Hellbender (The Fangborn Series Book 3) (6 page)

“Look, I’m not sure I’m all that into public nudity,” I said. “I’m sure it’s relaxing and all, but . . .”

He gave me a look that spoke of disappointment and disapproval; I reconciled myself to doing it.

He told me the many steps of preparation, and the do’s and don’ts—where to leave my clothes, how to wash off the little stool on which I would sit before bathing, how it was important to not let my washcloth or any soap get into the water of the spring itself. That left me even more nervous about flubbing those and insulting my hosts with some inappropriate or contaminating behavior.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said in his Australian accent. “Okamura-san and Kazumi-san will help you. They’ll tell you what to do. Remember, they don’t want their bath ruined by you any more than you want to ruin it.”

I was still skeptical but realized I wasn’t going to get out of it. Their house, their rules.

I stepped into a small changing room, very plain with lots of wood, trying to keep track of putting on the “toilet” slippers to use the loo, then stepping out of them and leaving them in the correct space after I washed my hands. I moved to another space where I could undress and left my clothing in a small basket.

As I undressed, I was able to see that the bracelet was still on my wrist but looked flat and lifeless, despite the dragons’ ministrations. There was still no sign of the other jeweled armor that had been gradually covering me. A distant part of me liked the idea of feeling in some way normal again, but the loss of the powers along with the jewels was a grievous one at the same time. I was disappointed not to see anything new from the burning broadsword and armor at the safe house.

I was left feeling very vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with having nothing but a small washcloth for a cover-up. The cloth would only go as far as the washing-up area of the bathing room itself and must never touch the bathwater, as I’d use it to scrub myself before I entered the bath proper. So many rules . . .

I stepped into the washing area, which was paved with stone. Along one wooden wall there were several faucets and hand sprayers, each with a small wooden stool and bucket in front of it. I filled the little bucket, rinsed off the stool, and began to wash, using the little cloth to soap up and the bucket to rinse myself off. Okamura-san came in, naked as the day she was born, and nodded to me, saying something I didn’t know besides “Zoe-san.”

“
Kon’nichiwa
, Okamura-san,” I said. “Hello” was the total extent of my Japanese.

She laughed and replied with the same, very gravely. She followed the same procedure I had, and suddenly it occurred to me: She wasn’t judging my body. This wasn’t a smirking contest. This was a shared time and I immediately felt more comfortable. If she’d been nervous or hesitant, I would have been paralyzed. Daring greatly, I tried to use the hand sprayer to get my back. I turned the wrong knob, and suddenly Okamura-san squawked with surprise, as I accidentally hosed her down with water.

I grabbed at the sprayer and turned it away from her, apologizing; she gestured to the correct knob. Finally, I was deemed clean enough and went to leave.

Okamura-san said something sharply, and I turned around. More gestures; I needed to rinse off the seat I’d used. I thanked her again.

In spite of gradually turning up the temperature of my shower, the heat of the water was still a shock. Once I gave into it, it became better. Then it became amazing. Not a joint in my body remained knotted and I felt muscles relax for the first time in months.

Okamura-san climbed in without hesitation. Kazumi-san soon joined us. A short conversation followed, and when I saw Okamura-san mimic me wrestling with the sprayer, I nodded ruefully. Both women laughed. Some things transcend language.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and let the water leach away my care . . .

“Zoe-san!”

I heard a short exclamation, then a frenetic exchange between the two older women. I opened my eyes; the cave-like room was lit up like a disco, lights swirling and reflecting off the ripples of the water. Pretty—

Both women had their eyes wide open, staring at me.

I looked down. The lights were coming from me.

“Whoa!” I yelled, almost jumping backward out of the pool. Then I saw it.

The bracelet was alive again. The fine mesh of what looked like a net of gold thread and tiny diamonds was back, as were the stones that I’d accumulated around my ankle and shoulders. There were new ones, too, a rank around my left ankle and fine mesh that ran up both legs. The new additions were clearly from the ghostly weapons and armor that were kept at the other Family house.

