"I think I should apologize."
"I don't wanna hear it", I snapped.
Chastened, Ram look down, slouching deeper into the rough stained red felt of the seat. The train rumbled beneath us. We were the only two in the car. I kept glancing into the windows one by one, expecting to see sharp teeth and grinning eyes staring back. The adverts, half torn and needing to be replaced, glowed dimly overhead. A bank, a university, a mattress. What was the point? What was the point of any of it?
"I'm sorry", I said, trying to keep my voice level. My trembling shoulders may have given away my anxiety. "I just... I don't know what's going on. I'm scared."
Ram said nothing.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. I think there has to be something wrong with me, right? I've been looking for you for so long and I don't even really know why. I just..." I hesitated, the words bitter on my lips. "I can't get you out of my head."
Ram still said nothing.
"I don't really have any friends, you know? I'm lonely. I'm kinda drifting. Somedays I don't really feel like I exist. And then for a moment, I felt like I had something no one else did. But then there's you."
Ram was listening eagerly, I think.
"And you know what? Fuck this. I wish I could get you out of my head. I'm failing classes for this fucking degree I don't want and it's because my hands draw faces that drive people insane. I've made one friend in the past year and she told me to stop. And I just can't. I just fucking can't. I need you in a way that almost hurts the way it burns out of me. You're like fire and I wish you would", I was screaming now, "FUCKING STOP."
The tracks clattered and the train was out of the dark tunnels and onto the bridge, the morning sun streaming through the windows. Traffic crawled through the valley, the river curling around trees and rocks and the few laughing children biking the trails.
The car was empty. Ram had never been here. Just in my head. Just whispering down my spine, running hands over my shoulder-blades to relax the tense muscles.
Fuck.
I settled back into my seat and considered myself. Pyjama pants, tank top, ratty sweater with a hole in the sleeve. No wallet. No phone. No money. Heck, I couldn't even get back into my apartment building without a fob for the front door. Who would help me? Mallow? I didn't want to drag her into this.
Well, what did I know? I reviewed the morning. Ram had lost a fight. Against the people who came for them this morning? They hadn't said and I wished I'd pressed more. God, I wanted to see them again. They could fix this. They would know what to do. I yearned to sink into their arms, to taste their neck with my teeth. Grimacing, I refocused. Could I go home? Was I tangled up in this now? Would they come for me next? Was there anything I could do? I could spend the rest of my life underground. Would that help? Why was being underground considered protection?
Two Rams. What was up with that? Two Rams. One wanted help. One wanted to come home. One vanished. One had been caught. Where was home? Where was home to Ram? I studied Ram's reflection in the train window, their face fading into the shadows of the tunnels. Dull lights flickered past, disrupting it like a thrown rock colliding with a still lake, and then it was my own reflection again. Had Ram left? Did physical space actually mean anything for whatever they were?
"Ram?", I tried experimentally.
No response.
The train slid into the next station, glowing lights welcoming me. Without really thinking, I stood up and got off. No plan. No thoughts. Just the gentle sound of footsteps.
"Fucking hurt."
"Ah, quit whining, babe. You're fine."
Sharptooth grunted and took another bite.
"At least you aren't as fucked up as our delightful little guest, huh?"
Seleshina ran a finger gently down Ram's face, tracing the contours of their nose. Ram made no movement, face pale, limbs still. They weren't breathing. They weren't alive. The knife was carved from a single twisted branch taken from a tree shredded by lightning and currently jutted from their chest, a black and evil tool impaled in their very heart. Their body lay haphazard on the coffee table, limbs dangling. Seleshina smiled sweetly, studying.
"Poor dear."
Sharptooth spat. "Weak."
"Mm, I quite agree, love." She lifted one of Ram's hands, studying their bitten and chewed fingernails, the dirt under their fingernails, their hands covered in scratches and scars. "This thing took out the Pendragon Cabal? It's practically human. We hit it with one small car and bam! All the fight went right out."
"They wounded it."
"Yes. With one of these." Her hand gripped the hilt of the dagger for a moment, feeling its power press against her. Oh yes. This was a weapon forged with skill. She could conjure a mighty storm using this. She could split open the earth itself. "Whose work is this, anyway? Avandrea?"
