Indigo Vamporium (16 page)

A needle longer then my forearm glints in a momentary flash of warning, and it's impaled so fast into my arm I don't have time to react, searing torture blasts brutal shock waves through my body.

He laughs, low and deeply amused, standing erect and strolling the way he came, disappearing into the darkness, leaving me here with a spike in my arm, squealing in paralyzed whimpers.

“A lesson for you sweetheart, roofies isn't an urban legend. You're an idiot for drinking it, your loss, my score.”

Staring into the monochrome gloom, the harsh clang of a metal door slamming closed shatters my fragile sanity, pulling a terrified sob from me.

Rattling with uncontrollable shakes, I snivel, holding a careful hand around the wound, squeezing to subdue the throb, cringing away from the damp wall which looks like black mold has scribbled Arabic script between the cracks in the bricks..

Metal on metal clashes, scraping and sliding like jousting jesters playing the xylophone with the locks on the door, severing my precarious hold on courage, forcing a sob into the sudden silence.

Quietly crying, sniveling in self-pity, I peer into the dark prison, making out shapes in shades of charcoal. A pillow and blanket are next to me, with a big black shape perched on the pillow like a tarantula ready to jump.

My inhalation freezes as I watch it wide eyed, afraid to blink.

It stays motionless, and we have an interminable Mexican standoff, until unable to bear it a second longer I inch off my shoe, lifting it up to thwack the life out of the predator. It doesn't run, move, flinch.

Paused an inch above it, I carefully lean forward, wondering if it's a macabre gift, like a body part, or something gross.

Tentatively poking it with my finger, soft velvet kinks, depressing under the scrutiny as delicately as tissue paper.

Now curious, my breath still gusting out of me in stress, I touch it again, screwing up my eyes to examine it. It's a flower!

A big black flower.

That's disturbingly romantic.

What kind of weirdo slaps you, sticks a pin into you like a living voodoo doll, but leaves a flower on your pillow?

Lifting it, trying to see it, it's unlike anything I've ever seen. It's big enough to fill my hand. Left behind, a note stains the cushion. Gulping, I pick it up, the light too dim to read a word, and after a quick check, my phone is no longer in my pocket.

Softly ambiance filters into the hovel and I twist instinctively to watch the source with wary caution. A lone flame hangs in an old glass lamp, the pressured rush of gas easy to discern in the absolute silence of my tomb.

He's watching me somehow.

Blinking nervously, my one nasty habit, I look around with the eerie light, noting a fluid filled goblet, a makeshift toilet, and a red teddy bear with the eyes missing.

Reading the note, all it says is;
Rare. Like you.

I feel like an experiment.

Chapter 21

Seithe:

Pangs of guilt haunt me and I can't shake the funk I've fallen into. Despair paints my world in despondent watercolors, smearing the wounded and anguished across all beauty.

I'm tired of trying to find the silver lining in a society rife with injustice, where deluded control freaks hold all the cards. My heart needs baking soda to put some happy lightness back inside it.

I miss Ellindt so much I'm tempted to beg Venix to let her return, but my pride stands like a military blockade between me and that last resort.

Swallowing the anvil lodged permanently in my throat, I shift upright, pawing through the bedside drawer, looking for the phone I chucked into it.

We really need to set up email accounts.

Finding it, I take it out, tapping out a text to Ellindt.

Please forgive me. I miss you. S

Sending it to her number, I hope it gets through.

Then I spot Tasmin's last text, telling me she'll meet me at Andi's at nine. Worry chalks my mouth.

“Regret burns like a red hot poker, doesn't it?”

Bolting off my bed defensively, I face Ellie's guardian. “Yes,” I manage to stammer, wishing I could hear when angels sneak up on us.

“Sitting here worrying isn't going to solve a thing. It's time we had a chat.”

“About what?” I ask defensively, watching him with wary caution.

“You have a riddle to solve. That'll help get your mind off your problems.”

“What riddle?” I ask.

“The eagle feather,” he smiles. “Let's go to the mountain and discuss it there.”

