The One We Feed (4 page)

I covered my
mouth against the sound of my own cry and balled up as tightly as I could, but
the body insulates a person in that frenzied self-pity for only so long. Soon,
I was staring at a world free of precipitation, my body unresponsive.

The plastic
bin of Eva’s books was within arm’s reach. Unable to look at the body, I
instead turned to the black volume he had touched.

I prodded it
with a numb hand. It landed on the ground, open to a random page. On a page of
thick artist’s paper, she had taken the time to practice her loveliest
handwriting. I timed my breath to the flicking of my eyes.

Last night I
found a piece of paper in the gutter. It was plastered to the pavement in a
mush, its words slowly leeching into the asphalt. I could read it just barely,
but I couldn’t save it.

It said: “A
grandfather and his grandson were walking through the woods. As they walked,
the old man shared wisdom he hoped would guide the boy, even if the child could
not yet understand it.

“‘Every man,’ he
said, ‘has two wolves within him. One is light and one dark. They snarl and
bite at each other, roll through the moments of his life, ripping and tearing,
fighting for dominance.’

“The boy
thought about this and asked, ‘Grandfather, which one wins?’

“The old man
patted the boy’s head and smiled. ‘The one we feed.’”

Jinx appeared
at my right hand and pried the book from my fingers. Gone were his rubbery
bracelets and the surge protector. He hauled me to my feet and rearranged my
clothes.

“Lily, we need
to leave now.”

I shook my
head at the softness in his voice. There was no place for sympathy here. In my
periphery, the corpse settled into the dust.

“I’ve packed.
Everything’s okay now.”

“Okay? I
killed him.”

“He bought the
ticket on the crazy train.”

“I don’t
understand any of this,” I whispered. Arthur’s mission was one of peace. We had
come not to kill but to free them. We had tracked the Sangha to bring them back
to the fold, not to get involved in a life or death struggle. “Why do they want
to kill us?”

“I don’t know,
Lily, but I think it has to have something to do with that girl.”

I turned away
from the Smith. “But Arthur said….”

His studded
mouth was set in a grim line. “Forget Arthur. Do what you would have done. Give
me some orders.”

I looked
around at the destruction and managed a steadying breath. If this was how it
was going to be, maybe it was time to bring magic to the gun-fight. “To the
mattresses, pipsqueak.”

He saluted. “So
say we all.”

Chapter
3

The Wolves
Within

We sat atop a rocky outcropping
nestled in a residential area, looking at a magnificent view but taking no
notice of it.

“We should be
able to see them coming if they follow us,” Jinx grunted, pulling a loose piece
of rock from under his tailbone. “Most of the streets up here are one way or
too narrow. I can highjack the wireless and you can do your super-sleuthing. If
anyone shows, I’m pretty sure we can get back to the car without too much fuss.”

I eyed the
sheer drop overhanging the road. “How fast do falling objects move?”

“Thirty-two
feet per second per second.”

“Think a Smith
can run faster?”

Jinx was
interfacing with a piece of tech that looked like a small iPad. “Not unless he
has a portal gun.”

“Right.” I
leaned back and threw an arm across my eyes. “Spirit Ninja Powers Activate.”

I let the ebb
and flow of the universe carry me. I danced in it, like a ballerina caught in a
storm, compensating for its sometime turbulence with a kind of grace that only
came with acceptance. It had become second nature to me in recent months, this
altered state of consciousness. Where once it ate weeks of my life, it now took
only moments. I sank and rose, and, suddenly, I was there.

The dark,
wood-paneled walls and palette of browns and olives took me back decades. A few
pieces of threadbare brown furniture sat like stacks of cubes on polished metal
legs. For a moment, I was distracted by the shiny, overly large banana palm in
the corner. If the Sangha owned the building, they seriously needed to get with
the times.

Wavering in
the air near the elevators, I found a black velvet wallboard with brass letters
indicating a dentist’s office, an accountant’s, and two lawyers’.  According to
the fire safety schematic, there was a lobby situated below three floors. No
helpful sign was present, as Matthew had anticipated, until a man in a black
suit somehow managed to ride the elevator up to the ground level.

I had been in
the elevator shaft, following it down from the top, using it as a central hub for
my systematic search, when I watched the mechanism click to and slide the metal
box below the level of the entrance.

What is it
with the Sangha and basements?

The man exited
the elevator, I, a disembodied spirit, tracing his steps to and from the front
entrance, where he signed for a package and tucked it under his arm.

