The Book of Broken Creatures: (A Broken Creatures Novel, Book 1) Page 13

  “That’s . . .”

  “Unfathomable, catastrophic, coveted. It’s why HB wants her. It would give them the chance to study dark energy at its base form, find a way to counter it, eliminate it—eliminate immortals. And it’s this same corrosive energy that supercharged your current peanut-sized dark energy, just enough for it to surface when you needed it. Which would also explain why your wings are growing in at such a rapid rate.”

  If I was understanding this correctly, that meant all of this could have been avoided had I never gone out to them that night. I asked Jera then.

  “No, I said Lia’s dark energy supercharges yours. The dark energy was already inside of you when you encountered Lia’s, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to charge anything. Simply shock you to death.”

  “So she acted as a catalyst.”

  “So you do have a brain.”

  “Then why couldn’t I sense her—or you, for that matter? This morning during practice, I mean.”

  “That nuller on her neck likely muted all traces of dark energy from her, and seeing as—given your energy’s premature stage—you’re only able to utilize and sense dark energy when you receive a helping hand from hers, there was no way you could have sensed ours without a little boost.”

  Great. That meant I was essentially useless to them and any vows of “protection”. Unless I was being shocked into usefulness.

  I looked back at the unconscious woman. In truth, it’d been neither me nor Jera who’d saved the three of us, but her. Was she even aware of the fact?

  When I turned back to Jera, she was gone. A moment later, I felt a weight on the bed as she climbed in beside her sister, and just like the first night, she wrapped her arms around the other woman from behind, pressed her forehead against her back and yawned. “We can discuss this in the morning when you’re in a more appropriate state.”

  More appropriate? The words drew a scowl on my face. I looked around, then down at my bare chest. Of course.

  She was the one who went tearing my shirt open to investigate in the first place, when there was a more civilized way to go about it, and now she wanted to get selective—

  I froze.

  That hadn’t been what she was referring to, I noted with horror, feeling the heat rise up my neck. No, she’d meant down lower.

  Where my jeans showcased a proud tint.

  Ch. 9

  “You want me to what?!”

  I sat across from the twins on the bed, legs crossed, elbows perched on my knees, chin on my knuckles, watching them.

  They’d gotten opposite pairs of pajama sets, Jera having found a black cotton set whose top read ‘Wake Me Up and It’ll Be The Last Thing U Do,’ while Ophelia’s had psychedelic purple and white flowers atop a drowsy blue cotton. The woman picked at one of the fuchsia petals nervously, her eyes whipping disbelievingly back and forth between Jera and I.

  “I said, we want you to blast him with a rod of dark energy,” Jera repeated boredly. She still wasn’t quite herself, but after having eaten half the leftover pastries from yesterday, her mood had improved just enough to not freeze me anytime she looked my way.

  “Why would you want me to do such a terrible thing?” Ophelia asked, voice coated in reluctance and concern. She hadn’t been caught up to speed. It was only six in the morning. It’d been another sleepless night for me and of course a restful night for Jera, but this time, it was Ophelia who’d been the last one to wake, which I suspected was a prime side effect of having your molecules manipulated and teleported to another location.

  “Because,” Jera said. “As it would seem, your power is what enabled Peter’s.”

  She frowned. “The Law of Dark Energy suggests—”

  “Yes, yes, I know what it suggests. I did not say you turned him into whatever hybrid creature he’s becoming. I only mean, your dark energy fired up the slow-evolving dark energy inside of him. You enabled him to do what he did previously, so now we want you to shock him again to see if he’ll be able to sense the dark energy within me.”

  Unlike me, Ophelia had instant understanding of Jera’s words, and while I’d have liked to believe it was some inane twin thing, I knew it was because, again, unlike me, Ophelia wasn’t ogling and fantasizing about pulling Jera closer and becoming familiar with every inch of her.