"Dunno."
"Someone's distributing weapons this powerful and we don't know who?"
Sharptooth didn't dignify the obvious question with a response, instead taking another bite of raw meat.
"I mean, that's a little ominous, isn't it?"
"For who?"
"Hah! Good point."
Sharptooth tore one of the limbs off the carcass it was eating and began working it using sharp teeth.
"So what do you think?"
"Hungry", muttered Sharptooth through a full mouth.
"About our little victim, here."
"Pendragon wants it."
"Aww babe, don't you see? Everyone wants it."
"So?"
"Highest bidder?"
"Risky."
"Dump it in a back alley and keep the knife?"
"Fuck no."
"Oh, but the carnage! We could storm any of the cabals you please." She moved through the room in circles, almost dancing as she spoke. "Imagine it, love. Imagine us at the head of a host. Your family, repaid in blood. Imagine! Every swipe would cut the clouds from the sky, separate the lightning from the rain. And for every motion, our hands linked together, our fingers intwined." She drifted behind Sharptooth, her hands finding their shoulders, sheer transcendent pleasure dripping from her voice. "Us, together. Powerful. Glorious. Bloodstained. Wonderful, no?"
"No."
Seleshina froze. "Why not?"
"Good image, love. But we'd lose. You know it. Better to just get paid. Move on."
Seleshina made a thinking noise, mulling it over.
"Besides", in all of the dozens of mirrors around the room, Sharptooth's face smiled evilly. "We'll get there someday."
"Hah! You bet we will. Love, I'll kill them all for you. I'll shower you in their blood."
"And I you, love."
They laughed together.
"The Pendragons, then?"
"Aye", said Sharptooth. They turned their attention back to the racoon carcass, bloody, filthy, and matted. "Can I eat now?"
In the corner of the room, beyond awareness of mortals, a shadow twitched slightly. It knew a few things. It knew that it was too small to be itself. It knew that despite this, it was still itself. It knew that there were others of itself. It knew that the corpse on the table had been one. It knew that it was a lot harder to kill than that. It traced a coiling tendril against its own lips, feeling the cosmic shape of the knife.
The true evil of the knife was not what it could do to reality. A beautiful work of nature suitable profaned could easily rend the world. Indeed, this was most weapons. But the true power of this one was its representation. It was imbued with a sense of reality, of truth. It existed, not as a linear object in physical space and time, but a conceptual object on a higher level. The shadow ran along and found that it was more real than the shadow was, no matter how the shadow shifted through the world.
No matter how the shadow positioned itself, the knife was sharp and angry and loud. It spoke with a booming voice. It threatened to cut the shadow. The shadow begged and pleaded. It said that it was important. That the being the knife was holding down was in pain. That it was lost. that it was broken. The knife was not subject to any such pleas.
Defeated, the shadow crept back to the corners of the room. There was nothing to be done here.
The sun hurt. Did it always hurt? It hurt like fire, like the eyes of people staring at me. Of course they were staring at me, respectable people, mothers with babies in strollers and business people with their suits and phones and important conversations. I staggered down the street, ripped pyjamas, holes in my flesh opening as I went, my legs not quite working right. I was watching the sun grow larger and larger. Why wasn't anyone else worried about the sun? Why wasn't anyone else worried that it was going to crash into us? We were going to burn to death, it was so hot. So full of fire and ash.
I rolled my tongue over my cracked and dry lips. The concrete sides of whichever 30 story building this one was held me up as I leaned. I might have made a noise halfway between a growl and a moan. It didn't matter. It's not like anyone could see me. they were staring, I think. They were scared of me. Should they be?
Something was deeply wrong. I couldn't put my finger on what because my brain wasn't working right. Wasn't processing right. I mentally retraced my steps, which meant physically retracing my steps. I stumbled back up the sidewalk, dodging trees and small dogs. Hands stretched towards me, devoid of context, devoid of arms. Free floating faces laughed, their lips stained blue by cold. They were cold. Of course! We were all cold. That's why we were falling into the sun. It made sense now.
