《Bonesetter》


 Chapter One

    ¡°We¡¯ve got another one here, Frac.¡±


    I snort awake, Ezekiel¡¯s clear voice ringing through my ears. The chair I¡¯d been leaning back in almost tips, and I barely manage to catch myself, shifting my weight and slamming the front two legs down with a loud thud. As Zeke brings the client into the room, he shoots me a look, somewhere between concern and exasperation.


    Not that I blame him. It¡¯s almost six in the morning and I haven¡¯t gone home yet. Usually I stay around until five, that way I have time to head back home before the city really starts waking up. And yet, here I am, taking on any case I can manage.


    The client is an older gentleman, somewhere in his late forties. Salt-and-pepper hair is greasy, and his beard is unkempt. He wears flannel stained with oil. Mechanic, more than likely. Someone who works with his hands, and judging by the cast on his arm, I can tell what exactly he wants from me.


    ¡°Did you already go to the doctor for this?¡± I ask him.


    ¡°No, a friend helped me with the cast at the time.¡± Not a good sign. Back-alley cast work could be dangerous. I doubt the bones were set properly, and if that¡¯s the case, more damage down the line is more than likely. I give him a stern look, raising both brows in question, a disappointed parent.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say, ¡°First thing¡¯s first, buddy; we¡¯ve gotta get the cast off.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do it with it on?¡±


    ¡°Afraid not. Material¡¯s too restrictive.¡±


    The mechanic looks at me in disbelief. I give him a hard stare in return, the corners of my mouth drawn downward slightly, forming a half-scowl.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± he responds, ¡°Do your work.¡±


    I start by removing the cast. It¡¯s an arduous process, one that requires more precision than I¡¯ve ever been used to. Every so often the mechanic winces, or grunts, and it reminds me to be a little slower with the process. After the cast is gone, I do my best to feel for the damage without causing too much more.


    Zeke always told me I work too aggressively to be a true doctor. My grip is too firm, or I move too suddenly, or my bedside manner just isn¡¯t the best. He¡¯s right, of course; I don¡¯t have the kind of care or patience for real medical work. The mechanic¡¯s complaints simply remind me of that fact, and I have to force myself to be even more careful than I¡¯m already being.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve found it,¡± I finally say, holding the arm in precise locations, ¡°Ready? Three, two¡ª¡±


    There¡¯s a sickening crack, and I feel the fractured bones shift unpleasantly under my grip. The mechanic cries out, the worst noise yet out of the ones he¡¯s made, and he instinctually attempts to pull out of my grip. I hold onto him for just a few seconds more, to make sure the healing works in its entirety, and then let go. He pulls his arm back, cradling it as the soreness goes into effect.


    ¡°Try moving your fingers,¡± I tell him. His brain starts functioning enough that he does so, and I watch the pain ebb away from his expression, replaced by wonder.


    ¡°You¡¯re a miracle worker,¡± he says.


    ¡°Mm, no, I just have a knack for fixing broken shit.¡±


    I grin at him, humored. Zeke leans against the doorway, and even with the mask over the lower half of his face, I can tell he¡¯s smiling. The mechanic looks to him and fishes out his wallet, counting the bills for his visit.


    ¡°Oh¡ªDon¡¯t pay me,¡± he says, ¡°I just fixed the surface injuries. You should give the money to her, though.¡± He nods toward me, and I give him a slight, thankful nod as the mechanic hands me the money and stands up to leave.


    ¡°Thank you, hope you don¡¯t come again,¡± I remark. He lets out a snort, and then he¡¯s out the door.


    Zeke turns to look at me fully. His look is concerned but pointed enough that it makes me shift uncomfortably under his gaze. There¡¯s just something about the way he looks at you that makes you think you¡¯ve done something wrong or questionable, even if you haven¡¯t. There¡¯s a moment of silence between the two of us, but it¡¯s broken by a heavy sigh.


    ¡°It¡¯s past six,¡± he says, ¡°You should go home.¡±


    ¡°What if another break comes in?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Unlikely. Go, rest, see your wife,¡± Zeke responds.


    He¡¯s smiling as he shoos me out of the cramped pseudo-office and into the newly waking world of New Portudine.


    I get back home at around six forty-five.


    Ever since I got married and moved in with Delilah, we¡¯ve been living more comfortably. It¡¯s a relatively small house in a quiet cul-de-sac, with light brown siding and a dark shingled roof. The gutters are clean, the doorstep has a welcome mat, and the mailbox has Mrs. and Mrs. Krauss painted on the side. A few years ago, I wouldn¡¯t have wanted something so domestic, but ever since I¡¯d gotten with Delilah, I¡¯d been relishing it more and more.


    I open the door. The living room is painted off-white, with dark brown upholstery on the furniture. Delilah is laying on the couch, pillow under her head, throw blanket covering most of her. She looks at me with her beautiful brown eyes, and my heart melts almost immediately at the sight of her.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says, her voice quiet and slightly raspy from sleep. She sits up and rubs at her eyes, letting out a yawn and stretching afterward.


    Compared to me, she¡¯s tiny. Delilah¡¯s roughly five-four compared to my six-even, with a petite frame and brown skin. Her hair, dark and in loose curls, is askew in a bedhead. Her pajamas are a light blue, satin and striped. I swear those are the most expensive articles of clothing she has, but if she¡¯s comfortable, so am I.


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    ¡°Hey hon,¡± I respond, ¡°How long did you stay up?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she answers, ¡°What time is it?¡±


    ¡°Almost seven.¡±


    ¡°I got about four hours, then.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to stay awake for me,¡± I comment, walking over to pull her into a hug. She hugs me in kind, and I melt into the contact, the weight of what today is feeling just a little bit lighter.


