IGMS Issue 23 Read online

  I said, "Afterwards . . . your life will be rewritten. You were meant for great things; your effect on the world would have been tremendous. Like . . ." I tried to remember someone famous, someone whose destiny I hadn't taken. "Mother Theresa."

  "You said you didn't know what my destiny was."

  "Or Hitler. You could be the next state-backed serial killer for all I know."

  "Then what?"

  "Your destiny isn't just your future; it's everything that leads you to do what you do. The universe reconfigures itself around your absent destiny. You get a new, moderated life. It won't be as grand as what it could have been, but it won't be as painful, either. You won't remember anything."

  "It annihilates me," she whispered.

  I gestured at her arms. "You were trying to do that anyway."

  Her eyes were distant again, and she'd curled up her hand and finger to rest in her lap. "I don't want to do it your way," she said.

  "Too bad."

  She blinked and seemed to struggle to open her eyes again. Her head tilted to rest against the wall. Blink, again. Her eyelids were pale in the moonlight. This time she didn't open them. Christmas morning smells blossomed in the tree house; I waved my hand in front of my nose to ward them off.

  I watched her sleep.

  "I have to pee," she said.

  I had not built the tree house with girls in mind; Zash and Sojet just whizzed out of the trap door. I weighed my options against the idea of asking Greta to let the princess into the house again.

  Dangerous, Greta had said. Here, in the clean light of morning, the princess looked frail, sore, and pitiful. The wound on her face bulged angry and purple.

  "There's a bathroom inside," I said.

  "Inside? Inside where?"

  "My house. Can I trust you not to try to kill yourself while we're climbing down?"

  She batted her eyes at me. "I give you my most solemn girl scout oath, Freak: promise-womise, I won't try to kill myself."

  "Or me," I prompted.

  "If my bladder explodes, it might take both of us with it."

  I opened the trapdoor with my toes and scooped her up before she could react. One, two steps, and we plummeted through the open hatch. The pale trunk of the ash tree surged upward violently. The princess wrapped her limbs around my torso and sucked in a long breath.

  So much for her death wish. I stuck my fingers into shadow and slowed our momentum little by little. The princess clung to me like a baby opossum, not breathing, not blinking.

  "Don't pee on me," I said.

  "I sh-should. Freak."

  We made it to terra firma safe and dry. The girl's face was ashen; she wobbled when I set her on her feet. I kept my hand on her shoulder as I walked her through the grove to the green hill that rose to my home.

  "When we get inside," I said, "do not speak, no matter what you see. If you can, try not to breathe."

  "Why not?"

  I lied. "The . . . guardian doesn't like humans. But as long as you stay quiet, it won't come hunting for you."

  Her muscles tensed under my palm, but she didn't try to run. Her eyes were on the house at the top of the hill. "You live in a barn?"

  "It's cozy." Unoccupied, isolated, and it had ceilings tall enough to accommodate Greta's height.

  The princess murmured something under her breath. I didn't ask her to speak up.

  The back door was open and I could hear one of the boys -- probably Sojet -- shouting upstairs.

  "You have kids?" the princess asked.

  "Remember, no talking when we get inside," I said. "Not a word." If Greta sensed her in our house, I'd be sleeping on the couch for a month.

  I opened the door. The bathroom was just a couple steps up the hallway. Sojet continued shouting, something about an empty cereal box. I guided the princess into the bathroom, turned on the light for her, and closed the door. I kept my hand on the knob so she couldn't lock it. She didn't try. But her silence and her complacency made me edgy. I stood in the hallway wishing Sojet would shut up, or that Zash or Greta would get him whatever he was whining about so that I could listen for the princess better. She could be chewing through her own femoral artery, and how would I know with all the ruckus?

  The toilet flushed. I waited a moment to let her get decent, then pushed against the door. My stomach churned; the door didn't budge.

  "Hey, Freak," the princes said. Loudly. "What kind of toilet paper is this? It's really soft."

  I could hear the smirk in her voice. Upstairs, Sojet stopped shouting. The whole house was suddenly preternaturally still. I bit my lip and pushed hard against the door.

  "You out there, Freak? Can you hear me?" she shouted.

