Samedi
Bourbon Street 1.6
Mini-Interlude: Contessa
Turn. Fire. Door. Walk. Speak. Door. Stab. Dodge. Stabstabstab. Stab. Kick. Door.
Fortuna spent most of her time in a sort of daze. It was like being half-awake. She knew what was going on, but couldn't really put it into words. They thought it was pretty likely that her corona and gemma between them were taking most of the load her fore-brain normally handled when she was using her power like this. They didn't know for sure. The MRI would only be useful if they used it while her power was highly active, and whenever it was, it wouldn't allow her anywhere near the scanners. They had stopped trying. It wasn't important.
Following the path was important. Being Contessa was important.
She only really woke up when she had to make decisions about the path itself.
Like now, for instance.
She blinked.
Door. Speak. Door.
"Doctor. I am just going outside. I may be some time."
Door.
The giggle that echoed in Doctor Mother's ears was all Fortuna.
- - -
I was trying to psych myself up for the trial that was ahead of me. I just had to remember the rules, and try not to spooky up my high school. I doubt Winslow had great insurance, and I didn't want to get stuck with the bill.
I'd taken a few days to settle back down and get my head in the game after the drama with Sophia and becoming some sort of psycho nightmare clown. An awesome psycho nightmare clown. But still. At least I wasn't a mime.
Quelle horreur.
And this morning Dad had finally said something to me at breakfast.
"Morning. You okay with going back to school?"
I looked up at him. His voice was different than it had been before. It had been dust and furniture polish and broken ceramic. They were still all there, but there was something else woven in between. Something... hm. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't find the word. Aphasia? Is that what this was called? Whatever. Shit. Dad was looking more and more worried. What had he asked again? I can't ask him to repeat himself. It's been too long. It would be even more fucking weird.
Shit.
I shrugged. Hopefully that'd do.
"Look, I know it's hard. But I think it's better for you to confront school rather than run from it. If you decide you can't handle it, or don't want to handle it, or just don't want to be there, that's fine. You can.. you can use your power to come home."
Oh right, school. Pfft. Whatever. Emma was in for the rudest possible of all awakenings.
I had a plan.
No, really. I was sure it would work out better than my last plan.
Well, pretty sure.
I mean, it couldn't be worse, right?
Right.
"It's fine, Dad. They can't hurt me any more. And I think I need to at least try to go back. Try to hold on to as much normalcy as I can. Maybe I can even make a friend now that Sophia's gone."
He gave me a sad smile. I'd take it. It was the happiest expression I'd seen on him in a long time.
"I'm sure your luck will change. What about that boy you thought had a crush on you?"
"Dad! Really? Greg? Ugh."
"That bad, huh?"
"He's not a bad person. Well, he might be actually, I don't really know him all that well. It's not like I've used arcane powers to examine the deepest depths of his soul or anything. It's just that he's annoying and embarrassing at the same time. Like a four year old who keeps trying to take your shoe off."
Dad laughed. It sounded like rose petals. "Well, maybe he'll leave you alone. Or maybe he'll bother you and you can put the whammy on him. Just a little whammy." He was suddenly stern. "Taylor. Please don't..."
"Don't what?"
"Kill Greg."
Fuck, was I really that scary? My own father thought he had to remind me to not kill a classmate? Like I was going to accidentally use his intestines to make him into a puppet and re-enact Hamlet in the cafeteria? Who would I even use to play Ophelia?
I don't think any nunneries would accept Emma.
Shit. I was doing it again. Maybe it would be better if Dad kept reminding me not to kill people.
"Okay, okay, I won't kill Greg. Sheesh. It's not like I've even killed anyone at all." I didn't say the word both of us were thinking.
Yet.
"Cruller!" I suddenly burst out.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Never mind, it's not important."
"Okay sweetie." His voice tasted like a french cruller. It was nice.
- - -
"Taylor! Taylor, over here!" Carob chips and insulin. Gross.
"Hi Greg. What do you need?"
