Iconoclasm

Pain like a rock band crescendoed in her head as she dragged herself from bed and into the bathroom. Her mouth tasted like ash and bad decisions. The crimson locks hanging in limp disarray over her face and shaved parts of her head were just another testament to last night’s disregard for her body. Gwen had no idea what time it was, so a shower was out. Instead, she briskly brushed her teeth and ran a wet comb through her hair, hopefully reinvigorating whatever product she put in last night and not enticing the curls she had spent years bleaching into submission to rebel against her. Tugging on something that smelled clean, she dragged herself into the kitchen just as her aunt was leaving.

Nadia was a robust woman with a severe, no nonsense face. You do not get to be the best holistic doctor in The Gray looking like you could be walked all over. She wore her multitude of braids in a tight ponytail to keep them out of her face while she was working.

“Goin’ s’mwhere?” Gwen slurred sleepily as she fished for a bowl in the cabinets. Someone, probably her, never puts them back in the right place after washing them. Nadia sucked her teeth at Gwen’s attempts and guided the woman to the table where she produced a plate of cold pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“Your sister cooked this morning.” Gwen’s aunt said, Haitian accent thick. “I have to run. I’m needed on the other side of town. Help Tali with the shop while I’m gone and don’t stay out late tonight.” she cautioned as she leaned down and kissed Gwen on the cheek. “Be good.”

The red headed woman grunted as she leaned into the affection while rolling a pancake up and taking a bite of the cold cake. “M’always good.” she said with a mouth full of food, smiling at the immediate look of disapproval on her aunt’s stern face. “S’Mary you gotta worry about.” She blew Nadia a kiss as she left.

Mary was an oddity. Nadia, a revered practitioner of Voodoo, claimed she was a trick of Baron Samedi; what happens when he tries to be Papa Ghede. At least, that’s what Gwen thought she had said. Tali had paid much more attention to Nadia’s religion than Gwen ever had. All she knew was that Mary lived in her head and her shadow, somehow. She had Gwen’s left eye to see the world, though Gwen often had to keep it covered because it was too different, and Mary interacted with it through Gwen’s shadow. They don’t know how or why, it has always been like this, for as long as Gwen could remember. They are separate, but Mary is in her.

In your what? Mary’s voice, curious as ever, whispered into her brain, the only way she could communicate. Existing as a shadow, behind an eyepatch had left her with an insatiable and nearly inappropriate desire to know everything. Mostly, it is harmless.

“In my life, Mar-bear.” Gwen said between bites of tepid food, too hungry to care at this point of her waking-up cycle. They were twenty years old, but Mary’s limited interaction with the world has left her childlike in ways anyone who hears the term “living shadow” would not normally think of.

Satisfied with the answer, the uncomfortable but familiar feeling of her eye rolling around wildly in its socket under the eyepatch settled as Mary slipped back into the semi-conscious dozing state she falls into when she sleeps. Keeping her envy for more sleep quiet, Gwen shoveled the rest of her food into her mouth and dumped the plate into the sink. Gwen quickly rinsed her mouth, popped in some gum and shoved her feet into some work boots so worn they were more gray than black, and headed down the stairs.

The first floor of their house had been converted to a storefront years ago. Nadia sells herbal remedies and medicines as well as a nearly fully stocked medical room in the back for their clinic. Tali, who was much better with people than Gwen, despite her obvious preference for plants and her...gifts, helped out as her assistant, sometimes filling in as the main caregiver when a patient needed Nadia to come to them.

At this time of day, Tali was on the register, a bright smile on her face as she handed the young man with one arm standing at the register his salve. “You remember how to apply this, right, René? Come back if you need more before the month is over. It’s supposed to be a wet one, I’m sure we’ll have something to fix for you.”

René Delacrux said thanks to her in his jovial mixed accent. Born and bred on the streets of The Gray, it was a pleasant amalgamation of all the languages the immigrants brought with them when they came to the island. He must have been late because he hardly paused to nod at Gwen as he passed.

“He’s in a rush.” Gwen remarked needlessly as she leaned her hip against the counter. Tali just hummed as she wrote down the transaction. Work for goods was common in The Gray, but still needed to be kept track of. “I don’t deliver to the Delacrux’s, right?”

“The factory increased his hours.” Tali said as she stripped off the neoprene gloves that covered the elbow-length nylon ones she wore. Tali, like Mary, had gifts. More like curses, really. Physical contact with anyone other than Gwen and their childhood friend, Caleb Shaw, was dangerous for the other person. When they were kids, people would just get sick. As Tali aged, it got stronger, and now she can’t touch anything without killing it. Even synthetic things wear down more quickly over time. She has to make her own clothes because they fall apart so fast.