The light show was getting even more frenetic, a blaze of white and gold speckled with all the colors of the rainbow dancing across the gray stone surfaces and reflecting crazily off the water. Desperately, I tried concentrating on the stones to see if I could get them to calm down.

They went away completely. The bracelet still retained its renewed bright luster, however. The stones of the bracelet never seemed to vanish, a result of either a broken part of Pandora’s Box or my tampered-with blood.

Daring greatly, I tried bringing the jewelry of my body back. They reappeared.

I disappeared them again. And settled back into the water. “Sorry, Okamura-san, Kazumi-san. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The contrition on my face must have shown through my relief. If the stones were back, then maybe so were my powers. And now, apparently, I had the ability to camouflage most of my armor.

Maybe I’d run out of juice during my mishap in trying to stop time in Boston; it wouldn’t be the first time I’d overextended myself. And that’s why I hurt so much for so long. But this was exciting . . . I could regulate the glow of the bracelet enough to appear . . . Normal. Human.

When I began to feel sleepy, I got out of the water; curling up for a nap in the spring was not an option unless I grew gills. I took my time exiting the bath, pouring cool water over me until some of my lassitude departed.

After I dressed, I looked for Kenichiro-san. His eyes were red from sadness about the dead Cousin, but he was researching the one weapon that had not assimilated into my body and consciousness, the Anglo-Saxon decorated sword. He called me aside, with a strange look on his face.

“Zoe-san, your father is Richard Klein?”

I blinked. I’d only just learned his real name a short time ago, along with the fact that he
hadn’t
died shortly after my birth as I’d believed. “Yes . . . I think so. That’s one of the things I’ve been told.”

“You do know . . . I’m sorry, I may have difficult news for you. He died here, several years ago.”

I wasn’t sure what to feel. I was surprised, a little stricken, but had no reason to be. I’d never met the man, but . . . I guess I thought someday I might.

“Please come with me,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

Ken-san led the way to a small cemetery.

I looked at the square grave marker, very simple, stone carved with a set of initials and two dates. By my calculations, he’d been about seventy-five when he’d met my mother and conceived me, an adult Fangborn who, to human eyes, looked only about to enter middle age. The emblem on the marker was one I’d never seen before, or rather, it had elements I’d seen before, but never in this combination. A serpent swallowing its own tail, the symbol of eternity and the world, the Ourobouros, the world serpent. Inside the circle of its coil was an oval, which in turn encapsulated a wolf’s head.

“Your father was old fashioned, it seemed,” Ken-san said. “These days, you more often see just the snake and the wolf left. The eye, the symbol of the oracles, was more prominent once, the center of the piece. Lately, it’s been left out. He wanted all three elements combined, as it used to be.”

I nodded. I recalled what Vee said about the lack of political power that oracles had these days. It wasn’t common for symbols to change form through the centuries, and the current mood was reflected in the current omission of the eye.

“We didn’t know what faith he followed. Like you, he arrived suddenly, though not by teleportation. He brought the item he was entrusted with to us, and then was killed in action, helping us save a family from a fire. He perished in the burning house.” Ken-san shrugged. “It happens too often, with our kind. You meet and get to know a distant Cousin, only to have him die by your side the next day.”

I knew all too well, I realized with a pang: I was thinking of Ash. “I’m sorry. This is fine, thank you. This is lovely.” I made a mental note to have something like that put on my mother’s headstone if I could, when I got home. If I got home.

I don’t know why I was thanking Ken-san. I didn’t know my father’s tastes and preferences; I didn’t know what he wanted for a funeral. But I was grateful someone had looked after him, had been with him at the end. We walked back to the house in silence.

So now I knew I was truly an orphan. I didn’t believe I really expected to ever meet my father, but somewhere in the back of my mind there must have been a flicker of hope, waiting, hoping, nourished only by the fact that I hadn’t found proof of his death yet. I found myself surprisingly sad, when I stopped to think about it. I hadn’t been sad about not having a father present for a very long time. Maybe it was because now I knew he wasn’t part of a gang of vigilantes, at least not with the sense my mother had suggested, not knowing he was Fangborn, and not knowing she was, either. Maybe it was because I finally knew what I was, that I wasn’t crazy, a killer, and that I wouldn’t have been ashamed of myself when we finally met, which I guess I was still hoping to do.

