Strange Tongue (Part 2 of 3)

Beneath the table, I press my hands into fists and those against my thighs. I don’t know what I’ll do if this hasn’t worked.

I take a slow breath and in a shallow voice, I ask, “Mom?”

Vertical lines etch into the skin above his nose as the frown deepens. Slowly, his eyes meet mine. He squints.

“Alan?” The voice is soft, surprised, but still unmistakably David’s and I realize that if the powder didn’t work, he’s going to think I’ve lost my mind.

“Yes,” I say, trying to sound casual. “It’s me.”

David’s eyes swoop around the coffee shop, taking it all in before returning to me. “What have you done?”

There is no mistaking that tone, even in David’s nasally voice. I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Mom.”

She – he grabs my face, turns it roughly from side to side. “This is real? You’re, I’m here? With you?”

“Yes, but I don’t think we have much time.”

“I shouldn’t be here.” She looks down at her chest – David’s chest, lifts his hands and studies them. This time her voice is full of horror when she asks. “What have you done, Alan?”

I’m struck by the surrealness of seeing my mom’s expression interpreted by David’s face. He looks twenty years older, but also like David, at the same time. For a moment all I can do is watch David’s mouth twist into my mother’s. It would be funny if it wasn’t so scary.

“I needed to talk to you.” Hearing the words out loud, I realize how pathetic they are. I ripped open the veil, pulled my mom out of wherever she was, and forced her to possess a slightly annoying, but totally innocent college student who just wanted to study for his o chem midterm. I don’t even know what happened to David. I never thought to ask. Is he in limbo? Can he see us right now? Does he know what I’ve done?

The fury on his face is all Mom. “You promised.”

“I know but—”

“No.” She/he leans forward and speaks low through gritted teeth. “No magic. Ever. It’s too dangerous.”

I put my hands flat on the tabletop and brace myself for what I have to say next. “Something’s happening to me.” How could I tell her about the dreams? How ever since she died, there's this hunger building inside me. How almost every night now I dreamt of flames, and screams. Horrific scenes of people begging for their lives as they burned to death while I laughed, a delicious power surging through me, filling me up the way no meal ever could. And worst of all, it was me who set them all on fire. “I need to know about my father.”

David’s face contorts with rage. The words spew out of his mouth in one angry stream. “I did not spend every ounce of my lifeforce shielding you from his influence just so you could seek him out the moment I was gone.”

I jerk back, her words a slap to my face. “What?”

No. Mom had cancer. It ate away at her. The potions she drank were for healing. But I remember the name of the recipe – Soul Saver. The way she was always running her hand through my hair just before she mixed up a new batch.

“Alan,” she grabs my hand with both of hers. Her mouth is open, but no more words come out.

“Hey lovebirds,” a man’s voice shouts from behind me. “You think I can get some coffee?”

I turn around to see the counter is empty. Kris must’ve gone on her break. A red-faced man glares at me, taking a moment to glance pointedly at my hand in David’s before crossing his arms and making what I’m sure he thinks is a hilarious joke. “If you’re done gazing into your boyfriend’s eyes, maybe you can come take my order.”

A few of the other customers laugh and I feel my face get hot even though he’s got it wrong and I wouldn’t be embarrassed to hold my boyfriend’s hand in public, anyway. If I had one. “Sorry, sir.”

I choose a pace somewhere between walking and running. I don’t want him to think I’m rushing for him, but I don’t know how much more time I have with Mom. And I don’t want to be anywhere near David when she leaves.

I feel Mom’s eyes on me as I hurry through making the man’s triple espresso.

“You know, I don’t have a problem with you guys,” the man says when I hand him his change. “Just keep it on your own time. This is a place of business.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and the hunger flares in me. I would love to watch this idiot burn.

I shove the fantasy aside and sit back down across from Mom. She’s doing that thing she used to do where it’s like she’s looking inside me, like she can read my thoughts. It’s unnerving to see that knowing look on David’s face.

“You’ve changed.”

I almost laugh. She has no idea. “I know. Tell me what you meant about my father.”

David’s eyes fill with tears and I’m amazed that his body reacts to my mom’s emotions. She’s really in there.

“I thought I could protect you. I thought if I raised you right, you’d never need to know.”

“Mom, please.”

She nods her head quickly and wipes her eyes. She takes a deep breath and spits it out. “Your father was a demon.”