“Your deliveries are in the bag.” The older twin said, all business now that Nadia undoubtedly left her in charge. “There’s some sandwiches, too, when you get hungry. Please don’t stay out late tonight, you know how hard opening is.”

Gwen tied her boots and slung the bag onto her back, leaning over the counter to kiss her sister’s cheek, as Tali was a big fan of tactile affection from those she could get it from, and headed out the back for their bike. “I will attempt to be home before the sun comes up?” she calls over her shoulder, sheepish, but not sorry, shrugging off her older sister’s response as she set out on her day, already late.

The shop’s bike was a simple twelve-speed meant for one job; getting Nadia and Tali’s medicines to people in The Gray who couldn’t make it to the shop. They had to keep it locked up because, despite the local superstition that stealing from one of the “witch healers” will get you cursed, the bike is the only one of its kind in this part of the city, and what’s more, it can be traded for actual money instead of the product vouchers most of the workers get paid with. So it stays locked up until Gwen needs it for work and nothing more.

Things were hard in The Gray, where labor was traded for shelter, food, and items. Hours worked got increased periodically with the payout barely keeping up, any opportunity for real money was worth the risk, mostly. Especially with the Silver City looming like a bright and gilded jewel across the wide river that very neatly separated the two sides of the island. There were others ways to make real money outside of stealing products not stamped by one of the two companies that own and run the island: The Pharm and Vertech. One could sell their services across the river, whatever they may be to whoever would be willing to pay, or, wait for the good citizens of The Sliver to come rough it in The Gray.

She chained her bike to a solid looking old tree, clinging to its hard-fought life like everything else in this place, before heading to the warehouse-turned-apartment building by the docks; the only official way on and off the island. Repetitive or heavy lifting injuries were usually the worst of it here, though there have been a few people crushed by something that had required Nadia’s help. Most workers didn’t have anything to bribe the constables with in order to get an ambulance all the way out to The Gray, never mind pay for actual hospital care, so they settled for holistic healers, and Nadia was the best one. Gwen kept an eye out for her aunt as she made her deliveries, trying to figure out where she could have gone to determine how long she’d be gone for. She exchanged half-hearted pleasantries with her customers, most of them clutching to a symbol of faith. Gwen has heard some of them say she was possessed or had the evil eye. She liked to play into it sometimes, threatening to take off her eyepatch when they get snappy or preachy with her. Mary tends to move more exaggeratedly when they are around people who are afraid of them. She has fun with it, too.

The fish people are most suspicious. Mary whispers as they leave their last customer. We think it’s the enclosed spaces. Sardines are dead before this happens so no one knows.

“They’re dock workers, not fish people, for one…” Gwen gently admonished aloud, uncaring of the looks being sent her way as she took the steps to the ground floor two at a time, her sister giggling like wind chimes as they hop. “And secondly, we live in much closer quarters than they do, and we’re not suspicious or paranoid like that.”

“No, you’re just extra paranoid, right?” came a cocky voice from the man standing by Gwen’s bike. He had her bike chain wrapped around one of his tanned arms, the links covering his muscles, stained in blood.

If a nightmare and a daydream had a child, it would be Caleb Shaw, an orphan who grew up a few houses down from Gwen, he was her best friend. He didn’t have a symbiotic relationship with a telepathic shadow sibling, but there was something about him that set other people on edge. He was too much; too pretty, too quiet, too brutal. He was the safest bet in the cage fights and one of the most dangerous opponents to face. He had trouble knowing when to stop, and there he was, smiling nonchalantly, like he didn’t have someone else’s blood on his hands.

“They asked for it?” he offered in lieu of an explanation as he unwound the chain from his arm and handed it to her. Someone had cut the lock off. “Did any of the fish people keep you longer than usual?”

“They’re not fish people. You and Mary, I swear to god…” Gwen muttered, rolling her eye as she shoved the useless chainlink in her bag. She’ll have to find a new lock soon. Her next few deliveries are going to be tricky without being able to chain the bike, usually not a problem since not many people had bolt cutters.

Caleb straddled her front tire when she went to leave, holding onto the breaks, so she couldn’t. “Some Silverspoon punk’s been making noise on the banks that he’s going to beat my ass tonight. You’re gonna come watch me wipe the floor with him, right? I need you in my corner...”

