Chapter 12 Xolotl #2
A strange, tinny sound emerges from small speakers on the side of the drone. “This is General Phillips.” He clears his throat. “I—I’ll meet you tomorrow at sunup outside of Sacramento, south of the Travis Air Force Base, where Union Creek touches the perimeter road.”
“Agreed.” I flick my finger, and the drone explodes.
“You just absorbed all those bullets and stuff.” She’s shaking her head. “That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
I smile. “It’s just the beginning. Things are about to get much more interesting.”
Somehow, that was the wrong thing to say. Her face darkens. “This isn’t fun.” She clenches her tiny hands into fists. “You just killed all those people.”
“You know what I am,” I say. “I’ve never lied. I gave you a small respite, but it could never last.”
“You—you liked the burger.” Her shoulders slump. “You were learning that humans aren’t all bad.”
“Whitney, I never thought they were all bad. They’re out of balance. You haven’t been listening to me. I bear no malice toward humans. I’m simply fulfilling my purpose in this world.”
She bursts into tears, spins on her heel and stomps into the trees. I realize she’s probably trying to get away from the dead bodies, many of which are staring at us with still-open eyes. I know how humans feel about that, so I use a bit of wind to close them all.
I can feel where she’s gone, heading roughly down the coastline of the large lake toward the building where we rented the jet ski.
At her pace, we’ll take forever to get there.
I shift into my horse form, since she seems to object to it less stridently, and I catch up to her, bowing my front leg to offer her a ride.
She refuses.
Stubborn woman.
I walk beside her as she mutters.
It seems she thought she might change my mind about my purpose by showing me how interesting humans are.
That thought saddens me, because she seems truly distressed at her perceived failure.
Changing my mind about my purpose would be like making a storm.
. .that doesn’t rain. It would be like asking a fire not to burn, or a wind that doesn’t whip or scream.
I can’t be changed.
Not for her.
Not for anyone or anything.
I’m not human. I’m a force of nature that can’t be modified. She didn’t fail. She set herself an impossible task, doomed to fail from the start. I don’t know how to help her feel better.
But for some strange reason, I want to make her feel better.
I want her to smile. I want her face to turn red, or for her to turn toward me, ducking her head against my chest, her hands against my body. I’ve never wanted anything before other than death.
So that’s a little strange, but it doesn’t change my primary purpose.
Nothing can change my primary purpose, and I’ve bonded her to me, so now I worry that who I am will wreck who she is. As I’ve tried to explain to her, I do not hate humans. I especially don’t hate my Whitney, a terrible, tiny general who doesn’t want to command any troops.
We’ve finally reached the place where we left the rented jet ski.
Whitney’s face is stormy when she spins toward me.
“We just wrecked a thirty-thousand-dollar piece of equipment, you know, while you were murdering hundreds of soldiers.” She huffs and shakes her head.
“I’ve got to go in there and try and explain what happened to it, and I’m not sure I can bring myself to say, well, we blew it up while testing a re-purposed missile! ”
I consider shifting to deal with it, but I have a strange emotion when I start.
It’s not anger. It’s not happiness. It’s not an emotion I’ve felt before, but I’m.
. .apprehensive? Perhaps that’s the word.
I feel oddly reticent to take my human form, because then I’ll be expected to talk to her again, and she’s angry with me.
The silence, broken only by her muttering, has been a safe place for me to hide while she’s so upset.
Eventually she ducks inside the building. Part of me wants to follow her, but a larger part wants to stay in this nonverbal form. She’s using very angry words when she pushes past me to go in alone.
A quick moment later, she reemerges, throwing her hands up in the air.
“Apparently the owner ran away or something. I guess humans with any sense do that when fighter jets scream past.” She’s still shaking her head as she starts walking toward our Tahoe.
Then she glares at it. “Great. Just great. You blew up jets, destroyed drones, and killed tons of people, and now we have no keys, either, because you had them. Before all this.” She gestures at me like my form is the problem.
“Stupid horse. No key. Stolen jet ski that’s now tiny bits.
And we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a pile of dead bodies from soldiers who will never go home again.
” Tears are rolling down her face, but she sounds angry, not sad.