  I felt blood threaten to rise in all the wrong places for all the wrong reasons and immediately wedged myself into the important topic. “It’s alright, Ophelia. You did it before and I survived, and that was a direct blow. You did it last night and I barely felt a thing. I think I can handle it a third time.”

  “But how did I do it? I’m wearing this . . .” Her fingers hooked around the metal band.

  “Unlike myself, you’re an emotional demon,” said Jera, Queen of Emotions. “As such, not even that pathetic, mundane device can contain all of you when you’re of a mood.” Her eyes hardened. “So get in the mood.”

  Ophelia wasn’t convinced, her form somehow becoming smaller than before.

  But I was studying the band again, wondering. “Jera, if you’re capable of channeling or causing heat like you did before, can’t you just melt the band off?”

  Jera compressed her lips, and all of that progress her mood had gone through in lieu of the pastries doubled back into cold territory.

  “What? Is that a taboo question?” I wondered.

  Though I was expecting her not to answer, I was still ticked when she went on as if I hadn’t asked a thing. “Lia, it doesn’t matter. Simply zap the human so we can get this over with.”

  “I don’t know how—”

  “You haven’t even tried,” she snapped.

  “I know, you’re right, but—”

  “We have one hour before this man gets out his whip and condemns us to slave labor for ten hours, and eleven hours before that paranoid human and her pet rabbit returns. This is a viable path for us, so take it. Must you always hesitate? Don’t you remember what happened the last time you hesitated or are incapable of learning because that part of you is missing, too?”

  “Jera!” Anger sank into my patience.

  “Don’t play peacekeeper when you know nothing about this, human!” she clipped my way.

  “I know enough to see when someone else is being treated unfairly. Being pressured into doing something they don’t want to do. You know, not everyone wants to go around incinerating people.”

  She flinched at that, then bit out, “Well, I’m not Ophelia.”

  “Clearly.”

  The hurt in her eyes filled the previous void to the brim.

  I knew I was in the wrong for all of it. This woman had saved my life, and yet the prospect still warred with the humane part of me that’d heard the way those men screamed. I’d seen the way she’d stowed the fire with just a flick of her wrist. At any point last night, when the men were rendered incapacitated, but alive, she could have stopped. But she hadn’t. She’d burned them down to where even their dentures turned to ash.

  And yet, I regretted the words no less. Regret, the word that was synonymous for careless. I’d been careless of how the words would affect her, but all the same, she too had been careless of how her words would affect Ophelia.

  And now the three of us were sitting in a triangle of stewing, miserable expressions.

  Until Ophelia said quietly, “You’re right, I’m sorry. I can try, Jera, but you know this isn’t how I was designed.”

  I didn’t like it. “Ophelia, you don’t have to . . .”

  The woman was already rising and moving to position herself behind me. Her face was ashen, robbed of that usual fluster of pink and innocuous oblivion.

  I glared at the sheets, knowing if I looked to Jera, I’d just make the situation worse.

  Ophelia’s hands were soft on my back, her touch light and only moderately warm. With my heightened senses, I could feel how her fingers quaked beneath the surface.

  I spotted the convolution of the situation then.

  She
didn’t want to hurt anyone, yes, but it was more than that. She was afraid of hurting others. Suddenly the word “demon” seemed the most preposterous thing to brand her.

  “Ophelia, you don’t have—”

  “I can do it, Peter,” she insisted, her hands pressing into me harder, yet it still weighed nothing more than that of a feather. I knew she was capable of pushing harder. So hard, she could send a man to his knees against his will. She was unconsciously holding back. “I can do it, Jera,” she said.

  But she couldn’t.

  Minutes passed and her trembling only increased, until I felt her hands slip away and a drop of something warm land atop my shirt before sinking through the fabrics.

  I glanced up and found Jera wearing that same icy look. She looked to Ophelia behind me, then let out the faintest sigh which I couldn’t discern from disappointment or exasperation. But a moment later, rather than go to comfort her sister like I was so sure she would, she left the room entirely, the door sitting ajar in her wake.