    ¡°I wanted to,¡± she says, ¡°I know today¡¯s difficult for you, and I wanted to tell you it¡¯s gonna be okay.¡±


    ¡°You have work in an hour.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my wife, I want to make sure you¡¯re at your best.¡±


    ¡°Same goes for you, DeeDee. You¡¯re gonna be all sleep-deprived when you go into the office.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve got coffee in the break room,¡± she retorts, ¡°And I figured I¡¯d steal one of your energy drinks¡­?¡±


    I gasp in mock-horror. ¡°The Delilah Krauss, drinking an energy drink? I never thought I¡¯d see the day! Of course you can, hon, but be careful with those.¡±


    She laughs. I kiss her on the forehead and let her go.


    While she gets ready for work, I head into the kitchen to grab two protein bars and one of the energy drinks I left in the fridge. I don¡¯t plan on sleeping yet, not when there¡¯s so much to do for today, but I at least need to make sure I keep my nutrient levels in check. After all, when you can mend bones and do it often enough, that can really put a damper on your energy.


    I sit on the couch and turn on the television. An ad plays for Artura Family Corporation, and I stare blankly at the stock smiling faces and cheerful testimonies for their newest drug while I unwrap the first protein bar. So many companies are the same with their advertisements that they all tend to blend, and a part of me wonders with some humor if it¡¯s the same marketing team working with all of them.


    Delilah comes out of her room as the ad changes to the local news station. She wears business casual clothing in a mixture of navy blue and charcoal grey, perfectly neutral and relatable for her clients. She opens her arms wide and grins at me with a face of minimal makeup.


    ¡°How do I look?¡± she asks.


    ¡°As beautiful as ever,¡± I answer with a grin, ¡°You¡¯re gonna kick ass today, hon.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡± She moves forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta head out. Take care of yourself, okay? And be sure to have more than just a couple of protein bars!¡±


    ¡°Oh, trust me, Alice¡¯ll make sure of that. Have a good day at work!¡±


    Delilah rushes out the door and to the car. I hear it turn on and listen as it pulls out of the driveway.


    I¡¯ve been staring at assorted flower bouquets for at least ten minutes.


    The guy at the cart has been watching me. He¡¯s on the younger side, with an olive complexion and some bad temperament. I look at him occasionally just to get a read on his expression. More than likely, he¡¯s suspicious. Not that I blame him, I¡¯m definitely the suspicious type, especially since I haven¡¯t talked to him once yet.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± he finally asks me.


    It takes me a minute to work up the courage to respond. ¡°Do you have any flowers for a loved one that¡¯s passed?¡±


    His expression visibly softens, from suspicion to sympathy. There¡¯s something in there that might be pity as well, but I realize that might be my tough-girl attitude berating me for saying that much in the first place. I¡¯ve been trying to handle people being sympathetic toward me better than when I used to; it¡¯s been difficult, to say the least.


    ¡°Yeah, I can help with that,¡± he says.


    The guy helps me pick out the right bouquet. We don¡¯t talk about anything else while he does so, and I¡¯m thankful for the reprieve from conversation. Death is something I¡¯m familiar with, sure, but it¡¯s also something I¡¯d rather not speak of, especially when it¡¯s a death that hits as close to home as this one. I don¡¯t think any death hits as close to home as this one.


    I¡¯m paying for the bouquet as Alice bounces up toward me with food. She¡¯s a sweet woman. At around five-six, she¡¯s portly and sporting a comfortable sweater and pair of jeans. Her bright green eyes shine encouragingly as she hands me one of the pastries she¡¯d bought. I take it obligingly, knowing she¡¯ll likely get onto me if I don¡¯t eat something while in her company.


    Alice is a therapist, specifically for people with magical abilities like me. While not my therapist personally, she¡¯s provided plenty of insight into my troubles. She was there for me during my very volatile high school career, and I don¡¯t think I can thank her enough for that.


    Not to mention her own magical ability, a calming aura that makes me feel just a little more at-ease about today. She grins at me as we walk away, food and flowers in hand.


    ¡°Those are lovely flowers,¡± she comments.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, ¡°The guy at the cart said it¡¯s the one best suited for grief.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m proud of you for asking for help.¡±


    ¡°It was just flowers.¡±


    Alice hums, chewing on a bite of her pastry. She holds a finger up as she swallows, wiping the crumbs from her mouth. ¡°But you still asked for help on choosing them. That¡¯s a big step for you, Addie.¡±


    I glance away. ¡°Come on, Alice, don¡¯t bring on the therapy voice.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, sorry! I¡¯m just proud of you.¡± Alice laughs, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°And I think your sister would be proud, too. You¡¯ve grown immensely since we were teens.¡±


    Mention of my sister bring a pang to my chest, despite Alice¡¯s aura. Her name was Cassandra, but everyone called her Casey. She died when I was fourteen. I¡¯d found her bloodless, lifeless body in the kitchen, pale as bone, with the mass of her life swirling around her killer like an aura of his own.


    I swore up and down that it was murder, that the teen who did it was guilty as hell, but nothing came of it. It was ruled an accident, as manifestations of abilities usually are when these things happen. That didn¡¯t stop me from being angry at him. It didn¡¯t stop me from being unstable into adulthood either, having a manifestation of my own, going into juvenile detention. It didn¡¯t stop me from carrying that grief and hatred into my later years, and while I¡¯ve mellowed significantly since then, days like this are hard.


    Every year, on the anniversary of Cassandra Krauss¡¯s death, I put a bouquet of flowers on her grave.


    ¡°You really think she would?¡± I ask, ¡°I mean¡ªafter everything?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Alice says, ¡°I think she would realize you¡¯ve been doing your best to turn another leaf and find ways to deal with your problems.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause as we stop at an intersection, waiting for the crosswalk signal to turn green. She¡¯s looking across the street, but still smiling that same prideful smile she has the entire conversation. I can¡¯t help it; I find myself smiling, too.


    ¡°Thanks, Allie.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Addie.¡±


    It¡¯s quiet at the grave site.


    The skies are overcast above me, with a slight breeze blowing through the graveyard. Casey¡¯s epitaph stands before me, solid in its finality, reading Cassandra Krauss: Beloved Daughter, Sister, and Friend. I hold the bouquet of flowers in both hands, close to my chest as though they were precious. In truth, the flowers are meaningless to me, but she loved them.