Elated, I dove
through the floor, passed through thinning insulation and the concrete
foundation, and ended up in a hallway that looked like it might drip when the
weather shifted. Industrial, grated light sconces flooded the gray walls with a
hazy, yellowed light.

A voice rose
nearby, tinged with frustration. Drawn to it for some reason, I wafted along
the stale air until I found its source on the other side of a thick steel door.

A heavily
draped canopy framed one corner in velvet, almost like a stage. An ancient toy
chest sat across from the door and looked as if it had gotten sick and spit
everything out. Toys were scattered around, some of them in pieces, many of
them far older than I. The dolls were either headless or balding, their glass
eyes at odd angles. The walls were decked out in all the finery that a five
year old with some paper and crayons could supply. It was a child’s room, in
pink and white, lace and flowers, but the lighting was dim, the wallpaper
peeling, the linens yellowed with age. It looked as if the child who lived
there was not a happy one.

At one end of
the tiny, dark cell, there was a desk of sorts, jutting into the room with a
delicate colonial crackle finish, and atop it sat a bowl filled with what
seemed like water. The bowl was thick, dented, and bronze-colored, looking as
if it had been pounded out with a hammer. Its appearance was almost as
discordant as the man who sat at the edge of the white wicker chair, leaning
over it in consternation.

“How can he be
dead? Malcolm was one of our best!”

I recognized
the voice instantly from a phone conference with Karl, the first Sangha leader
I had thwarted. I had heard its gruff tones just before they tried to drain the
blood from my veins and leave me a husk.

He was not
what I had pictured; short and stocky, he had a pronounced nose with a
flattened quality to it. Dark lashes shaded bedroom eyes, and his bottom lip
curled downward in a permanent frown. His dark hair was cut short and smoothed
back from his broad, tanned forehead, and he was dressed in a polo shirt and
light khaki Dockers. I half-expected him to glance at his watch and mutter
about his tee time.

Across from
him, a small figure stirred. I had not noticed it at first, it sat so still,
wrapped in a blanket exactly the same color as its high, wing-backed chair.

Though a tiny
female face peeped out, ringed in strawberry blond curls and covered in
freckles, she was anything but cute. Her eyes were deeply sunken, her skin
sallow, her lips dry and cracked. She leaned forward and put her skeletal hands
on the table, and the man retreated from her grasp.

“That is not
something I can tell you,” she whispered in a sing-song voice. “He just...died!”

“And where is
Jinx?”

The blanket
moved around her in what I could only interpret as a shrug. “He sits atop a
mountain. He talks to himself constantly. But in many languages. I cannot tell
you what it means.”

“Well….” He
shook his head and glanced at his watch. I waited for the tee-time comment;
instead, he reached up and tugged at his sideburns. “Is there anyone with him?”

The girlish
creature tipped forward over the bowl, and I realized that she was sitting on
her knees in the chair. The blanket slid down around a much-abused violet dress,
complete with damaged lace collar and stained white pinafore.

Her wide blue
eyes stared vacantly into the water for a time, until, finally, she blinked and
sank back into the chair. “If that woman was with him, I would never know it.”

“Why?” The man
stood up uncomfortably and looked around, obviously unsettled. “We both know
what I am capable of, Petula. Do not test me!”

The girl
blinked at him dazedly. “I cannot tell you about what I do not see.”

He leaned in,
though it pained him to do so, and loomed over her threateningly. One hand
rested upon the table and the other upon the arm of her chair. His voice
dropped to a growl and his eyes narrowed.

“What about
our other misfortune?” He sighed and dropped his voice. “As if I didn’t have
enough to worry about.”

“She sleeps
now, though she thrashes.” 

“And the
others?”

She seemed to
shiver and tipped away from him. “They cry out for her, claw at the walls. They
tear themselves to pieces because you have taken her away.”

“As long as
they don’t fight back, I don’t care what they want. What about Karl? Have you
been looking for him as I asked you to?”

Her little
throat wiggled in a hard swallow. “I cannot see him anymore, I told you,” she
whispered.

“Could he be
dead, too?”

“I do not
know.”

It seemed that
this was an egregious crime, indeed. The vein on his forehead began to throb.
I, on the other hand, could not be happier, since her inability to follow Karl’s
movements meant that my influence over him had been effective. He wasn’t dead,
he was Unknowable; and if he was, then he’d taken the next step and gone
through to Parinirvana. My emotions swelled in much-deserved pride.

The hand
resting on the table swept across it suddenly, and the metal bowl flew through
the air, through me, and slammed against the wall. Its contents spattered over paint
and marker. The images bled together into a great, black splotch on the floor.

