Using the well that was in the nearby woods, a few heat spells, and lots of soap, Calla was able to take a nice warm bath, as well as wash her filthy clothes. Then, with her hair still wet and unbrushed, she hurried to make dinner, as it was almost the hour when Baba Yaga would announce that she was hungry. Calla had not yet done anything to make the witch cross, and she was afraid of what would happen.
Luckily, there was no complaint from Baba Yaga, who (as usual) devoured the roast chicken and potatoes and rolls, eating whatever Calla did not get hold of first. Mentally the girl was resigning herself to another quiet night, perhaps with a phone call to someone back home, when Baba Yaga suddenly said, “You did not kill the vodyanoy.”
Calla jumped, and after composing herself, admitted, “I did not.”
“Why not? He could have drowned you.”
“I’m not a killer,” she said quietly. “Once was enough; I don’t need more blood on my conscience.”
Even without looking up from her plate, she could feel those red eyes staring at her. She just scooped up a piece of chicken with her fork, and bit into it hungrily. It really was good chicken; soft and chewy, without that horrid dryness that white meat tends to get. Calla would not dare to call herself the best cook in the world, but she at least knew how to handle meat.
After another silence, the witch asked, “You enjoy talking with him?”
“Well enough. He doesn’t know about much besides the pond, but he’s a good enough soul. Just very lonely.”
Baba Yaga made a bit of a sniff, and continued masticating her own enormous piece of chicken. Then she swallowed, and spoke again.
“How about that young man whom you talk to sometimes when I’m asleep? You enjoy talking with him?”
Calla felt her cheeks grow warm.
Of course she knows about him.
“Y-yes.”
The witch smiled widely.
“He’s a very precious young man, then. Even if you haven’t told him about the blood bond.”
Calla’s shoulders and neck felt warm this time.
“How do you know that?”
Baba Yaga shrugged, and stabbed her fork into a potato. “I can see into people’s hearts, myshka. It’s something you will learn too, if Chernobyl does not get the sword and you’re around long enough.”
The heat burned more fiercely; she’d thought she was growing numb to the idea, but hearing it spoken aloud in the witch’s pronounced Russian voice somehow brought all the pain back with a vengeance. Calla tried to hold it in, but she had to squeeze her eyes shut and take a gulp of water so that she would try not to cry in front of this woman.
Baba Yaga continued, relentless. “Even if he does win, if you go home and are no longer in my service, what are you planning to do about your young man? Will you want to bond him with a vurdalak as well? Or another of the Folk? Because otherwise, he is going to grow old and die long before you even start to taste old age.”
Calla stared at the old woman’s plate, unable to look at her face. “I haven’t really found a solution-”
“That is because you’re young and inexperienced!” she snapped. Then she used a bony finger to reach over and raise the girl’s chin, forcing her to look at her face. Though not at her eyes; Calla resisted that urge.
Baba Yaga smiled at her, teeth glinting in the light. “I might be able to help you.”
Internal alarms went off in Calla’s mind. But she forced her face to go blank, and asked softly, “How?”
Baba Yaga nodded over to the black sunflower. “Do you know why I keep this?”
Calla said, “I know it possesses some sort of powerful magic.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! The sort that kings have quested for, and alchemists wasted their lives trying to find! Each of those seeds grants the one who eats it one hundred more years to live!”
So, sort of a plant version of the Holy Grail.
Calla managed to keep a straight face and not giggle at her internal commentary.
The witch went on, “If your young man were to eat these, there would be no fuss over age difference. You could be happy with him.”
“What would your price be?” Calla countered.
The reply was succinct: “Become my apprentice.”
While Calla was still trying to digest that, she said, “You would not have to live here. You could go back to your home in America, and solve your little problems with Chernobyl, assuming he gets back. But you would come here every so often, and I would teach you what I know. And every month, if you had learned well and been a good pupil, I would give you one of these seeds to give to your love.”
Slowly the mage sat back in her chair, blinking and searching for the words she wanted. Finally she settled on, “Why?”
Baba Yaga said, “Be specific.”
“Why do you want an apprentice all of a sudden? And why me, of all the people in the world?”
The witch shrugged. “Call it a whim.” Then she stood up, cramming the last of the chicken into her mouth and gnashing it to shreds with her iron teeth. “At least consider it, myshka.”
Morgan, if Baba Yaga wanted to make you her apprentice in exchange for a way to make Nathan live longer, what would you say?
Calla tapped out the text message after cleaning up the remains of dinner, and sent it before thinking, Wait. That might have been a very stupid idea. I think she is going to freak.
She was right. Morgan’s first text was a question mark, followed by one comprised only of exclamation points.
What are you doing with Baba Yaga? was the third.
...It’s for a case, Calla replied.
You and Tristan get the strangest cases.
I know.
Let me think about it a minute.
Calla waited anxiously, curled up by the fire, which she had built up a little bit. It wasn’t necessarily that cold, but it made her feel a bit more secure.
Finally the response came. I don't know that I would now, but that's because of the blood bond. If you had asked a year ago, the answer would have been yes.
Even if it meant he’d have to watch his parents grow old and die while he stayed young for longer than he was supposed to?
That would be his decision to make, not mine.
She nodded slowly, even knowing that her friend couldn’t see her. Then she leaned her chin in her hand, staring at the fire.
Her phone vibrated.
Are you okay?
Calla typed back, It’s kind of a long story.
I'm listening.
This is a text message.
You know what I mean…
After a hesitant second, she texted back, Tristan has to steal a sword from Koschei the Deathless or I’m going to be Baba Yaga’s prisoner.
Wow.
Yeah.
Any way I can help?
I doubt it. But thanks anyway.
Had she been more secure regarding her emotions, Calla might have jumped to Baba Yaga’s offer with a lot less hesitation. But she wasn’t.