  Feet on the stairs. I threw my weight against the door in desperation and it popped open. Pennies scattered on the linoleum -- she had wedged coins from the change jar on the sink between the door and the doorjamb.

  "Nice trick, princess," I said, grabbing her arm.

  "I've got another one," she said. She screamed, "Guardian! Come and eat me! Kill me! Come on!"

  Sojet hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs with both feet. Three-and-a-half feet tall, lean as an ash wand, head tangled in white-gold curls that Greta would never let me cut. He sucked nervously on the tuft of his tail, and the fingers of his left hand curled into talons. But he grinned when he saw me, showing pink gums where his top front teeth had fallen out.

  "Pop! You're home!" His green eyes roved toward the girl standing next to me. She wasn't screaming now. She was staring at him. "Who's that? Is she a princess, Pop? You brought a princess home?"

  "Pop?" echoed the princess.

  I turned her toward the back door. "Sojet, can you go to the kitchen and find me a pen and a piece of notebook paper?"

  "That's a princess!" he said, his face lighting up. "Are we going to keep her? Are you going to turn her into a giantess? Is she going to baby-sit us?"

  I barked, "Sojet! Pen and paper now!"

  He scratched a shadow with his talons, and disappeared. I heard him rattling through kitchen drawers a moment later, crooning about princess babysitters. Before I could get the girl out of the back door, babysitter had become baby sister.

  No. No. No.

  But the princess smiled. "Cute kid," she said. "Was that the 'guardian,' Freak?"

  She squealed suddenly, as Zash dropped halfway out of the shadows beneath the overhang. He hung upside down, knees and feet lost in shadow. Where Sojet was bright, Zash was dark: dark eyes and dark hair. Feathers tangled in his loose curls, the only bright bits of color on his head.

  "I thought Squirt was kidding," he said to me. "Is she a real princess, Pop?" His eyes were as wide as his younger brother's.

  I wrapped my arm around his waist and tugged. He yelped, and came tumbling out of the shadow. I caught him by the ankle before he dropped all the way to the ground. "You heard your brother singing about the princess, but you didn't help him when he was whining about not having any cereal?"

  "He's old enough to get his own cereal. He can even pour his own milk. It's amazing."

  "Not without spilling, he can't. Go help him, Zash."

  "But is she really real, Pop?" Zash stared at the princess.

  "One."

  Zash grinned; I was surprised to see the princess smile back. An honest smile. Her destiny billowed like a bright cloud of spice and sweetness.

  "What's your name, princess?" Zash asked.

  I coughed. "Two." I held up a couple fingers threateningly.

  "Mercedes," the princess said.

  Zash disappeared through the door before I could get to three.

  I turned the princess around, gripping her by her shoulders. My guts were full of paternal warnings and dire advice; it withered before getting to my lips. The sight of the wound on her face and the smell of her destiny stole my breath from me. Cynicism, bitterness, and fear ruled her eyes again. I closed my mouth.

  She took advantage of my silence. "What's the pencil and paper for
?"

  "Hm?"

  "You asked the little one to get you pencil and paper."

  The little one? Both the boys were little. "That was redirection," I said at last.

  "You didn't want him to be around me." She snorted. "How come?"

  Before I could answer, Greta came around the edge of the house. A clutch of stripling ash trees dangled over her shoulder, the roots reaching in front of her like gnarled, muddy fingers.

  "You're awake," she said to the princess. She didn't look happy about it.

  The princess -- Mercedes -- looked dazzled. I couldn't fault her. Leaves clung to Greta's hair like a crown, and her face was bright from exertion. She'd wrapped herself in a plaid cloth, toga-like; with the sapling over her arms, she looked like some sort of Celtic warrior-priestess. Primal and beautiful.

  Greta dropped the clutch of trees. "I said I didn't want her inside, Vren."

  "There's no bathroom in the tree house." I said. "It was just for a moment."

  "She saw the boys. She talked to them."

  "She told Zash her name. That's all, Greta."

  "She's dangerous, Vren." Greta began picking at one of the ash trees, absently tearing off the leaves and branches.

  Mercedes piped up, "I won't hurt them."

