A Cerberus in The Sky

DEON

Iflew up the stairs and watched Donna slit a card into her door lock. Everything was going fine until, below me, between two chock-full breaths, Fay said, "At least we have Cerberios to keep the door." There you go, Fay, ruining my evening in the loveliest way possible...

What should've been a simple scratch behind my neck turned into a shredding of hair and skin as I forced a chuckle. "Yes." Fuck, I had forgotten this beast of burden. "You know what? You stay here. Coming back with the pup. Don't open the door to anyone unless it's a grunt we all recognize." Instantly, Fay's eyes lit up. The dark corridor seemed to be filled with them.

Dreading going outside once more, I smiled and cringed in the same breath. There was no way I wanted to go.

But alas, here I am, arms loaded again, with Cerberios incessantly wiggling like he's got an unhealthy obsession with heights. My ongoing bicep pump is killing me, no denying it. Maybe Donna can rub my muscles tonight. Oh, yes, a nice, full-body massage...

I increase my speed, my retinal focus sharpening at every corner I round.

The city has quietened, but for how long? A series of short, hurling blares from patrol cars warn dissidents not to take curfew lightly. We all know that won't happen.

This is a short flight, but I am skimming as much as possible, flying high, mostly sweating beads like a steam kettle. Given my luck, I wouldn't be surprised if several splatter on these ignorants' windshields.

"Yeah, I love you, too, buddy... er, buddies." Honestly, I'm not sure it's called love, but I don't want any beef with this dog. Three tongues have been licking my face since I picked him up from my pond-like flat. Now, a flying Cerberios is whizzing across skyscrapers without a care in the world.

He's as heavy as his owner's hammer. "Ever thought of a vegan diet, handsome boys?" It's a sloppy mess, eyes blurred from their foul saliva.

Relief fills my lungs as the Helbenixon building grows in my view. I zip down to the girl's living room window and elbow the glass for help.

No one...

Great.

I'm huffing, strengthening my hold on this slobbering dog, his paws battling my grip to jump on a ledge as thin as a stick. Two options remain, and I'm evaluating them.

Ten seconds pass.

Still assessing.

I'm now worrying about the wrinkles around my frown.

I'm nowhere near unscrunching, nor is my stuck-in-a-moment situation.

Neither my right nor left brain is in agreement. Be creative or rational?

I could take the staircase, but then, I risk hearing, 'Freeze! Hands high where we can see them. You have the right to remain silent...' and that would utterly interfere with my massage.

I am not flying down.

I don't think there's any doubt about it. Creative, it is.

Glass breaks, twinkles of clanking fall, and I leap into the flat, releasing this demon that jumps over the sofa for Fay's bedroom. "Not even a thanks? I'll remember that!"

I shake my wings, ridding myself of glass shivers and a bag of clothes, mostly taking a glance around the flat. A tremor ripples through me, locking my gaze on Fay's death tool sitting casually on the kitchen island. It's not my business, but someone should tell the girl!

Where are they? I saw them enter the flat. I scan the area, and then my head jerks to the right, the sound of water filling the corridor. My shoulders instantly sag. They're in the shower.

I eye the broken window, and I doubt it will go over well with my wolf girl. I sweep up the glass shards—the least I can do is clean up my mess. As I shake the dustpan into the bin, my eyes settle on the fridge, beckoning me, and as I toss the shovel over the island, no one can break my stride toward it. A drink. Make it fresh and malted.

I pull the door of this ultramodern refrigerator. I saw this model when browsing appliances for my own kitchen. It's got a tactile screen that sends you an automatic alert to your phone when you are about to run out of products. I lean on the counter, sweeping my hand over this veined granite. No, marble. Good taste.

There's even a mixer faucet with a pull-out spray. A rip-off, but so worth it. I was down to my last penny, so I had to opt for a single lever tap, which does the job. Who cares now? It's not like I can hope for a return on my investment anymore. But it makes me think this chica is loaded.

Taking a swig of this blond ale sweetened with pineapple—what I call girly beer—the tension in my body slowly eases.

Enjoying this still-life painting that is this place, I spot a forgotten plant hidden away in a corner to the right of the entryway, very much dead. My eyes slant down to take in the reflective sheen of the beautiful mirror-finished parquet—is that zebra wood?! She's rich, no doubt about it now. Some slight clicking and nibbling pulls my attention to a large stainless-steel sink full to the brim, crawling out of it, cocktail glass, service bowls, and... a cockroach. I chin up, taking a whiff of the place, feeling at home, evocative of a bar after closure with the old stench of liquor. This place is perfect.

I uncap my second beer, numbness settling as it fizzes.

It's perfect... Sometimes relaxing can be dangerous—it allows your brain to wander in places you don't want it to, and I don't wanna think right now.

