I am explaining mathematics. Just like yesterday and the day before. In the last week it has become a daily habit for her to come to the library. I no longer go to the school for her. She comes. She’s realised that even if I have to work, we can spend more time together. She often stays until closing time and then I take her home. She’s less afraid of the bike and doesn’t even mind her mother’s scolding. She’s more confident too, and I suspect it’s not just because of David’s sweaters. It plays right into my hands. I’m taking her on a trip this weekend…

The arched window lets in the setting sun, a light breeze stirs the yellowing leaves of the park.

As I write and explain examples, I delve into Alden’s memories in a way I only do when I am speaking in a foreign language or when I have to express myself on subjects I am unfamiliar with.

Talia leans on the table, her eyes following the pen’s movement, then her pale brown gaze moves from my hand to my mouth, her aura quickens.

“Will you try to solve it?” I hand the pen back, hoping her attention will return to the original subject.

She takes it, frowns and hunches over her notebook. She works hard on the equation, corrects it several times – the hurricane dies down.

I wonder if she knew what I know, how she would relate to me.

Hi, I’m your dead brother, energy vampire, and I came to kill you.

Probably the last thing that would upset her would be my nose. She wouldn’t even notice, she’d just run away.

Should I tell her before I do it? Normally I like to see the recognition on my victims’ faces, feel the gap between our species… But what if the person is wearing my nose while staring at me in horror?

I watch her concentrate. It’s as if her life depends on it.

Everything I do, nothing is good enough…

Hasn’t she suffered enough already? Doesn’t she deserve to be destroyed in ignorance, with fond memories? Especially since she will not sleep with me, even though she desires to…

“Done”, she raises her voice in triumph, but I immediately remind her to stay quiet in the library.

“Sorry,” she continues softly, “I’m just so glad I finally understood! If I keep on like this, maybe I won’t fail after all!”

“You won’t….” live that long. “We’ll make sure of it,” I squeeze her shoulder encouragingly. “But now I must go.”

As I get up, she jumps to her feet. Is she going home already?

She picks up her bag as if she were packing. Her aura is as fierce as Lili’s when she brought up she wants a child with me…

“I made this for you,” she hands me a yellow plastic box. “Mum says it should have had more sugar and cocoa and that it’s not right to fatten you up…”

I look under the lid. Brown cake with vanilla and chocolate scent. She had used white flour, a little oil, milk and four or six eggs. Judging by the smell, the top was lightly browned, but covered with a layer of powdered sugar that had molten into a shine.

I should taste it… The viscera in the place of my stomach tighten at the thought of self-induced vomiting.

And still… Something breaks inside me.

I know you better every day.

          But you know nothing of me.

Guilt heats my face. Perhaps she baked a cake for the first time in her life, taking up the confrontation with her mother.

I wish there was some way I could return the kindness…

Doesn’t she deserve to die with fond memories?

I put the box on the table, walk over to her and bend down to hug her. Tightly. To make her feel how sorry I am that I am unable to eat. How grateful I am for the care with which she made it. To apologise for lying to her face only to taking her life in the end.

Slowly recovering from the shock, she wraps her trembling arms around my waist. Just like the first day on the bike, her aura surrounds me. I close my eyes so I don’t see the pink tornado engulfing me. Otherwise I couldn’t hold her any longer.

“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear and pull away. “I’ve just had lunch, but it smells great and I’ve got a long shift ahead of me. Don’t worry, it’s not the amount that would make me gain weight.”

“That… is good to hear…” She rolls a freshly washed brown lock of hair, her other hand sinking into the pocket of her ‘protective’ sweater. It’s a wonder she can stand upright in this intense cloud of lust. Instinctively, I take a step back and pick up the box. It seems heavy, like the unspoken words on my tongue.

“I’ll wait for you tomorrow.”

“Mm-hmm… okay…” she nods, her voice slightly melodic, like a drunk. She puts the books on her shoulders and takes her half-zipped bag. “Bye,” she waves, then leaves with unsteady steps.

I wave back, then turn to return to my work. As I close the glass door of the adult section behind me, I sigh.

“Tutoring comes with a hug these days?” Emma teases from behind the counter. Her voice is light, but her grey aura quivers with genuine jealousy. “A bit young for you, isn’t she?”

I’m rolling my eyes.

“She is my sister.”

“You didn’t have siblings last time.” Her fingers, tugging at her pendant, draw my gaze to her cleavage.

“Yes, last time I had no idea that my mother, whom I last saw as a baby, had remarried,” I say. My voice is serious, calm. To make her understand she had crossed a line.

A dramatic silence fell over us.

“I’m sorry… I…”

Her energy field becomes more and more filled with shame, almost self-flagellating. Maybe I was too cold.

“You didn’t know,” I add kindly and hold the box out to her. “She brought me a cake, would you like some?”