“You don’t need shit in your corner, Gray. You just want to know where I am.” she sneered at him good naturedly. He was only a year older than her, but he took it very seriously. “What did this kid do to get you to fight him? Normally, you just ignore shit like this.” She tried to rock the bike away from him, but he held fast. Mary laughed in her head, their shadow peddling furiously in two dimensions on the ground.

“My ass isn’t the only one he’s been after. He doesn’t like the word “no” apparently. Caleb said, after a pause, getting a little bit too still for his age. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it to look Gwen in the eye, “Seriously, though, if you’re going to be getting high, I’d prefer it if you were close so I can keep an eye on you, since I can’t seem to talk you out of whatever shit you take.” He shook the bike when Gwen looked away from him, “Promise me, Guinivere Bonneau.”

“You’re not my aunt.” Gwen said, instantly reacting to her full name, but then sighing up at the indifferent sky. “Fine. I promise. Now leave me alone. If you want to be useful, Nadia is out of the shop for a few and Tali could use extra hands. I’m already late for my next delivery.”

Caleb let go of her bike without much further ado, having weaseled the promise out of Gwen. He gave her a jovial salute before jogging off in the direction of the clinic. What an ass, Gwen thought, scowling as she kicked off the tree and headed for her next delivery.

Warehouses littered The Gray like trees. Most had been abandoned and dilapidated, sloppily converted into space to squat in as the number of workers increased. Maybe one out of every five warehouses are still being used as they were originally intended, more shutting down every few years as exporting increased and the handling was streamlined on the other side of the island.

The old building Gwen headed to that night had been converted into a club once upon a time by some very entrepreneurial soul from The Silver who thought it would be a good outlet for the underprivileged and overworked. As long as you paid your bribes to get in, the cops assigned to it didn’t care what happened. The guards on duty were pretty straight up for those who work in The Gray. They intervened before people died and were only after money or things they could sell for money. Cops who were interested in more ephemeral currency, such as pleasure, did not last long here anymore after it became apparent how much money could be brought in every night. Gwen traded some of Nadia’s homemade pain meds for entrance; aside from being a well known voodoo practitioner, Nadia had a doctoral degree in pharmaceutical and genetic botany. Her drugs would fetch a good price anywhere.

Past the door, the club was alive with flesh, blood, and music, welcoming her home as it washed over her like a tidal wave. The music had a good bass to it, her heartbeat driving to match it as she slid between the bodies, finding a good place to lose herself for a while. She could forget about everything; how her aunt wasn’t at any of the usual places, where she’s going to find a new lock, Caleb, Tali’s incessant worrying. Let it all flow out of her with every pulse of rhythm. Even Mary was calm, moving with Gwen like they were one person, shadow and body, instead of separate beings. True bliss like this never lasted long. The curse of being decent looking in close proximity to alcohol in an environment where personal space evaporates to mix with the smell of body spray and sweat that hangs over the seething crowd like a fog.

The punks from the silver never crawled their way to this pit in their Sunday best for fear of being robbed; it was a real fear, too. The tired, frustrated, and work-crushed citizens of The Grey were always looking for ways to blow off steam, especially burned anyone from The Silver, and mugging was almost a sport among the young kids too weak or scared to make it in the fighting ring. It was almost made worse by the old saying; “The Silver raise cattle, The Grey raise wolves,” that was supposed to mean “we’re stronger because we do our jobs,” is just taken as an excuse to hunt down the softer city’s residents when they stray too far. No one usually dies but the practice is well known enough to bring the cops down hard on any kid in The Grey if someone from The Silver goes missing.

For some, however, making it into and out of the seedier side of their city without being robbed was almost a game. They project their wealth like a peacock; hundred dollar haircuts, Rolex watches, genuine leather shoes, and outfits crafted to scream; “I am the entitled elite. I dare you to try and hurt me!” In the stifling and oppressively hot chaos of the club, it was impossible to avoid bumping into such creatures; these self-styled daredevils who seem to get off on it. The one pressing in on Gwen now wanted so hard to come off as the filthy rich one night stand of her dreams. He was wearing a golden chain around his neck and reeked of artificial wood smoke and patchouli, like he’d bathed in the bottle of his daddy’s “business trip” cologne.

Thick sweaty hands landed on Gwen’s hips, she could feel the heat of them through the threadbare jeans she wore, holding her in a passively possessive way as he guided her back against him, his breath a pungent mix of mint and alcohol as he spoke into her ear over the noise of the music in the club, “I see you here all the time, dancing by yourself. You look so lonely...”