Back in the room with the sword, I brushed the tears away with the back of my hand and cleared my throat a couple of times.

Ken-san put a glass of water near my hand, and I nodded thanks, drinking thirstily.

“We have a plan underway to get you home,” he said. “And I have a time set up for you to call the Family in Boston. They know you are alive—”

I’d forgotten trying to call home. “How . . . are they okay? Is—”

“Losses and confusion, but so far, we’re still a secret. Barely, from what I can tell—there was a lot of chaos. Explosions, buildings on fire, reports of gas leaks and sewer breaks.”

“Do you know how many were . . . lost?” I tried not to think that the worst had befallen my human and Fangborn families, but the battle had been brutal and covered a large area near downtown Boston. Was it possible that I might have sensed something if anything had happened to one of them?

He shook his head. “The details are coming in, only slowly. The main emphasis right now is to make up a most plausible explanation and keep the Family out of the media for as long as possible.”

“Yeah, but . . .” To me, knowing who was alive and who was dead was more important than the secret, but there was more than my needs at stake. If we could contain the battle, we’d gain some time in trying to ready ourselves for I-Day.

The Order was making that increasingly difficult. “If you find out anything, will you—”

“Yes, of course.”

He shrugged and slid a file across the table. “But for now, you should look at these.”

There were three documents in the file; he left me alone to read them: a Fangborn will; a copy of my father’s will for the state of New York, where he had a legal residence; and a note—for me. Zoe Miller, by that name.

My mother had run away as soon as she knew she was pregnant with me. He wasn’t supposed to know I existed. We both spent a lot of energy and heartache making sure he didn’t find us, because she didn’t know he was Fangborn, and she was, too. Her early life had been spent at an “asylum” where her blood had been altered intentionally, to hide her identity from herself. Senator Knight had collaborated with Porter, the man who’d done the experiments, in the name of aiding the war effort, but eventually killed him when he went too far. The Order of Nicomedia, however, flourished with the research of his son, Sebastian Porter. In many ways, Senator Knight was my enemy long before I was born.

The New York will said that if I could be located, I was his heir. If not, whatever he had should go to the kitty to fund Fangborn activity. It wasn’t a lot of money—his cover job as an insurance claims adjuster didn’t pay well—but he did declare me as part of his family, which I understood gave me, not rights within the Fangborn society, but . . . standing.

So, not entirely a stray. I had a family within the Family, and maybe even close Cousins, if I wanted to look them up. Maybe I would.

The letter cleared up many of the mysteries the first two documents presented me. I came very close to trying out a little oracular push to see if I could get anything else—an idea of my father’s voice or personality or intent—from the document, but caught myself in time. I just couldn’t bring myself to try out my “extra” powers just yet.

Dear Zoe,

You don’t know me, and if you’re reading this, well . . . I’m sorry, is all I can say. This is not what I wanted for you or for us, but if my choices kept you safe, then that’s okay by me. I’m just a werewolf, working in the Family business. Nothing special about me, until you came along, and with you, a whole bunch of mysteries I hope I’ll get to solve one day.

Your mother and I . . . that was complicated. I was drawn to her, right away, and she to me, but she had this odd shyness about her. She struck me as . . . different, and at first, I thought she was a Normal. Then I kept thinking she wasn’t, but it didn’t matter, because I loved her. After I caught a scent of her a few times while I was out on Family business, I began to wonder, and when she vanished . . . I didn’t know what to think.

I began to look into the story about her past, the “orphans asylum,” and began to wonder if she hadn’t been a member of the Order, and then I began to wonder if she hadn’t once been a subject of theirs. I found her trail easily enough, but gave her the space to think herself hidden from me, until I could find out more.