Her eyes, clouded with remorse, are filled with joy. But only for a moment.

“I cannot eat sugar, my Ayurvedic diet forbids it.”

I’m not backing down.

“Maybe a piece wouldn’t hurt” she takes a slice.

The even line of teeth sinking into the brown pastry, the light on her lips… The movement of her jaw… The grey aura of her mouth wavering with pleasure…

My teeth tingle, my groin throbs.

“Not too sweet, just right. Tell your sister she made it well.”

“Definitely. I’ll leave it here. Have some more if you like it.”

I pick up a big pile of books and put them in their place. I deliberately don’t use the book cart to get the blood flowing in my arms, and the mantra of inventory numbers drives the thought of eating out of my head.

 

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The black cat pounces hungrily on the stewed meat, which looks like chicken when sliced up. He enjoys it as much as I enjoyed my time with her in bed earlier. I brush a few white strands back, but since I’m on my knees, they are still sweeping the floor. I feel the urge to lift them into the air against gravity, but I suppress it with a deep sigh. Even through the closed door, the stench of kennels seeped in. I need a shower… Dinner’s ready, so I’ve got time before I need to pick up Jev at the airport.

I keep my eyes on the chewing cat. Even after all these years, I’m still amazed at how much smaller they are than the specimens from the afterlife, no horns or imposing tail, shorter fur, but the same greed and bloodlust.

When he is done, the cat cleans his face.

The warmth of the shower on my satiated body…

I stroke his head and he purrs, pressing his forehead into my palm.

“I don’t know how you do it… Balthazar arrived two weeks ago and since then he’s been aggressive towards everyone. Even neutering hasn’t made things better.” She comes closer and the cat ruffles his fur, hissing. “I see you don’t need supervision,” she walks out of the visitors’ room, her grey aura flows after her as a barge.

Well, some things can’t be helped by castration or restraint. The civilized world can suppress animal instincts, but it will never eliminate them.

Sometimes we have to let off steam.

I reach for the stick with the feather on the end. I drag it across the ground a few times, alternately writing different patterns in the air, imitating the unpredictability of a living creature. Balthazar’s pupils dilate and flatten, his tail swings left and right as his head follows every movement of the feather. He waits for the right moment. He strikes. He sinks his teeth and claws into the feather’s strands, then lets it go and waiting for another opportunity.

After two or three attacks, his attention fades. His paws still flick at it occasionally, and finally he stretches out in passivity.

What does not live cannot be killed. So why bother…

It’s like smoking for me. It deceives my senses; it’s as if I’m draining a soul, but it won’t fill me up.

Evening crept in through the window, casting shadows in the corners. The light from the lamp broke on the white wall. Balthasar lifts his head and listens. When he sees the moth, his whole body tenses.

The moth describes changing circles, the warmth of the bulb sometimes banishing it to a lower orbit, but it never descends to within reach. At least not for Balthazar. I stand up and with one swift movement, lock it in my grip. Careful not to squeeze it, but leaving no gap between my fingers, I step back and hold it out to the cat. He sniffs my hand, his ears fluttering to the rhythm of butterfly wings against my skin.

I feel the same thrill on my hunts. I have learned to hide my cruelty behind a kind smile. But there is no need to do so in front of him.

Kill it, –  I spread my fingers.

The butterfly takes off immediately, but Balthazar beats it before it can get far. There it is, writhing under his paw.

The red-haired girl below me…

I don’t see the aura of animals, but I can clearly feel our ecstatic energy fields merging.

Instead of eating it, he sets it free. But only to give it false hope…

          Her skin against mine, lustful sighs in my ears.

…which he can take away at any moment.

I’m delighted by the graceful movement as he catches it again and again, tearing, ripping, while the butterfly, wings injured, twitches on the edge of life and death at his feet.

          Limbs in the web of my hair. Terrified eyes staring at me. She knows there is no way out. Yet she struggles.

He leans over it, hunched, then his mouth closes around it. I hear the crunch of the tiny body.

          The last heartbeat as her soul leaves her body… – My teeth open up behind my smiling lips.

The face that no one could ever love.

He comes to me, pressing his cool nose against the back of my hand. I stroke his fur, shining with happiness.

He doesn’t know how lucky he is that the butterfly isn’t wearing his nose.

The door swings open, amplifying the smell of excrement, pet food and cleaning products. Balthazar runs under the table.

“Excuse me, I’d like to close up now.”

It is not visiting time. The only reason I’ve been allowed in so late is because every month since we moved here, I’ve ordered enough food for all the cats in the shelter.

“Thank you for letting me stay so long.”

She nods solemnly in my direction and heads for Balthazar’s lair.

“Come on, you demon…” She reaches under the table, gloves on. The cat huffs, creeps further inside but she grabs the skin over his shoulder blades and pulls him outwards. The animal squeals, digs its claws into the carpet and won’t let go.