  Disbelief weighed me down so that I couldn’t move a muscle.

  I didn’t get that woman. She was all teeth bared and hell-risen the moment someone dared look at her sister wrong, yet she had no problem driving a stake through her herself.

  “I can try again,” Ophelia whispered shakily.

  I could hear the tears now, practically smell the level of salt they contained, and with one last look at the door, I shook my head and turned to face her. I really wasn’t good around tears. The world was already sad enough, but when that sadness manifested in the form of lugubrious eyes, I did stupid things. Anything just to patch up the faucet.

  But this time, I didn’t hesitate to grab the woman’s hands which shook with the force of her detriment. “Ophelia, look at me. Please.”

  When she didn’t, I released one of her hands to lift her chin. Her eyes met mine, cloudy gray skies raining down over her cheeks as she said, “I wasn’t made to hurt them.”

  There was something about the way she said these words, how she used “them” instead of “people”, that made me realize whatever this was was far deeper than a surface interpretation. There were tectonic plates shifting in the chasm of her existence. Jera’s pushing her to do this, for some reason, had shifted those plates harder, threatening the walls around her.

  So I did the only thing I thought was right in that moment: I pulled her into my arms, where at first she was tense, and then she was liquid, pouring against me and trusting me to contain her, be her walls should hers crumbled.

  I didn’t know what to do with the emotions she poured, the tears she cried. But for all that they were foreign, they were important. Some people bottle their emotions until they exploded, while others chose to explode them with screaming fits and fists, throwing them out into the world, believing they’d gotten rid of it, but I’d learned long ago: what goes up, must come down. Emotions were but vapor, waiting to condensate and fall right back onto us.

  It was up to us to either continue the cycle of screaming or bottling.

  Or prepare for the rain with shelter.

  I said I was going to protect them this time. If that meant taking to whatever form this woman needed, then consider it done.

  Face buried in my chest, she sniffled and I held her that much tighter.

  Just as Jera returned.

  I stiffened, prepared to snap to the rhythm of her perturb, until I saw the pack of kleenex she’d gone to retrieve from the supply closet.

  Understanding hit me then, but not fast enough.

  Jera took one look at the two of us and dropped the box beside me on the bed, leaving the room for good this time, the door slamming shut behind her.

  Fan-tastic.

  In my arms, Ophelia hadn’t even noted the other woman’s presence, merely allowed her plates to carry on shifting into a more stable form.

  Meanwhile, I took note of a potentially developing problem.

  Jera hadn’t been storming away in disappointment like we’d thought, but simply getting something to wipe away her sister’s tears. Only to return and find I’d taken her place.

  Put that way, maybe potential problem weren’t the right words.

  More like a potential disaster.

  *****

  I was intent on nipping that potential disaster’s bud before it could bloom.

  With all hands on deck, the work day went by smoothly. We had one hour before closing time, two hours before Anisah and Kyda arrived.

  While the cash crew and those working the bar area ambled on, I was making frequent trips to and from the bathroom. Ophelia had repatched the wound for the third time today, and while I’d long since gotten used to the discomfort and ducking my head into the toilet to up whatever I’d downed, it didn’t stop the bleeding at my back. If anything, it made me conscious of being around others and their meal.

  Jera had said time and again that I couldn’t make another immortal, but she hadn’t said I couldn’t infect a human. If the wings growing at my back were the source of my dark energy, would my wounds throw off something airborne?

  I didn’t want to find out. Which meant my day was spent in the office managing the payroll and arranging the time schedule for the next two weeks. It was boring work, but informative. After running the numbers, I’d found out yesterday’s shopping trip hadn’t been too terrible—not counting the near death experience. Considering I didn’t have to put up a Help Wanted ad with Jera and Ophelia here, if anything, we’d made more than the previously predicted net earnings.

