There was still no security when we left the washroom, so we continued down into the earth to get to the platform, the blue-haired woman first snatching up the guitar case leaning against the wall, then leading me as we ran to the train. If anyone had heard the brawl in the washroom, I didn't notice any sign on our way, but there was little enough time for that. There was a train already waiting in the station, and my escort charged me into the ass end of the crowd that was in the process of boarding. We shoved a handful of passengers aside, to much cursing, but we got on the crowded train car before the automated “Clear the doors, the doors are now closing” intoned from above. Once the doors hissed shut, that automated voice came on ahead to intone “Autumncrest, next stop is Autumncrest” as the train continued it's rumbling track towards downtown.
“Fuck,” I exhaled, panting as I grabbed into one of the overhead straps and hung on, clinging to it hard, while my heart pounded in my ears. A curly haired old grandma seated next to me cut a glare before she returned to her ebook reader. The blue-haired girl gave me a crooked grin, and a soft punch to the upper chest. “I take it you're not used to this kind of thing,” she said in an amused tone, her voice a lower, creamy pitch for a woman her size.
“I don't think... I've run so hard... since grade school,” I gasped in little bursts as I brought myself under control. My pulse was still pounding, but I didn't feel like passing out anymore. My calves, both, twinged painfully, threatening to cramp but not quite getting there. “Who were those guys?” I asked once I got my breathing under control, giving an anxious look to miss blue-hair.
She gave me a grin before she responded, a lopsided, playful expression, as if my question amused her. “Exactly what you think. We call them Harvesters,” she explained, keeping her voice down and leaning in towards me, “Word is, they take us off the street and chop us up for parts, taking the bits that actually give you power and splicing it onto themselves. Nobody knows for sure what happens to those they grab, but they've got some kind of pull with the government because no matter how big a scene you make, none of them ever get arrested.”
I swore a second time, shaking my head in denial. I wanted so desperately to wake up, ached to know that this was a dream. “What do they want from me?” I asked, looking down at my shoes, trying not to completely lose it in a crowded subway car.
“They know you're special,” she replied, her expression softening, as she watched me, “But they just suspect that you are what you are. They can't sense or detect you, or they would've sensed me. So there's that.” She gave me another once-over. “You really are new, aren't you?” she asked.
I lifted my head and really took her in for the first time. Black jeans under a dark green hoodie, she wasn't exactly showing off her body under all that, but I could tell she was lean and athletic, and her pants showed off her coltish, slender thighs and calves rather nicely. She had prominent cheekbones, and a small, upturned nose, framed by loose strands of vibrant blue hair from her ponytail, and the top of her head came up to my nose. I wondered briefly what it would feel like to hold her, to wrap my arms around her and pull her body against mine.
“Uh, well,” I eventually replied, my eyes going to the window over subway grandma's head, watching the lights in the tunnel flick by, “I don't know how special I am. I literally woke up hungover this morning and some lady in my bathroom mirror started talking to me, then those jokers showed up.” I paused, frowning, before turning back to blue-hair. “It is morning, isn't it? I just remembered, I never looked at my phone.”
She gave me another crooked smile, and pulled out her own phone. “It's one in the afternoon,” she told me, slipping the slim device back into her hoodie with a shrug. “Early enough. Get used to spending a lot of time out at night, it's just safer that way. You said you just woke up like this?”
“Yeah, I went to a rave in an abandoned hotel just outside of the Brewery,” I explained, shaking my head. My memory was still all fuzzy and cobwebby, and things hadn't gotten any clearer in the wake of my earlier adrenaline rush. “There was an accident, someone fell... I think,” I added lamely, “I can't even tell you who else was there, it's not normally my crowd. I was invited by a coworker, his buddy was one of the organizers, I was mostly there for cheap drinks.”
Blue-hair gave me another amused expression, before looking away to shake her head. “Come for the cheap beer, stay for the sudden gift of supernatural power,” she sardonically remarked, “I guess it beats getting it from your parents.”