Without waiting for my permission or consent, he grabs me, transporting us to the far end of Table Mountain, far away from the tourist center.

He sits down on the low stone wall with a flourish, waiting for me to join him. Sitting next to him, I'm shocked at how late it is. Venix must have sedated me to keep me asleep for so long.

Arelstin holds the eagle tail feather, twirling it idly between his fingers, “Seithe, start with the basics. What does this feather teach you? What does it tell you?”

Huffing moodily, I glare at the perplexing object. It's almost black, that means it retains heat. It's also the color that sucks as camouflage when in flight, but works when nesting at night. And I say as much.

He nods, looking out into the hazing distance, “Good point. So when they need to rest, to rejuvenate, in a place of refuge and safety, the eagle is not only isolated and hidden where few can climb, but it's also hidden by virtue of its plumage.”

Arching an eyebrow, I'm wondering what the point to this exercise is.

Looking at me, handing the feather over, he says, “What about flight?”

“What about it?” I grumble. We all know eagles can fly, you don't need to be a genius to fathom that ounce of information.

“The feather, if nothing else, symbolizes flight. So discuss that aspect. Tell me your thoughts,” he says.

Staring at the feather, I wrack my brain for the obscure. Speaking aloud, I mumble, “The feather has a waterproof sheen, protecting it from rain, acting as a solid shield to ride wind, the wing shaped to carve through air currents the way a surfboard rides waves.”

He nods, smiling encouragement for me to go on.

So I do. Staring up at the sky from our lofty vantage, I'm picturing what an eagle would look like out there. “It's a predator, it has very few enemies because it's at the top of the food chain. So when it takes to the sky it's threatening, rather than stealthy. It's a black circling raptor with sight so keen it sees the smallest prey shivering in grass or running over the landscape.”

Arelstin nods again, “Precisely. It's king of the sky. It fears nothing, not even mankind. It can carry and kill prey up to thirty-seven kilograms, much larger than itself. And it's undaunted when faced with conflict. What do you know about eagles mating and fighting?”

“Nothing,” I shrug. This isn't exactly an area of expertise for me.

“They test their mate.” He gives me a naughty grin. “Did you know that? Did you have any inkling that eagles have such high standards they'll only mate with someone they consider worthy of their grace, skill, power.”

“I had no idea.” But that's truly interesting. I like that. Test your mate, weigh their heart, gauge the level of their commitment. I can relate to that. Be an equal, or move on.

My emotions sink lower with that realization. I have no equal. I'll never have an equal. I'm half angel, no human comes close to that. On the flip-side I may never equal a human either.

He ignores my loud thoughts, being subtle when he speaks to the wide open sky, “It's a game to her. She takes a twig, flies up high, and drops it. Her worthy mate will catch it in his beak while it free falls to the ground and return it to her. She repeats this process higher and higher, to her own limit, and only a mate that catches and returns it every time gets to bond with her.” He gives me a piercing glowing stare, “Seithe, that's what her heart is. You catch her every time she falls, or you don't court her. Your mate is not there to pamper your ego, or your heritage, she is there for you to keep safe, as her equal, and only when she knows you can catch her no matter how fast she falls, only then do you get her heart. And vise versa. She has to know she can count on you or it's a no fly zone. You only mate with someone who can fly to the same heights with you. Someone who just by their existence urges you to try harder, reach deeper, to be a better man, to fly to heights in a future you right now can only dream of. Only equals pass this test, only the resolute and fully committed to the chase and the catch. To be each others safety net, only they will last through the storms because where an eagle nests the winds are fierce.”

A worthy point, but I'm more interested in the other item he mentioned. Fighting.

“Tell me about how eagles fight,” I say, feigning disinterest and concentrating on the plume I'm holding.

“To attract a mate and defend their territory they fight in the air. Potential mates clash up high in brutal dogfights, locking talons and plummeting in death spirals. It sometimes ends in death because they're so tenacious and fearless they don't stop their clash to survive or avoid impact.”

“That's just stupid,” I say, looking at Arelstin.

“You think so? I don't. It's the ultimate sacrifice for love.”