“Can I try?” I put my hand on her shoulder and she steps aside. There’s something mocking in her movement. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t like any of us. Not even if Balthazar were tame and I had enough cat food to last ten years. Her dislike is deep, visceral. It’s the way the prey feels about the hunter.

Slowly, I reach under the table with both hands, my hair crumbling into the dust, blocking the outside world from the terrified cat. I grab him under the first limbs and lift him out. His pupils dilate, his face stretches. He knows what’s coming: the moment of betrayal.

“You should take him home,” she says.

“My job doesn’t allow it. I travel a lot and my boss won’t let me have pets.”

          Blood on my hands, the stench of guts in my nose.

Her fingers dig into the animal’s neck. Holding its head and legs wide apart, she scurries away before Balthazar could recover and counterattack.

“I’ll be right back to see you out!”

“Don’t bother, I can find my way out…”

…back to the prison called civilization.

 

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Jev told me not to go today. I can still feel her touch and hear her cheerful voice as she proudly tells me which team she beat. I may not be a sports fan, but I share her joy and Jev appreciates that. It’s interesting that she still doesn’t ask me about Talia, even though she often crosses my mind. She probably thinks she’ll meet the same fate as the others targets soon. As a matter of fact, so am I.

I check the time. I hope Talia won’t be late today and I won’t have to explain to the other librarians why my lunch break took so long.

As if on cue, she’s already turning the corner. She doesn’t have her friend with her this time, and although her aura is still tense, it’s nowhere near to what it was yesterday. She’s wearing a pretty beige sweater again, but at least she didn’t bother with make-up.

“Hi!” Her embarrassed smile is accompanied by a shy wave, and I return it, not forcing a handshake.

I turn towards the café, but she pauses and looks confused at the customers drinking on the other side of the glass door. What did I expect? After yesterday’s scene, she may never dare to come in here again.

“We can take a walk if you like, or sit somewhere else” I say, looking up at the gathering clouds. They’re even darker than yesterday.

“A walk sounds good,” She states. “I’ve got an umbrella if…” She blushes. “Of course, we can also sit somewhere if it starts raining.”

“Whatever happens, happens”, I smile.

We set off on the yellow paving stones between the carefully trimmed hedges and trees, leaving my bike behind. I make sure to take small steps and keep just enough distance from Talia to be intimate but not intrusive. Her nervous energy radiates from her in waves. Her belly is not out, yet she keeps pulling her top down. Although we often perform unnecessary actions in the company of someone we want to please, I get the impression that she’s fidgeting in this dress. She’s getting on my nerves.

“Please forgive me for mentioning it… You look good in this top, but you seemed to feel better in that loose sweater the other day.”

I immediately regret saying that out loud, and I’m almost certain she’ll get embarrassed and change the subject.

“While David, my brother, lived with us, he defended me many times when Mum and Dad were fighting. I miss him a lot, but we see each other less and less since he got married and moved away…” She puts her arm around herself. “It may sound childish, but his clothes make me feel like he’s with me and I have nothing to fear.”

And now she’s thrown away that protection. Because of me.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t have to force yourself to be something you’re not for the sake of others.” I want to leave it at that. But the words come out of my mouth anyway. “You know, I don’t wear black because it looks good or because it’s fashionable. I lost a lot of people when I was a child.” I killed them. “I felt guilty that I was alive and they weren’t. Black gives me a sense of security. Over time, I learned to accept what had happened. However, I had grown so attached to it that I knew if I parted with it, I would be tearing a piece of myself away. The past is part of us, it cannot be shed. So don’t. Wear it with pride, it’s what made you who you are now.”

“A pile of misery that brings shame on the family’s reputation? Mum says I do that every time I wear David’s clothes.”

“I can only say what I said yesterday; just because she thinks so doesn’t make it true.”

Her face is a shade of pink, her aura is fluttering. Perhaps I’ve gone too far and embarrassed her with my personal affairs. I haven’t spoken to anyone about this for years. Not since Lili. Why now?

The dead keep secrets.

“Actually, about yesterday…” She begins, her eyes searching the toe of her sneakers, “I’m really sorry I freaked out.”

I’m relieved it was her behaviour, not what I said, that upset her. I want to open up to her even more. She responds to honesty with honesty, and the sooner she trusts me, the easier it will be to push her out of her comfort zone…

“Don’t worry about it. I know what it’s like to grow up without a supportive family. My father died before I was born, I was taken away from my mother, so I didn’t know her either, and my foster carer only saw me as a problem.”

After all, his life depended on mine. He kept me on a short leash, because he knew someone might try to take his life through me. He carried me like a severed head at first, and then he cut off my wings and sewed them in place, sealing them with a seal of Light Power so that I could not regenerate, escape or fly away. The green glow in my consciousness intensifies. We may have moved away, but he lives in me. With no way to cut him out…

“…and he hates me to this day. It makes no difference what I do.”

