Heiresses of Russ 2012 Page 6
•
“Good morning,” Lila said to Wylie. He ignored her. She dropped some money in his cup, as usual.
“Flashy in the sunlight. Flash like wings.” He looked up at her. “You be careful, girl. She’s a flashy one.”
“What do you mean?” Lila asked.
He shook his head irritably. “Blood will out,” he said. “Her kind will be coming for me soon, mark my words.”
“Whose kind? Wylie, who’s coming for you?” Lila asked, knowing the answer.
“I give you my power willingly.” He gave her an oddly proud look, and then lapsed back into muttering. Lila backed away before he could start screaming again.
•
That night Lila dreamed of lions and Rebecca. She was surrounded by the beasts in a little clearing, and Rebecca was looking on, terrified. “Lila, come away,” she called. “You’ll get hurt.”
Lila ignored her and went on shearing the lions’ manes. Golden hair piled up in her lap as lion after lion lay down before her to be shorn, and she felt herself fill up with power until she was shifting in her seat, barely able to contain it all. As she finished with each lion, he moved a short distance away and went to sleep. Rebecca began to weep, quietly, but Lila went on ignoring her, although inside she was screaming with the need to go and comfort Rebecca.
The last lion approached, but instead of lying down to be shorn, he roared in Lila’s face. Rebecca screamed and the lion turned around, saw her, and crouched to spring. “No!” Lila screamed as it pounced, and lasers began spearing down out of the sky.
•
“Laser eyes and all, huh?” They were lying in Lila’s bed above the shop, letting the afternoon breeze dry the slickness of their lovemaking.
Rebecca snorted. “They’re not actually our eyes,” she said. “Though we do control them that way. They’re attached to our helmets, like this”—she wiggled her fingers at the sides of her head like antennae—“and the helmet tracks where we’re looking and fires if we squeeze our eyes the right way. Tons better than aiming by hand.”
“Plus it’s really scary, right?” Lila teased.
Rebecca nodded matter-of-factly. “Plus it scares people.”
•
When her basement was nearly full, she took to flying around the city at night. She took care to keep low and out of restricted airspaces. There were Angels everywhere in the skies these days, with metal wings that glinted in the moonlight. If you were a descendant of Lila’s line you did best to stay beneath their notice.
She flew over the zoo nearly every time, buzzing low over the empty lion habitat. She thought she’d like to try her hand at trimming a lion’s mane, and remembered the feel of it in her dreams, rough and strong under her scissors. She pictured the awe on the onlooker’s faces as she finished, and the lion went to sleep at her feet. But she never saw any lions.
•
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“An Angel,” Rebecca said promptly. “What about you?”
Lila thought for a long time. She supposed she could have been nearly anything. Her aunt Maxine cut off people’s destinies with their hair. She was the Queen of Las Vegas these days, and while she didn’t see many clients anymore, she would have had a spare dream or three tucked away for a favorite niece. But Lila had never wanted to be a princess, or rich, or famous. She just wanted to fly. “A barber,” she said at last. At least she didn’t have to keep each client’s hair separate, like Maxine did. What a bother.
Rebecca laughed delightedly, a tinkling sound that Lila thought she could listen to forever. “So we’re both living the dream, aren’t we?”
“For now,” Lila said pensively. That morning, when she’d gone past his usual corner, Wylie had been gone. Only his cup lay there on its side, the sole testament to the fact that he’d existed at all.
•
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Rebecca said, pulling away from their comfortable Sunday afternoon embrace on the park bench. Not nearly so many old ladies sniffed as they passed as Lila had imagined. “You’ve been tense for days. What’s going on?”
Lila considered her words carefully before she spoke. She hadn’t been able to fly for a week now, because patrols of Angels had been over her house every time she considered it. The feeds didn’t suggest any reason why they might be in her neighborhood, other than the obvious, so she was lying low, not taking more than her hands absolutely demanded of her when she cut hair.