To the best of her understanding, she loved Lars. But was it enough to make her want to make him immortal? After all, they were still in the process of getting to know each other. And frankly, sometimes she was afraid that he felt more passionately for her than she did for him. Or, to put it a bit more positively, he depended on her more than she did him. Probably because she was one of the first people he’d cared about outside his group of homeless children.
Is that really a healthy relationship, then? Maybe we’ve jumped into this whole thing too quickly...so is it really worth preserving his life for longer, especially because it wouldn’t be fair to Rosie?
Relationships are hard.
I wish Tristan was here, so I could talk to him about this. He’d know what to do.
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Sunday, October 2, 2016
Sunday, November 4, 2012
TANSTAV part 36
Chapter 10 part 2
As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary. She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing. How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious? Let me see...oh, yes. As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy. Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life. Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing. One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.
"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.
"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it. "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."
"They...shattered?"
"Oh, yeah. Big time."
Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm. I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.
She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places. I idly wondered where she'd gotten it. I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something. As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away. Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole. As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds. Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly. I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage. She came over to where we were.
"How is he?" she asked.
"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied. The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief. It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.
It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better. Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me. I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process. What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me? Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy? Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"
I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."
"It's about time," she replied.
Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"
"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."
And then she kissed me. I shut up.
When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen. Please?"
I know, this was not in my original plans. But I couldn't wait. I had to ask now, before something else happened. She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous. Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me. Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan! I thought you'd never ask!"
Pulling me up, she hugged me. I asked, "Does that mean yes?"
She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious. Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan. Yes, I will marry you."
That made everything all right.
After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing. I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed. I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse. Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.
"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died. Give yourself some time."
Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her. At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand. She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch). With effort, I returned it.
"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.
"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied. "Someone's got to be there to look after you."
Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her. It was sweet.
At that moment, the police finally arrived. Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.
"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked. "What happened? What's all this mess?"
Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."
I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”
“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.
“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”
“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.
I nodded to her. “Thank you, Calla.”
Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"
"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-" Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.
"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"
"It's...complicated, chief. I'll tell you in the report. Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP. And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this. I need something to add to my collection."
(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)
With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.
"Hi," I said. "You know, being behind bars really suits you."
"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"
"Spare me. If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”
“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.
“No, some of them repeated themselves. Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out. And if you do, I'll be waiting. You name the place."
"Yeah. We'll be waiting too," growled Xen. She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on. She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."
It was then that we decided to go home. I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.
As bad as that sounds, it was very necessary. She had to check and make sure there was no shrapnel or remains of bullet left in my body, before she could do any real healing. How can I describe the process of being vivisected while one is still alive and mostly conscious? Let me see...oh, yes. As I once said to an annoying reporter during the rare moment I agreed to an interview, even a masochist would find the process impossible to enjoy. Xen has also told me that it’s basically the most disgusting thing she has ever done, but she knew she had to in order to save my life. Some of the experience’s kind of hazy, and I think I blacked out once or twice, which was probably a blessing. One of my more vivid memories is Xen reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small packet of white powder.
"What's...that?" I managed to gasp.
"Powdered Yoon bone," she replied, opening it. "It'll help regrow your ribs and clavicles."
"They...shattered?"
"Oh, yeah. Big time."
Despite the distressing circumstances, Xen kept her voice calm. I admired her self control, and that she was trying to act like a doctor.
She took out a pinch of bone, and gingerly placed it in a few select places. I idly wondered where she'd gotten it. I hoped the Yoon it belonged to was already dead, or that the bone had had to be surgically removed, or something. As the powder got in my system, the sharp pains I was feeling began to go away. Ah, good, the stabbing sensation in my lung had dissipated, and with some spit, Xen plugged up the hole. As soon as she was sure all the bones were put back together, after adding a bit of her blood to prevent infection, she coughed up a large glob of spit (also very gross), and began dribbling it into my wounds. Once in a while, I would point out a spot that Xen had missed, or groan in pain, but other than that, things were going pretty quietly. I noticed that Calla had freed the other prisoners (except Jessup, thank heavens), and had also moved Fleming, who was unconscious and bleeding, into another cage. She came over to where we were.
"How is he?" she asked.
"He's on the mend, thank heavens," Xen replied. The girl's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief. It was then that I drifted out of consciousness again.
It didn't seem very long before I woke up again, but it must have been, because I felt a lot better. Granted, I was still weak, and I once again felt like I had after being thrashed nearly to death by those hired goons (No, I am still unwilling to tell you about it; it was very humiliating for me); but I could tell that the holes in my guts and shoulders had closed up, and my insides felt good as new. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw Xen staring anxiously down at me. I was abruptly a bit anxious myself; having to save someone’s life by tearing them open, and then putting them back together, is a very intimate, personal process. What if she was so repulsed by what she had to do that she no longer loved me? Seeing me awake, she smiled with relief; but what if she was just trying to keep me happy? Behind her, I saw Calla, who wiped her eyes, and cried out, "He's alive!"
I smiled weakly, hoping it wasn't showing my fear, and whispered, "Hey, Xen."
"It's about time," she replied.
Then, remembering something she'd said while attacking Fleming, I said, "Uh, Xen, technically I'm not your-"
"Tristan," she interrupted, "shut up."
And then she kissed me. I shut up.
When I was finally allowed to talk again, the first words out of my mouth were, "Marry me, Xen. Please?"
I know, this was not in my original plans. But I couldn't wait. I had to ask now, before something else happened. She stared at me in shock. A full ten seconds passed, making me nervous. Maybe she was too grossed out to still want me. Then, with an expression of utmost delight, she cried, "Land sakes, Tristan! I thought you'd never ask!"
Pulling me up, she hugged me. I asked, "Does that mean yes?"
She sat back, and scrutinized me, trying to see if I was serious. Realizing I was, she looked me right in the eyes, and said slowly, "Yes, Tristan. Yes, I will marry you."
That made everything all right.