  We both looked at her.

  "I won't hurt your boys," Mercedes said again. "I swear."

  Greta raised an eyebrow at her. Her long, beautiful fingers worked on the sapling, picking off leaves and bark, so that the pale under-wood showed. "What will you swear by, princess?"

  "Uh . . . I swear to God I won't ever hurt those boys." She paused before adding, "Why would I?"

  I took a careful step back. This was magic; oaths and promises and covenants. Nothing to do with a monster like me.

  Greta seized the moment. "Say it again, princess."

  No mention of girl scouts this time. No promise-womise. Mercedes said, "I swear to God, I won't ever hurt your children . . . Greta."

  Greta sniffed and nodded. "All right," she said. "Well. Come in then. You're probably hungry."

  Mercedes never took her eyes off of my tall, lovely wife. She stuffed heaping forkfuls of French toast casserole into her face, but all the time watched Greta.

  "All Zash gave me was Trixie Loops, and the milk was warm, and we didn't have any clean regular spoons, so I had to use one of the big ones. It barely fit in my mouth," Sojet complained. He was sucking his tail again.

  Greta took his tail out of his mouth. "There's plenty here for you, too, Squirt."

  "I'm not hungry now." Sojet rubbed the tuft of his tail against his nose. "Can I have a cookie?"

  "You just said you weren't hungry." I set a glass of orange juice in front of Mercedes. She didn't notice.

  "I'm hungry for cookies."

  "No cookies," Greta said.

  He grumped away, leaving me staring at the princess; the princess, staring at Greta; and Greta staring at the breakfast dishes the boys had left in the sink. The only sound was the clink of Mercedes' fork against the plate. She finished and belched softly into her hand.

  "Excuse me," she muttered. Eyes still on Greta. She finally noticed the glass of OJ and took a long, deep drink.

  I scooped up her plate and fork. "I'll get the dishes."

  "Are you one of his . . . princesses?" Mercedes blurted. "Did he kidnap you too, Greta?"

  Greta's voice was soft. "I was never a princess. Just a girl."

  Never just a girl. Never. "Where's the dish soap?" I asked.

  "So he didn't feed you some line about a magic destiny?"

  "My sister," Greta said. She cleared her throat. "My younger sister. He came for her."

  Things the princess did not need to know. "Greta," I said, my voice tight. "The dish soap?"

  She pointed. I fetched, squeezed too much detergent into the sink, and turned on the faucet. In a couple seconds, I was up to my elbows in hot suds.

  "How'd you end up with her, Freak?" Mercedes asked. She smirked. "Or Vren. Whatever."

  I dumped the dishes into the water. "I thought Sojet said he only had one bowl of cereal. Why are there . . . seven bowls here? And four spoons?"

  Greta sat on the floor next to the table. "My sister and I lived outside of Lyon, France. She was three. I was your age. Maybe younger."

  "I think we should start letting the boys do the dishes, Greta," I said. "Zash at least. He's old enough. I think he's old enough. Don't you?"

  She did not turn to look at me. "He came for her one night while she was sleeping. We slept in the same room."

  I'd been hungry, so hungry . . .

  ". . . I heard him trying the window latch. When he came through, I hit him with a log from the fireplace."

  "It was a broom," I whispered. "You set the bristles on fire."

  "He fell all the way to the ground and didn't move. I had never seen anything like him. So lean and tall."

  I had been about to eat them both.

  Greta's voice was as still as the princess. "I didn't scream. I don't know why. I went down to him to see if he was still alive. His back was broken, but he could move his hands. He . . . took me away."

  The front door slammed, and Zash clomped up the stairs. "Not this story again," he said. He set a plastic bucket filled with blackberries on the counter. "Beauty tames the Beast." He made kissy-lips and fluttered his eyelashes.

  I dropped the dishrag on his face.

  The moment broke the spell of history. Greta looked startled.

  Mercedes said, "He kidnapped you and you fell in love? That's disgusting."

  Greta shrugged. "It took years. Once I got past the warts, I found Vren deceptively charming."

  Zash groaned. "You want to see my room, Mercedes?"