“I often feel the same way. It seems we’re alike.”

You’ve no idea how much. – I snarl at her nose, but quickly averting my gaze before my disgust arises.

“I would do anything to live up to the expectations,” She continues. “But… I want to live my own life, not the one my parents dreamed for me. My dream is to work with books; to be a printer, or a librarian, or even a bookseller. The pinnacle would be blogger or literary critic, but I don’t dare to think about that. Especially when my mother wants to send me to law school. That’s if I make the cutoff. Sometimes I feel like it’s better that my grades are bad; at least I don’t have to keep studying something I hate.”

“I’m also meant for a different career,” I put my arm behind my back where the Alliance’s Warden Seal is sewed on my skin, beneath my clothes. Though since my Power have waned, I’ve been demoted to Eliminator. “But I am just not good enough for that.”

“You’re good enough for me.” She blurts out. It’s spontaneous, like the compliment  about the blonde bad boys; she puts her hand over her mouth in the same way, but it has a completely different effect on me now. Her words continue to stretch the cracks in the walls I’ve built over the years to keep the pain at bay.

Yet it hurts now.

She’s just a stranger who doesn’t know what she’s saying.

What if she would?

A heavy blade strikes the vertebrae of my neck. The momentum is hesitant, trembling. With rage, with hate. It cuts across my skin, slices through a few tendons, but doesn’t cut my head off.

The memory brings a bitter smile to my face. I miss you, Lili…

“So, what would you do if you could? Do you have dreams?” Talia’s voice brings me back to the present. She may have misunderstood my reaction and is trying to paddle into calmer waters, unaware that she is only stirring up the sea of the past.

Dreams, desires, goals. Six years of emptiness have suckes me in, and it takes me a few moments to force the answer to surface.

“I think I’d become a waiter or a chef, maybe open a restaurant. From a young age, I’ve taken pleasure in watching others eat.” Considering I can’t. “Then I realised that it feels even better when the food I prepared brings them joy. ”

“Brings them joy? You mean they enjoy it?” She raises an eyebrow. She attempts to appear serious, but is evidently delighted to find fault with my choice of words.

“Exactly. If you’re eating good food, you’re enjoying it. Some more, some less. It depends on many factors, such as mood, individual preferences and previous experiences.”

“You know a lot about people.”

Not as much as I would if I were a human too, but I do try.

“Maybe. Still, I often feel like an outsider amongst them. Somehow I never fit in. Maybe that’s why I’d be happy to work with animals.” Or plants… Right, Lili? “Honestly, they seem closer to me.”

She raises her eyebrows, as if she knows the true depth of my words and is terrified. But the moment passes quickly.

“I think I understand you. I’ve never fit in anywhere either, and I don’t have a lot of friends. I often feel awkward around others.”

Maybe because you’re not human either?

“I used to want a dog,” she continues, “but my parents said it would end up like my goldfish, which I forgot to feed for three weeks. I can’t say I agree with them hundred percent, but I wouldn’t dare to deny it. I’m not very good at taking care of others. I’d be stressed out all the time, overwhelmed with responsibility.”

“I feel the same.” Warm blood on my hands, the stench of rotting intestines in my nose. “That’s one of the reasons I don’t have a pet.” No wife, no friends. “But I often visit the local shelter to bring food for the cats.”

“Really?” She smiles broadly.

My cheeks flush with the rush of blood to my cheeks. What’s so special about two predators swapping prey?

She blushes when she sees me choking on the word, catching her gaze.

“So why the cats? They’re wild and capricious.”

“Maybe that’s why,” I shrug, then look at her a moment later: “We have a lot in common,” I add, deliberately ambiguous.

Her face is scarlet red, her pink hurricane is tearing my aura. I’m tempted to step out onto the edge of the paved sidewalk, through the grass and cross the road to the neighboring street. Instead, I just scratch my temples and keep going in the same direction and distance.

“So, you like cooking, you love animals, and yet you work as a librarian…”

“I haven’t always been one. Before this, I traveled a lot, searching for my place.” …and my victims. “But I like this job, and I like books. They keep me better company than most people.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

We walked around the square at a slow pace. In the distance, I could see the black outline of my motorbike looming in front of me beside the hedge. I looked at the clock on the church tower.

“I’m sorry to leave so early, but my break is over.”

The hurricane dies down to a breeze, and her smile fades.

“I guess you don’t have the day off today. Right; how’s your friend?”

At first I blink, puzzled, then it occurs to me that I mentioned Jev in passing yesterday.

“Better, much better,” I flicker. “Perhaps you’re free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Friday…  which is a typical girl’s day with Mandy. She wants to hook up with an IT guy and is counting on my help, sorry but I don’t want to let her down. But I’m free on Saturday if you are.