The train slid to a stop, disgorging passengers then taking on more, but we stayed on. “Lilyvale, next station Lilyvale,” the automated voice intoned, and I leaned forward to ask, “How long are we staying on?”
Blue-hair shrugged. “I don't know about you, but I'm getting off at Cooley. I know some folks who operate over by the university who will let me lay low for the rest of the day, 'til the Harvesters are good and off my trail,” she said, eyes darting back to me, “You can come, too, if you want, but you're going to have to do exactly as I say. It's easy to get in trouble with these folks.”
“Alright, I can handle that,” I replied, giving her a nod, “Thanks.” I think gave her my best, hopefully charming smile. “Uh... what's your name, anyway? I'd like to know who saved my ass back there.”
She gave me that lopsided grin again. It was hard to believe that a cute girl like this had literally lifted another human being with one hand. “You can call me Rosalie,” she said, and then when I opened my mouth to respond she reached up and clapped a hand over my lips. “No true names, ever again,” she told me, her expression having turned serious, “It makes you easier to track electronically, and people can use it to work magic on you. The first thing you're going to
want to do is come up with an alias you can remember and answer to. The second thing you're going to do is get a fake identity. Luckily, these folks I know can help you with that last part.”
I just stared at her her for a second. She seemed serious, and I doubt she'd tell me all that for no reason, but not being able to go by my own name was a surprise. When she released my face, I stood there for a second, working my mouth without saying anything. Then, eventually, I managed, “It's really hard to come up with a good alias under pressure like this.”
Rosalie chuckled, holding a hand in front of her mouth this time, before looking away, still smiling. “Yeah, well, you take your time with that,” she replying, seeming amused, “I didn't mean that you have to come up with a new identity right this second. Sorry for putting you on the spot, there.” She looked back up at me. “So... do you have any questions, I guess? I've never been the one shepherding the 'new guy' in these situations, but I'll try to fill you in as much as I can.”
“I've got about a million,” I replied, bringing my thumb up to my mouth. I just barely pinched my thumbnail between my teeth when I stopped myself. I hadn't bitten my fingernails since I was a kid, but I suppose it was a sign of how much stress I was currently under that I felt the urge to do it again. I shifted, gathering my thoughts, and realized once again that I was barefoot, and felt how cold and sticky the floor of the subway was. I looked down and grimaced, before returning my attention to Rosalie. “Hey, uh, this is a lot to ask someone who is mostly a stranger, but if we see, like, a thrift store or something, can we grab a pair of shoes? I'll pay you back as soon as I can,” I said, before sheepishly adding, “Okay, well, I don't know when I'm going to be able to go back to my apartment to grab my wallet, but when I can, I'll definitely do it.”
She glanced at my feet, before looking up to give me that cute crooked smile again. “Okay, so, lesson one is that most normal humans just ignore us unless you make an effort to be seen,” she told me, leaning close so I could hear her better, “Unless that person has had a run-in with the supernatural before, or you want to be noticed, you could be wearing a clown suit and nobody would react. We just kind of... are really hard to focus on, like an optical illusion you can only see out of the corner of your eye. So, if you need a pair of shoes, you can just take it from a store. Nobody is going to stop you unless you make a big deal out of it.”
I was a little startled at that. “So... you're telling me to just shoplift?” I asked, a little incredulous, “And nobody's going to stop me?”
“Well, don't go crazy about it,” she explained, giving a little bit of a sigh, “You can still be noticed stealing on camera, and the Harvesters can use security footage to track your movements. Besides, it's kind of not cool to get some poor clerk fired because you blatantly ripped a store off and made their boss think the cashier let it happen. But yeah, a few things, the necessities? Just take 'em. You probably won't be able to hold down a regular job or collect benefits, anyway.”