It hurt to give up flight, though, when she’d been so long grounded, and she resented the need. If only the Angels would see that she was essentially harmless. Her ultimate grandmother’s traits had bred true, and everything she cut grew back. But the city had its rules, and under them she was a witch, and not to be suffered.
“It’s nothing, really,” she said at last, when Rebecca gave her a quizzical look. “It’s just—my rent went up last week, and I’m not sure how everything will shake out.”
“That’s terrible!” Rebecca opened her mouth to speak again, but stopped, an odd expression on her face. Lila could hear a faint buzzing as Rebecca dug a phone out of her purse. “Dammit—I wasn’t supposed to have to go in today—” she muttered.
Lila laughed bitterly. So today was the day that they’d come for her.
“Lila…?” Rebecca said uncertainly.
She forced herself to give a smile that she knew looked false. “It’s nothing. Go ahead—if you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go.” She bared her teeth even wider in a parody of cheer. “We’ll catch up another time.”
Rebecca gave her a haunted look. “I never—I have to go,” she said urgently, holding up the phone. “They’ll be wondering—”
Lila barely had an instant to register Rebecca’s weight shifting and then her arms were full of her, warm mouth soft and slightly open on her lips. She kissed back, desperately, hardly able to believe that this was happening. Not so soon, she thought.
“I love you,” Rebecca said, slightly muffled against her mouth. “I’m sorry, I have to—” and then she was pulling back, and then she was gone, sprinting towards the nearest transit stop.
A few minutes later, Lila realized she was standing outside her own front door in a daze, one hand on her lips. She gave herself a shake and hurried inside.
•
She saw them coming an hour before they got to her shop. She had that much strength and more, these days. She didn’t run, though. She was done with running. She sat in her kitchen and waited for the Angels and their laser eyes.
A sudden banging came at her door, and she started. The Angels wouldn’t knock—they’d just come in. Thinking it was an unexpected customer, she went to warn them off. The words died on her lips when she saw Rebecca standing there.
It was the first time she’d ever seen Rebecca in her Angel suit. Her wings were resplendent in the sunlight, nearly blinding as they caught and reflected the beams. Lila could see at the sides of her helmet where the lasers would emerge to burn their way through obstacles—or wrongdoers. Lila supposed she was a wrongdoer. She took a deep breath, although she didn’t know what to say.
“We have to go,” Rebecca said. Her face was white and drawn. “Lila, they’re coming, we have to—”
It only took a second to regain her equilibrium. Not a wrongdoer after all. She smiled, and felt as though she might burst. “I’m staying here,” she said gently. “I’m tired of running.”
Rebecca stared at her. “But it’s not true,” she said. “You’re not a witch, they’ve just got it wrong. We have to run, until we can prove to them that you’re not.”
Gingerly, she reached out and took Rebecca’s hand. “Do you even know how much I love you?” she asked. Rebecca just looked confused. Lila could see the Angel formation approaching in the distance. “Follow me, if you can,” she said, and took off .
For a moment she flew alone; then she heard Rebecca’s burners kick in, and she caught up, calling Lila’s name.
“We don’t call ourselves that,” she said. “It isn’t magic, exactly. It’s just a family tradition.”
She felt the air underneath her grow less supporting, and she dipped alarmingly. “Lila!” Rebecca shouted as she fell.
At the last second Lila managed to pull herself out of the dive, and she knew the Angels had found her basement, were dragging the garbage bags out and into the light, setting them afire with lasers that weren’t their eyes. “We have to land soon,” she called. Rebecca had pulled ahead, but somehow Lila knew that her dip was agreement and not fatigue. Soon they were landing in a clearing.
The first thing Lila did was take stock of her surroundings. The high fences gave her pause, but then she realized where they were—it was the empty lion cage at the zoo.
Only it wasn’t empty. A lion paced the confines of the cage, watching them with his yellow-hazel eyes.