    ¡°Hey, sis,¡± I say.


    I set the flowers down at her tomb stone, then take a step back and sit in front of the grave. I pull my leather jacket tighter against me, trying to keep out some of the chill. My throat closes with something raw and grotesque, as it always does when I think about what happened that day.


    ¡°Um¡ª¡± I take a deep breath. ¡°I brought you those. It¡¯s been ten years, I figured I would actually try with picking out the flowers. The¡ªThe guy at the cart said these were the best he could find for grief. You should¡¯ve seen the way he looked at me when I asked, I thought I was gonna punch him for it!¡±


    A laugh leaves me, trying to take the edge off of the situation. ¡°I, uh, I didn¡¯t though. I held back. I¡¯ve been trying really hard to let people have sympathy for me, y¡¯know?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s hard being tough.¡±


    I let out a sigh. There¡¯s a tightness in my chest that refuses to leave, and not for the first time do I wish that she could be here to talk to me. To laugh with me, even, to tell me herself that she¡¯s proud of what I¡¯ve accomplished.


    But she isn¡¯t, and I have to live with that.


    ¡°Oh¡ªDelilah told me that I should tell you about her. Since she and I are, you know,¡± I continue, ¡°She works this job at a small pharmaceutical company? Sales. But she¡¯s super good at it! Super persuasive, I think you would¡¯ve gotten along with her. Especially considering how you said you wanted to be a lawyer?¡±


    The one-sided conversation continues from there, with me telling Casey¡¯s grave everything I can think of about my life and how I¡¯ve been doing. It starts out a little choppy, but as I go further into it, I realize it¡¯s like getting a weight off my chest. It helps for me to talk about these things and makes me feel just a little bit closer to the sister that I lost.


    As I stand up to leave, I swear someone¡¯s watching me. There¡¯s a feeling that makes the hairs on the back of my neck raise, and I turn around, wondering who it could be. I see nobody, of course; maybe it¡¯s just my paranoia getting the better of me.


    I leave with a final goodbye to Casey¡¯s grave.


    ¡°And Carmen, she tells me something juicy,¡± Delilah says, excitement on her face, ¡°She tells me that she saw representatives from Artura Family, with our supervisor!¡±


    I raise both brows, grinning. ¡°Really? That¡¯s a big name, you¡¯re not worried they¡¯re gonna buy you guys out?¡±


    She sets two plates on the table. It¡¯s a heaping serving of chicken alfredo, Delilah¡¯s specialty and my comfort food. She sits across from me at the table and shrugs her shoulders in answer to my question, still beaming.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she says, ¡°But they seemed pretty prospective. Something about the research we¡¯ve been doing.¡±


    I let out a little hum in response, taking a large bite of the pasta. We both eat in silence for a moment, both hungry after our prospective outings. The only noise that fills the air is the clinking of silverware on ceramic.


    That is, until someone pounds on the front door.


    ¡°Do you think you could get that, honey?¡± Delilah asks. I nod and wipe alfredo sauce from the corners of my mouth, walking out of the dining room toward the front door. Before I open it, the pounding resounds again, a little more frantic. My hand hovers over the doorknob. I look over toward the dining room, at Delilah¡¯s concerned expression. She nods at me.


    I look back over to the door, and carefully open it.


    Standing in front of me is a man. He¡¯s tall and gaunt, slightly slouched, and haggard. His skin is deathly pale, as are his hair and eyes, which have dark circles around them. He wears a small pair of glasses with thick coke-bottle lenses, and an Artura Family set of scrubs, with his name embroidered on the top: Derek R. When he sees me, there¡¯s an inherent fear in his expression, as if he doesn¡¯t know how I¡¯ll react. I stare back at him, eyes wide, and my blood boils with emotions dredged up from the pit of my subconscious.


    I never thought I would see my sister¡¯s killer again.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re not happy to see me,¡± he says, breathless, ¡°But you¡¯ve gotta help me, Addie.¡±

 Chapter Two

    ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be fucking kidding me.¡±


    My hand is gripping the doorknob so hard my knuckles are white. I can feel my teeth grind together; jaw clenched so tight that the words I say are hissed through my teeth. My nose wrinkles, disgust mixed with outrage, as I stare down the one person I never wanted to see again. The person who currently stares at me with apprehension as though I¡¯m a cornered animal. And truth be told, in that moment, I feel like one.


    Memories come rushing back to me. I was fourteen. I could hear Casey arguing with Derek down in the kitchen, and it sounded bad. The worst argument I¡¯d heard them have. I stood at the top of the stairwell, frozen in place, nervous. And then Casey cried out, likely cut herself while chopping something, and that¡¯s when things got strange.


    There had been a sound like water running from a tap. At first, I thought she was cleaning the wound, getting ready to bandage it, but there were discrepancies in the noise. It sounded thicker than water, and there was no impact noise. It was a long, sickening series of squelches. Terrible wet noises that just wouldn¡¯t end, broken up periodically by Casey¡¯s strained, painful gasps. She was hurting. I knew she was hurting.


    By the time I¡¯d gotten down the stairs, Derek was there, wide-eyed and mouth agape, with Casey¡¯s blood hovering around him like an aura of dark power. Casey herself, my sister, laid on the floor. She was pale as a sheet, completely bloodless. Her expression was twisted into one of horror and betrayal. Her boyfriend had done this to her.


    I look at Derek now, ten years older, but with such a similar expression on his face that it makes my stomach twist in nauseating knots.