The sights and sounds of the café fade away until there is only the word “demon” echoing in my brain, and David’s tear-streaked face pleading with me. And I know in my gut that she’s telling the truth. This isn’t some nightmare, or a sick joke. My father was a demon, and so am I.

David/Mom wraps his arms around his stomach and gasps. “I have to go.”

“Wait!” I say, too loud, but I don’t care.

“Be careful.” David’s body hunches over the table. The muscles in his face strain and push against each other as my mom fights for her last words. “Now that you know, he’ll find you.”

David’s eyes roll up as he collapses face first into his notes.

She’s gone.


******
Come back Friday for part 3 by Lacey!

Photo by Jayeb333 via Flickr Creative Commons

Strange Tongue (Part 1 of 3)

David Stokes is as regular as a period.

My mom told me not to speak of things I have no earthly way of knowing about, but there’s really nothing else to it. David arrives when you expect, orders the same whole milk grande latte with a dash of nutmeg on top, stays for about as long as you’d expect, and when he leaves, it’s a temporary relief. He’ll come again and probably sooner than you’d like.

Today is no different. At exactly four oh three, he pushes through the drafty front door of The Bean Queen and walks right up to the counter. I’m already steaming the milk, but he states his order anyway, “One grande latte, whole milk, thanks, Alan,” like it’s all one word, like my name is an ingredient in his 4pm fix. He leaves a five-dollar bill on the counter and moves to claim his usual table in the corner. It’s the one beneath the art deco print of an impossible looking girl looking at her reflection in a mirror. It’s about as odd as he is, but I think his preference is more about the corner and less about the art.

The machine squeals as it presses the last of the juice through the beans. I hit the button with one hand, frothing the milk with the other. It might not be as fancy as the prints on the walls, but mixing the perfect latte, especially for someone as regular as David Stokes, is an art. My mom taught me to take pride in my work, even when others didn’t.

I pull a mug from the top of the machine, where steam warms the ceramic. In the bottom, I place one of her favorite earrings. A stud. It’s small with a diamond set in gold, all of it fake if I knew her at all. We never had money for luxuries, though that hadn’t stopped her from bending over backward to get me a laptop for my freshman year of college. Her argument was that “Education isn’t a luxury, Alan,” but neither was medicine.

Selling the laptop was the only time I’d ever lied to her, but we needed the money. She needed the money. And now I need her.

I slip the small folded paper envelop from my pocket. Its contents look like nutmeg and sugar and smell like fresh cut wood and something light and sweet. The woman who sold it to me through the back ally door of the local new age boutique store down the road called it Strange Tongue. I hadn’t bothered to ask what was in it, only what it would do. If it didn’t work, I’d be out more than the price of a laptop.

Covering the earring with the powder, I glance over the top of the machine. David Stokes is in a red shirt, which is almost funny. His coat and scarf hang on one of the knobs that dot the wall sporting a mural of a regal looking coffee bean. As expected, he’s covered the table with his organic chemistry books and is tearing up the paper of his notebook with formulas and atomic structures. It’s perfectly predictable. David Stokes is perfectly predictable, which makes him exactly what I need.

The woman’s instructions had been to find a creature of habit. Spirits have an easier time with chaos, she said, so finding a creature of habit was basically like ensuring that whatever happened wouldn’t be permanent.

“I’m sorry,” I say under my breath. David has no chance of hearing me, but saying it aloud makes me feel better. “And thank you.”

The espresso goes in first and the powder hisses as it melts into the black liquid. I lean over the cup and speak the words the woman gave me. They’re written in clear block letters on a sticky note in my pocket, but I’ve been repeating them to myself all day. I watch for a second to be sure the earring doesn’t float, which I realize now I probably should have done before, but the surface becomes placid. The earring stays at the bottom and I pour the milk over, shaking the foam into a delicately ridged pattern that David will never notice.

Before I can think twice, I slide the cup onto the counter and take the five. “David,” I say, slapping his change down.

As usual, he takes the leftover dollar and stuffs it into the over-sized coffee mug on the counter with a handwritten sign that reads, “If you fear change, leave it with us!” I barely manage a “Thanks, man,” before he scoops the change into his pocket and returns to his table.

Focus is difficult after that. I keep one eye on David in the corner as I mix drinks that are more syrup than coffee for girls who are more sparkle than substance. They lean on the counter, fishing for discounts with low-cut tops, but my eyes are on David. I don’t know what to expect, but I don’t want to miss it.