I stumbled to a crossing and then into traffic, unwilling to consider the possibility I was wrong. Something was wrong. I knew that. Horns honked and a car swerved and I put one foot in front of the other, sandals fraying against the cold February air. I was cold. That's what was wrong. I was cold. Was that right? That didn't seem right. I can't be cold. I glanced down, watching as a sleeve caught fire, a single thread snagged on a passing truck. The sweater unraveled in an instance, pulled into a single line, a massive thread leading from my heart to the end of the world. An apartment flashed into my head for a moment, but when I opened my eyes, it was gone. Was it mine? I think it was mine once.
No, this couldn't be right. I wasn't asleep, so I couldn't be dreaming. But I moved like a dream, more through association than physicality. I don't remember walking to the subway station, but I must've because I was trying to cross the barrier and it was resisting. My hand went over the scanner and it beeped but I didn't have a card and the security guards were pulling at me, hands on my shoulders and back. I screamed and turn and bit. Open mouth, fangs out, tongue in, and chomp down, feeling myself sink through fabric and flesh. I was not okay. I was outside again. I was curled up against a wall nursing sore ribs. Someone passed by and kicked my spine gently, almost affectionately.
I was doing something. I knew that much. I was doing something. Something important. Retrace. Review. What had I done? Where had I been today? What did I remember? There were two of me. I knew that much. No, that wasn't quite right. There was a car? I'd been asleep? I'd been in love? images were flashing through my brain and I couldn't make sense of them, couldn't catch any of them before they were gone again. I was doing something. But what?
I studied myself in a puddle in the ground. I had no mouth. Should I have a mouth? I tried to speak and nothing came out. I had hands and ears and too many eyes, but no mouth. That didn't feel right. Something was wrong. I had to wake up. But I didn't think I was asleep.
The night was blissful on my skin. I shed my tank-top to enjoy it properly, the moon's rays kissing me. It was luxurious, almost like the sweet touches of a lover. I felt her stroking my curves, fingers teasing my lower back, my chest, my thighs. The stars descended from the sky to affectionately rub my cheeks.
"Where have you been?", they cried.
"Everywhere", I muttered blissfully.
"You're lost! You can't stay here!", they shouted.
"I have to wake up", I agreed.
"You aren't asleep", they yelled.
"I'm not asleep", I agreed.
"You're not you", they howled.
"I'm not me", I agreed.
The moon hushed them.
A cat crept out of the darkness, rubbing up against my legs. I ran my hand through ragged fur, petting it, eliciting a delighted purr. I felt my jaw loosen and unhinged, my eyes opening wider. All of them dotting my head and arms, all of them blinking, pupils shifting loudly. My arms wavered as I swam through a sea of blood. The cat was meowing. It curled up next to me and I wept for all the things I had lost that I could no longer remember. I wept for what I once was. I didn't know what that even was.
Oh, but she's screaming. Oh, but she's falling. The icy water takes hold, wrapping around me. It's a blanket, a warm and living thing. It's snow, falling gently. It's rain, crashing through the streets, carrying away children. It's a mess. It's shattered glass falling from a skyscraper. The penthouse, once full of love, is now aflame with thrown knives and harsh words. The clash of ideals represents nothing.
I'm in school. I'm taking an exam. I'm writing words on paper. The pencil is making scratching noises. The clock is ticking. I listen to the breathing of the other students. I listen to the silence of the stress. I read the questions. They don't make any sense. They aren't written in words, but in feelings. They aren't written in language, but in a deeper more conceptual understanding. Still, I keep writing, begging. I'm begging. Every word I write is "help" and I'm whispering it as I go and they're going to kick me out soon but that's okay because for the moment I'm here and I need help. I need help. Help.
I'm whispering the words, lips mouthing them. Lips retreat and fade because form is a conscious effort and I'm not conscious. I'm decaying. Parts of my body drop as I move, skin peeling away revealing the tender flesh beneath. Something is rummaging through my body, causing the bones to crack as it shoves them aside. I need help. I need to wake up. I need to stop this.
But there is no stopping this.