After a long, long while, I finally thought to see what Calla was doing. I glanced over in her direction, and saw that she was standing by the altar, arms folded, staring up at the ceiling. She was humming slightly, and I got the impression that she was embarrassed. I tried to stand up, and felt my limbs all simultaneously collapse. Thankfully, Xen was there to catch me before I could do a faceplant, and drape my arm around her shoulders.
"Take it easy," she cautioned me, "You just nearly died. Give yourself some time."
Slowly we shuffled over to Calla, and I held out my other arm to her. At least, I made a gesture at her with my free hand. She came over, and hugged me around the chest, not caring about my bloodstained clothing (don’t worry, after gargoyle blood cools down, it’s safe to touch). With effort, I returned it.
"I'm so glad you're alive," she murmured.
"Hey, I wasn't gonna leave that easily," I replied. "Someone's got to be there to look after you."
Calla gave a small laugh, the first I'd ever heard from her. It was sweet.
At that moment, the police finally arrived. Ishida burst into the room, with what seemed like half the police force in tow.
"What the devil is going on here?!" he barked. "What happened? What's all this mess?"
Xen pointed at Fleming, and said, "He's the one you want."
I added, “You’ll want to arrest him for kidnapping, attempted murder, theft, necromancy, and deception.”
“Deception is not against the law!” Fleming, who was finally awake, squawked indignantly.
“True,” I shot back, “but it is a commandment.”
“The ninth, to be precise,” said Calla.
I nodded to her. “Thank you, Calla.”
Two cops headed for the cage; I asked the chief, "How did you find us?"
"We traced the last signal we'd gotten from your phone, and-" Ishida stopped, and frowned at me, looking confused.
"Why do you have blood on what remains of your shirt?"
"It's...complicated, chief. I'll tell you in the report. Just know that you've got two new prisoners, one of whom needs to go back to Chernabog, ASAP. And let me know if you find a hooded cloak, or if Fleming has any notes about this. I need something to add to my collection."
(I keep little mementos from all my cases in a file cabinet at work.)
With the help of the girls, I shuffled over to the cage where my enemy stood, glaring at me, his handsome face contorted with a paroxysm of deepest rage.
"Hi," I said. "You know, being behind bars really suits you."
"This isn't over, Wormwood," Jessup hissed, "I'll get out again, and when I do, I'll come for you, and your lady friends, and make sure that before you die you watch them undergo the most horrible, painful-"
"Spare me. If I had a dime every time someone threatened my life, I’d have-” I did a quick mental calculation- “about twenty dollars.”
“You've been threatened by two hundred different people?” Calla gasped.
“No, some of them repeated themselves. Anyway, Jessup, you don't have a snowball in Texas's chance of getting out. And if you do, I'll be waiting. You name the place."
"Yeah. We'll be waiting too," growled Xen. She bared her fangs at him; I noticed that Calla, though looking a lot less intimidating, did have her best glare on. She whispered, "I hope you enjoy prison, sir."
It was then that we decided to go home. I'd had enough for one day, and besides, we had some plans to make.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
TANSTAV part 35
Chapter 10
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough. And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.
The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch. It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me! And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings. I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit. I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down. My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease. Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me. It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.
As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.
She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking. Poor girl. I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her. I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.
With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph. He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me. I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time. By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs. I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely. And then, I saw an angel above Fleming. She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him. A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.
"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"
Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly. I'm sorry about leaving you like this.
She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him. Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic. Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage. Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.
It was at that moment that Jessup woke up. He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused. It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment. The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me. He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.
Uh-oh.
Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage. He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.
"Well, well, well!" he purred. "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"
"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.
Jessup chuckled.
"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.
"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back. My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.
"True, true. But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood. Far more than can be good for you."
He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now. I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.” He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat. “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap! No more you.” It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony. My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on. With my luck, he did.
“Or maybe I could just throttle you.” Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently. It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.
“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”
“Just pick one already!” I growled. “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”
Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.
“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood. But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death. And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”
With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches. Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me. Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing. I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.
Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.
"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed. Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.
Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut. I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow. Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this. You were my greatest opponent."
"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat. For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing. Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow. So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death. But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out. Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.
Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall. The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.
"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted. To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla! She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists. Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open. The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house. She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself. After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.
With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.
"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.
Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"
Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.
All right, so I lied about dying, as you may have realized from the fact that I am still writing this book; however, I do nearly die, which is close enough. And almost get attacked by leeches in the bargain.
The first thought that entered my head upon feeling the bullet hit me was: Ouch. It was followed a few seconds later by: He shot me! And then I felt it explode into two bits, which flew out my shoulders (one of the nastier habits of splatter bullets), thankfully missing my wings. I looked down, and saw a huge crimson burst spreading across the left side of my stomach, where the bullet had hit. I lifted my hand to try and staunch the blood flow, but it seemed like time was slowing down. My hand moved with all the speed of a glacier on the move, and was trembling like I had Parkinson’s disease. Finally, I pressed it onto the wound, which shot a wave of pain through me. It was about then that I realized I was falling, my knees collapsing under me.
As I hit the ground, ultimately landing on my back, I caught a glimpse of Calla, her white face covered in horror, screaming my name.
She really is quite fond of me, I remember thinking. Poor girl. I hope she doesn't blame herself for this, and that Xen will take care of her. I wonder what Fleming's doing right now.
With unbearable slowness, I rolled my eyes over in his direction, and saw him staring back at me, with a very nasty grin of triumph. He lifted the splatter gun, and cocked it at me. I got the impression that he was going to shoot me again, maybe in the heart this time. By some miracle, the last bullet had missed it, instead hitting what felt like several other important vital organs. I stared back at him, wanting to go out bravely. And then, I saw an angel above Fleming. She must have been an avenging angel, because she was dive-bombing him. A gray avenging angel, with furry wings, and red and brown hair.
"You-" the angel screamed, as she landed on Fleming, ripping the splatter gun out of his hand, "-do not touch-" her lavender eyes blazed with fury- "-MY BOYFRIEND!!!!"