I’m definitely very confused. I don’t like any of this.
“Not that you’d fit inside the Tahoe, even if we had the blasted key.”
Only then do I shift to hand her the key. “I don’t lose things. My magic allows me to store physical objects.”
“Like missiles.” She’s scowling. “I remember.” She snatches the key, her fingers brushing against mine.
I like that brief touch, which is strange.
Never before have I wanted a human to touch me, unless it meant I was about to kill them.
In fact, I’m usually actively repulsed by their proximity, even my own champion or general.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve never before chosen a female.
I’m sure that’s the difference. I’m so busy thinking over my feelings and reactions that it doesn’t hit me until she’s putting the car into gear that I’m on the passenger side of the car.
It’s very strange, allowing someone else to take control of my direction and trajectory. “We need to head for the Travis Air Force Base.” I square my shoulders against the small seat, my head nearly brushing the ceiling. “That’s where we agreed to meet them.”
“We’re a few hours from there,” Whitney says. “They said tomorrow at sunup.”
The sun’s just setting. “What do you propose we do until then?”
Whitney frowns. “I don’t suppose you’d let me go?” She doesn’t meet my eye. She’s focusing on the business of driving, eyes intent on the road ahead as she pulls out of the parking lot and onto the small road away from Lake Tahoe.
“I won’t, no. You’re mine.” I’m surprised how strongly I feel about it. I’m not sure I could release her, even if I wanted to, but I definitely don’t want that.
“Well, is there something you’d like to do for the next ten hours, before we have to confront the US military?” She cringes. “Something other than killing lots of people?”
I chuckle. “What else did you have in mind? Is there another food you want to force me to consume?”
She doesn’t laugh. Her lips don’t even twitch. She just slumps over the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road. “Whatever you want.”
“Was there something else you wanted? You just worked on your training, and now I’m supposed to do something with you that isn’t killing. Wasn’t that the deal?”
She shrugs and says nothing.
It’s like. . .like she’s given up.
“Whitney.”
She doesn’t turn toward me.
“Whitney, what’s wrong?”
“Other than the fact that I’m chauffeuring a psychopath to his meeting with the US military where they’ll join hands and, I don’t know, kill half the population of the United States? Is that what you’re asking?”
“You aren’t yourself,” I say. “And I find that I don’t like it.”
“Oh, no,” she says. “You know, we’re driving back through the Donner party stuff. That’s Donner Lake.” She points. “It’s one of the sites in American history where people became the saddest and the most confused.” She sighs. “And that’s how I feel right now.”
“You’re confused?”
“You’re meant to kill people—it’s your whole purpose. So why did I meet you? Why did you bond me, if I wasn’t supposed to change that? If I couldn’t change who you are and what you want, then what was the point?”
“Does there have to be a point?”
Her hands clench around the wheel. “Shouldn’t there be a point? Isn’t there always a point?”
“I don’t believe there always is,” I say. “Or at least, if there is, I’m not privy to it.”
“Because you’re just a broken death machine,” she mutters, her fervency growing as she speaks. “No feelings. No changing. No growth. Just wake up, murder, lather, rinse, repeat.”
“Lather?” She’s making no sense, but at least she sounds a little more like Whitney usually does.
“Forget it.” She’s fuming again.
Fuming’s better than slumped and despondent.
“You know.” She’s sped up quite a lot. The car’s going faster than the marked speed limit, which is how I like to drive, but she usually chides me for it. “You’re stupid.”
“I’m. . .” I clear my throat. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Exactly.” She’s nodding now. “We’re passing the Donner lake, the Donner party settlement, and then soon we’ll cross their pass, the place where they finally cut through the mountains.
They left their homes too late, and they got caught in the snow on Halloween, and then they all died, alright?
Everyone criticizes them, because the idiots should’ve left earlier. ”
“Okay.” It feels like she’s building to something.
“But they were senseless, their deaths. Even though they were late, they could’ve headed backward to a meadow or something where they could have gathered some food or fed their animals instead of slaughtering them all.
They could’ve done any number of things and not died the way they all did.
But they were too stupid to do any of them.