    ¡°So, let me get this straight,¡± I grind out, ¡°You kill my sister. I never see you again¡ªgood fucking riddance, might I add¡ªand then suddenly you¡¯re back here. And lo and behold, you¡¯re asking for my help! God, Derek, you¡¯re a fucking idiot!¡±


    ¡°Not so loud,¡± he says, ¡°Please, just¡ªlet me inside. I¡¯ll explain everything, but I can¡¯t do it out here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, hell no,¡± I retort, voice strained. The words keep trying to get caught in my throat, but I keep pushing them past the blockage through sheer force of anger. How dare he show his face here? How dare he come back now? ¡°I am not letting you anywhere near me or my wife. You¡¯ve destroyed enough.¡±


    ¡°Addie?¡± Delilah calls from the kitchen, ¡°Who is it?¡±


    I look back toward her, and her expression reads concern. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s seen me this angry in years, and it makes my heart hurt. Derek takes this moment to peek over my shoulder, and gives an awkward wave, grinning sheepishly.


    ¡°Hi,¡± he says.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Delilah responds warily, ¡°You¡¯re¡­ Derek Reynaud?¡±


    ¡°She told you about me?¡±


    ¡°Of course. You did a lot of damage, something like that sticks to you.¡±


    I look between the two of them, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting. My head is buzzing like an active beehive, and I know that if I say anything it¡¯ll be absolutely the wrong thing. Slowly and very shakily, I inhale through my nose, and then exhale through my mouth.


    ¡°Look,¡± Derek says, ¡°I know I¡¯m not exactly welcome here, and I¡¯m not who anyone wants to see, especially not today.¡± Inhale, exhale. I give Derek a hard look. He¡¯s looking between me and Delilah, wringing his hands. The words seem to get caught in his throat; I can see him struggling to find the right thing to say.


    ¡°But there¡¯s something serious going on. Bigger than whatever differences we have with each other. And I didn¡¯t know who else to turn to.¡±


    ¡°Literally anyone other than us,¡± I interject.


    ¡°I have no one else.¡± It¡¯s his turn to fix me with a hard look. It doesn¡¯t have the same effect. While I¡¯ve been known to intimidate with mine, Derek¡¯s makes me feel something akin to pity. He looks like he¡¯s had a hard life, same as me, and the fact that I can find similarity between the two of us makes my head buzz even more. I clamp my mouth shut, lips pressing into a thin line. The corners of my mouth tilt down until I¡¯m scowling. I look toward Delilah.


    She looks at Derek appraisingly. ¡°You¡¯ve got Artura Family scrubs.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he responds, ¡°I just came from them.¡±


    ¡°Do you work for them?¡±


    ¡°Not in the way you¡¯d think. I¡¯ll explain more, just let me in. Please.¡±


    He looks at her pleadingly, and then toward me. For a moment, he reminds me of a kicked puppy, so sickeningly looking for sympathy that I swear I might vomit. Then again, it might be all the adrenaline running through my system, telling me to fight him right here, right now, in the doorway of my home.


    I swore I would never be like that again.


    Again, I look at Delilah. Her mouth presses into a hard line, and her brows furrow. She nods at me. I let out a sigh and open the door wider, stepping aside for Derek to enter. He does so quickly and nods his thanks to both of us. His hands are still being wrung. I remember vaguely something about nervous tics, how Casey talked about his handwringing like it was something so utterly fascinating about him. To me it looks overly cheesy; he looks like a cartoon villain who just entered the victim¡¯s home. Or maybe that¡¯s just the bias talking.


    ¡°You interrupted our dinner,¡± Delilah states, after I offer no conversation, ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting any company, so there¡¯s none for you. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Derek says, ¡°I ate before I got here.¡±


    I¡¯m the last person to sit at the dining room table. I¡¯ve been trying to practice my breathing exercises, as per my therapist¡¯s request. My fingertips rub over the skeletal tattoos on my hands, feeling over the skin there. I keep my eyes focused on Derek, who adamantly avoids my gaze. Something tells me that if he had any other choice, he would¡¯ve never come here. A part of me wishes that was the case, instead of what¡¯s going on here.


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    ¡°So,¡± Delilah says, breaking the silence, ¡°What¡¯s this important thing you have to tell us?¡±


    He takes a deep breath. ¡°What do you guys know about how mages are created?¡±


    I look at Delilah, raising both brows. It¡¯s not a question we¡¯re unfamiliar with. While she isn¡¯t a mage, I¡¯ve been one since I was a teenager, and when we met, I made sure she had the correct information on what mages are. We even did research together as new studies came out, making sure we had all our information straight.


    ¡°That¡¯s easy,¡± I respond, voice still tense, ¡°Nobody¡¯s truly certain on where the magic originated from, or how it chooses who¡¯s a mage and who¡¯s not. But what people do know¡¯s that it tends to come out as a panic response. If the brain registers that you¡¯re in danger, you could be a mage, and your power will protect you.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± he says, ¡°What if I told you there might be a genetic marker that determines who will become a mage?¡±


    The silence that fills the room is palpable. Delilah and I both gape at Derek, dumbfounded. A genetic predisposition for mages? How can magic be something that¡¯s genetic? Science and the supernatural are two things that historically don¡¯t mix, why would this be any different? So many questions rattle through my head that I almost forget to speak. Before I can get the words out, Delilah¡¯s got the next question at the ready.


    ¡°How do you know this?¡± she asks.


    As if it answers everything, he tugs at the scrub top, emphasizing the Artura Family logo on the front. Silence lingers for a beat, and then he says, ¡°The Artura Family Corporation has been doing genetic research on mages.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding,¡± I say, ¡°Don¡¯t they just do those overpriced pharmaceuticals?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what they want you to think,¡± he responds, ¡°But behind the scenes, they¡¯ve been doing this. They¡¯ve been taking in mages in need of money and drawing their blood. Doing all sorts of tests on their abilities, keeping record of who does what. They say it¡¯s for identification, but I think there¡¯s something bigger at play here.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t quite answer my question, though,¡± Delilah says, ¡°You¡¯re saying all these things, but how do you, specifically, know this?¡±


    He lets out a shaky sigh. ¡°You asked me earlier if I was working for Artura Family. Well¡ªI kind of am? Or was? I was one of the subjects they did genetic research on. I overheard a lot of technical jargon while I was in there, but what came up the most was predisposition. I could figure out the rest from there.¡±


    ¡°So, what do you expect us to do about it?¡± I ask, ¡°Yeah it¡¯s ethically questionable, but Artura Family¡¯s a big corporation, with a lot of power. We can¡¯t exactly get them to stop.¡±


    ¡°The genetic research isn¡¯t all of it,¡± he says, ¡°I think they¡¯re doing it for a reason. On my way out, I heard talk of this¡­ project? Godkind.¡±


    Delilah looks confused, for just a moment. ¡°Godkind? As in¡ªlike a God?¡±


    ¡°Like a God,¡± Derek repeats with a nod, ¡°I didn¡¯t hear much more than that, but it sounds shady as fuck.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± I comment.