As the water
dripped into the silence, the little girl’s eyes began to drip along with it.
Her mouth quavered slightly, but the man took no notice. He scowled at her
callously and leaned over her, his face inches from hers.

“If you cease
to produce results, make no mistake, I will get rid of you. Perhaps I’ll let
him
have you. It would make for interesting results.”

He stood up
and tugged at his coat, steadied himself with a deep breath, then turned away.
Behind him, the numerical lock clicked shut and sealed her inside.

I wanted to
follow him, but her sorry, decrepit state drew me in. She waited a few moments
before she slid to the floor and crawled to the black puddle beneath her
bleeding pictures. Sitting cross-legged, she dipped her fingers into the water
and began to hum an inharmonious melody, though her face was still moist with
tears.

“You will
suffer,” she sang to herself hoarsely, rocking back and forth like a possessed
puppet.

Her slimy
fingers reached for one of the smudged drawings and peeled it from the wall.
She held it lovingly and then, with a guttural cry of outrage, tore it to
pieces. It was the beginning of a storm of fury that sent me from the room.

I had seen
many things in my visions, from horrible things happening in real time to
terrible things that were yet to be, but I had never seen anything like her and
was as disconcerted as I could be in my altered state of consciousness. Jinx
was the youngest immortal I had ever met, and he was of another species, so
could she be different too? It was clear that she could scry, but who had she
been talking about? Who was sleeping, and who crying out?

I floated down
the hallway toward another door that stood open. The man was standing in it,
barking at someone inside.

“No! He cannot
bring her here. Tell him we have a pest with bright red hair. Hopefully, that
will convince him. With each passing day the bastard becomes more of a difficulty.”

“Our last
three calls have gone unanswered,” someone replied from inside the room, “though
he has sent another warning.”

I heard the
package that had just been delivered as it dropped onto a hard surface.

“More of the
same?”

There was a
cough. “Yes.”

“What does he
suppose I can do about this situation that is not already being done?” He made
a disgusted face. “I am in charge here! He thinks he can send me trophies of
his barbarism, and I’ll just buckle to his demands? I don’t care who he is, the
impossible remains impossible! We’ll see what he makes of Jinx.”

“I doubt one
hacker is going to deter him,” came the reply. “He wants to move her out of
earshot. The creatures are howling again. The girl is in a coma, and she’s
still responding.”

The man’s brow
rose. I looked closely at his face. He was an immortal with exquisite control,
every bit Karl’s equal, but I could see the heaviness sitting on his shoulders.
He was a man beset on all sides, in spite of the bravado in his voice.

“Well, we
cannot receive her here, and I will not allow him to break our agreement. The
Sirens are contracted to us. If he continues to be such a nuisance, I will call
them back!”

“That could be
dangerous for everyone.”

“Something he
should very well realize,” the man snarled. “What’s that they say? ‘You don’t
have to run fast, you just have to be faster than that guy.’”

There was a
nervous, halfhearted laugh from all around. It was almost sad.

“Tell him we
will provide whatever drugs he may need to ensure control over her, but he
cannot bring her here. We will find another location.”

I went through
the wall. The minions were sitting around computers showing multiple outside camera
feeds. The watchers, however, seemed too preoccupied by the box on the metal
worktable to care. Their eyes were fastened on it, their faces varying in
expressions from sickness to dismay.

“What about
Malcolm?” One of them coughed into the silence. “Is he really dead?”

“Petula says
so, though she can’t say how. Go clean up the mess.”

The Smith
nodded. “Jinx has never before taken sides. And he does not seem the sort to be
so violent.”

His eyes
flashed. “Jinx is an infant. I’m more interested in his invisible friend.” He
picked up the small brown box, and, with a dirty look, dropped it into the
trashcan in revulsion.

I moved
closer. A mass of dark red shapes came into focus, smudged and fixed to the
inside of the box with a film of greenish decay. In the equivalent of a mental
gasp that shattered my concentration, I was thrown from the scene and woke partly
stuck to the rock by nervous sweat.

An entire box
of human tongues, purpling slugs covered in slime, packaged oh-so-neatly and
dropped on the Sangha’s doorstep.

I woke, back
on the rock, groaning and trying not to throw up. A methodical rhythm was being
carved out of random mechanical noise. I realized a few moments later that the
grating sound was meant to be music and that  it was coming from a group of
people farther down on the rock. I glanced at Jinx in commiseration, only to
find his head bobbing like an enthusiastic metronome.