Mary seethed at the proximity of the stranger, shadowed body twisting into horrors lost in the crowd on the dance floor, cacophonous hissing in the back of Gwen’s head like she was trying to scare the personal space intruder away. “I like being alone,” she said, trying not to seem outright hostile; it was a club after all, extra space on the dance floor was a luxury at best. She pushed his hands off her hips not unkindly and made to move away from him, to a different part of the dance floor, most men took the obvious sign of rejection well; there were plenty of people to affix themselves to, after all.

But this one got clingy as soon as she tried to move away, a harder grip on her wrist yanking her back against his broad chest, his other hand going to grip at her thigh, “Oh, come on babe, don’t be like that, I’m just trying to have some fun, just like you. Why else come here, right?”

Gwen bristled. She was not here to be fondled by some rich boy with a fetish for exotic poor girls. Growling in anger, she turned to the man who didn’t seem to understand no and shoved him away from her hard enough to make him stumble into the people behind them. “Find someone else,” she said, her voice shaking with rage, “I’m not interested.”

“You fucking bitch...” he hissed at her, charging at her in a blind rage at being rejected. Gwen ducked under his swinging arm and brought her knee up, hard into his groin in retaliation.

It was a double edged tactic, but she was out of options with the aggressive man. As pain bloomed, acidic, nauseating and sharp through the stranger’s legs, stomach, and junk, making him double over, it spread sweet and slow over Gwen like gossamer candy floss, settling warm and heavy in her veins, muscles, and bones.

This was the high Caleb was worried about, the one she didn’t know how to explain; her curse to complete the trifecta. She got high on other people’s pain. She felt it like a druggy felt the needle pierce the skin right before the payoff. This little altercation was just a taste to wet the appetite. She’d been hoping to avoid it, fooling herself, but saying that and coming here was like an alcoholic two days sober, hanging out at a bar. Gwen giggled into the roar of the music, wondering if anyone would notice if she roared back, before lazily making her way behind the bar and up to the second floor for the real reason she came here.

We should go, Mary’s concern fell on deaf ears as Gwen pushed open the door to the second floor’s main room, agony exploding over her like a multicolored starburst, sharp and savory as she shivered through it, hugging herself tightly through the feeling as she moved through a different, smaller crowd, packed just as tight to make room for the two at the center of it. The sound of fists hitting flesh was nearly drowned out by the jeering and the shouting of bets, an entirely different kind of music that still made her body sway to the rhythm of it.

The fighting ring had started up not long after the club fell out of the forgotten do-gooders hands and into whoever owns it now. Trinkets, wage cards and food vouchers were passed around like they were disposable income as the bloodthirsty crowd bet on the new blood or old favorites. Gwen knew that Caleb was fighting this round, not because of the uneven number of bets being shouted in his favor but because he just… felt different from everyone else, a pain she can’t touch, held separate and boxed off, locked away. It was both annoying and pleasant at the same time.

Caleb is mad. The man is afraid Mary’s whispers were quiet and far away, fireworks against a hurricane, everyone thinks he’s going to die here, in the dust, on his knees. Failure. Her concern for Gwen here, in this state was bleeding into those around her as Gwen stood oblivious to it in her haze she floated in. Enthralled by the fighting, a no holds barred beat down that sent fresh supernovas and color kaleidoscopes through her mind as the crowd’s energy ebbed and flowed on the tidal wave of aggression Caleb was dishing out.

The crowd surged silently, a stark juxtaposition to the one just below, as Caleb loses control. The opponent, the trash talker from the other side of the city, falls to the ground. He’s on the man like a starved wolf who smells blood, blow after blow falling hard on the downed and defenseless man as the silence of the crowd grew deafening and someone with a conscience stepped in to pull him off. Gwen felt the loser slip into unconsciousness, the music of his pain dying down in a beautiful diminuendo into blissful darkness. Gwen hugged herself tightly, mourning the loss as the crowd bled around her still frame, buzzing like a hive about the fight as they collected their winnings or paid up, ignoring the weird girl who comes to watch.

A heavy coat and a heavier sigh landed on her shoulders, threatening to pull her from the daze she was floating in as Caleb came to stand beside her. Gwen forced herself to look at him, into his dark and disappointed eyes, framed bruises blossoming below them, his nose was swollen and bled slightly, probably broken, but the pain of it never reached his voice, “Maybe next time, yeah?”

“It’s not my fault,” she said airily as she pulled his coat tighter around herself, the chill of need setting in, using it like a shield against the hunger, against the world.