“But I have a job,” I protested, “I'm a prep cook at the Bill Collins' over by Unity Station. Hell, I'm supposed to be on shift tomorrow at eight A.M.”
Rosalie gave me a patient look and shook her head. “Now that you've slipped the snare, where's the first place you think the Harvesters are going to look for you?” she asked simply, “On top of watching your apartment, of course. Unless you have something seriously valuable or personal at your old place, you probably shouldn't go back there, either.”
The realization that what she was saying was true felt like a punch to the gut. The sick, oily dread that had been slowly building in my stomach during the entire adventure made itself known, and I had to force myself not to vomit. Whatever was happening to me, or had happened to me, had completely and permanently altered the course of my life, and from what Rosalie said, it sounded like there was no going back. What if I resumed my job and the managers started overlooking my presence at my job? How could I stand out at an interview for something else? Sure, that ignore-me effect was handy for stealing, but it was going to make a lot of other shit a lot harder.
“Shit,” I said.
“That's what I said, too,” Rosalie offered with a small sigh, then looked up at the transit map overhead. “That was University station just now, next stop's us.”
“R-right,” I replied, trying to keep the anxiety and uncertainty out of my voice, “So, uh, what do you mean by 'special', anyhow? What are we, mutants like from the comics, or like, secret Hogwarts wizards or something?”
Rosalie chewed her lip a moment, frowning as she gathered her thoughts. “It's difficult to explain,” she said, eventually, “I could say that we are wizards, vampires, werewolves, faeries, and yeah, it's kind of like that, but what we are and who we are don't map easily to those kinds of mainstream human ideas.” She didn't give any eye contact while she gave her explanation, seeming uneasy about talking about it at all. “Once we were divided into two camps, what you might know as benandanti and malandanti, seelie and unseelie, angels and demons, maybe. But as mundane humans have flourished, we've been forced into the alleys and underpasses, the fringes of civilization. Nobody cares about the old wars any more. We work together to survive or we die alone.” She shrugged, before continuing with, “We're almost there, let's get closer to the doors.”
We joined the crowd of people moving up the train to the exit doors- Cooley was a busy station- and as Rosalie had promised, nobody seemed to have picked up on our weird conversation, or had even reacted overmuch to our dramatic entrance onto the subway car. I leaned towards Rosalie in the crowd, and asked her, “So... do the words 'scion' or 'prince' mean anything to you in this context?”
Rosalie just shook her head, her ponytail waving with the motion. “Never heard of it. But there's a person at the place we're going, a very well educated guy who kind of studies this stuff. He might be able to tell you more.”
“Great, because I haven't the slightest fucking clue,” I muttered. The doors opened, and the electronic voice chanted the name of the station, and we followed the crowd as they flowed off the train and onto the stairs that went up to the station concourse, then up further to street level. I winced at the cold, greasy feeling of the tiled floor here, but did my best not to think about what kind of shit was ending up stuck to my soles.
When we got to the concourse level, I was struck with a moment of inspiration. I reached forward and grabbed Rosalie's shoulder, and stepped to the side, out of the flow of the foot traffic. The blue haired girl immediately went as stiff as a board, and she turned quickly, seizing my wrist so hard I could feel my bones grind together. She roughly shoved me up against the subway wall, between two ad posters. On her face was a vicious, ugly snarl, her brows drawn together sharply. I felt the now-familiar shock of fear and anxiety, and I could feel my eyes widen. I hadn't noticed it before, even standing face to face talking, but her mouth was full of pointed, sharp, predatory teeth, and her eyes seemed to glow a deep amber. I could feel my mouth working silently, took a shaky breath, and managed to mutter out a faint “Sorry”.
Rosalie took her own long, drawn-out breath, and let my wrist go. I tried to rub the pain away, wincing. “Please never touch me without permission again,” she said, looking away as if embarrassed. I couldn't help but notice, now, that her eyes had faded to brown, and her teeth appeared completely normal.