“Lila,” Rebecca said with alarm. “I don’t have much more power—”
Lila bounced on her toes a little, catching the lion’s attention for a moment. Nothing happened. “I’ve got none,” Lila said, stepping forward to stand in front of Rebecca. She dipped one hand into her apron pocket, gripping her shears tightly, although she didn’t take them out. At least she’d make the beast pay for their lives.
The lion stalked closer, and then did something inconceivable: he lay down in front of her, quiescent.
Rebecca gasped behind her. Unbelieving, Lila bent slowly to run a hand through his mane. She felt a strength in the lion that was both unexpected and familiar. “Wylie?” she breathed. The lion turned his head slightly, rubbing his mane against her hand.
Was it even possible? Lila didn’t know. Wylie had had power, but this was unlike anything she’d ever heard of. No time, she thought. She turned back to Rebecca. “It’s OK,” she said. “I think it’s OK.”
The lion made a strange groaning sound in his throat, and nudged his nose at her apron pocket. Only long practice at hiding her emotions kept Lila still. The lion nosed her insistently until she removed the shears from her pocket, then nuzzled them.
She cast a wary eye at the sky. The glint of Angels’ wings was closing in. “Do you want a haircut?” she asked the lion, feeling inane. She ran her hand through his mane again. He was so strong…
At her words, the lion lay quiet again, turning his head so that she could easily reach his mane. Scarcely daring to breathe, she grasped the coarse hair in one hand, brought the shears forward, and began to clip.
Strength like nothing she had ever felt flooded her as the golden locks fell around the great head. She knew she could fly again, suddenly, but she kept on snipping until the mane lay on the ground and she hummed with strength.
“Lila,” Rebecca said again, uncertainly.
“Sssh,” Lila hushed her. “Come here.” She held out her hand, peremptorily, not paying any attention to the propriety of it. The glints of metal in the sky were getting closer. Rebecca took her hand, but still stood apart, so she drew her closer. “Come on, love.” She took Rebecca’s hand, placed it on the lion’s head. Rebecca gasped, but stroked the shorn head gently. “You poor thing,” she breathed.
“He gave me his power willingly,” Lila said softly, still awed by the lion’s gift. “It’s even stronger for that.” Holding tight to Rebecca’s hand, she summoned all her strength. “It’s time to go, love—are you ready?”
Rebecca smiled, and it nearly broke Lila’s heart. “Of course I am,” she said.
Together, they sprang into the air. Rebecca folded her useless wings with a shrug of her shoulders as they cleared the cage and headed west. Lila blinked and used her free hand to shade her eyes as they flew into the late afternoon sun. The first of the lasers speared the air just behind them.
“Stop immediately or you will be brought down,” a man’s voice called out behind them. “Rebecca Clifton, you are wanted for aiding and abetting the flight of a witch from God’s justice.”
“We’re not going fast enough,” Rebecca said.
“Stop immediately,” the voice repeated. “This is your final warning.”
Lila reached deep, pulling power for a new burst of speed. She wasn’t used to carrying two, and it took more than she thought it would. “Hold on,” she shouted to Rebecca over the wind. She felt Rebecca squeeze her hand in response.
Behind them, the voice called, “Fire at will.” The lasers ripped through the air.
The most uncanny thing about the chase was its near-complete silence. Lila could hear her own harsh breathing over the howl of air rushing past them, but the lasers made no sound. Only the occasional flash of light betrayed their existence.
Suddenly, Rebecca gave a cry, and her hand slipped slightly in Lila’s.
“Rebecca!” Lila shouted. She clutched at Rebecca’s hand, but it continued to slip. Twisting desperately, she brought her other hand around, locking it on Rebecca’s wrist, holding her up.
They listed wildly in the air, losing speed with every second, and Lila fought to right them. She had no idea how badly Rebecca was hurt. Her chest ached with the need to stop and find out. Instead, she screwed her eyes shut, reaching as far as she could into her reserves. Energy coursed through her and they flew even faster. At last, Lila felt Rebecca flex her fingers against her own, in the first sign of life since she’d been hit.