Oh, Xen, I love you, I thought, smiling dazedly. I'm sorry about leaving you like this.
She slammed Fleming really hard in his already-wounded shoulder and arm; he screamed so agonizingly that I almost felt some semblance of pity from him. Xen was becoming quite vicious, hitting and tearing at him so quick and fast that he obviously couldn't even think about using his magic. Calla ran across the room, probably to keep her from doing any permanent damage. Dear Calla; she was so tenderhearted, even for the bad guy.
It was at that moment that Jessup woke up. He blinked, and then sat up, obviously confused. It appeared that Fleming's hypnotic hold on him had been broken, probably because he was so distracted at the moment. The demon looked over at the altercation going on, glanced down on the altar he was on-and then he saw me. He looked shocked, but then an expression of utter delight lit up his heavy-lidded eyes.
Uh-oh.
Slowly, Jessup got down from the altar, and, neatly sidestepping Xen, who was still trying to kill Fleming, and Calla, who was trying to get her back under control, he came over to my cage. He pulled open the door, and crouched down by my side.
"Well, well, well!" he purred. "In a spot of trouble, aren't you, Wormwood?"
"Oh, it’s not that bad," I croaked unconvincingly.
Jessup chuckled.
"It doesn't look like you'll last the night," he said, making polite conversation.
"Yeah, that's what they said about the Star-Spangled Banner," I shot back. My vision was becoming awfully hazy, which made it hard to see his stupid sideways smirk.
"True, true. But you're losing an awful lot of lifeblood, Wormwood. Far more than can be good for you."
He contemplated me for a moment, and then murmured, “There are so many ways I could kill you right now. I could, perhaps, break your neck, just like this.” He placed one hand on the top of my head, and the other around my throat. “I could jerk one hand left, the other right, and snap! No more you.” It was an echo of our conversation in his cell; I was sure he was doing it on purpose, as a cruel irony. My slowly fading pulse got a few extra jumps in; I hoped he didn't notice my fear, as it would only spur him on. With my luck, he did.
“Or maybe I could just throttle you.” Both hands became wrapped around my throat, and he squeezed gently. It was enough to start cutting my breathing off, so by the time he took them away, I was gasping a bit.
“Or, if I got my hands on one of those excellent scalpels our captor must have lying around, I could slit your carotid artery: quick, and efficient-”
“Just pick one already!” I growled. “I get it, I’m at your mercy, blah, blah, blah!”
Jessup clucked his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrows at me.
“You've always had a mouth that was unable to close once it was opened, Wormwood. But don’t fear, I’ve already decided your death. And I intend for it to linger for as long as you’ve got left.”
With that, he stood up, and exited my cage, going into the one containing the leeches. Grabbing a nearby pair of tongs, he snatched up a couple, and, holding them at arm’s length, began meandering back to me. Somehow, my companions were so involved in handling Fleming, they noticed nothing. I tried to move, or cry out, or something, but I was so weak, it was nearly impossible.
Jessup entered the cage, and dangled the leeches over me; they began thrashing around eagerly, obviously smelling my blood.
"These leeches must be enchanted so that they can drink your type of blood," the demon observed. Since gargoyle blood has a temperature of over 128 degrees Fahrenheit, and gives severe burns to anyone who touches it, except other gargoyles, that did seem like the only plausible explanation.
Jessup suddenly lifted my hand off the hole in my gut. I was unable to do anything about it, because I was as weak as a baby sparrow. Dangling the leech-bearing tongs over my wound, he said, "You know, it's almost a shame you're going to die like this. You were my greatest opponent."
"Just get on with it, you plant-spawn!" I spat. For a demon, that is one of the worst insults you can call him without resorting to outright cursing. Apparently there's this old myth in their culture about a demon born from a union between his father and a woman born from a tree (reminiscent of a dryad), and when he was fully grown, he caused 1000 years of destruction of the demons somehow. So to call a demon plant-spawn (or son/daughter of a plant) is to ask for death. But since I was dying anyway, I figured I had nothing to lose, and might as well tick him off on my way out. Jessup lost the smirk; giving me a hate-filled glare, he began to lower the hungry leeches to the wound.
Without warning, he flew backwards, as if a giant hand had smacked him, slamming into the wall. The tongs (with the leeches still attached, thank goodness) were wrenched by something unseen out of his hand, and zoomed back into the tank.
"Oh, no you don't!" an angry female voice shouted. To my surprise, I recognized it as Calla! She marched over, hands clenched into tiny fists. Then she waved her left hand, and the cage containing the Ghul burst open. The creature scrambled out in terror, and fled the house. She let him go, and instead used her power to push Jessup into the cage, which relocked itself. After that, I didn't see any more of what was happening over there; suddenly Xen was by my side, staring down at me.
With all the willpower I could muster, and the last ounces of strength in my body, I reached up and touched her face, caressing it.
"You're beautiful, my angel," I whispered.
Sniffling, she croaked, "You keep getting yourself into the biggest messes, don't you, Tristan?"
Then, grasping my hand tightly in one of her her own for a moment, she tore open my shirt and quickly began making incisions throughout my chest cavity with her claws.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
TANSTAV part 28
Chapter 8 part 2
As could be expected, I decided to go home from work early. I tried to relax, but my heart felt ready to burst from worry. I leaped out the window of my office, and was flying toward my building-when I realized that I had forgotten Calla. It's hard to do an about-face in midair, but somehow I managed it. I saw Calla standing at the window. Our eyes met, and I heard her thoughts say, Go. I'll catch up. Sending a wave of gratitude in reply, I turned back, and zoomed to Xen's apartment window. The blinds were closed; I couldn't see if she was there or not. I banged frantically on the glass, praying she would come. No answer. Hoping she would forgive me for this, I jumped off the ledge, flew backward a bit, and then went full-speed towards the glass.
Once again, CRASH!!