“I work on weekends. But I’m on till noon on Monday, so I can see you.  I’m in a hurry, so I hope you’ll forgive me for not dropping you home.”

“I’ve managed with public transport so far,” she smiles, but I can see the disappointment in her aura.

I squeeze her shoulder as goodbye and also to maybe cheer her up.

“I’m looking forward to Monday.”

 

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After half an hour of waiting, she appears on the street corner, accompanied by her friend. The girl with the orange aura gives me a broad smile as soon as she sees me, which I return with a polite, though not over-enthusiastic smile. Talia doesn’t react, even when Mandy says goodbye, she approaches me with her eyes fixed on the ground.

I hardly recognize her. Not just because of her brooding, anguished energy field, which drags around her like the grey clouds above us, but because of her appearance. She’s replaced her baggy, slouchy top with a slim-fit sweater that I might even find attractive if she weren’t wearing my nose. Although her hair falling forward casts a shadow on her downcast face, I know it’s there and I’d like to rip it off. If all goes well today, I’ll end this in a few hours.

She stops in front of me, looks up at me. The familiar light tone of her face is covered with a consistent, skin-coloured glaze, her eyes are lined with black ink, her lips shines with lip gloss. The memory of Lili’s powder clinging to my lips like a grainy, sticky veil is vivid. Fortunately, her aura suggests that she prefers a handshake.

“Hi,” I extend my right to her. She squeezes it briefly, but with nowhere near her warm confidence of yesterday.

Did the motorbike ride affected her in such a negative way? No. Then she wouldn’t have dressed up like that.

I open the door of the café for her, we go in and sit down. Same place, same table, same noise. Yet everything is different. The tension is almost palpable.

“What’s wrong? Did she say something to you?” I ask in a low, kind voice.

She waves her head no.

“Did you get in trouble for being late yesterday?”

“No, not really…” She stares at me with lightless eyes.

This is going to be difficult. I can keep asking questions, or I can try to distract her. I’ll go with the latter.

“Anyway, I was very surprised by what you said yesterday about the relativity of good and evil. Not a subject most people would bring up on their first meeting. However, I have the same opinion. Understanding the motivations of different individuals, empathy is key, and not just in novels.”

“Yeah, sure…”

A waiter stops beside us, greets us politely and takes out his notebook to write down the order. He smiles, pretending not to see that Talia’s mind is somewhere else entirely.

“A hot chocolate with marzipan, please,” I say, breaking the awkward silence.

The man in the green apron walks away and I make another attempt to drag the girl in front of me back to life. Only to be the one to deprive her of it later.

“I know you’ve written it a long time ago, and perhaps you’re ashamed of it, but I’d love to read your writing about Draco.”

No reaction. It’s as if she can’t even hear me in that thick, suffocating bubble of energy. Almost bursting with bitterness, she keeps picking at her painted eyelashes. If it bothers her so much, why did she put on makeup? To look prettier because she’s unhappy with the way she looks? Or was it simply to impress me? For me, for whom it takes a lot of effort to maintain a scar without regeneration, it is imperfection that is the most attractive. Talia is no exception; she can put on any mask she likes, right now she is merely a faint shadow of the radiant, fierce girl of yesterday, who never thought of showing herself as anything other than what she is. She was just… happy.

“I can see something’s bothering you. If I’ve done or said anything to…”

“No, not at all.”

I remain silent. Sometimes silence speaks louder than words. I look out of the window to relieve the pressure of my attention, but at just the right angle so that she doesn’t feel left out or rejected. I glance over. She doesn’t return it, just stares down, tugging at the sleeve of her dress. This top must be unusual for her. But it suits her well; it accentuates her femininity while hiding the curves she’s ashamed of. But the way she’s squirming in it… On the other hand, yesterday, in that shabby suit, her direct honesty was… attractive. Far too attractive.

But that nose… It makes my hairs stand on end.

How did I not notice it the first time I saw her face?

A mug knocks on the table.

“Cheers!”

“Thank you,” I nod towards the waiter, and he smiles politely as he leaves.

I gently push the drink, decorated with whipped cream and chocolate pieces, to the middle of the table so that it falls into Talia’s line of sight, indicating that I’ve ordered for her, but she doesn’t reach for it, only bites her lip.

Tension builds inside me. Wherever I try to find my way to her, I meet closed doors. Complete, passive rejection. It’s as if she’s testing my patience on purpose, knowing that I’m having a hard time with compulsion. That’s why I get almost all my female victims to lie under me willingly, and although I no longer have similar plans for her, my task remains the same: to kill her. And to do this, she must get on my bike, preferably with foggy glasses.

What’s left that I haven’t tried? Reverse psychology.

