Familiarity
Shed no tears, for the war has yet to begin. Gather thy families. Confess thy sins. For when we begin, we must remember for whom it is we fight. For whom we shall so willingly die.
“Uh,” I stutter, but Ty snorts into his food.
“Ityreus, mind your manners,” Trish scolds, and Ty looks as though he might retort, but glances sidelong at Rey–whose little blue eyes are homed in on her uncle.
“Arya, the God Queen might be all powerful, but she isn’t all knowing,” Marla says, poking Rey’s cheek. “Spill.”
“Okay,” I nod, glancing down at my food.
It looks delicious. And I certainly hadn’t eaten at the diner when I’d gotten there. I’d barely managed to flag down a waiter before Mary had shown up.
I hadn’t had much of an appetite after. Especially given the way she wouldn’t look at me, even though I know she saw me.
“Well,” I say, not looking at the others as I take a forkful of the tender meat and put it in my mouth, then groan. “Holy shit.”
Ty laughs, as do the others.
I glance up to see Marla’s hands around Rey’s ears, but the two women don’t look the least bit annoyed.
“I haven’t had–” I gesture with the fork to the food. “Probably ever.”
“Ever?” Trish asks, and there’s a note of sadness in her voice.
“One thing at a time,” I say, laughing a little. “You two can ‘older lesbian’ me later.”
“Deal,” Marla says, eating a forkful, her eyes locked on her wife.
But Trish is still staring at me.
“I’m the Dark One, right,” I begin again, and Ty lets out a gagging noise. I look up to see him coughing out his food, sounding particularly like a cat with a hairball.
“Ty didn’t know that” Marla says, watching her brother with a note of amusement. “That was funny.”
“Sorry,” I snort, and Trish waves me on. “Well, Bloody Mary has been, I guess, stalking me for the last however long. I don’t know when it started, but I can assume it’s been a few weeks at least.”
“Try four or five months,” Trish says, and Marla nods. “That’s when she told us about you, at least.”
“She could have shown herself,” I snort, probably a little more aggressively than I should, but the others don’t seem to mind. “Suffice to say, I got my butt kicked a few times, lost someone close to me, and only then did she deem it necessary to bring me here.”
“Was the person you lost your–” Trish begins, but I shake my head.
“Percy was straight. I found that out in the final days. Then she found out who I am. It ended poorly, and then she–” I glance at Rey, who seems to be absorbed in her food. “After a fight with Omen.”
“You fought Omen?” Ty asks, and I glance sidelong at him, a small grin growing on my face. “And then I got my ass kicked by Darkrend.”
Ty’s face pales, and he glances at the other two women. Almost like he’s realizing how close he is to a monster.
“Stop it, Ty,” Marla groans, thumping him on the shoulder. “She’s gay. You can’t hit on her.”
Oh.
“Yeah,” I say, grinning at him, this time a bit more warmly. “I’m just a heartbroken lesbian. Sorry, kid.”
“Kid,” he snorts. “I’m f–”
“Language,” Marla says, not even looking at him.
“I’m freaking twenty-four.”
“I’m thirty-something,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve got amnesia, too.”
“So, the God Queen picks up an amnesiac who can talk to the dead and wield shadows after she loses a few fights,” Trish says, not unkindly. “I don’t understand why you’ve tried fight her twice.”
“More than that,” I say, thinking back. “She also showed up in my bathroom last night after I nearly handed Loki his own teeth.”
“Girl,” Marla groans, shooting me a look. “I hate that guy.”
“You said in your bathroom?” Trish asks, not missing the comment.
“See, that’s the part that keeps pissing me off,” I say, and shovel another bite of delicious meat into my mouth.
God, I could really use about fourteen more of these meals.
“She showed up like three or four times before I got here,” I say, jabbing my finger at the table.
“Each time was a really, really dark time where I’d sort of given up.
And then she’d say something super sweet or whatever and be super comforting.
Then I get here and it starts like that, but the moment we hit the Cradle, she turned into this–”
I glance at Rey again, and Marla covers her vulpine ears.
“She turns into this icy bitch. Not only that, but she’s obviously treating me like a weapon, and I’m sick of it.
Loki and Beowulf want to just–” Marla covers Rey’s ears.
“To just execute me, and I think Azazel, Bast, and Morgana are the only ones against it. Hell, Morgana doesn’t seem to care about me at all, so–”
The table goes quiet, and I groan.
“I’m sorry, I just haven’t had anyone to talk to about this kind of stuff,” I say, glancing up at the others.
But they don’t look put off.
Ty, to his credit, is still engrossed in his food. As is Rey. But Trish and Marla are looking at each other like they can read each other’s minds.
“Have you wanted to give up a lot?” Marla asks, and I shrug.
“Yeah,” I admit, feeling my cheeks warm. “It’s not exactly table talk.”
Marla thumps Ty, and he nods. He scoops up his empty plate, then slings Rey under one arm like a sandbag. The kid squirms and barks, but they exit through the backdoor.
“Now it is,” Marla says, her voice lacking any of the goofiness it had earlier.
I lean back in my chair, wondering how I’ve managed to find myself here. These two have been nothing but kind to me. It hardly seems fair to dump everything on them.
But Marla’s studying me with dark brown eyes. Trish’s look more hazel, yet just as soulful.