    ¡°I want to expose them if they¡¯re doing anything dangerous,¡± he continues, ¡°But it¡¯s gonna be difficult. I need proof, and a lot of it, and a way to go to the press and still be protected. And ultimately, I¡¯m gonna need help to do it.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you contacted us,¡± I finish for him, ¡°So we can, what¡ªinvestigate a shady organization with you?¡±


    ¡°Come on, Addie,¡± he says, ¡°Put your bad blood with me aside. If it¡¯s nothing, then it¡¯s nothing. But if it¡¯s something¡­¡±


    ¡°It could be a whole lot of trouble for mages everywhere,¡± Delilah says. She looks at Derek. ¡°We¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I interject, ¡°DeeDee, can¡¯t we at least discuss this?¡±


    ¡°What is there to discuss?¡± she retorts, ¡°If this means danger for you or for anyone else with powers like you, then I wanna help put a stop to it. Simple.¡±


    I give her a look. We¡¯ve always been protective of each other, sure. She was apprehensive when I said I wanted to do back-alley work, given my history, and I was apprehensive when she said she would fight any mage that tried to cross me. But when she looks right back at me, I know she¡¯s already made up her mind. Besides, she has a good point; if this is going to be dangerous for a significant portion of the population, then I wanted to stop this, too. Not just to protect myself, but to protect my mage friends. Hell, the mage populace in general.


    Sighing, I say, ¡°Fine. We¡¯ll do this. But the minute this job is done, we¡¯re out. No association, no nothing. Capisce?¡±


    Derek grins, relieved. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve got it. I have one more favor to ask of you guys, though.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I need a place to stay,¡± he explains, ¡°But I don¡¯t think here is the best.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause as I think. Derek would need somewhere protected, but I don¡¯t want his bad blood to hang over either mine or my wife¡¯s heads. That much is a given. It would need to be obscure, and with someone that any of us could trust. Someone with a level head, a clear mind, and no judgment.


    I suddenly get an idea. ¡°I think I know who to call. Give me a second.¡±


    Heading into the living room, I pull my phone from my pocket. It¡¯s old and with a cracked screen, but it functions well enough for what I need it to do, which is just make calls. I scroll through my contacts until I find the right one: Angel. I press the call button and put it to my ear, tapping my foot as I wait for him to pick up.


    Ezekiel¡¯s clear, calm voice greets me. ¡°Go for Zeke. What¡¯s going on, Frac?¡±


    ¡°Hey, Zeke,¡± I respond with a slight laugh, ¡°Good to know you¡¯re still kicking. Uh¡ªLook, I need a favor.¡±


    ¡°Anything for my favorite bonesetter.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s this guy who stopped by my place, and he needs somewhere to stay. I figured safest spot would be with you, is it alright if I take him down to the office?¡± I request. I chew on the inside of my cheek, heart pounding. It¡¯s a pretty big favor to ask; Zeke¡¯s probably the best one to ask, of course, but even he has his limits.


    ¡°Sure,¡± he responds, ¡°Is there anything I should know about this guy before I meet him?¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± I begin, ¡°Bad blood between him and me, don¡¯t be surprised if I¡¯m tense. He¡¯s also got some pretty wild information about Artura Family.¡±


    There¡¯s a pause.


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s accurate information?¡± he asks, and there¡¯s a stern edge to his voice. It catches me off-guard; I hadn¡¯t expected him to get concerned about that in particular.


    ¡°There¡¯s not a lot of proof, but yeah, I¡¯m pretty sure.¡±


    ¡°Bring him over as soon as you can. That company¡¯s bad news.¡±


    ¡°I will. Thanks, Zeke.¡±


    ¡°No problem, Frac.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡ªBy the way, he¡¯ll need a change of clothes.¡±


    ¡°Already on it.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, ¡°Take care.¡±


    ¡°You too,¡± he responds.


    I hang up the phone and head back into the dining room. Delilah¡¯s gotten Derek a glass of water, which he¡¯s desperately trying not to completely guzzle down. I wonder if he ran all the way from the Artura Family building in downtown. He looks at me as I approach.


    ¡°I got you somewhere to stay,¡± I explain, ¡°It¡¯s with my boss. He¡¯s probably our best bet at protecting your sorry ass, so.¡±


    ¡°Your boss?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Not exactly an official term,¡± I respond, ¡°Finish your water and come on. I know the way.¡±


    It doesn¡¯t take long for Derek to finish his drink. He stands up, and then looks down at his scrubs. ¡°I need to at least cover the logo.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got that covered,¡± I say, ¡°Hurry up.¡±


    I give Delilah a goodbye kiss, and then I¡¯m out the door with Derek. As we walk, I move closer to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and covering the logo with my hand. He tenses at the gesture; likely afraid I¡¯m going to hurt him. To be honest, it takes a great deal of restraint for me to not tease him about it, and further restraint not to hit him when I feel something in my veins shift. I keep grinning, but it¡¯s more like a baring of teeth.


    ¡°Stay calm,¡± I mutter, tense, ¡°I¡¯m just covering the logo.¡±


    My veins go back to working order, and I breathe a shaky sigh. He says nothing, just keeps his eyes forward, hands wringing in that incessant pattern.


    We reach Zeke¡¯s relatively quickly. The office is a tiny, three-room house that he¡¯s converted for his purposes. From what I remember, he got it cheap, and lives out of it too. There¡¯s no yard, and I can see a single light on in the front window, barely illuminating the space outside. Derek gives me a questioning look, and I only grin at him as we walk up to the front step.