Caleb was a year beyond believing that but at least he didn’t look at her like she was broken anymore. Just shook his head and guided her up a smaller set of stairs onto the roof of the warehouse with a tenderness one wouldn’t expect from a man who had nearly beat someone to death less than fifteen minutes ago. The island got cold at night now, a sure sign that fall was finally on the way, but it felt down right freezing after being inside the building that was probably filled with a few hundred people past safety standards. The first few breaths of air following the abrupt cut off were like swallowing ice water. She leaned heavily on the old railing, white knuckled as she forced herself to look down, count the crowd still waiting to get in, until the discomfort faded, taking deep, slow breaths. She was coming down now, Caleb had nearly beaten a man to death and that hurts, but she’d probably stop giggling about it soon.

“Spoil sport.” She tossed at him over her shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon. Gray tends to get antsy if she stares at the ground too long, even Mary shifted uneasily, making herself known as an intangible weight on the back of her mind. She knew Gwen wouldn’t jump, wasn’t worried about that at all, next to the rushing high of the pain Gwen… absorbs.

Caleb was silent as death behind her somewhere, stewing in his thoughts and whatever his body registered as pain. Gwen could... reach for it, but it was like an impenetrable wall separated her from him. She could… probe it, almost, try to get a sense, but it was like it wasn’t real. From what she could discern about it, she had been wrong about his nose, probably not broken, but there was something wrong with his dominant hand. Gwen wasn’t an expert on the human body, she did okay as a nurse but Tali was Nadia’s real student; she could be a doctor if it weren’t for the cost, and her particular affliction. Gwen sighed heavily, deciding to bite the bullet and turned around, leaning back against the rail on her elbows, staring across the roof at Caleb and his tight frown and crossed arms. He was mad at her, again.

“Tell me what you’re on,” he said after a long pause, like he needed to pull himself back from whatever he had originally wanted to say. “Who’s giving it to you, why won’t you let me help?”

Same old words, same old questions. Gwen couldn’t meet his eyes for long under the weight of them. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said instead, following the same steps he’d taken in the dance around this issue. The argument was too old and tired for him to press right now, her high and him still covered in the blood of the man he almost killed.

He glared at her, dark eyes narrowed in anger, tinted with worry, and Gwen turned her back on him again, unable to deal with it. She looked out over the island, the Grey lay dim and diminished against the chrome glow of the silver in the distance, shining like a beacon, or a taunt. Few buildings on their side of the river had more than one floor, the club was on the fringes of the warehouse district, offering the best view to get a real perspective of the Grey. Behind them were the two monstrous factories that loomed like hulking gargoyles over the inhabitants of the Grey; The Pharm and Ver-Tech, the two companies responsible for life on the island, reminding everyone that their existence belonged to them.

Gwen heard Caleb take a breath, probably to try and push her into telling him what she was on, again, when everything changed. It sounded like thunder shot from a canon, the whole building shook, cutting off the revelry inside with shocked and terrified screams as the sky was lit up by a flash of fire that drew Gwen’s eye, whipping about face to see a fireball arch into the air several blocks away, the heat of it enough to make her skin feel tight and thin. One of The Pharm’s warehouses had exploded.

“Shit,” was all Gwen’s stunned and staggered mind could manage, blinking owlishly at the flames while Caleb let out a slew of more colorful expletives, rushing to Gwen’s side to pull out some grey rolls of gauze, sloppily wrapping them around his right hand, attempting to support whatever injury he’d sustained.

“We have to get down there. People live in some of those buildings.” When Gwen didn’t respond he grabbed her with his good hand and gave her a hard shake. “Gwen! People are hurt. We have to help.”

Gwen turned to look at him, a numbness slipping over her like a wave crashing down. People could be hurt. Their pain would be fresh, bright and beautiful, calling to her like sirens in the dark, beckoning with decadence and reckless abandon.

We aren’t the Monster. Mary’s whispers cut through her like a lightning bolt, sombering and sharp, wrapping herself around Gwen like a blanket against the storm. Mary seemed to… tighten down on Gwen’s sense of self, almost like she was filling in the cracks. It was intangible, but suffocating at the same time. Like being swaddled by spiderwebs. Gwen felt tight, stiff, but her head was as clear as it had been before she’d left for the club. Now go, Gondor calls for aid.

“Gwen,” Caleb was shouting at her, the grip he had on her shoulder strong and getting painful. “You have to come with me, I need to know where you are.”

Shaking her head as if to dispel the trace lingering feeling of the high, she reached for the man’s injured hand and quickly re-wrapped the gauze into a more suitable dressing. “Like this,” she said quietly, not bothering to explain her change in attitude; on the list of things she can’t explain to Caleb, that shit was at the top.

