cover and he had to count his pennies. He was only twenty-eight and knew people older than him who still dwelled in their parents’ basements, extra rooms, and attics. At least he was employed and took out the garbage once in a while. Why couldn’t he stick around a few more years?

  But he’d gotten over it. Well, almost. Each time he ate a frozen dinner, or had to scrub his own underpants, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. Still, he’d weathered self-dependence without giving up too many of his favorite things. The apartment had tapped out most of his paychecks, but he’d learned how to stretch the remains. But, when Dave, the ticket agent from the Buffalo Bills, had called to ask why he hadn’t renewed the season’s tickets that he’d owned since he was eighteen, he couldn’t answer. Worse still, he couldn’t afford them.

  He’d tried to talk himself out of buying the tickets. First, he told himself that the cash wasn’t there. Next, he reminded himself that the owner hadn’t fired the head coach in spite of the highway billboard that had been erected to dem
and it (and to which he had contributed financially). But no amount of self-convincing worked. Drew was hooked and needed help. But next year. He could go and seek help next year.

  And so he ventured onto eBay for the first time. But what to sell? He didn’t have diddly-squat kicking around the apartment, unless he could hock the expired bottle of mustard in his fridge. He needed to scrape together something that someone would actually want to buy, but it seemed impossible. His only valuable possession was his collection of Bills memorabilia, and that was out of the question.

  And then he offered to sell his soul.

  But who would want to buy my soul? he thought. I’m just Drew Wilson from Buffalo, New York. I’m a Walmart associate without any prospects for promotion, and if you need a tailgating buddy, you could do a lot worse. But why would someone want my soul?

  He put it up for sale anyway, wrote a description (clean, shiny, and in mint condition! Motivated seller!), affixed an outrageous price, and awaited an interested buyer. Before long he had a hit, and he popped up in his chair to stare at the screen. Mister Lawrence Adams sounded as determined to buy as Drew was to sell. All that was left was to make sure that no strings were attached. When he found none, he clapped his hands together, rubbed his palms, and accepted his offer.

  But he would sign nothing over until he was sure that Mister Lawrence Adams wasn’t shitting him. Show me the money! Drew thought. He wouldn’t sell his soul with nothing to show for it.

  For a moment he did wonder why this Adams dude wanted his soul so badly. What’s he going to do with it? But the prospect of ticket money wiped all that out.

  So, once the money appeared in his account, he decided that he should send Mister Lawrence Adams something tangible. He composed an email to say that he, Drew Wilson, did solemnly sign his soul over to him for an amount of three thousand dollars. That sounded official enough. He fired the email off and decided that he needn’t hold his laughter in.

  And then it dawned on him: with that kind of dough, he needn’t renew the same old shitty upper corner seats where he’d toiled for years. He could have the best seats in the house! He phoned up Dave, the ticket agent, and upgraded his account to lower bowl seating, smack dab on the fifty-yard line.