I frowned, glancing down at my wrist. The pain, thankfully, was already fading. “Yeah, sorry, that was rude of me,” I mumbled, shaking my head, “I was just afraid of losing you in the crowd, and I should have known better.”
Rosalie still looked embarrassed, and awkwardly shuffled, shifting the guitar case on her back. “You're not the only person who's had to survive a pretty traumatic introduction to the otherside.” She said it quickly, as though it was one single word. “What did you want?”
I pointed with my thumb to the washrooms, just a little ways down the concourse from us. “I was thinking I could make a quick pit stop here, try to contact Aya, the mirror lady, again?”
Rosalie gave a nod. “I'm going to head up to the square, and take a look around, make sure there aren't any Harvesters watching the subway exits.” She bit her lip a second, glancing around. The crowd of arrivals had now mostly vacated the station, but it wouldn't be long for another train to pull in. “Stay safe, and, well, I'm sorry, again,” she apologized before heading off.
I sighed, wondering if I had somehow already ruined my chances with the cute girl who saved my life. Shaking my head as I silently berated myself, I stepped over to the public washroom and headed in. This one was much cleaner than Claire Station, probably because Cooley-Sail Square on the street level above was the heart of the shopping district, so the city paid more attention to how the transit connections looked. I checked to make sure the stalls were all empty, before I looked into the bathroom mirrors. But no matter how long I wait, or what I said, Aya did not appear.
-------------------------
Rosalie left the tunnel into the open air, exiting into the square, and turned, going around to the side of the concrete subway entrance. As soon as she felt she was out of sight of the station interior, she leaned, planting her shoulder against the rough, textured surface of the building, letting the brief bite of pain help ground her. She let out a long, shaky sigh, her heart still pounding in her chest.
She knew that the guy, her new friend- she still didn't know what to call him- hadn't meant anything by touching her, but that knowledge didn't stop her from flashing back. Remembering the feeling of knobby, calloused hands on her shoulders, the sonorous, low voice reminding her that she wanted to be a good pup... she shuddered again, trying to shake off the memories. It didn't always come easily, pulling her mind out of that space, but today she had something else to focus on. Someone in need. After a few shaky breaths, Rosalie managed to get herself under control. Hopefully, the memories would stay away.
Cooley-Sail Square was as busy as ever, but Rosalie settled herself with an effort, before stepping into the crowd smoothly, letting it take her away in the direction she wanted to go. For the hundred thousandth time, she mentally cursed the people at the farm and the things that they had done to her, and her own weakness for letting them get away with it for so long. It had taken a long time for her to become okay with everything, following her escape to the city, but apparently all it took to send Rosalie back there was a man she found attractive putting his hands on her without her permission.
She could only hope that her outburst hadn't ruined the faith that the mirror guy had placed in her so far. Not really for her sake, nothing was really keeping Rosalie from just abandoning the man to his fate, except her conscience. But she was all too aware of what some people on the Otherside were like, what they would do if they could take advantage of someone's ignorance. That, more than anything else, motivated her to continue helping him. Charging into that washroom, after the Harvesters, was something she'd do for almost anyone. Her experiences drove her to continue sticking around.
Rosalie slipped smoothly out of the sidewalk crowd, following a heavyset man with the easygoing pace of a tourist into one of the shopping centres bordering the square. One of her Talents was a particularly sensitive nose, and going from the outside to indoors completely changed the palette of scents. The fresh breeze carrying the hint of algae and fish from the lake swapped for the metallic, slightly chemical odour of the air conditioning, the omnipresent car exhaust smell making way for acerbic cleaners, fryer oil, floral-scented shampoo and a thousand other bouquets. There was a hint of something underneath it all, a single bitter, coppery thread mixed with everything else, that momentarily made Rosalie wrinkle her nose in disgust, but it was easily ignored in the melange.