"Taylor! I'm so glad you're back!" Greg was panting as he jogged over to me.
"I have to go to class. Try not to die today, I don't want my Dad to get mad at me."
He stood staring at me on the steps as I walked past him and into the main entrance of Winslow High.
- - -
"Madison, do you smell something?" I stood still in my tracks. Seeing her hadn't been a shock. I'd expected something like this. But this was something I could never have planned for.
Blood and milk and rose petals.
Motherfucking ROSE PETALS! HOW DARE SHE! I WILL KILL EVERY PART OF HER...
I had to take a breath and get myself back under control before the whole school went all halloween.
"What's the matter, Taylor? Crying again? Is that where you've been all week? Lying in bed crying?"
Yeah, whatever. I couldn't get over the rose petals in her voice. How could they be there? After everything she's done to me, for so long, so cruel, such betrayals. Was I wrong about what they meant? Was it betrayal? Was Dad going to betray me?
How could anyone do to a loved one all that Emma had done to me?
"Emma, how nice to see you again."
"What the fuck, Hebert." Emma and Madison were both staring at me. I held my head high and walked regally past them.
Or I tried to.
Emma grabbed my arm and spun me around.
"You're different. Why are you different?" Her face was twisted in scorn and her words were melting electronics.
"Last chance, Emma. Just walk away, we don't have to go any further." Well, here we go.
"What the fuck! Who the fuck are you? Where's the simpering little shit who killed her mommy?"
I promised my Dad, I promised myself, back when I was thinking clearly in the street, I promised everything I cared about that I wouldn't bury Emma in the contents of her family's septic tank. I wouldn't leave her gasping and crying and struggling for breath, drowning in her own piss.
Well, I'd have to come up with something on the fly, I guess.
"When I was five, my mother used to take me out for ice cream after kindergarten. She would pick me up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My parents' work schedules just sort of worked out that way, you know? So on Tuesdays and Thursdays she would come get me, and we would go down to that old ice cream parlor on the boardwalk. I think it's vacant now. Hasn't been an ice cream parlor there for years."
"What the hell?" Madison was as purely confused as Armsmaster had been purely... whatever the hell Armsmaster had been.
"I'm not talking to you. We would go down there and I would get a kid's waffle cone. We played a game. On Tuesdays we would both get our favorite flavor, and on Thursdays we would each try something new. They were always putting out new flavors there."
"What does this have to do with anything?"
"I'm not talking to you, Madison. Dad was working on those days. They were both really busy then, and those Tuesdays and Thursdays were the only times I had alone with Mom back then. They were really special to me. It was the thing that was ours. That was special for just her and me." I sighed.
"Their schedules shifted around when I went to elementary school. We stopped going out for ice cream. But it's one of those things, you know? Those memories from childhood that mean more to you than they would if they had happened when you were older."
Both of them were staring at me, open-mouthed.
"And then she died. A piece of metal tore through her neck and opened her arteries. Her leg was broken in three places. It didn't take that long, in the grand scheme of things. But there were a couple of minutes where she held on, in the dark and the rain, as her life dripped out of her in a broken car. And after that, there was only one person who knew about the ice cream."
I stared into her eyes, and despite myself, I pulled just the barest hint of power.
"That's what's coming for you, Emma. It isn't a story. It isn't a comfortable illusion or a distracting toy or even a noble cause. Something to devote yourself to fully, so you can pass the dark hours in the knowledge that you are accomplishing great marvels that will last after you die. Because everything dies."
"Everything."
- - -
The office hadn't been very accommodating when I asked what papers I needed to file in order to drop out. After about five minutes of frustration, I just gave up. I left my textbooks, still sticky with juice, on the receptionist's desk.
"When they ask," I told her, "Tell them it's not a big deal, I just have better ways to spend my time."
"When who asks?"
"You'll know."
And then I was out the door.
- - -
While I was on my way out of the parking lot, Greg Veder tripped and fell in front of a school bus.
Dad was going to be sooooo pissed at me.
And I didn't even kill him!
I mean... probably.