“I can see spirits,” I let it out like a confession.
The women stay quiet, urging me on with their raised eyebrows.
“Like legitimately other side. And, I guess, after the last decade, it became a lot easier to give into the darker thoughts. It’s hard to remember you’re alive when you’re only ever surrounded by death.”
Trish slides from her seat and takes the one just beside me. Marla stands and moves to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of something like wine and three glasses.
She sets them down in front of us and pours an overly generous helping into each.
“You probably can’t even get drunk,” Marla says, but pushes it closer to me. “It’s the thought that counts.”
She’ll never know how much the normalcy of the comment means.
“Did you ever try to–” Trish asks, and I nod quickly before she can verbalize the whole thing.
“Once, really. Though, my unhealthy lifestyle and general disregard for my own safety probably counts, too. It was a few days ago, right after Percy had found out about me being the Dark One. I was sort of at my limit, and the spirits are mean fuckers. I think the more vengeful ones are just vocal, though.”
Neither woman speaks.
“I tried to slit my own throat—and that’s when Mary stopped me.”
Trish’s warm hand encompasses mine.
“When I woke up the next morning, it was like she’d never been there, but she’d cleaned me up and taken care of me.
Then when Percy died, I nearly did, too.
She was there again to pull me up and take care of me.
Then when Darkrend nearly killed me—and I’d been so, so willing to let it happen—Mary prevented it. ”
Tears prick at my eyes, and Marla pushes a napkin into my hand.
“She made me believe she actually cared about me and not my powers. Arya had always just been this brief solace from being this.” I gesture down at myself. “It’s only because of Azazel that the darkness no longer hides faces.”
“At the end of the day,” Marla says, pausing, and Trish nods for her to continue. “The God Queen has Tempest’s best interests at heart.”
“I know that–”
“But,” Marla continues, cutting me off. “It’s Tempest that she and the other Councilors care about.
The collective Remnants. And that’s how it has to be.
Mary can’t simply care about every single one of us.
She wouldn’t be the leader she is if she was so easily swayed into decisions.
She’s insanely old and has fought hard for where we are. ”
“I don’t know why she’s treating you this way,” Trish says, squeezing my hand. “You don’t deserve that. And I think you’re well within your rights to be pissed.”
“And we heard about the way you spoke to her and Loki at the last meeting.”
I find Marla’s eyes, and they glimmer with something like pride.
“If something were to happen to me tonight, and I were to die,” Marla starts, and I see Trish flinch out of the corner of my eye. “What would you do?”
“I—”
“Answer me, Arya. I’m attacked by some Darkrend thug on my way to get ice cream tonight. What would you do?”
“I’d kill them,” I say, surprised by the venom in my voice.
“You just met me, though,” she says, tilting her head.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, confused.
“And then what?” Trish asks, and I glance at her.
For some reason, it feels like a test—yet it’s one I clearly know the answer to.
My eyes trace the room around us. The fridge with the chaotic drawings only intelligible if one is three years old and full of childhood delight. The pans and pots that dangle from the center rack, all worn with use. The markings at the banister, each a snapshot in time as Rey grows.
Marla grins, wide and toothy.
“I’d kill them all,” I whisper, eyes watering with the weight of what she means.
“We don’t begrudge the Council for their priorities,” Trish whispers, rubbing soothing circles along my hand. “But the normal people down here need someone looking out for them.”
I want to ask “why me.” To scream out that I don’t want this.
But it is how it is. And I already know why. And, God, I can’t help but be thankful it is me who has this power. That I’m the one who was given it, not anyone else.
“So, your plan was to show me not everyone in Tempest is a cryptic god?” I ask, snorting softly.
“My plan was to make you a homemade dinner and ask why you were so desperate to die at the hands of Bloody Mary,” Trish says, smiling softly. “You’re the one who provided me a way in to explain why we desperately need you to find a reason to stay alive.”
As if on cue, Rey skitters into the room, her little humanoid paws sliding on the tile of the kitchen. She careens into the dining area and nearly takes out her jaw on my knee. A shadow tendril catches her at the last second, dangling the small, feral child by the ankle.
She shrieks in delight, pointing wildly at the tendril to her nearest mom.
“She’s precious,” I say, no longer fighting the tears.
“I’m her homeroom teacher,” Trish says, poking the fox child in the belly as she passes. “She has forty others in her class alone.”
Forty children Rey’s age.
“How many people are here?”
“Close to fifty thousand. There’s tunnels that go farther from this main cavern.”
“I don’t know that I can protect everyone,” I whisper, jostling Rey a little, making her break into another titter of giggles.
“You don’t need to,” Trish says from the kitchen.
“You just need to try. We all do. And I hate that the pressure is on your shoulders, sweetie. But it is. And no one has stood up to Loki or even the Queen. Ever. Yet you’ve done both.
I know it’s partially a lack of self-preservation, but it’s also that desire to do what’s right. That’s all we need.”
I nod slowly, finally letting Rey drop back to the floor. She leaps forward, colliding with my chest and settling on my lap.
“Shadow fun,” she in a deeply serious tone, as if that settles it.
“Can I–” I start, eyeing the leftovers.
“Of course,” Trish says, and I let another tendril grab the box from her hand. And then a fork.
I scoot Rey a little and devour the rest of the hot meal.
I can do this. I can be this for them.
For myself.