Don't want to think this place is about to become perfect past.

I feel tired, and so does my grip, which is no more than a clamp of claws over the neck of my beer, hanging so low against my thigh that I feel the overall is pushing me down to sit. It lands with a light, sharp clank, the heel of the bottle hitting black-veined white marble. I was leaning against this exact counter last night, and yet, it's like I'm discovering the place for the first time, Vym taking all my attention...

My exhale blows toward what's facing me. A painting—a plain of flowers, a full moon casting a glow over it—taking all the wall behind the TV. Charming. A heart thump to notice there's a little signature at the bottom corner, under a socket.

FJ...

At the start of the corridor, four baseball bats hang on the wall, and under it, a console with a collection of slippers of all colors and shapes piled in a basket against the main buffet lining that same corridor. On top of it, a tower of books. And then, what I initially believed were other baseball clubs, shining away in the dimness of the corridor, are veritable morningstar maces hung artistically, all with a silver crest at the bottom of the grips, the Skin Tanner pack. Oh, I recognize this crest. A shiver courses through me as I shake my head from the brusk of it. orcling smugglers, fae harbingers, bone crushers... Some fear them, some admire them, but the majority despise them for the money they made off the weak. Yeah, any price for a child's safety or information that could tip the war's balance. Most died fighting, and what's left of them have given up the ghost in the Gurnam Swamps, or that's what I thought until tonight.

Gurnam Swamps... where we'll probably all end, anyway. A peat bog of rotting carrion and mud snakes. Fidr's prison, or what I call her monster-sized terrarium.

I settle on a vintage boom box, the effects of beer working its way into my system, me, fucking relapsing.

I used to sit next to a tampered radio, tinkering with the dial for a clandestine station. "Comrades, another day in Orcana, another day closer to victory. For the bravest, troops spotted east of the Falling Cliffs of Er'in Frenhir, an estimated fifty miles away. Good luck." Would down a bottle of suspicious liquor, smoke some, and head toward the enemy. Though I was having the time of my life, charging through the mud, blood, the fight. Played it as a winner and collected my trophies—wings. Then came the time of hauntings. The dead would visit me during my sleep, crushing my chest as they screamed in my ears. If it hadn't been for her, I'd be hanging on a rope, rotting in an undefined forest...

"Fay! Listen to me! Just... listen to me. Please..." The girls have been in the bathroom for some time now, the shower still running strong.

Fay was in a sort of respiratory distress when we landed. Thought it was asthma... It's not; I recognize the claws of anxiety now—and these seem nowhere from retracting.

"Fay..."

Lights going off causes a jerk of the head. There's a power outage...

Sucking in my cheeks, I stare at a generator sitting in the corner of the kitchen. It's taking too long. I glance around for the electricity panel and, spotting it, get up.

Upon opening the panel, I fiddle with a few switches, but it ain't working. There's a magic that's forcing everything to remain in the dark... Yes. Can only be this. Instinctively, I go for the window.

Light bounces off a string of lampposts. One after another, they go off in a flapping noise. Bet my last doffar my phone wouldn't have reception if it had battery.

My grip on the window frame bleeds.

We're off the grid.

Whatever's about to happen, I'm not giving anything... I'll be taking. Time to be strategic. I closed all the windows, rolled the blinds down, pulled the curtains in the bedrooms, locked the door, and pushed a console against it. Rummaged in Donna's bedroom for a sheet, found some masking tape with a drape, and sealed the broken window. Even felt like recycling, so I dug my hands into the bin bag for the glass shards, sprinkling them along the corridor outside, from the elevator to the door, keeping my ears perked for that crunching echo.

Astas and I have been eying each other unhealthily. She's there, looking deathly, leaning against the wall beside the entryway, ready to be gripped.

Tyke, whatever you're doing, it'd be great if you could just show up.

I'm just contemplating how the fuck I'm going to find cash because we need loads of it. I know a smuggler. If he's willing, we can pass the southern border of Old Elfexica, board a Hyppocampus, and leave the dock for Centaurus. Yes, I'll drop the girls there and then fly back in the heat... I hate this stage, having to put the people you care about to safety... In fact, I hate every bit of urgency in it. Adrenaline comes to say hi once more and I run a hand over my head, clutching Tyke in my mind. He's not here, and he should be. Tried to call many times, but his phone is switched off. Knowing him, he shoved his phone into his old duffel bag and will keep it there till the mission comes to an end. And I hope he's done with it soon because the city's manic outbursts are making me spastic.

The girls aren't having fun, either.

"Donna, the military. What if they come for us? You saw it, they shot civilians!"

Really not.