He just scowled at her lightly before taking her hand and leading her to the old fire escape on the side of the building, a set of stairs that are the only thing the owners bother to keep up maintenance on, leading down to the ground. Caleb grabbed for her hand when they hit the street, merging into the crowd running from the buildings in fright.

“We have to help,” Caleb shouted over the crowd’s noise, trying to pull her towards where the explosion had come from; the epicenter of the disaster. But Gwen planted her feet firmly and pulled back harder.

“No, we have to get the clinics open Caleb. We need Tali, and Aunt Nadia and… the other ones.” She didn’t know all of their names but that didn’t really matter right now. “Rushing in isn’t going to help anyone!” Gwen could see he was conflicted, running away from the danger went against everything Caleb was. It was becoming more obvious by the second no one knew what to do, as everyone out on the street who wasn’t hurt just seemed to gather into groups and gawked as the injured crept away from the disaster, out of the smoke and into the cleared area, the first ones covered in blood from broken glass, shock still clear on their faces.

Caleb swore and let go of Gwen’s hand to grab two of the nearest men, pulling them around and getting in their faces. “Todd, Ren.” Of course he knew them. “These people need help, stop staring like assholes, go get Madam Proctor and Doc Hope,” he ordered, voice hard and authoritative, no room for argument. The men never hesitated after he let them go, both taking off at a dead run towards the closest two “witch clinics” as Gray waded into the slack jawed spectators, barking orders and grabbing other athletic looking men and women to send them running for other clinics or to start assisting the injured. The cops who were guarding the door to the club had mysteriously vanished, leaving Gray as the only voice of self appointed authority on the scene. No one objected.

“I sent René to get Tali,” Caleb said when he came back to where Gwen was. “He’s the fastest guy I know. Help is on the way. Now can we go see if anyone closer to the explosion needs help? Or are you going to make me be sensible again?” He was nervous, the half-assed compliment and the backwards dig at himself proved that, he just wanted to help. Unable to think of anything to keep him away, Gwen shrugged him off and he ran towards the smoke; he needed it.

Gwen wanted to help, but if she was going to be helpful she couldn’t get close, Mary’s motivational quoting and metaphysical mind hugs probably wouldn’t stand up to more than just the thought of pain. With René off to get Tali, she’d lost her only clean get away. These people needed help and Gwen had the training to provide it. Surly she could swallow down whatever it was that was fucking her up long enough to do some good for once. Yet she remained where she was, frozen to the ground, the smell of ash and chemicals thick in the air as the smoke billowed up into the sky, just out of sight, everything getting grey and hazy as the wind switched directions, coming off the water to carry the smoke over the island instead of away.

Bloody bodies stumbled out of the thick haze, some carrying others, all covered in ash and glass, it was straight out of a nightmare. One that was starting to feel familiar to Gwen as fierce icy fingers gripped her heart. Gwen’s hidden eye rolled wildly around in its socket as the sweet promise of pain plunged quickly into horror and panic. Gwen stumbled away from a bleeding woman who had made it far into the crowd for help. The wound on her head wasn’t life threatening but, for a moment, the woman looked so much younger, skin flush from the joy of life and never having to work a hard day, beautiful if not for the gaping wound splitting her skull open.

Gwen choked on a scream, scrambling away, turning and fleeing the scene, uncoordinated and instinctive, taking off just, away from there, anywhere would be better as long as it was away from the blood, the innocent victims, the memories. She left it all behind and ran away again. Mary protested as loudly as a shadow could, stretching behind Gwen like she could somehow weigh down their body, but she was just a leaf caught in the hurricane of Gwen’s panic and dragged along.

Far from the stench of smoke and blood, she slid down the wall of an alleyway, heedless of the muck and grime, and hid her head in her knees, trying to get a handle on her breathing. Deep breaths. Remember the Sevens, think of the Triangle, nothing else. ‘The Sevens’ were a breathing trick Nadia had taught them when Gwen first started having panic attacks, breath in for seven seconds, hold your breath for seven seconds, breath out for seven seconds, like the sides of a triangle.

In this state of mind it was hard to tell what was her own thoughts and what was Mary, but fear only left room for the guilt to seep in; those people had needed help and she ran from them.

You would have been affected Mary reasoned, her words a cooling salve on the sting of shame, Maybe there’s something else we can do? Ever the optimist, even at a time like this, shadowed hands hovered over hers to mimic holding Gwen’s hand, a comforting gesture, Is there anyone we can get that Caleb didn’t send someone else to go find?