“Of course, you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. However, as since we came in, I had to order something and I thought you might enjoy it. But don’t feel compelled. If you feel like you wanna be somewhere else, I understand. You don’t owe me an excuse either. If you want to go home…”

“No, that would be the last place…” The tension in her shoulders shows that her hands are clenched under the table. “Why would I want to go home? I would have to listen to my mother tell me again what a hopeless case I am. How I shame everyone with my appearance, my clothes, my bad grades, my very existence,” she shudders. “That I’m sloppy, lazy, do the dishes wrong, put the clothes on the dryer in the wrong order, fold the pants in the wrong way and have to vacuum my room three times before it’s spotless… That I ruin my eyes with primitive romance novels…, and that I’m a fat, unlovable pig who will die alone.”

Her aura rages as a new kind of tornado. It’s unusual to see so much repressed anger in such a young girl.

“I just can’t be like David, who can cut his way out of everything, who knows the solution to everything… Who could reason with Mom the way I never could… Even with Dad… Dad… At his funeral I tried to recall the good memories. Just to cry. But I couldn’t… ” A tear escapes from the corner of her eye, a dark streak runs down her white cheek. “Everything’s become worse since then. It was awful before, but now… I thought it would get better… But it didn’t. Mum has no Dad to blame, no Dad to fear, no Dad to fight. It’s just me now… Her fat, disgusting daughter…” Her voice is getting louder. “The one she never wanted. And she has to “make a sensible adult out of me”. I really try to get home on time, do my chores, study… But I can’t… I can’t measure up. Everything I do, nothing is good enough…” she grips the edge of the table with her hand, as if she wants to get up, but doesn’t.

She sobs.

Her voice, the sheer bitterness of her words, cracks something inside me, her pain seeps into me. Deeply, gradually, drop by drop; just as the black tears stream down her cheeks…
… on both sides of my nose…

“Everything I do…

nothing is good enough.”

Her face changes around her nose, her black tears turn red, her figure becomes smaller. The boy’s shoulder-length white hair clings to his bloody skin. He kneels on the ground with a saw in his hand and his severed wings in front of him. He is covered by the shadow of the dragon towering over him. With a single claw, they could crush him, but they do not. Though they would, they cannot. So they merely turn their sturdy heads away, so that at least they don’t have to see.

The boy trembles. Not from pain or fear of death.

But from the terror of being rejected. That even without wings, as a willing prisoner, he is not wanted by the one whose very soul lives inside him.

His shoulders shaking with silent sobs, his miserable sight silently crying “please love me!”
The dragon’s disgust, rage, helplessness, clashes with the boy’s aching loneliness and despair inside of me. That he would cut off his wings without hesitation for a few kind words from Alden, or a look that sees not the monster in him, but the fallen, helpless creature that lurks behind it.

Which one would I be? The dragon or the boy?

Perhaps both.

Before I realize, my hand settles on the girl’s trembling fist on the table.

“Just because someone doesn’t appreciate you, doesn’t mean you’re worthless,” I say, something no one has ever said to me,  even though I’ve longed for it.

Her sobbing stops, as if her throat had been slit with a knife, the shaking of her clammy, cold hands ceases under my palm.

What am I doing? 

            Don’t cry! I killed your father and I will kill you too.

I’m not Alden, and Talia’s not me. We don’t share a soul to inflict our own suffering on one another. It is not my duty to comfort her.

I pull my hand away.

When did it get so quiet? A few people continue to talk, but I feel the returning glances of guests and staff, their grey aura flickering accusingly. They blame me for the girl’s upset. Ever since Dad died, everything’s worse… – They’re right, after all. And scenes like this are not accepted anywhere. I feel like I’m tipping more than I planned.

“Sorry, I… I don’t know what’s got into me. I just…” She takes off her glasses to wipe her eyes, resulting in a dark mass on the back of her hand. “Oh, my gosh, I am a lost cause…”

“You are prettier without it.”

She starts crying again, though this cry is different. Sad, yet relieved. I offer her a handkerchief, which she gratefully takes and buries. She sighs deeply, her pink field of energy like a soft breeze after a storm. She wipes her face, her is flushed, but there are still a few black smudges here and there, mixed with foundation.

Should I mention it?

I push the barely steaming mug towards her. She stares at the whipped cream melted into the chocolate with round eyes. It’s as if she’s just returned from that other dimension, in the depths of her soul, seething with horror and waiting for the moment to burst to the surface.
She sips it and doesn’t break away until the cup is empty. She looks at me from under her puffy eyelids with a glittering gratitude, as if I were some kind of god.

An oppressive sensation pounding in my temples. I really hate to play that role.

I glance at the white, stylized clock of the café above Talia’s head. I promised Jev I’d be earlier today.

Why do I make such promises?