Five sips in, his head dips and I make change for the girls in a rush. They leave in a burst of giggles. I didn’t miss the shot at my preference, but I also couldn’t care less.

David hasn’t moved for a full minute. His head is bowed over his chem books, his hands limp on the table. I slide into the seat across from him. It wobbles beneath me as I lean forward.

“David?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

His eyes blink slowly and his arms fall from the table to wrap around his stomach. The gesture makes his shoulders slope in on themselves. He looks cold, small. When he raises his head, there’s a little frown on his lips, the kind that sits to heavily in the eyes that the lips have no hope of hiding the hunger behind them. It’s a frown I know so, so well.

I lean forward until my chest presses against the table. My heart pounds against it, each beat coming more quickly than the previous one, all my hope raging inside me like a storm. I swallow and know my voice will shake before I speak. Beneath the table, I press my hands into fists and those against my thighs. I don’t know what I’ll do if this hasn’t worked.

I take a slow breath and in a shallow voice, I ask, “Mom?”

******
Valerie's up on Wednesday with Part 2!

Photo by Jayeb333 via Flickr Creative Commons

Girls With Guns (Part 3 of 3)

“What do I call you?” I ask, backing away from Amie’s twitching fingers.

“Tam.” She’s by the door, the gun still trained on Amie’s body. I don’t think it’s so strange anymore. It might be the only comforting thing that’s happened tonight.

“This way, Tam.” I step past and, for the second time tonight, take the girl with a gun to my car.

I try to stay calm even though she’s driving my car, and no one drives my car. Especially not crazy, murdering, girls with guns. “Just to be clear, when you said she was going to eat me, you meant…”

“Devour your soul.”

“Right.” She’s so matter of fact, I would almost believe her if what she said was even remotely sane. “Why would she do that?”

She turns to face me, even though we’re going like seventy-five. “So she can keep looking like me, and stealing my life.”

I nod like she makes perfect sense. “So you killed her.”

She laughs. “I wish.”

I’m starting to think I made the wrong choice. “How do I know you’re not the bad one? You shot Amie.”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“W-what?” This night just gets weirder and weirder.

“Right now. You just saw me shoot someone. I’ve got a gun pointed at you and I’m kidnapping you. Do you want to kiss me?”

She can’t be serious. “Um, no offense, but no.”

She looks back to the road, unfazed. “That’s how you know.”

“Oh.”

“You wanted to kiss, Amie, right?”

“Yeah but, I mean, I already wanted to kiss her so...” I shrug.

She turns to me again and I swear she almost looks happy. “You did?”

“Yeah.” I can just make out the “Thank you for visiting Joplin. Come again!” sign as it whizzes past us and then we’re in pure dark. Nothing but fields on both sides of us. With nothing for the headlights to catch on it’s like we’re driving in a tunnel. “So are you going to explain anything? At least tell me where we’re going.”

“Away from people.”

“If you’re going to kill me, can you do it in town so my parents don’t have to wonder where I am?”

She heaves a frustrated sigh. “I’m not going to kill you. This bitch has been ruining my life for centuries and it’s time for it to stop. I need your help.”

Centuries? I wonder if when we left Joplin, we drove straight into the Twilight Zone. “I don’t really see how I can help you with your family drama.”

She laughs. Actually laughs. “You won’t have to do anything but reek of that virgin blood flowing through your veins. Amie won’t be able to resist.”

She jerks the car off the road before I have a chance to ask her what the hell that means. The car dips and jerks as we drive over the ditch between the road and the field. I can feel the whole underside scrape against the rough ground and I’m pissed. I just finished paying it off.

She puts the car in park once we're a ways from the road. “Don’t even think about running,” Not-Amie, Tam, says. She points her gun at me for emphasis as she reaches into the backseat for her purse.

Amie’s gun glares at me from her waistband. I could grab it and shoot her, but the image of Amie’s still body, with its black bullet hole and no blood stops me. My brain’s finally starting to catch up with the events of the night. Putting the pieces together in a way that makes the impossible make sense. A bullet probably won’t kill Tam. And then she’ll be pissed I tried.

Tam slides back into her seat and pulls and digs through her bag. “Turn around.”

I do as I’m told. I’m not real religious but I wonder if I should say a prayer or something. I wonder if it will make a difference or if it’s too late now. Tam tugs at my t-shirt and I jump.