    With my free hand, I knock on the door. Zeke opens it. He¡¯s tall, with long blonde hair pulled back into a neat, orderly bun. Peeking through the gold I can see locks of grey and looking closer at his face I can see the exhaustion in his green eyes. I swear I must look the same, having gotten no sleep since the last time we saw each other. He glances between me and Derek, and then ushers Derek inside hurriedly. In the moment I see him before he¡¯s inside, I swear he looks relieved to be out of my grasp.


    Zeke stands in the doorway, looking me over. ¡°You look like hell,¡± he comments.


    ¡°It¡¯s been hell,¡± I respond, breathing a sigh, ¡°Take good care of him, okay? If whatever he says is serious, then it¡¯d be good for the both of us to keep him alive.¡±


    ¡°What do you take me for?¡± he asks, and I swear I hear just the tiniest bit of Southern drawl, ¡°I¡¯m not a monster, Frac.¡±


    I laugh. ¡°I know, Zeke.¡±


    There¡¯s a brief pause, before he says, ¡°I don¡¯t know what bad blood¡¯s between you two, and I¡¯m not going to ask. It¡¯s not my place. But I¡¯m glad you decided to set it aside enough to get this guy some help. That takes some real grown-up mentality.¡±


    I groan. ¡°Not you, too! I get enough of this kind of talk.¡±


    He chuckles. ¡°Sorry, force of habit. If I¡¯m going to be taking care of people with flaws, I may as well make sure they¡¯ve got someone steady.¡±


    ¡°Trust me, I¡¯ve got plenty of steady people,¡± I say, ¡°Enjoy your evening.¡±


    ¡°I will,¡± he says, ¡°Now, skedaddle. Before someone recognizes you.¡±


    I give him a wave and back away from the door. He closes it quickly, and then I hear the deadbolt lock. Turning around, I give the area a once-over before taking the walk back to my house.


    That night, I can¡¯t sleep.


    Delilah lays behind me, arm wrapped around my midsection, but I¡¯m wide awake. It¡¯s like everything that happened today keeps replaying in my head, repeatedly. I wonder, not for the first time, if we really should¡¯ve gotten involved with Derek Reynaud. I also wonder what will happen if we screw this up. My thoughts are in overdrive, and I don¡¯t think there¡¯s going to be any way to stop them from doing so. So, I try to work through them.


    I start with my deep breathing. I close my eyes and breathe in, holding for a few seconds. When I breathe out, I make more noise on the exhale than I anticipate. I freeze, for just a moment. Delilah¡¯s not a notoriously light sleeper or anything, but I would feel bad about waking her up from this.


    Inhale, hold, exhale. I¡¯m quieter, this time. I can feel my muscles start to relax; my thoughts start to slow down. I shift, just slightly, to get more comfortable in bed. I continue breathing like that, placing my hand over my wife¡¯s, grounding myself with her presence.


    She shifts, hugging herself closer to me, and I drift off into sleep.

 Chapter Three (Dereks POV)

    I¡¯m ushered into the room by Addie¡¯s boss.


    It¡¯s a small room, only really fit for one person. I see a couch with a vintage floral pattern on it, covered over by plastic. There¡¯s an armchair, similarly fashioned. The walls are a neat off-white, with several stock motivational quotes pinned to the one opposite the couch. I see a single bookshelf, with a mixture of herbology and field medicine texts. There¡¯s a section, however, with old, dog-eared adventure novels. The covers are paper-back and faded, the spines barely legible from use.


    The kitchenette is similarly neat. Minimal counter space, taken up by a single coffee maker and camp stove, with a kettle sitting on top of it. There is a miniature fridge off to one side, retro-style with magnets hanging up even more motivational quotes.


    There is no television or computer. Low-tech living at its finest.


    As I¡¯m looking around the room, I catch pieces of the conversation in the doorway. The boss¡¯s name is Zeke. He calls her Frac. They seem to have a pretty jovial relationship, all things considered. I wring my hands, and just to find something to do, I pick up one of the books and flip through it. Sketches of herbs look back at me, and I find notes in the margins, discussing what look to be dosage numbers. The handwriting is neat, a little bit floral¡ªmuch like the rest of the living room.


    The front door closes, and I hear Zeke let out a puff of air. I look up, blinking owlishly at him. He gives me a reassuring smile, calm as can be. At least, he looks calm on the surface.


    ¡°Uh, hi,¡± I begin, ¡°My name¡¯s Derek.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you, Derek, even if the circumstances are dire.¡±


    There¡¯s a brief pause between the two of us. I¡¯m not exactly sure what to say; I¡¯ve been brought into this man¡¯s home without any introduction, just Addie¡¯s word. And to be frank, considering our past, I¡¯m not sure how much I should trust her word.


    ¡°We should start by getting you a change of clothes, huh?¡± Zeke says, ¡°Get out of those nasty scrubs. Are you hungry?¡±


    Why does everyone ask me that? ¡°No, I ate before I left.¡±


    ¡°Alright, if you¡¯re sure.¡± He bustles into one of the adjacent rooms. From the brief glance I manage, it looks like a bedroom, with a cot off to one side. The door closes, and I¡¯m left alone to stand awkwardly in what feels like a therapist¡¯s office. I put the herbology book back on the shelf and look toward the seats. It feels strange to sit down, but the exhaustion is slowly starting to settle into my bones, my mind feeling heavy.


    Zeke comes back with a change of clothes, folded in uniform fashion in his hands. He offers them to me, and then nods to the other door. ¡°Shower¡¯s over that way. If you need anything, just let me know; I¡¯m going to make some tea.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I respond. I take the offered change of clothes, and then head into the bathroom.


    My eyesight has always been terrible.


    Something about how my eyes developed due to the albinism. I¡¯ve had coke-bottle glasses ever since I can remember. Some people say it¡¯s cute, others say I look ridiculous, but it¡¯s just my life. Same as the near-white hair on my head or the practically translucent skin on my body.