“Thank you for your trust,” I say. “If there’s anything bothering you, I’m here to listen. However, a dear friend of mine is also suffering from a serious mental crisis, and I have made a promise to him. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Her face is suddenly drained of blood, her aura flailing desperately. If she’d know me, she’d know that I’m not so easily scared off.

But she doesn’t. If she had, she wouldn’t be here with me. She’d be running, fleeing.

“Tomorrow, same time, same place?”, I smile to let her know that she hasn’t made a bad impression.

“That would be awesome.”

“I’m heading in that direction, so I can give you a lift home if you like.”

“Okay. I’ve brought a case for my glasses today, so I’ll have somewhere to put them on the road. I was so scared yesterday that I couldn’t see anything because of the fog. I might not be able to see much anyway; my eyesight isn’t very good.”

Or who knows. Maybe it’s getting better, like her heart and stamina.

Damn. How am I going to kill her today?

Can’t. I’ll have to go with the original plan. The slower but certain one.

“I-Is there something on my nose?”

“Just a little makeup. Here,” I point to that spot on my nose, disguising the real reason.

“Oh, well… I’ll go to the bathroom and clean myself up.”

“All right, I’ll pay and wait for you outside.”

And I’ll try to look less at your nose. It has a bad effect on me.

 

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Fifth floor. The door of the elevator opens and I step out onto the deep burgundy carpet of the corridor. The lights and the yellow illumination of the room numbers cast a dim glow on the beige walls.

A mix of modern and antique.

I inhale the scent of the expensive curtains and leather sofas.

Room 512.

Before I can make it, a whisper of words reaches my ears from the direction of the stairs. I praise myself for leaving the helmet on. I don’t want to be interacted with, so I turn the next corner onto the stairs leading up, where I lean against the railing and listen. It’s past 2am; I imagined these players would at least sleep normally during tournament season.

“… and I’ve been terrified of playing against him all year. When he announced he was coming, I seriously considered not attending.”

“It would have been a mistake, after all, he did blow it last year too.”

“True, but who would have thought it would happen a second time? Poor Anonymous, they’ve had it with him… No one will sign him next year for sure. “

I turn the room card back and forth in my pocket. Quickly, non-stop. They’re getting closer… What if they come this way? I should keep moving. The last thing I need is for my white hair to be associated with Jev’s character! I asked them not to model it after me, but…

“Come on, Devin! Why can’t I look at you while you’re making someone else happy?”

Idiot.

To my relief, the boys stop in the middle of the hallway. They wish each other good luck and say goodbye. I wait for the doors to close, then hurry on as quietly and quickly as I can to 512.

I reach for the shiny door handle, but my motion freezes in mid-air.

Why am I doing this? Jev is a dragon.

Love?

Come on…

Gratitude, responsibility?

Sympathy. Compassion that comes from the same emotion that keeps me from falling in love with her.

The look of admiration in her eyes, her touch hungry for love…

I haven’t felt so guilty in a long time.

I swipe the card against the sensor, open the door quietly and close it behind me. Maybe she’s asleep…

No. He is huddled on the edge of the untouched bed, his back to me, as if looking out the wall-sized window at the lights of shops, billboards and skyscrapers. Only his hunched back, trembling shoulders and soft sobs suggest that he is completely oblivious to the outside world.

I take off my helmet, jacket and boots and go inside. Cautiously, afraid that the room might go up in blue-white flames at any moment.

I sit down next to him without saying a word, the mattress sinking in underneath me.

He doesn’t speak to me, but with the silence, he creeps into my mind, taking away my autonomy, stripping my soul bare. It is not the kind of nakedness that I voluntarily give to another, but rather when something creeping under my skin uninvited, lying there and watching until even my own thoughts embarrass me.

I feel no anger. There is no reason. He doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s like breathing for him.
I know, because Alden is a dragon too.

And that’s exactly why I can never return the kind of love they have for me, no matter how hard I try.

Their shoulders are shaking more and more violently, their whole being is in a state of constant flux. It was as if they were waiting for my presence to unleash the raging torrent that will tear them apart again and again. Breasts and horns grow then recede, their nose turns from curved to straight and then dirty, their ears become pointed and distorted into the shapes of different animals. Scales appear on their skin, melt into fur, feathers appear, and then they become human-like again.

A cacophony of earthly and otherworldly creatures, of body parts. The ability they alone possess. That which makes them unique.

And outsider.

A dragon who eats meatloaf made of human flesh… Yet, they allow themselves to be wounded by the very same species.

Why?

For the same reason I cut off my wings after Alden gave up on me and set me free. For the same reason I studied hard and spasmed every nerve to consolidate my Power and become a Warden. For hiding my identity and trying to make people believe I’m not a monster.

For the illusion of normality.

It’s also why they dare the impossible, why they publicly disgrace themselves, why they tolerate being slandered – even though their brainwaves could incinerate the entire city in a fraction of a second.

And they would be lonelier than ever.