“Hold still.” She lifts my shirt until my whole back is exposed.

What is it with hot chicks undressing me tonight and it not being any fun? My voice squeaks when I ask, “What are you doing?”

“I said, hold still.” She pushes me forward slightly so my forehead touches the window.

Something cool and soft and kind of squishy presses against my back. It takes me a minute to realize she’s drawing on me. Whatever it is, it’s intricate. It reminds me of the sculptures she, I mean, Amie, was always making. She rests her free hand on my hip, just above the waistband of my jeans and it’s oddly intimate. Her breath tickles my skin as she whispers nonsense words over her artwork. When she lets go of my waist and pulls my shirt back down I’m surprised to discover I’m disappointed that she’s done.

I turn back to face her. “What was that?”

She caps a tube of bright red lipstick and drops it into her purse with a hint of a smile. “Just think of it as protection.”

“From what?”

A bright flash lights up the car. Tam looks out the windshield and frowns. “From her.”

I follow her gaze to Amie, who stands in the glare of my headlights, wearing a big grin. One hand’s on her cocked hip, the other one’s giving us the finger. “Howdy,” she says with way too much cheer. There’s no sign of the gaping black wound she had the last time I saw her. She chomps on her gum and I wonder if it’s the same piece she was chewing when she got shot. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

Tam points her gun at me. “Get out.”

I look back and forth between the two evils. At least if I’m out of the car, I might be able to run for it. We’re not that far from the road. I get out and so does Tam.

Amie’s grin stretches too wide for her face when she sees me. It’s grotesque in a way I never thought a smile could be. I can’t believe I ever thought she was hot. She reaches out for me as if for a hug. “There you are Chad! I was afraid Tamara had taken you all for herself.”

“He’s all yours if you promise to leave me alone.”

What? Didn’t she just say she was protecting me? “Hey!”

Amie ignores me and turns her grin on Tam. “You know I don’t make promises.”

Tam pulls a tiny red bottle covered in gold swirls and little jewels that sparkle in the light out of her pocket. “I think you might, just this once.”

Amie’s mouth drops open and the little color she had, drains from her face. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Tam raises an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t I? I told you I was done. I wanted a mortal life.”

“But I miss you!” Amie’s face contorts in a way that almost makes her look inhuman, but the whine in her voice is all teenage girl. “Don’t you miss me? Don’t you miss doing whatever you want? Being whatever you want?”

“I am doing what I want.” Tam shouts back.

“How can you stand being trapped in one body? One pathetic life?”

I try to follow the conversation but I’m lost.

Tam shakes her head. “You’ll never understand.” She uncorks the bottle.

“Wait!” Amie’s face shifts back and forth between anger, hurt, and fear. “Fine. I’ll promise, if you promise not to put me in there.”

Tam thinks it over. “Okay, but the bottle stays with me.”

For one second Amie’s face flares with rage but she wipes it away with a smile. “Fine. After I finish with Chad, you’ll have to tell me how you found it. I thought I’d hidden it well.”

Finish with me? I back away from them both and try to smile like I have a clue what’s going on. “Seeing as how you two have patched up your differences, why don’t you just let me go?”

Amie laughs. In a blink she’s standing in front of me. She takes my face in her hands. “Oh honey, you are a funny one aren’t you?”

She mashes her cold, pale lips to mine. My mouth opens in surprise, betraying me, and before I can move I feel her inhale. Feel her start to suck the life right out of me. I shove at her but either she’s really heavy or I’m really weak. A high-pitched sound pierces my ears. There’s a burning sensation against my mouth and then a bright flash of light. I drop to the ground, released from her death grip.

I look around for Amie, but see only Tam. She lifts the tiny bottle; it glows like there’s a light inside it. “What the hell?” I gasp, my throat raw.

Tam smacks the cork and smiles at me. “I don’t make promises either.”

******
Check back Monday for an all new story started by Natalie!

Photo by The Justified Sinner via Flickr Creative Commons

Girls with Guns (Part 2 of 3)

She leans in close to me till her lips are just a breath from my cheek. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to turn and kiss her. I pretend that I don’t want to. That I don’t want her. But Amie isn’t dumb. And if there’s anything she knows, its guys.

She reaches for my belt buckle.