  But that wasn’t all. When I rejoined the crew, I found not only were the finances in order, but the team was far ahead of schedule. The register was watched, the bar area cleaned, the lounge area sparkling, and the trash had already been taken out back.

  There were but a few straggling customers, so much so that the crew had time to sit back and relax. Ophelia was amongst the group of Kevin and Minnie, teaching them how to make a smoother espresso by priming the machine.

  She’d clearly gotten out of her slump, while Jera had fallen into hers.

  Speaking of, I moved to check the status of the kitchen, but came up short at the sight of brown curls moving towards the kitchen. The rest of person’s body was hidden by the bar table. Not that I needed to see their face to know who it was.

  I stepped in his path and crossed my arm. “Kid.”

  “‘Sup, boss?” He carried a tray of dirty dishes in his hands and had somehow managed to find a black apron that definitely didn’t belong to this shop, even though it had a little steaming coffee logo on the middle.

  I took the tray. “Get out.”

  “But—”

  “Out!” I hissed so that none of the patrons could hear.

  That freckle dusted cheek popped out in an enormous pout before the boy stormed off.

  I watched him go, shaking my head.

  Then Ophelia was beside me, cleaning rag in hand. “I can take those,” she offered. “I’m finished with my duties and I’m sure Jera could use some help.”

  That sounded like a terrible idea. Posting the two women together when all day Jera had been glowering at Ophelia whenever the two of them crossed paths. Which was rare seeing as kitchen duty was for the most part an isolated task.

  “I got it,” I told her. Then, on second thought, “But you know what, if you wouldn’t mind, could you clear up the office a bit?” It only just occurred to me, but I remembered the amount of paranoid glances Anisah had given the open concept window when I’d sat her down at the booth. Maybe a closed space would offer more peace of mind.

  Ophelia gave a clipped nod and was off to work the same sparkling magic she’d worked on the lounge area. Only when she was out of sight did I slip into the kitchen.

  Where there, I wished I hadn’t.

  One side of the kitchen—the cabinets, food storage units, and prep counters—was spotless, which had been Minnie’s job. The other half was in disarray. Jera’s half. The counters hadn’t been wiped down yet. T
he roll cart was full with dirty dishes in the brown tray. None of her stations had been sanitized, the floor unmoped, some of the dishes still in the drying rack and it was near closing time.

  I frowned but said nothing, looking closer. She wasn’t even aware I’d entered, her back to me, her head down. She was cleaning one of the coffee mugs like her life depended on it. For once she was actually wearing the yellow gloves, wiping between every nook of the porcelain handle, scrubbing away every last speck, then inspecting it closely before placing it into the neighboring sink. She reached into the dirty dish tray with a patience that hadn’t been there before, then started the cleaning process all over again. Thorough sudding, near OCD scrubbing, then careful placement into the next sink. Then again, and again.

  Until I made the mistake of shifting and her head snapped up like a predator’s, her gaze whirling on me with a ferocity that made me take a step back.

  When she saw it was just me, the light instantly died in her eyes, returning to that same, rote expression she’d possessed when cleaning the dishes. She pointed a half-hearted hand to the tray of dirty dishes beside her station.

  It took me a moment to realize she was telling me to put the ones in my hands there. I did. Then I joined her at the rinsing station.

  She stiffened, but didn’t stop washing.

  It went on that for a while, silent washing and rinsing, and I was sure, if I let her, she would keep it that way.

  But I didn’t want her to interpret my silence as upset that she was so horrendously behind. So I said, “I’m surprised Minnie—” I stopped. Because I wasn’t surprised that Minnie hadn’t helped, even though all of my staff always offered to help whatever employee was on dishes. Either Jera had told them off, or they’d never asked because her aura alone had done the hissing for her. My money was on the latter.

  I tried a different approach. “I see you didn’t break anything today. I’m glad.”

  “I will finish my task before I sleep, so there’s no need to stand over me.”