The answer was so obvious that she couldn’t believe neither of them had thought of it yet. “Nadia,” Gwen whispered into the empty sideway, forcing her tight protesting muscles to obey as she pushed herself to her feet. “We can go find Auntie, whatever she’s doing can’t be as serious as this.”

Running around the Grey on foot was a pain, it was large and dark, especially at this hour, but heading home to get the bike was out. Tali would have taken it to reach the explosion faster. After dusting herself off, Gwen took a moment to figure out where she was: well away from the warehouses and more into the central part of the company housings, houses like boxes stacked on top of each other. It was going to be much harder to figure out where Nadia could have gone; her skill took her all over the island. At this point Gwen was beyond caring what time it was, or if she upset anyone as she started banging on doors on her way down the street. Those that answered were mostly furious at being woken up, but none had seen her “crazy witch aunt” so she just told them about the explosion and started all over at a different door- whatever they decided to do with that information wasn’t her problem.

This felt like hiding, even if it was something that probably needed to be done, every moment she wasn’t at the scene, tangibly helping felt more and more like failure. Shaking her head of the crushing guilt, she pressed on; that can crush her later, right now she had to find her aunt. Nadia could help more people in less time than Gwen’s medicore medical skills ever could. She knew she could skip all the places she’d been to already today, there would be no reason for her aunt to return to them after their deliveries were done. The houses closest to their shop could be skipped too; if Nadia had to stay overnight with her patient she would have been farther out than a simple walk back home would be.

Gwen was going to have to run the edges of the city, from the ore processing workers’ up to the miners’ lodges, then through the secondary factory workers’, to the farms, and finally doubling back to the docks. She woke people up as she went, informing them of the explosion and asking about her aunt. While it was about an even split between people who rushed out to help and those who slammed the door in her face, no one had seen hide or hair of Nadia Bonneau. Out of logical option, Gwen worked her way back in a circle inwards towards their home, willing the burning in her exhausted muscles away and steadily getting more and more concerned for her aunt than the explosion victims.

“Mary, split off, no more than the next street over okay? We can cover more ground if we’re each only searching every other street.” Gwen kept the tremor of fear from her voice at the thought of Mary not being right behind her, but this situation was getting desperate.

We are concerned. Mary confessed as she slid across the ground, independant of Gwen, just skirting the edge of their mental connection, probing further out with her mind to find Nadia. At this distance Gwen had no concept of Mary’s actions, almost like she wasn’t there at all. The sun is coming back around, we have searched where she should be…

“We’re not giving up,” Gwen hissed, stubbornly ignoring the gradually lightening sky. “Auntie has to be here. She wouldn’t just leave us, or the people who need her.” None of this made any sense, people just don’t leave the island, and Nadia wouldn’t have gone into the city across the river. Not only were Holistic Healers mocked there, but they had the real thing, hospitals, medical centers, for problems, who would have called on her?

It was midmorning when they finally trudged home, the second failure weighing heavily on Gwen, the compound guilt of them both dragging her down, all she wanted to do was just lay down and stay there forever. So down on herself and stuck in introspection, she almost tripped on the cat that lives in the alley by the shop; its yowl of displeasure enough to snap Mary back to Gwen’s side like a rubber band, almost tangibly concerned for the feline. Muttering an apology and shaking herself, Gwen blinked away her stupor, looking up at her home, eyes widening.

The front window had been broken in, the door kicked out, nearly off its hinges. Gwen ran to it, calling out for her older sister, fresh fear making her blood pump faster, aching and worn out body easily ignored as she ran to investigate. The shop was completely trashed; everything that could be broken, was. The floor was a mess of glass, powdered medicines, and salves. Even the clinic in the back had been destroyed; paper and glass littered the floor, the exam table had been flipped on its side, the pad ripped down the center and its stuffing pulled out. Someone had been looking for something. Gwen took the stairs up to their apartment two at a time as Mary sped ahead, searching for Tali. She may have left before all of this happened. Gwen hoped so, Tali wouldn’t be able to handle killing anyone, even if they were trying to hurt her.

Something is here. Mary announced as she pooled into a dark puddle on the middle of their ruined living room, the upstairs had been as ransacked as below, but Gwen didn’t find anyone, dead or alive, left to answer for it. She ignored Mary’s nonsense for the moment, struggling instead to save Tali’s collection of potted plants, carefully but quickly moving the ones in broken pots into something that could hold them until Tali got home to really fix things. The only thing that seemed to be left untouched was the garden behind the shop, strangely, considering those plants were where all the money was, but Gwen didn’t feel like looking that particular miracle in the mouth. The garden was fine; they could rebuild everything else.