I was starting to make a habit out of smashing through windows. That part of my brain that thinks really weird things at inopportune moments wondered if someone would start paying me for it. Recovering, and brushing glass out of my hair, I leaped to my feet- and saw Xen, spinning around to face me, something in her hand. As soon as she saw who it was, relief covered her visage, and, dropping whatever it was onto the table, she sagged limply against her easel, which was set up nearby. Before I could go to her, the door to her apartment burst open, and in came Calla, gasping for breath. When she saw Xen was still there, she sighed with the same amount of relief as my technically-not-girlfriend was exhibiting.
"You're still here! We're early enough that maybe-"
"Actually, you're late," said Xen calmly. We gaped at her; finally, she said, "The shadow was here, but he didn't get me."
"Why not?"
She gestured wordlessly to the object on the table, which I finally recognized as her palette knife. It was coated in a red, sticky substance that was definitely not paint.
"I told you I'd have it handy. He got away before I could bite him, but not before I'd dealt a few good blows. I'm not about to let myself get kidnapped again."
I finally crossed the room to Xen, and wrapped my arms tightly around her. Now I knew she was scared, possibly in shock, even though she was trying to put up a brave front for my and Calla’s sakes; I could feel her body trembling as she clung to me, and smell her convulsive sweat (which is not as gross as you might think; it reminds me of aloe vera).
"Good for you," I said softly.
"Was it-fatal?" asked Calla, gingerly examining the knife.
"I doubt it. I think I only got the shadow in the shoulder, and the arm. But I can tell you this. It wasn't Jessup."
I pulled back a little, and looked her in the eyes with a frown.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'd have recognized his smell. This smell...it was of a human being, or at least something mostly human. Male mage, I'd say."
I thought about this. It did not connect with the previous information I had collected. Obviously, there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.
"I don't understand," Calla suddenly said.
"What?"
"One of my visions...it didn't come true. They always come true!"
"And yours did," said Xen with a shaky smile.
Calla turned to her.
"But I saw you get kidnapped!"
"No, what you saw was the shadow appearing and grabbing me while I was painting, correct?" Calla nodded. "Your vision just missed the part where I whirled around, knife in hand, and stabbed him. You then automatically jumped to the conclusion that I would let myself be taken easily."
The kid looked down at the floor, her eyes misting a little, and immediately Xen went to her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that sounded mean. It was an easy conclusion to make. Besides, maybe the fact that you told us made it possible for me to not be captured."
Calla looked a bit hurt still, but smiled tentatively.
That night, Xen stayed at my place, because we'd had to report the illegal entry to the police, and after the cops had searched the apartment for any information, in the unlikely event that I wouldn't be able to find it, she was feeling a little overwhelmed, and didn't want to have to stay there by herself. Besides, I had no intention of letting her out of my sight, now that the shadow had tried to get her. Maybe he would try to get revenge, and even though she'd proven to be capable of handling herself, I wanted to be able to help protect her should the need arise. It was the second time she'd been up almost all day, so she was exhausted. At the same time, however, she was afraid to go to sleep; I could tell. She was lying on the couch, while I tried to make myself comfortable on the floor. But for a long while, I could see the lavender glow of her eyes in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, I said aloud, "Can't sleep, huh?"
"Not really. The memory of what happened keeps playing over and over every time I close my eyes, and I don't-"
She cut herself off; a quiet sob, which she tried and failed to suppress, resounded in her throat. I got up, and gently lifting her out of the way, sat down on the couch. Xen sat up next to me, and leaned into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her. She cried for a long, long time. I said nothing, just sat and took my turn to be the one offering emotional support. By the time her last bits of hysteria had subsided, that part of my shirt was thoroughly soaked. Noticing, she whispered, scrubbing at her eyes, "Sorry about your shirt."
"It doesn't matter," I replied. I took her face in my hands, and kissed each tear away. Finally, I kissed her mouth (which had a slight flavor of salt). That definitely seemed to help.
Xen fell asleep with her head in my lap, and soon after, I dozed off too.
As could be expected, I decided to go home from work early. I tried to relax, but my heart felt ready to burst from worry. I leaped out the window of my office, and was flying toward my building-when I realized that I had forgotten Calla. It's hard to do an about-face in midair, but somehow I managed it. I saw Calla standing at the window. Our eyes met, and I heard her thoughts say, Go. I'll catch up. Sending a wave of gratitude in reply, I turned back, and zoomed to Xen's apartment window. The blinds were closed; I couldn't see if she was there or not. I banged frantically on the glass, praying she would come. No answer. Hoping she would forgive me for this, I jumped off the ledge, flew backward a bit, and then went full-speed towards the glass.
Once again, CRASH!!
I was starting to make a habit out of smashing through windows. That part of my brain that thinks really weird things at inopportune moments wondered if someone would start paying me for it. Recovering, and brushing glass out of my hair, I leaped to my feet- and saw Xen, spinning around to face me, something in her hand. As soon as she saw who it was, relief covered her visage, and, dropping whatever it was onto the table, she sagged limply against her easel, which was set up nearby. Before I could go to her, the door to her apartment burst open, and in came Calla, gasping for breath. When she saw Xen was still there, she sighed with the same amount of relief as my technically-not-girlfriend was exhibiting.
"You're still here! We're early enough that maybe-"
"Actually, you're late," said Xen calmly. We gaped at her; finally, she said, "The shadow was here, but he didn't get me."
"Why not?"
She gestured wordlessly to the object on the table, which I finally recognized as her palette knife. It was coated in a red, sticky substance that was definitely not paint.
"I told you I'd have it handy. He got away before I could bite him, but not before I'd dealt a few good blows. I'm not about to let myself get kidnapped again."
I finally crossed the room to Xen, and wrapped my arms tightly around her. Now I knew she was scared, possibly in shock, even though she was trying to put up a brave front for my and Calla’s sakes; I could feel her body trembling as she clung to me, and smell her convulsive sweat (which is not as gross as you might think; it reminds me of aloe vera).
"Good for you," I said softly.