And I'm curled in a ball in the gutter, cold air scratching the outside of m body, my mouth failing to move as my voice fails to beg. The people walk by, unseeing. They don't see. They don't know. They don't care. They can't care.
I have to wake up and so I sit upright immediately, the sleep draining from my head. I'm in a park under golden skies. The sun promises safety. It promises life. The grass smells divine. I'm awake. I feel my sense of self returning. I know exactly who I am, exactly who I've been. I'm awake and aware and dressed in badly fitting rags. Everything hurts. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. What day is it? Is there any way for me to tell?
I sit upright and look around. In the distance, children playing. Further still, the hustle and bustle of stores, of groceries and other essentials. Restaurants flush with patrons and the clatter of hot food, the chatter of those eating it. Life continues. Life continues without me.
Without me. Who was me? I pause for a second, considering.
"Violet." The voice cut through my fog. Oh yes. I was Violet. I knew that much. I was Violet.
I turned to look at the speaker. She stood, tall, hair messy, looking rough. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed exhaustion, although her face was etched with a very controlled concern. "Hi?"
"Violet. Is that you?"
"I, uh, I think so."
She knelt down before me. "Oh, Violet. I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry. I'm okay, I think. I don't... Who are you?"
"Oh, Violet. My poor Violet. It's me. Mallow. You remember me, right?"
Wordlessly, I shake my head.
"I thought you were finally coming back to yourself."
"How long has it been?"
She stood up. "How long do you think?"
"I dunno, a day?"
Mallow laughed once, bitter. "You dear stupid child." She lunged forwards, hand grasping my neck, her teeth wrapping around my ear and sinking in painfully. I cried out as she pinned me the ground, my voice extinguished by her iron grip on my throat. "No one is coming for you. You're still dreaming."
And then we were one and then the ground ate us and then we were no more.
The moon glowed dimly overhead. Mallow gazed out the window wistfully, head resting on one arm, elbow propped against the rough plastic of the desk.
"What do you see?", asked Monet from the beanbag chair.
"Ah, nothing", said Mallow. "Just thinking of an old friend."
"Yeah?"
"I'm worried I did the wrong thing."
"What did you do?"
"You know", said Mallow, turning to look her newest protégé in the eyes. "I'm still not quite sure."
"Then how can it be wrong?"
"You can't find yourself if you're not lost. But sometimes realizing that you're lost... It takes it out of you. Sometimes desperation leads to dark places. Sometimes we try to find ourselves and hate what we find." She sighed, and looked out the window again, glowing red lights from outside silhouetting her face. "I think she'd have been better off if she'd never met me."
Monet took another puff of weed and exhaled slowly. "Then why not go help her now?"
Out in the rich neighbourhoods, there were streets of mansions. They were all the same, really. Colours and layouts varied, of course. But perfect lawns, maintained at great expense by underpaid workers kept the bushes identical, the trees uniform. Expensive cars hid from the elements in 5 car garages. Pools, hot tubs, and trampolines decorated back gardens. It was the interiors that varied. Some favoured sleek modern styles. A select few still had that classic old feet, exposed brick and wood. Some wanted it to be weird. Some wanted futuristic, sleek metal and glass marking the way.
194 Manderly Street was just as unassuming from the outside. Indeed, the inside was, for the most part, also quite unassuming. the kitchen had just been redone, black cabinets, massive island, dishwasher, walk in freezer and pantry. The chandelier glowed overhead, illuminating the scene. The library was the heart of the building, nestled in too deep for windows or even skylights. Instead, it was lit only by the huge roaring fire and the dozens of scattered candles. Today, it was full.
The crowd was adorned with hooded cloaks such that none could identify any other. All except one. Davis Pendragon stood, silhouetted by the fire, phone in hand. The others waited, tense. The phone chimed once. He leaned back, clearly savouring the moment.
He spoke, "Seleshina says she has the beast."
A few hoarse cheers went around the room.
"Thank fucking god", said someone.
"Finally, am I right?"
"What are we even paying her for?"
Davis clapped his hands together for silence. His voice was smooth and silky as he spoke again, "She'll be round tomorrow with our prize. So tonight..."
He grinned wickedly. "Why don't we party?"