Lila risked a glance over her shoulder. The Angels were falling behind, their lasers no longer in range. It wasn’t a moment too soon—she felt herself burning through the power the lion had gifted her too fast.
At last, they came to the outskirts of the city, and the Angels gave up the chase. Lila didn’t stop flying, although she did slow down a little.
“Rebecca,” she called over the wind. “Are you all right? Do you need to stop?”
“It’s OK,” Rebecca gasped after a second. “My armor deflected it, but it scared me.”
Lila felt a smile spread over her face. They were going to make it. “Where to, love?” she asked.
•
After the chase, and the flight, Lila and Rebecca settled in a new city, where there were no Angels, and opened a barbershop. Soon they had built up Lila’s clientele, and Lila’s strength grew again.
They called the shop The Lion’s Mane, and when anyone asked why, Rebecca smiled and said, “There was a lion, once.”
•
Daniel
Emily Moreton
Don’t they often say that the way to hell is paved with good intentions?
So it was for me, or perhaps to say that I cannot see a better reason for me to be so careless with something I knew I had to hide, not least when I knew that the mistress of the house would shortly be home.
Though perhaps in my defense I might say that I could never have known she would return exactly at the moment I was bent over a bucket of water long gone cold, warming it with my words and my hands, rather than the large fire in the corner. Had I, I may perhaps have taken greater care, and though my place would likely still have come to an abrupt end, it would possibly not have done so in a way which led to me running through the streets of London without anything but the clothes on my back, followed by her butler.
And in the rain, no less, as though I truly need more than my haphazard dash, or the butler of the house shouting after me, to draw eyes to me. I shudder to think of my mother’s reaction, though in truth, her reaction to my carelessness would likely be far worse were she to hear of it, God forbid.
I duck between two rows of houses, mud splashing up, cold over my bare legs and my leaking shoes, but I know this area well after two years of living close by, well enough to know where I’m going and even, possibly, to outrun my pursuer.
My clothes are plastered to my skin with the rai
n water, my hair likewise, the weight of the water at least holding it back from my face, though this is a small comfort. Though it may be high summer, and warm with it, my clothes are hardly suitable for weather such as this, and my clammy skin is making it all the worse.
Behind me, I hear voices, commotion, footsteps. I don’t dare look to see if they’re after me, not when my swiftly chosen destination is so close. If I can make it behind a closed door, I’ll be safe, at least for a day or two. Maybe longer; I doubt my mistress, or my master on his return, will choose to raise much public notice of why I no longer work for them, nor put so very much time into punishing me for my misdeeds.
The door I want is propped open with a wooden stool, upon which I bang my shin as I try to arrange my chilled legs to jump over it, and so I make my entrance in a tumble of damp clothes, damp hair, and flailing limbs, finally coming to a halt on my knees in the middle of the floor.
Fortunately for the small scraps of dignity remaining with me, there is only one occupant in the room, the one I’ve come looking for.
“Dorothy!” he says, leaping to his feet from his desk. “Whatever—”
I hush him, scrambling to tuck myself against the wall where I might be less easily seen by anyone looking in. “I’m well,” I lie, pushing my hair back, disgusted at the way the tangled curls catch against my fingers. “Last time you were at the house, you said there would soon be ships leaving port.”
George lays his pen down and brings me a towel, not quite so thick as those in my last house, but still good for all that. Being so well thought of for a scribe in these parts has done much for George’s income, though he remains little more than ten years from my age. It has at least been enough to help him conceal his own secret, so much like mine that I recognized it in him as he did in me. “I suppose it would likely be best not to ask why you feel a sudden need to leave the country, as though I cannot make a good guess,” he says dryly as I apply the towel to my hair, then roughly to my face and arms, trying to bring some warmth back.