"Was it-fatal?" asked Calla, gingerly examining the knife.
"I doubt it. I think I only got the shadow in the shoulder, and the arm. But I can tell you this. It wasn't Jessup."
I pulled back a little, and looked her in the eyes with a frown.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'd have recognized his smell. This smell...it was of a human being, or at least something mostly human. Male mage, I'd say."
I thought about this. It did not connect with the previous information I had collected. Obviously, there was still a missing piece to this puzzle.
"I don't understand," Calla suddenly said.
"What?"
"One of my visions...it didn't come true. They always come true!"
"And yours did," said Xen with a shaky smile.
Calla turned to her.
"But I saw you get kidnapped!"
"No, what you saw was the shadow appearing and grabbing me while I was painting, correct?" Calla nodded. "Your vision just missed the part where I whirled around, knife in hand, and stabbed him. You then automatically jumped to the conclusion that I would let myself be taken easily."
The kid looked down at the floor, her eyes misting a little, and immediately Xen went to her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that sounded mean. It was an easy conclusion to make. Besides, maybe the fact that you told us made it possible for me to not be captured."
Calla looked a bit hurt still, but smiled tentatively.
That night, Xen stayed at my place, because we'd had to report the illegal entry to the police, and after the cops had searched the apartment for any information, in the unlikely event that I wouldn't be able to find it, she was feeling a little overwhelmed, and didn't want to have to stay there by herself. Besides, I had no intention of letting her out of my sight, now that the shadow had tried to get her. Maybe he would try to get revenge, and even though she'd proven to be capable of handling herself, I wanted to be able to help protect her should the need arise. It was the second time she'd been up almost all day, so she was exhausted. At the same time, however, she was afraid to go to sleep; I could tell. She was lying on the couch, while I tried to make myself comfortable on the floor. But for a long while, I could see the lavender glow of her eyes in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Finally, I said aloud, "Can't sleep, huh?"
"Not really. The memory of what happened keeps playing over and over every time I close my eyes, and I don't-"
She cut herself off; a quiet sob, which she tried and failed to suppress, resounded in her throat. I got up, and gently lifting her out of the way, sat down on the couch. Xen sat up next to me, and leaned into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her. She cried for a long, long time. I said nothing, just sat and took my turn to be the one offering emotional support. By the time her last bits of hysteria had subsided, that part of my shirt was thoroughly soaked. Noticing, she whispered, scrubbing at her eyes, "Sorry about your shirt."
"It doesn't matter," I replied. I took her face in my hands, and kissed each tear away. Finally, I kissed her mouth (which had a slight flavor of salt). That definitely seemed to help.
Xen fell asleep with her head in my lap, and soon after, I dozed off too.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
TANSTAV part 24
Chapter Seven
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
In the interests of all parties concerned, I make a proposition
The vanished monster in question was a Fonin, by the name of Clarence Whitechapel. Age 23, brunette, 5'6", 125 pounds, with wings like a golden eagle. No prior records, no real status in the world, nothing to distinguish him. Since Senator Skald was 55 years old, rather gray, 8’4", and over 300 pounds, there seemed to be no connection, besides their both having golden-orange eyes, and how much of a connection could that be? I asked, "Did anyone at your center see anything? Any clues?"
"A few people did say they saw something, but it sounds crazy."
"What was it? This could be important."
Greenbriar looked slightly embarrassed, but she said, "They claim that Mr. Whitechapel was sitting in his usual corner, eating lunch, when they saw-saw a black, shadowy figure appear, and grab him by the shoulder. Then they both vanished."
"Huh." That didn't sound too crazy to me. What it sounded like was some kind of teleporter, with a tendency towards clichés.
"What type of shadow? Like a Reaper?"
"No, not exactly. It was wearing a hooded cloak, but they said, in the brief glimpse they caught of it, that it looked more substantial than a Reaper, less billowy."
"May I meet these people, and hear it from them?"
"Well, Mr. Wormwood, the fact is, they're afraid that if they come forward, the shadow will come after them next." Her pale face had chagrin written all over it.
"That's not an unreasonable fear," I said. She looked surprised. "Well, since it obviously has the ability to appear out of nowhere and steal people, whatever it is, I'd say their fear is justified. However, tell these anonymous tippers that if they will tell me exactly what happened, I might be able to capture and subdue it." Greenbriar nodded.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Wormwood. I shall let you know in a week or so if I have made any progress in convincing them." With that, she got up and left, closing the door behind her.
When I returned home, I noticed that the light was on (I quickly slipped on my shaded glasses, in order to protect my corneas), and that Calla was examining the portrait hung over the sofa.
"Is this your-" she began to ask.
"Yes, that's my family," I interrupted. She turned her head in my direction, with a raised eyebrow. I gathered it was due to the fact that my use of the phrase 'that's my family' was in almost the same tone of voice I would use to say 'that's a pile of rotten, maggoty horse flesh.'
I moseyed over, and she turned back to the picture. It showed the drawing room of my house back in Tarascogne, Massachusetts (a monster suburb of Boston). It had two blue velvet curtains hanging from the wall, and a blue-and-gray marbled floor. Standing before the curtains were my parents, my siblings and I.
"What are their names?"
"These two," I jabbed a claw at the two young female gargoyles on the far left, "are my sisters. Jeannette and Florence."
Jeannette was wearing a pale lavender kimono with blue flowers. Her black hair, which she got from Mom, was hanging loosely down over her shoulders. Florence, standing on her left, had on a knee-length black dress with a golden belt. A diamond ring sparkled on her left hand, signifying the fact that she had just become engaged to Dominic Valdez, one of the richest gargoyle diplomats in Spain.