    What¡¯s also become a fact of my life is my Mark.


    Every mage has one; it¡¯s a defining feature. When their abilities manifest, they gain it, and it shows how much power they¡¯ve used at a given time. For Addie, it¡¯s her skeletal hands marked over her real ones. For me, it¡¯s an imprint of my own heart, and the veins stretching outward from it. Even with my terrible eyesight, I can see the smudge of black over my chest, clear as day. A constant reminder of what power I have, and what happened the day I got it.


    I pull on the shirt Zeke gave me. It¡¯s a little bit big, but comfortable. I¡¯m not sure where he got it from, but it¡¯s well-taken-care-of. Not a single frayed hem or hole. I wipe the condensation off my glasses and put them on, opening the door to head back into the living room. Zeke¡¯s already sitting in the armchair, a mug of hot tea in hand. He nods over to the counter, where I see another mug. I nod my thanks and grab it carefully, holding it close to my chest.


    There¡¯s a brief pause.


    ¡°No need to stand,¡± Zeke says, ¡°Sit. I¡¯ll disinfect the couch if needed, that¡¯s what the plastic¡¯s for.¡±


    Periodically I pick up an accent in his voice, but I can¡¯t quite place it. For the most part, he sounds just a little more on the side of formal, even more like I¡¯m dealing with some sort of professional. Awkwardly, I sit on the couch. The plastic cover creaks under my weight, straining slightly against it. I blow on my tea and take a sip, then let out a sudden hum.


    ¡°Mm¡ªThis is good. What kind is it?¡± I ask.


    ¡°A mixture of chamomile and lemongrass,¡± he explains, ¡°Good for anxiety and relaxation. I figured you¡¯d need it; you¡¯ve had quite the day, I assume.¡±


    Something about his comment makes me let out a short, breathless laugh. ¡°Yeah, you could say that.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of silence between us, where we both sip our tea. It doesn¡¯t feel as awkward as the silence between me and Addie, and nowhere near as tense. I feel comfortable with Zeke, and not for the first time do I wonder about him. Is he always this nice? Does he have any ulterior motive?


    ¡°So,¡± I say, breaking the silence, ¡°What exactly do you and Addie do?¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He raises a brow at me with a humored expression. ¡°Well, we offer care to the less fortunate.¡±


    ¡°What kind of care?¡±


    ¡°The medical kind,¡± Zeke explains, ¡°My ability¡¯s always been more suited for tending wounds, and when Frac came along asking for a job, I realized hers were, too. She may not always see it herself, but she¡¯s got a knack for it. Even if her bedside manner needs a little work.¡±


    ¡°Wait. You¡¯re a mage?¡± I tilt my head to one side, furrowing my brows.


    ¡°I am,¡± he answers, ¡°Got my Mark when I was fifteen.¡± To emphasize, he shifts one of the sleeves of his sweater. I see his Mark, emblazoned on his wrist in the shape of wrapped bandages. He pulls his sleeve down.


    ¡°And you can heal people with it?¡± I add.


    Zeke nods. ¡°I speed up the natural healing process, but it takes energy, and it¡¯s not a cure-all. Sometimes people come in sick as a dog, other times it¡¯s a broken bone I can¡¯t mend¡ªthat¡¯s where Frac comes in¡ªand so that¡¯s what all those textbooks over there are for. In case there¡¯s someone who needs help, and my power doesn¡¯t do enough.¡±


    I stare at him. He smiles back at me. There¡¯s a beat of silence where we just look at each other, letting the explanation hang in the air between us. This guy¡¯s a healer. He¡¯s a good healer, too. A lot of hospitals would be lucky to have him, and yet he doesn¡¯t capitalize on it. Less fortunate, he had said. Someone going against the grain and not asking for exorbitant hospital fees.


    ¡°That¡¯s incredible,¡± I comment.


    ¡°Thank you. I do my best.¡±


    There¡¯s a brief pause, before he sits up a little straighter. Zeke pulls a phone from his pocket and texts something. A response comes back quickly, and he grins.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I ask.


    ¡°I was texting Frac, telling her she has the night off,¡± he answers, ¡°But I also wanted to ask you: Are you a mage?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯d rather not show off my Mark. Weird placement.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough. What can you do though?¡±


    Here it comes. The part that I hate, the one that makes people apprehensive of me. ¡°I, uh¡ªI can control blood.¡±


    Zeke gives me a long look, expression concerned for just a moment. I shift under his gaze, setting the mug aside to wring my hands together. My brows furrow and I glance toward the floor, frowning slightly.


    ¡°How much control do you have over it?¡± he asks. His voice is still in that measured, calm tone. It makes me relax slightly, and I look back up to him.


    ¡°A lot,¡± I answer, ¡°I can, uh¡ªmove it. Make it harden and then ¡®melt¡¯ it again. There¡¯s gotta be an open wound for me to pull it out of a person, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Say no more,¡± Zeke interjects, holding up a hand, ¡°You don¡¯t have to go into detail about it. But if anyone comes along needing help tonight, I think you¡¯ll be able to lend a hand.¡±


    I blink. ¡°You do?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Sometimes emergencies come in where blood flow needs to be stemmed, or we need to keep someone¡¯s heart pumping. I think you¡¯ll do well in those areas.¡±


    Something about what he says makes me feel shaky. I feel a tightness in my chest that I can¡¯t seem to get rid of. I look down at my hands, scrutinizing them with renewed interest. Zeke thinks I can help people with my power. All I¡¯ve known, all people seem to think, is that blood magic is only good for harm. That there¡¯s nothing else I can do; I¡¯ll just be harmful, a danger to anything with blood in its veins.


    But Zeke sees something different.


    ¡°I never thought of it that way,¡± I say, quiet.


    ¡°Well, now you have,¡± he responds, ¡°And I hope you¡¯ll continue to think about it that way. Your hands are for more than just hurting; everyone¡¯s hands are. Remember that and I think you¡¯ll do a lot better for yourself.¡±


    I stare at him. I¡¯m still unsure what to make of this guy. Why does he seem to know so much about people?