We are not alone. Mary insisted forcefully, the pool of herself pulsing like a heartbeat, There is a woman in the corner.

Gwen shot a look around the room when she came in, carefully holding the teacup she’d used to rescue one of Tali’s succulents, but she didn’t see any woman. “Seeing things is Tali’s job Mar-bear. You’re probably just tired.” She smiled at her younger sister’s form, exhaustion pulling at her, too, and heading back into Tali’s room. The only shelf of pots she couldn’t save was Tali’s odd arrangement of empty pots, filled only with dirt and smelling heavily of rum. The dirt was scattered and tracked all over the floor, almost like someone stopped to play in it, but the design they’d left made no sense to Gwen.

We feel with our body. Mary insisted suddenly, bulldozing her way through Gwen’s thoughts, We see with our eyes. Gwen gasped, barely managing to set the tiny cactus down before she reached up to grasp her eye, it thrashed wildly under the patch, rolling and jumping like it was trying to flee her body. Close your eye and look through ours.

“That’s not how this works!” Gwen growled, doubling over as she pushed the palm of her hand into her free rolling eye. “I can’t see through you. I’m not you, you’re me!”

We are. Mary said, sage-like and certain, Please. Trust me.

Gwen scowled into her hands, but seeing little reason not to trust her sister, she tried to let go of herself, let Mary show her whatever it was she thought she could. The feeling of Mary trying to take over, to… share? Was an unsettling one, like wet spidersilk drawing her into the back of her mind, down a web made of shattered glass and into abject darkness. A pitch black endless void.

Only… it wasn’t. Gradually, like her vision was adjusting, Gwen began to see things, black and gray, a muted perception, looking up at everything. They were in the livingroom, a 360 degree view showed the destruction of their property: the overturned couch, broken tables and smashed out walls; it was like watching an old film, almost artistic in its lack of color.

The corner. Mary said, voice clear crystal like Gwen had never heard before, she tried to focus on a corner, but it was like someone had touched and gently turned her view, showing her where to look, and when she finally saw it she couldn’t believe she’d missed it.

The woman glowed like she was made of stars, hovering in the corner by the staircase like she was patiently waiting to be addressed. Her actual figure was hard to make out, other than the overwhelming sense of femininity, Gwen couldn’t distinguish any details to identify her. Beautiful, in an awe inspiring way, but her features were obscured, possibly in a dress, or a cloke, either with a hood or long hair. As if she realized she’d been noticed, she moved, drifting towards them like a gentle breeze had dislodged her. Her movement was more deliberate when she got closer, kneeling down before them like one would to address a child, and her hand reached out to touch them. It shouldn’t have been possible but ice cold lightning shot through them both as their realities exploded.

Suddenly Gwen was face down in the dirt; the angry roar of a fire as it tore through its feast simple white noise in the background compared to the pounding of her pulse in her head. A cool hand touched the back of her neck and held her still, seeming to calm her shocked body down, but no matter how calm she felt she couldn’t move, couldn’t look up.

“This isn’t the way I wanted this to happen, my girls, but there isn’t any other way. What they’re doing here… I’ve ignored it for too long,” came Nadia’s voice, rough with smoke from the fire and thick with an emotion Gwen couldn’t place. “Take care of each other, don’t let this-” Whatever she was saying was drowned out by a catastrophic noise, familiar but too close to be anything but horrifying. Thunder from a canon, the rush of skin prickling heat. “I wish i had more time, I’m so sorry. Things are going to start now, without my protection. Be strong, my beautiful girls. Find them. This island cannot hold you.” There was shouting over the roar of the inferno, a static Gwen couldn’t make out against the other noise. Panic rose through her. She could help! If only she could move; just get up!

But the hand on the back of her neck gripped her hard, keeping her down, still. “No, Guinevere,” Nadia commanded, her voice so strong and in control despite the urgency under her tone. “This is your destiny. I’ve done my best to break you from it, but this is how the story wants to go. Tell your sisters, save yourselves. I love you.”

The cooling grip was gone, and Gwen jerked herself up to see, but just like that she snapped back into her own body, feeling like an elastic band stretched out and left under the hot sun. She choked on air, gasping and gagging as the taste of smoke on her tongue made her want to be sick. Slowly she pushed herself up, and that’s when she realized blood was pouring down her nose, cascading, pooling into the symbols in the dirt beneath her. Gwen scrambled to her feet, trying to stem the flow, eyes wide as she stared at the dirt, the blood forming a large, but exact match of the triskele ouroboros tattoo on her thigh.

“What the hell.”