Rosalie smoothly ducked down a side corridor adjacent to the entrance, momentarily stepping out of the way of a pair of teenagers, one of whom limped along on a pair of crutches, his leg in a thick cast scribbled all over with permanent marker. At the end of the corridor were a pair of elevators, the slightly battered stainless steel doors almost blending in with the light grey walls. There was a third person, an elderly man sitting impatiently on a walker and glaring at nothing in particular as he waited. Rosalie saw that he was going in her direction- the “down” button between the two elevators glowed a faint green- and simply stood to one side, feeling somewhat impatient herself.
She idly rubbed her nose for a second. Was it just her imagination, or was that coppery smell getting stronger? Rosalie reached out to one of the neglected sanitizer dispensers standing next to the elevators, and took a quick pump, the alcohol smell temporarily covering over everything else as she rubbed the cool gel over her hands.
The elevator finally dinged, and Rosalie stood up straighter, standing slightly to one side while the old man gathered himself up, the dirty red and white cap nestled on his head emblazoned with a single word- “TRUDEAUN'T”. Rosalie quietly cleared her throat, coughing a little. It wasn't just her imagination, that smell was definitely getting stronger. The old man was glaring at her now, and Rosalie returned a polite smile.
The doors of the elevator opened, and the stink of blood rolled out of it like a wave. That's what the scent was, Rosalie realized as it finally got strong enough for her to identify what that acrid stench was. Blood, and fresh blood at that. The source of it was one of the strangest people Rosalie had ever seen. A man, easily seven feet tall, with a complexion so sickly that the grey of his skin almost matched the puffy grey winter coat he was still wearing, despite it being early summer. The tall man was completely bald, and wearing a pair of small, round sunglasses. As he stepped off the elevator, Rosalie realized she was staring, and quickly averted her eyes, focusing on the framed ad on the far wall of the elevator, with a brightly coloured ad for some musical being put on at the Kraemer Centre.
The tall man regarded Rosalie quietly as he stepped off the elevator. He didn't say a word, but Rosalie could feel his gaze on her. Her eyes darted to the one thing that the tall man was carrying, a heavy-looking, slightly oversized, dark leather briefcase. Then, the tall man sniffed audibly, seeming almost to scent the air before turning away and hurrying on his way. Rosalie frowned. It struck her as odd for a man who was surrounded by such a strong stench to be able to smell anything else. Was he from the Otherside, too?
“Phaw,” the elderly man growled, waving at the air in front of his face, “Goddamn hobos, stinking like a dumpster. Yeah, you heard me, big guy, keep walking! My son in law is a cop and I'll make sure-”
Rosalie didn't stay to listen to the old man's ranting. She stepped onto the elevator, and his the button to send the lift to the basement level, before rapidly pushing the “door close”. Anything to get her away from the creepy dude in the winter coat. The elevator doors began to slide closed, accompanied by a squawk of protest from the old man. Rosalie caught the sight of the tall man's back, as he slipped into the crowd, heading for the shopping centre exit.
The elevator hummed as she felt it lower her to the bottom floor. At least the tall man's smell didn't linger, despite the closed space. It was back to the usual mall-interior smells, with the faint additions of engine grease and brushed metal. Rosalie frowned, puzzling over that. It was almost as if the smell of blood wasn't even real, but if it was some kind of illusion, why would a person willingly wrap themselves in such an unpleasant odour?
The ding of the elevator snapped Rosalie out of her train of thought. Shaking her head, she stepped off the elevator, looping around the pair of mothers waiting their turn with their strollers. It wasn't far to where she wanted to go, just around the corner from the elevator hall, really.
The place held the cringe-inducing name of “Carib-Bean Cafe”. It was a small, out of the way place- little more than a kiosk in the bottom corner of the mall, framed by pale yellow walls and a cartoonish painting of a pair of goats wearing sunglasses and drinking coffee underneath a warm orange sun. A row of coffee dispensers faced the customer, next to a chilled display case showing off a variety of pastries and meat patties. But it was the woman behind the counter that Rosalie wanted- a tall, pretty, and willowy woman with her hair done up in a scarf.