    ¡°Thanks, Zeke.¡±


    Nobody in need of a blood manipulator comes in that night. Zeke says that I go sleep on the cot while he ushers people through. It¡¯s an uneasy sleep; I wake up several times, whether it¡¯s from a nightmare or the noise of someone sick in the other room. The house is small, and cramped, and it makes me feel just a touch claustrophobic.


    I also keep playing through what Zeke told me in my head.


    Blood manipulation is a terrifying ability. Human beings are filled with blood, and if they lose enough of it, they just die. They can¡¯t sustain themselves anymore, that¡¯s just it. And ever since I got the ability, that was all people saw of me. Hell, it¡¯s still what people see of me. I remember the worried glances of the Artura Family employees when I told them, how they took extra precautions with me in case I did something I wasn¡¯t supposed to do.


    I stare at the opposite wall of the cot, sunlight beginning to break through the singular window, and wonder if I really can do more than hurt people.


    I¡¯m dead exhausted by the time I get up in the morning.


    Zeke looks as chipper as ever, frying eggs on the camp stove. I can hear the coffee pot brewing, and by the smell, it¡¯s strong stuff. He¡¯s humming a song. I can¡¯t quite place the melody, but it sounds cheerful enough, and it puts me a little more at-ease.


    ¡°Was it eventful last night?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Just about as eventful as any night,¡± Zeke responds, ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±


    ¡°Oh, like a baby.¡±


    He gives me a look.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I amend, ¡°Not like a baby.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it,¡± he says, ¡°I could hear you tossing and turning. You¡¯re not as quiet as you think, Derek.¡±


    I laugh sheepishly, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Zeke makes two plates of eggs, one for me and one for him, and tops it off with buttered toast. I nod my thanks and sit down with my breakfast, chowing down with renewed fervor and sipping the coffee every so often. It¡¯s good, dare I say it better than diner food, and I wonder just how someone perfects something as simple as buttered toast.


    He waits until I¡¯ve eaten about half of my plate before he speaks up. ¡°So, Artura Family, huh?¡±


    It feels like my chest has suddenly constricted. I slowly sit up from the plate, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Zeke looks at me with a quirked eyebrow, almost playful in his curiosity.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I answer, ¡°Artura Family.¡±


    ¡°What did they do?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not you. Them. What did they do?¡±


    I blink. I hadn¡¯t expected that, him placing the blame on them. Slowly, I shift in my seat, leaning back and letting out a long-winded sigh.


    ¡°How much do you know already?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Artura Family is like any other megacorporation,¡± Zeke says, waving his hand dismissively, ¡°Seems like good news on the surface, but underneath, there¡¯s always something questionable. They say progress, but I say lacking ethics.¡±


    ¡°So, you don¡¯t trust them.¡±


    ¡°Of course I don¡¯t.¡±


    That makes me feel a little better, at least. I look down at my half-eaten plate of eggs and toast, and my stomach twists uncomfortably. Slowly, I push the plate aside on the coffee table. Maybe it can be reheated later.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re researching the genetics of mages,¡± I explain, slowly, ¡°For an experiment known as Godkind. But I have no idea what that means. It sounds shady as hell, and they¡¯re documenting powers like crazy to boot. Whatever they¡¯re planning, it¡¯s nothing good. And I need proof.¡±


    Zeke gives me a measured look, his expression neutral save for the interest in his eyes. I can see the gears turning in his head, the way his lips press into a thin line as he thinks for something to say. I don¡¯t think he blinks even once by the time he opens his mouth to say something.


    ¡°Does Frac know about this?¡± he asks.


    I pause to think for myself. Zeke definitely seems like a trustworthy person, but I can tell he knows more than he¡¯s letting on about Artura Family. If I trust him too much, and then it turns out he¡¯s working for them, then all of us are in trouble. He may not know Addie¡¯s name, but he knows her face. He has contact information. And he may not have my full name either, but he knows my face. Hell, I¡¯ve been taking up space in his house.


    But Addie trusts him. Hell, she works for him, and I know she would be more likely to give me up than Zeke would. So if she trusts him¡­ then maybe I should, too.


    ¡°She does,¡± I explain, ¡°She was the first person I contacted when I got the information.¡±


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t warmed up to you much,¡± he comments, ¡°Why her?¡±


    ¡°Had no one else.¡±


    ¡°That took courage.¡±


    I glance away. It did take courage for me to talk to Addie about this stuff. I was so terrified when I went up to the door that I wasn¡¯t sure what I was going to do. A part of me had been concerned that my power would trigger, or that she would even just shut the door in my face. Another part of me just said to turn and run, never look back. Find someone else to talk to, anyone else, see what could be done without the possibility of getting hurt. But that possibility is never completely gone, is it?


    ¡°I¡¯m in,¡± Zeke says, breaking the silence. I look up at him, eyes wide, and my mouth opens to protest. He raises a hand, and the words die in my throat.


    ¡°Not one word of complaint,¡± he commands, ¡°I¡¯m in. I¡¯m not going to let good people potentially kill themselves trying to go against something as large as Artura. Not to mention the danger this could pose to the entire mage population, should they succeed in whatever Godkind is.¡±


    ¡°But you could get hurt, too. Badly, Zeke. I don¡¯t want that for you, you¡¯re too good here,¡± I finally manage.


    ¡°Trust me. I can handle myself just fine, with or without your assistance.¡±


    He smiles at me, and once more I get the sense that he knows more than he¡¯s letting on.


    My mind wanders to the herbology books, and the dosage notes within them. How some of them had mention of lethal doses, how close those lethal doses are to the healthy ones. Which herbs are risky to use in medicine, which ones aren¡¯t, how to tell the difference between poison and remedy. And I finally realize that maybe Zeke knows better than any of us how to survive in a cutthroat world.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I say, ¡°But Frac won¡¯t like it.¡±