They thought they could catch a break in the snow and climb over the mountain range that was immovable, unchangeable, a force of nature.
And I’m dumber than any of them, because I thought I could change you.
” Now, as tears roll down her face, she slumps again.
I hate it.
Her next words are the barest of whispers. “Can’t you even try to find another way?” Her expression, her demeanor, it pains me.
I wish I had another answer for her, but I don’t. “There is no other way.”
“You’re an idiot, and I hate you.” She sinks back down into her funk.
I’m at a loss for how to help her out of it. For all I know, this is her natural state of being. Perhaps the fiery female I’ve seen before now was the anomaly. Perhaps this is the usual Whitney, and she’s finally returning to her normal situation.
But I don’t really believe that.
We haven’t driven long, an hour or a bit more, when she pulls off the road without warning.
“What are we doing?”
She points at the window. “It’s totally dark now, stupid.”
I don’t love her calling me stupid over and over. In fact, it makes me angry, and I’m rarely angry. “What does the state of the light have to do with your actions?”
“You want to get there early, like a desperate guy on a date?”
I blink.
“You were told to arrive at sunrise. You should show up later than that, to show them that you don’t have to follow their directions.”
“If you knew where this Fort Davis was all along, why didn’t we go there long before now? It’s clearly where the military leaders are located.”
“Please.” She snorts. “I didn’t want to help you, idiot. Or did you forget?”
“You didn’t seem to hate me earlier today. You were learning things. I was teaching you to use water and fire.”
“Then you murdered hundreds of humans, like you swore you wouldn’t.” She’s scowling.
I hate it.
“Whitney, you know this is what I do. You persist in calling it murder, but for humans that requires malicious intent. I have no desire to harm or destroy certain humans. My desire is to bring balance back, and that simply—”
“That’s a lie. You want humans to die, and that’s all the intent required. Say you’re impartial, say it isn’t personal, but it is to them, and it is to me.” Her eyes flash.
“But my actions aren’t personal. I’m just pruning.”
“You’ve said.”
She’s quiet after that for a while, and I realize as she turns into a parking lot that we’ve reached another hotel. I like that idea. She was happy last time, when I made her a dress. She turned on a television show and told me to watch it. “Will we watch Gilmore Girls?”
She slams the car into park, and then turns sharply, her eyes flashing. “Why on earth would I do that with you? Hopefully they’ll have two rooms available, and I can spend at least a few hours apart from you.”
“I forbid it,” I say. “We will share a room.”
“No.” She looks ready to punch me on the nose. “I’ll never do that again. I’d rather die.”
I lean across the center console of the Tahoe.
“Whitney Brooks, you are mine. You seem to have forgotten that, but you’re not my boss.
I’m yours. I own you. You will share a room with me, and what’s more, you’ll share a bed with me again.
” My face is inches away from her, and I feel strange.
Hot and angry and frothy. “I liked sharing a bed with you.”
“I will not share anything with you. You can just kill me first.”
My eyes drop from her flashing eyes to her large, full lips, and I feel a strange desire to press my mouth to hers. When I think about doing it, my whole body heats up even more. I lick my lips, and her eyes dart down to mine.
I like it, the feeling of her eyes on my mouth.
I shift closer, wondering whether she would slap me if I did press my mouth against hers.
I like the idea of her slapping me, with her eyes flashing, and her cheeks bright pink.
I want her breath to heave, and her hands to shake.
I want her to stare at me, or glare at me, as long as she’s looking at me, thinking about me.
Because she is mine. She belongs to me. Eventually she’ll stop struggling.
Her mouth opens just a bit, her full lips shifting as she inhales.
But before I can decide whether to act on my bizarre and illogical desires, I hear a loud crashing sound outside of the vehicle. Then a familiar voice yells, “Where in the world are you, brother?”
I close my eyes.
“Brother?” Whitney’s mouth dangles open. “Is someone you know here?”
Then there’s another crash. “Where is this? Are we on the top of a mountain?” A sequence of expletives in Egyptian follow. “You have the worst timing, Ta’xet, I swear. Always.”
My brothers are here.
And I find that I deeply regret calling for them in the first place.