“Hey, Vivian,” she said as she rounded the corner and stopped in front of the counter. Pretending to examine the glass case for a snack, Rosalie murmured, low enough not to be overheard from anyone more than a few paces away, “Harvesters spotted at the Clair Street subway station.”
The taller woman raised an eyebrow at her. “You know, the goodwill and money I earn passing on these reports really ought to be yours,” she said in a sharp voice tinged by her island accent. As she spoke, Vivian slipped a phone out from under the counter and began tapping away at it, not even making eye contact. “Are you sure that it's worthwhile, just to keep from having a permanent address?”
Rosalie smiled, lifting her eyes from the display to look at the prices. It was a conversation that the two women had many times before. “I just want to help people, Viv,” Rosalie said, her eyes a little sad, “You know that.”
The black woman gave a brief laugh. “I suppose you're going to be looking for a free meal, then?” she said, putting the phone back away to reach for a paper cup, but Rosalie shook her head empathically.
“Just cash this time,” she replied, crossing her arms under her breasts, “Everything you owe me, too, I've got something to do later.”
Vivian's expression deepened into a scowl. “You're lucky I had a good morning, then,” she said bitterly, frowning, as she hit a button on her till, making the drawer pop open with a rattle of coins, “I am not a bank, you know. Most people, they pay with cards now, and it's a danger holding on to big wads of cash in case you might decide that today you'd like to be paid.”
Rosalie had to swallow, her mouth full with saliva, glancing back to the case of pastries. She was a bit hungry, now that she thought of it. “There are muggers you couldn't handle?” She sniffed as she unlimbered her guitar case, trying to decide on a treat, but an underlying sour stench distracted her. “The cream and milk over there are sour,” she remarked, as Vivian handed her a rolled-up wad of bills, “Can could I grab a slice of rum cake before I go, too?”
Vivian sighed irritably, and grabbed the metal dairy carafes from their place near the sugar, sweetner and stirsticks. “The cartons are still dated a week away,” she said before muttering something in her rapid-fire patois Rosalie couldn't make out. “Well, thank you, better you tell me than give a bad impression to a real customer,” Vivian went on as she fetched Rosalie a slice of cake, wrapped in a bit of parchment paper and served on a saucer. “Anything else, or did just come by to shake me down for cake and money?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalie saw the grumpy elder with the cap giving her a hard stare as he passed by, slouching over his walker. His presence brought Rosalie's mind back to the elevator. Pocketing her cash, Rosalie conscientiously picked up the cake with the hand that didn't touch the money, holding it by the paper. “Yeah, there was a weird guy on the elevator down,” she said as she brought the slice of cake up to her mouth. At this close, the sweet, heavy fragrance was heavenly. “Tall with sunglasses and a grey coat, did he come by to speak to you?”
“Aye, he came to rattle my tree,” Vivian replied as Rosalie's teeth sank into the dense, moist cake. Sweetness flooded her mouth, a strong vanilla flavour with just a hint of rum bitterness. Rosalie made an appreciative noise as the other woman continued. “Wanted to know about a book of some kind. Said someone stole it from him. I didn't like his attitude, so I sent him on his way.”
Rosalie devoured the cake is three bites, only grimacing at her lack of manners after she had devoured the heavy dessert. “I'll keep an ear out for a missing book, a guy like that it might be best to just give him what he wants and send him on his way,” she told Vivian, shouldering her guitar case once more, finishing with “Thanks again, Viv.”
Vivian waved her away. “I cannot keep doing things this way, Rosie,” she said, “At least settle down enough to get a bank account I can sent things on to. Venmo, Paypal, something.”
“I'll think about it,” Rosalie shot over her shoulder as she walked away, waving one hand over her shoulder, “I've gotta go pick up some shoes.”