  All three looked at me. "You can show her the whole house, Zash," I said.

  The princess opened her mouth, hesitated; Zash jumped forward and took her hand. He pulled her to her feet, and then they were off down the hallway.

  "She's dangerous," Greta said to me. "She isn't like me, Vren."

  Didn't I know it. "It won't be long, Greta. Maybe a week."

  "We could summon Golgorath and she'd be gone now."

  And so would our hopes of being cleared of our debt to him. Before I could answer, Greta sighed and rubbed her temples. "No," she said. "Never mind. I think our family can live with her for a while. I don't know why she scares me so much."

  I wrapped my arms around her so that my palms rested on her abdomen. I kissed her shoulders. Greta's body was warm, and not even the princess's destiny could compare with her scent. I said, "She's the last one."

  "You'll have to get a real job," Greta said, reaching her hand back to stroke my face. Her bracelets jangled.

  A week.

  Greta brushed Mercedes' hair from her cheek, and clipped the sutures. The boys watched, wide-eyed as she pulled the stiff thread out of the princess's skin.

  "Does it hurt?" Sojet asked breathlessly.

  "Not a bit, Squirt," Mercedes replied, wincing.

  They watched her; I watched them. How they clustered around her. How Zash blinked when her face tightened suddenly in pain. How Sojet's tail thrashed when Mercedes' hands clenched. And Greta . . . how her eyes were suddenly full and moist when she drew out the last dark thread.

  I sniffed. The princess's destiny was as light as gauze. Hints of Christmas. Seven days ago, it had piled around the house like snow drifts.

  "You're a pirate princess now," Sojet said, awe in his voice. His hand twitched toward the puckered skin on Mercedes' face; Greta smacked his fingers.

  "She likes ninjas," Zash said. "Not pirates."

  "I like dinosaurs," Mercedes said.

  "Dinosaurs don't have princesses," Sojet said.

  "Now what?" I asked Greta. She stood in the doorway, watching Mercedes sleep on the pull-out couch. "Are we going to keep her?"

  Greta didn't move from the door. The light in the hall behind her cast a halo around the crown of her head. "She's a princess. Not
a pet."

  "Is that a decision, Greta?" I whispered. Mercedes' wound was closed. She could make the trip to Bald Mountain safely now. The witches that danced and drummed at the base of Golgorath's lair wouldn't scent her. Shadows played at my talon-tips; from here, back to the city, from there a short walk to Bald Mountain and to Golgorath.

  "No." Greta said. "Yes. Why is this my decision, Vren?"

  "You're the one who said she was dangerous."

  "She is." Greta chewed on her lip and folded her arms, never taking her eyes off the sleeping girl. "She's a princess. She's human."

  "I'll take her right now."

  "Then do it."

  But neither of us moved. Mercedes flopped over in her sleep, murmured something inaudible. My hands were slick and sweaty. I wiped them on the floor.

  "Her destiny is so thin, I can barely smell it," I said.

  Greta pulled in a shuddering breath and put her hands over her mouth to stifle the sob. I turned to embrace her.

  "She's so much like Marie," she said. "I can't help it, Vren, she's so much like her, I can't help but love her."

  So much like Marie. Greta's sister from centuries ago. Little baby Marie who'd grown up without remembering Greta, who'd never heard her name mentioned. Whose parents never remembered, either, after Golgorath took Greta's destiny and made it possible for her to be my wife. I did not see the resemblance between Marie and Mercedes.

  "She's not Marie," I said. "Shh. She just isn't, Greta." I felt Greta's bracelets against my back. Chafing her, chafing me. And we were so close to having them off. "She's not part of our family."

  "She could be."

  I put my fingers against her lips. "Don't," I said.

  She pushed my hand away. "You, don't. Don't shush me, Vren."

  "I'm taking her to Bald Mountain, Greta, before she loses her destiny completely." And before we lost our chance at freedom.

  "Well, then." Greta turned away. "I guess it's decided."

  I followed her down the hall. "She's dangerous, you said so yourself. She's a princess. She's a human. What are you so mad about? I've been doing this for centuries, and you've never had a problem with it before. You wanted her gone the night she got here and now . . ."