Maybe that’s what binds us. The desire to belong to someone.

I put my arms around them, pulling close. They rest their forehead on my chest, their clawed hands stroke in their hair, long and short, wavy and straight.

“They hate me…” they whispers. “All of them. The team I begged my way into, my fans… But what could I do…? They were all in my head. “

They rip into their scalp as if to force the madness into shape.

“All the eighteen thousand mind in the arena… The security guards, the workers, the staff… My team was talking to me through the headset too. But I couldn’t listen. Because I heard everyone and everything. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t do anything.

Maybe we don’t have to. Just accept that we can’t live as humans.

“You’re wrong. This game allowed me to live like any other being. Without the thoughts of others overriding my own. Without the insanity. And now I’ve lost all of this. “

“You can always take on a new identity.”

“I’ve been changing and running for thousands of years. But I can’t escape myself.”

“Then don’t.”

“I tried, but it’s impossible.”

“According to the rules of human, maybe. But you’re not mortal.  Even if you’ve lived among them for so long that you think you are one now.”

They embraces and hugs me. Still sobbing.

After a long time, when their tears have soaked my sweater, they settle into a female form.

I have no idea when we fell backwards or how long she’s been sleeping on my chest. The turtleneck, damp with tears and saliva on my skin, is becoming more and more uncomfortable.
Damn, I’m thinking again. I have no intention of waking her, so I quickly stare at a corner of the ceiling, looking for a fixed point. I empty my mind and simply exist.

The first rays of the sun rise above the city.

Talia’s face appears before me. I must kill her. It’s almost time for me to leave and get back.

Jev turns to her other side.

I’m thinking too loud, she must have heard me… She hears this too… She’ll ask me what happened yesterday. But she’s silent, buries herself in the hollow of my armpit, then embraces my arm.

Perhaps her own pain is greater than her concern for my problem.

“You’re right,” she says in a sleep-roughened woman’s voice.

“Hm?” I indicate that I can’t see inside her head.

“I can’t give up. I tried to blend in, to become one with the role of Metamorph and forget my identity. But I can’t. I must stand up for myself and my own well-being. At any cost. To hell with roles, rules, sportsmanship. I’m already considered a fraud. It’s time to take advantage of who I am.”

She gets a handkerchief from the bedside table, wipes her face. Takes another one and brushes it against my sweater, but as soon as she realizes it’s not the amount that could be soaked up like that, she pulls her hand back.

“I’m sorry,” she bows her head. “If you like, I’ll buy you one as soon as the shops open. Or I can wash it for you, unless you want to ride home in a Metamorph-logo T-shirt.”

“Leave it, I can take it. It’ll have time to dry in the six hours of driving wind. You should start thinking about what you’re going to do.

“Actually, I have a plan,” he hands me a handkerchief.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Do you remember that game designer I showed you on one of the live broadcasts?”

“The one who draws inspiration from the afterlife?”

“Yeah. He’s right here in the hotel, somewhere above us.”

“Do we know what we’re looking for?”

“No, but he’s definitely not human.”

I roll up my sleeve, take the handkerchief, but leave my palm extended.

“Two, please!”

And I got two. I press them to my temple, then close my eyes and let my horns pierce through my scalp. The handkerchiefs become drenched, the world expands, and my consciousness is flooded with the energy fields of the surrounding life forms. In the next room, four humans and a doxi are fast asleep. Despite the early hour, a cavalcade of colour is swirling in the street. In the adjacent building, a harpy seems to be in a distraught state of mind towards the end of their night shift.

But the person I’m looking for is here, in this building. Above us. I’m scanning the next floor. Forty-nine people. Higher still. And higher. A mass of grayness.

On the tenth floor, I stumble upon the orange aura of a druid. Is that him? I focus on the Alliance tattoo on my arm and my skin heats up along the lines of the seal.

It’s him!

“Tenth floor, fourth room on the left. If I’m counting right, that’s Room 1020. Druid. He’s  feeling good, though slightly tired. Alone.”

“Does he have Power? I don’t feel like dropping dead as soon as he sees me…”

I’m concentrating on the wing part of my tattoo, which is a challenge with my faded Power.

“I can’t feel it. But maybe that’s just my weakness… Though, considering the small number of Wardens the Alliance employs in the Underworld, I doubt they’d put one in the entertainment industry. Probably just a Watcher or Sentinel.”

“I agree.”

I pull back my horns, fill up the blood that’s left in their place as best I can, then give the handkerchief back to Jev.

Red on white… The waves of the past wash over me. The loss, the loneliness, the pain. The memory of all the people I couldn’t save. Blood, guilt…

I need a shower, right now. And fast, if I want to make it back by the time Talia’s done at school.

My chest itches. My bloody fingers touch a clammy substance, damp with tears and saliva.

“Does your offer of a wash still stand?”

 

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