Next to them, as I indicated to Calla, was Mom. She wore a blue gown, and held my youngest brother, Ned, in her arms. By some strange genetic quirk, Ned had acquired small black curls (which neither of my parents had), and they, coupled with his gray fur, fangs, bat-like wings, and tail, gave him the appearance of a very strange demonic cherub. To the left of Mom were my younger brother Elijah, my older brother Arthur, and, behind both of them, with one hand clapped possessively on Arthur's shoulder, was dear old Dad. I involuntarily clenched my jaw at the sight of him. There he stood, looking self-important and in control, with confidence that he was the master, and we merely his puppets, to jump when he pulled the strings. And, of course, on the far right of the picture lurked a rebellious sixteen-year-old, scruffy and unkempt when compared to the others, red eyes set in a fierce glare. That's right, me. In an attempt to shame me for my facial expression, Dad had the painting set up in my room after its completion. And for some reason, when I finally left home, I had taken it with me. I guess it was to make his plan backfire.
"You're the only boy who isn't clean-shaven," Calla remarked.
"I like being a little scruffy," I replied.
"How long ago was this taken?”
"Four years."
"You weren't very tall, then-oh!" As soon as Calla realized what she'd said, she clapped a hand to her mouth, and turned scarlet. Her eyes slid fearfully in my direction. I merely chuckled.
"It's okay, kid. I was a little slow to reach my growth spurt. Good observation."
Taking her hand from her mouth, she smiled shyly. Calla turned her head back to the picture, and said after a moment, "You know, without your goatee, you would probably look a lot like your father."
"Don't remind me," I grumbled.
"Why not?"
"It's... complicated."
"Okay."
I appreciated the fact that she didn't try to grill me for information. However, her curiosity appealed to me.
Suddenly, Calla threw me completely off-guard by asking, in hesitant tones, "Tristan, why don't you and Xen get married?"
"Wha-how-why-" I stumbled, sounding like an idiot, and being fully aware of that fact.
"Well, you love her. And I can tell she loves you." She began to look alarmed. "Have I asked you a question I shouldn't have?"
"No, no, it's fine! I just wasn't used to your being that direct."
"I've been curious for a long time. Sorry, that was too-"
"Calla, there is no harm in asking me questions like that. I'm not going to hurt you for being curious." I sighed. Finally, I said, "We want to. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But I’m waiting to ask her at least until after October."
"What happens then?"
"She turns 20. That seems a more acceptable age for her to get married at." Granted, it would still be pretty young, but I already knew she was the one for me, so there seemed to be little need to wait.
"Oh."
There was a slightly awkward silence. Then I cleared my throat.
"Calla, how would you like to become my assistant?"
Sunday, June 17, 2012
TANSTAV part 10
Chapter Three part 4
Kisses are like soda: wet, and kind of sticky, but every one you have makes you want more. Xen was only too happy to oblige me. After a moment, we both sat down on the sofa, and did more of this for a while. I loved the feel of her long, spider-like fingers in my hair, and being able to stroke her wings with my claws. She washed and brushed them every day, making the fur as smooth as silk. I breathed in the combined scents of wild rose and campfire smoke until I felt giddy. You might want to skip over some of this if you’re one of those people who hates maudlin sentimentality.
Soon I was lying with my head in her lap, and Xen was running her claws lightly along my face. I could hear her heart; it was jackhammering away, probably as fast as mine was. Xen's eyes were closed, and she was smiling to herself.
"What are you thinking about?" I whispered.
"Nothing much. Just feeling happy," she murmured.
"That's good."
Not very eloquent, I know. But too much talking would have ruined the moment. Xen's fingers ran along my forehead, down my nose, over my cheekbones, and smoothed my eyebrows. Next she proceeded to comb my beard with her claws. Gently she separated the many strands, disentangled knots, and tickled slightly. Every time she did I jumped, and she giggled. When she finally finished, she traced my mouth. I kissed each fingertip. (Cool science fact: the most sensory receptors of the body are the face and the fingertips. It's true for both humans and humanoid monsters, such as gargoyles.)
Next Xen lowered her head close to mine, making me quiver with anticipation; suddenly she rubbed noses with me, an Eskimo kiss. It was nice, but it was not what I had in mind. So, I lifted my head, and kissed her properly. Much better.
I could have done that forever, it seemed. I certainly would have preferred to. But suddenly, I remembered something important.
"Oh, dang it!"
"What?" Xen frowned.
"I forgot, I have a case! I have to go to the crime scene, and see if there's any evidence left!" I looked up at her guiltily, and then over at Calla's room.
"It's okay, I'll stay here and look after her until you get back," Xen promised.
"Thanks." I sat up, and used my claws to comb my hair. Xen straightened my tie for me, and then said, "Just be back soon."
"I will." With that, I kissed her goodbye, and then hurried out of the apartment.
Kisses are like soda: wet, and kind of sticky, but every one you have makes you want more. Xen was only too happy to oblige me. After a moment, we both sat down on the sofa, and did more of this for a while. I loved the feel of her long, spider-like fingers in my hair, and being able to stroke her wings with my claws. She washed and brushed them every day, making the fur as smooth as silk. I breathed in the combined scents of wild rose and campfire smoke until I felt giddy. You might want to skip over some of this if you’re one of those people who hates maudlin sentimentality.
Soon I was lying with my head in her lap, and Xen was running her claws lightly along my face. I could hear her heart; it was jackhammering away, probably as fast as mine was. Xen's eyes were closed, and she was smiling to herself.
"What are you thinking about?" I whispered.
"Nothing much. Just feeling happy," she murmured.
"That's good."
Not very eloquent, I know. But too much talking would have ruined the moment. Xen's fingers ran along my forehead, down my nose, over my cheekbones, and smoothed my eyebrows. Next she proceeded to comb my beard with her claws. Gently she separated the many strands, disentangled knots, and tickled slightly. Every time she did I jumped, and she giggled. When she finally finished, she traced my mouth. I kissed each fingertip. (Cool science fact: the most sensory receptors of the body are the face and the fingertips. It's true for both humans and humanoid monsters, such as gargoyles.)
Next Xen lowered her head close to mine, making me quiver with anticipation; suddenly she rubbed noses with me, an Eskimo kiss. It was nice, but it was not what I had in mind. So, I lifted my head, and kissed her properly. Much better.