I'm looking at the feather, wondering if I'm supposed to lay down my life for love. Am I? That seems self-defeating.

He breaks the buffering wind when he says, “Their eyesight is five times sharper than humans, they see more colors than humans too which overrides camouflage. Each of their eyes has two fovea for sharpness of vision, humans only have one.”

Stopping his lesson, he arches both eyebrows and stares at me pointedly.

I stare back, not knowing what the heck he expects me to say.

“You're capable of flight, Seithe. You have sharper vision, better reflexes, and see more of the spectrum of light than any human. You will face death and survive it no matter how brutal the clash. Eagles are not afraid of death, and when a storm approaches they fly toward it fearless, because they relish the air currents that pull them up that high. Storms come to your life for this reason. It's not a time for self-pity but a time to face the challenge like an eagle. Use the violent wind to pull yourself higher, because only when you're that far above the turmoil do you have the broader picture and know exactly when to drop out of the sky to catch prey, or impress the woman you love. Perception is everything. Timing is everything. An eagle is a predator, never a victim. They need no one but one mate to share their view with.”

I nod. Dive into the storm. Race it. Face it. The way I did inside Indigo Vamporium, the way I did with the Ningen. Some fights are worth the clash because the outcome transforms you, for the better.

I'm seeing a picture emerge. I'm chosen, because of it my hair is now whiter than god's. I'm a lone eagle. It's lonely at the top of the food chain. The only thing worth fighting for is love, and to protect your territory. I see it now. I have to fight for Taz – for Ellie.

I'm half angel, that makes me a warrior of the highest echelon, like the eagle is to the sky.

Nodding, I release the feather, watching it caught in the hands of the wind, tossed around to fall in an erratic dance to the bottom of the mountain.

It's served its purpose, I don't need a feather any longer.

I
am
the feather.

Looking out over Table Bay, at the fisheries in their neglected buildings, at the wharf and the Victorian and Alfred tip of the Waterfront, my heart's as heavy as the setting sun, sinking to the ocean floor, ruptured with corrosive darkness.

Movement to our left catches my attention and I see a russet furred animal, followed by three more. “Holy cow that's a big guinea pig. Is it radioactive up here?”

Arelstin laughs, “It's not a guinea pig. Locally they call it a dussy, but it's truly a rock hyrax. They live in large groups and love it up here. They're most active at twilight and dawn, and are a tourist attraction in their own right.”

“Oh,” I nod, worry gnawing at me again. Out of compulsive habit I take out my iPhone and read Tasmin's last text message again.

Sighing, I stare at buildings with windows which glitter like the facets of a diamond.

“Are we done?” I ask, eager to get home.

He nods, vanishing, leaving me alone.

Moving through space and time from our private spot after closing time on Table Mountain, I reappear overlooking Noordhoek draped in twilight, the setting sun casting so little light it's an anomaly.

I choose to sit quietly on a boulder, high up on the side of the mountain overlooking the vista. Sunset syrups the shimmering waves, oozing golden gloss.

Night smothers so fast, snuffing the dying ember on the horizon, bringing with it a seeping chill. My spirits droop with the dark, knowing it's another night she's missing, alone out there going through trauma.

Clouds gather in alarming speed, spurring me to move when the first rain begins to pound the ground.

*

Tasmin:

My world is a shifting floor of outer space, infinite, bottomless, malleable. The scarlet teddy keeps playing a poem, recorded somewhere in his belly, over and over...

It loops endlessly like Satan's laugh in the catacombs of the damned. It drools black ink across my thoughts, serenading me in  words turned tinny by the hollow heart.

Watching, waiting for you to see me

I've waited years for you to need more

Like a blind woman you don't acknowledge or see

You have holes for eyes, me you ignore

I'm done being invisible, the time has come

Recognize what I am, forge your allegiance little one

Mercy is yours if you open your doors... and see me.

Black coalesces into gelatinous balloons, bulging at me with every word. Bruises ring my wrists in blemish bracelets and my tush is numb from the morgue cold floor. Tears irrigate my eyes, deforming the darkness further.