This isn’t at all how I imagined it would happen. Everything we ever hear is about guys pressuring girls into acting before their ready and it ruins their lives forever. I’ve never wanted to be that guy, but it never occurred to me that I might run into that girl.

Her laugh is birdsong in my ear, her breath thick with cherry and mint. When she throws one leg over mine and rips my shirt off over my head, I can only stare at her red lips. Even after all this, there’s not a smudge on them. They’re as pristine as a picture. I don’t have to be a girl to know it’s the sort of thing to envy and I suspect I don’t even have to be a boy to know it’s the sort of thing to want against my mouth.

There’s a crash and I think it’s probably my heart exploding straight through my chest, but Amie looks up with a scowl, her hand already on her gun. She slides off my lap like I’m not even there.

“Thought I smelled something.” The voice is so like Amie’s I’m surprised it wasn’t her mouth moving.

Getting to my feet, I’m even more surprised to find that the girl standing in the doorway looks a hell of a lot like Amie, too. They’re the same height and same, unmistakable build, with the same pale skin and the same dark hair. The only difference I can see is in the lips. On this girl, her lips are nearly as pale as her skin, the barest hint of pink along the edges.

They stand in mirror images of each other; one leg bent and ready for action, the other stock straight and still, a gun raised and trained on the other.

Amie doesn’t seem surprised by any of it. “This ain’t your business, hon. Look elsewhere.”

“You’re wrong there,” the not Amie says, “you crossed a line and this is my territory.” She glances at me and I’m all over unsettled by the way her eyes fall down my chest. I wish I were more dressed.

“Shit, this is yours?” Amie says with a bright, false smile. Her fingers fidget on her gun in a way they didn’t at Ronnie’s. it makes me nervous to see her nervous. “Well, then, Chad and I’ll be on our way.”

“You can leave him. I’d consider it a donation. A tithe.” It’s all she says, but the look they share is full of meaning. In the silence that follows, an entire negotiation happens and I’m in on none of it, but the tension in the room is suddenly very loud.

“No, thanks.” Amie says. Her feet shift.

The not Amie doesn’t answer, she fires. The sound is a quiet pop, but Amie falls back and doesn’t get up.

“Chad, is it?” Amie’s voice. No. Not Amie’s voice. She shoves my shirt into my hands and tugs at my arm. “Time to go, Chad.”

It’s the convenience store all over again. I move where I’m told, do what I’m told. I pull my shirt over my head, tell this not Amie where my car is, grab the cash from Amie’s purse and all the while this girl is still holding her gun on Amie’s body.

“What the hell do you think she’ll do now?” I ask. I’m sweating bad, but if I’m ever going to stand up for anything, it might as well be the dead girl on the floor.

The girl smirks, the picture of Amie. “I expect she’ll do something else foolish, which is why it’s time for us to get going.” She steps back, giving me a path around the bed. “After you.”

Something about the body on the floor makes the threat of the gun both more and less real. “You just shot your sister. Why should I go anywhere with you?”

She frowns down at Amie’s body, looking more pensive than apologetic. “I suppose you could call her that.” She crouches, lifting Amie’s gun from the floor. “But you should go with me because she intends to eat you and I haven’t decided, yet.” She stands, tucks Amie’s gun into her belt. “She’ll be wicked hungry when she wakes.”

“What do you mean, haven't decided yet?" I feel crazy, but I'm pretty sure it’s her.

She studies me like she would gum on the bottom of her shoe. “Virgins aren't really my thing."

I stare. At her. At the gun. At the body on the floor. At the black as pitch hole in the hollow of her throat. And I suppose it could be shock or a trick of the light, but I watch all the color drain from Amie’s lips until they’re as pale as the rest of her.

“Won’t be long now,” the girl sings from above me. “Are you with me?”

The night has gone from surreal to flat out impossible. I open my mouth to argue or make any of this make any sense at all, but I see Amie’s fingers curl against the carpet.

All choices look like bad choices. Between the waking dead girl on the floor who may or may not want to eat me, and the twin girl with the gun, there’s really only one option. “What do I call you?” I ask, backing away from Amie’s twitching fingers.

“Tam.” She’s by the door, the gun still trained on Amie’s body. I don’t think it’s so strange anymore. It might be the only comforting thing that’s happened tonight.

“This way, Tam.” I step past and, for the second time tonight, take the girl with a gun to my car.

******
Valerie's up on Friday with Part 3!

Photo by The Justified Sinner via Flickr Creative Commons