I could have done that forever, it seemed. I certainly would have preferred to. But suddenly, I remembered something important.
"Oh, dang it!"
"What?" Xen frowned.
"I forgot, I have a case! I have to go to the crime scene, and see if there's any evidence left!" I looked up at her guiltily, and then over at Calla's room.
"It's okay, I'll stay here and look after her until you get back," Xen promised.
"Thanks." I sat up, and used my claws to comb my hair. Xen straightened my tie for me, and then said, "Just be back soon."
"I will." With that, I kissed her goodbye, and then hurried out of the apartment.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
TANSTAV part 9
Chapter Three part 3
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
Xenobia Keller (or Xen) is- well, technically, she's not my girlfriend. My parents disapprove of our even being friends, because she's only half-gargoyle (her father is a Yoon), and an artist, to boot. The funny thing about my family: to put it nicely, we're old-fashioned, and to put it truthfully, we're snobs. My father is this big politician in the monster world, and has these ideas about "preserving purity of the species," and "unsullied blood," and a whole bunch of rubbish like that. But, having known Xen basically all my life, I feel that species or blood doesn't matter worth a darn in this world. This difference of opinion is part of what has led to my father and I barely speaking to each other in the past two years. And, since my relationship with him is already strained, I usually avoid bringing up Xen in conversation (since he usually starts ranting about what a bad influence she is), and certainly never call her my girlfriend. If he knew the strength of our relationship, he would explode with rage. And as entertaining as that would be, he would probably disinherit me first. I like having a little money on the side for when Ishida is slow with my paycheck.
Xen, due to her Dark Fae blood, is smaller and more delicately-boned than most gargoyles, coming up to my shoulder. She hates the fact that she looks fragile, since she is personally tough as nails. Her hands and feet are rather big, and she can climb like a Yoon, which I think is awesome. Other indications of her heritage are her hair, eyes, wings, and tail. Not that there's anything odd about her having them. But her hair is red on top, and brown on the bottom. It looks like she dyes it, but she doesn't. Typically she leaves it at shoulder length, which I love. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of purple, and look huge in her small, heart-shaped face. Xen's wings are brown and furry, and her tail has brown stripes, like a lemur. Lastly, Xen has the healing powers of a Yoon; however, her blood and tears can only be used on gargoyles.
Without preamble, I swept Xen into a hug. Because of our different schedules, I hardly ever got to see her. I tried to enjoy every opportunity I got; burying my face in her hair, I inhaled the lovely scent of her wild rose shampoo. I heard her give a small, contented sigh as her fingers played with some of the hairs on the back of my neck. When we finally came apart, she said, "Good to see you too, Tristan."
"Thanks. Now...what was the question again?"
Xen rolled her eyes. "What were those people here for?"
"It's a long story. It's a small issue with a case." With that, I related the events of the day.
"Three weeks?" Xen was as flabbergasted as I had been.
"I know. But under the circumstances, it was the best deal I was likely to get out of him. I'm thinking of having her see Doc Higgins."
"The shrink?" she asked skeptically.
"He's not that bad! He helped Larry, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but he's had almost a year! It will take years for the kid to fully recover from this!"
"Ishida doesn't care how much recovered she is, just so long as she can talk to him about what happened."
"That heartless, cruel-" Xen stopped herself before she could call him something naughty. I thought he deserved it, but admired her self control.
Suddenly, Xen asked me, "When did you eat last?" She gave me a disapproving frown.
"Last night!" I protested.
"And you haven't had breakfast yet?!" Xen was horrified. "It's almost noon! I'll make you some soup."
"You don't have to-"
"Tristan, you are not starving yourself. I forbid it. Both you and Calla, when she wakes up, are going to have some food in you, if I have to break every bone in your body!"
With that, she went to the kitchen, and began digging through my cupboards. We've known each other long enough for her to do breaches of etiquette like that.
"When is the last time you went shopping?!" she scolded. I shrugged; typically I don't worry much about things like that when I'm working.
Despite my deficiencies in foodstuffs, Xen was able to scrounge up salt, pepper, an old can of chicken broth, and a cooking pot and spoon. She went to her apartment, which is next door to mine (conveniently enough), and brought back celery, a green onion, soy sauce, minced garlic, ground ginger, eggs, and noodles. Setting these down, she scrubbed down my kitchen, and then started cooking. Soon delicious smells were emanating from the pot as she tossed in and stirred different ingredients. As she stirred the soup, I came up behind her. Gently I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then stroked her neck, feeling her shiver.
"You're beautiful," I whispered in her pointed ear. I traced her jaw with my claws.
"And you are being very distracting," Xen scolded (though she did smile).
"Sorry." Caressing the side of her face one last time, I moved away to the sofa, so I could watch her from a distance.
Finally, the soup was done. Xen ladled out two bowls, turned off the stove, and brought our dinner over, along with two spoons. After saying grace, we dug in. Let me tell you something: Xen cooks the best food I have ever eaten. She can make the simplest meal taste like heaven, just by adding a dash of pepper, or a sprig of rosemary, or something like that. If she weren't focused so much on her art, she could be one of the greatest culinary chefs of the monster world. Before I knew it, my bowl was empty, and I wanted more. I quickly went and refilled the bowl.
"Don't forget to save some for Calla," Xen admonished.
"I dunno, this is so good, we should just eat it ourselves. She need never know."
"Tristan..." Xen gave me a no-nonsense look. I grinned impudently, and after a moment, Xen did too.
I finished the second helping, and started to get up for thirds. Xen caught my tail in one hand.
"Oh, no you don't, Mister Greedyguts!"
I tried to tug free, but Xen is stronger than she looks. So instead, I turned around and scooped her up, off the sofa. Xen gave a mild exclamation of surprise, but did not seem especially displeased. In fact, when I lowered my face to hers, she seemed as happy as I was.
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