I keep swiveling my eyes from the deep, intimidating hollow of a cupboard shelf to the bathroom door next to me. With a shower going strong, muttered whispers, soft sobs, and sometimes a high-pitched wince keep filtering through its cracks. I don't mean to eavesdrop; I'm just a simple guy in a squat position, shuffling things around in a console lining the corridor wall for damn candles I can't seem to find.

"What if they start taking down orcs!?" There's a sharp stifled wince, and my head dips. "I spotted a group of armed insurgents. What if they barge in, take me and shoot me between the eyes because I'm fae!"

"Stop."

"The way I look right now, I am a danger to Tyke. To all of you."

"Fay, calm down."

"I should cut my wings off. Get rid of them!"

"Fayra! Stop it. No one's cutting anything off."

An unexpected cry follows a loud gasp, and I stand, listening.

"Just breathe," says Donna.

A more desperate cry muffles into something a little more than just a respiratory inflammation.

"Fay." Donna's whispering voice resounds across the door. "It's always like that. It gets dark and ugly at first, but we will pull through it, just like the first time."

There's a cold beat of silence, and I exhale.

"Like the first time? What do you mean by 'first time'?" Fay's throat is no more than a well of mucus, and I rack both hands in my hair, hands pinned at the back of my head, helpless.

"War."

My elbows are still up in the air, my jaws flexed as I grapple with not only hair but Donna's words hitting harder than a truckload of iron. Mixed emotions amass, assembling into a maniacal creature within. It's grinning with weeping eyes to know the worst and best are yet to come. If war means change, then everyone can consider my boat thoroughly floated!

"I don't understand." Fay is struggling to talk as if her windpipes are being strangled and my jaws keep popping at it.

"Stop this! You know what was going on. You felt the heat coming, and now you're afraid?"

"You threw a party yesterday!" croaks Fay.

"Last time I was celebrating my birthday in my parent's garden, Fay. My gran took a witch spell in the head, toppling over my cake. These things are sly... they strike when you least expect it."

"Not like that. Today, there were soldiers, Donna." Fay snivels. "Soldiers killing civilians. Civilians shooting back!"

Her cry has me walking to the door and I stall in front of it.

"Fay, look at me." There is a slight shuffle, followed by the sound of what I believe is a near-empty plastic bottle toppling to the ground, doubling my guess with shampoo.

"No."

"Look at me," Donna whispers with a grind. A grind severe enough for me to place both hands against the door. Subtly. No need to give them a hint that a peeping tom is at the door.

"You're hurting my cheeks. Stop." With Fay's whine, my fingertips pad harder.

"Look at me when I say stop pretending to be blind. Tell me you see how Tyke is being treated? They're nothing but slaves."

"Reintegrated war criminals."

"I swear to god, Fay. Be real with me."

"You know where I fucking stand! Stop stooping over me, and stop patronizing me. I thought the fae would change. Reforms, new laws, legislative acts. Not like this. Not with bloodshed!"

"With politics?! It was never going to change. Why would Fidr swap free labor for equality? The undeserved want change. You never ever spoke about the Gurnam Swamps. Well, I'm going to ask you about it. What do you think of the Gurnam Swamps?!"

"Sto-op it!" To the choking cries of Fay, I glide a hand down the wooden surface till it lands on the handle.

"Shit... I'm sorry. Come here."

More mumbles drown against skin. This time, Fay is hardly voicing her words, gasping for breath. "I can't lose more people. I can't, Donna. Not another war. I won't go through ano-ther one."

"Everything will be alright." Someone stirs the shower handle, the metallic tube creaking against the glass and tile as it rattles and twirls. "Let's have a shower this way. How is the water temperature? Too hot? Is that fine?"

"Quince..." A languid cry cracks from Fay and I jolt a bit. Quince? Never heard that name before, certainly not the response Donna expected, nor mine.

"Shh... None of us will get hurt. I promise."

More whimpers from Fay follow. "Tyke..."

"He's a tough monster. He's fine."

There's a gagging sound, followed by Donna's whisper, "Breathe slow. Like me, look... feel my chest."

She's whispering two octaves above a shushing, but I can hear everything. They've been locked in there, in the dark. It's been what? Thirty minutes now?

I knock. "All good in there?"

A glass falls in what I believe is the sink. Donna opens a crack, her little nose peeking, one eye hiding behind the door. "Can you go to her room? There's an inhaler on her bedside table, I think." Her voice is calm, twizzled with nerves.

I rub my nape, leaning my head into the crack, the flap against my head, clamping. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" barks Donna.

"Keeping an eye on the fairy."

"She's fine. No need to worry."

I don't want to break her eye contact, especially since she's holding mine for the first time. They are oddly sparkling, and it's not coming from the shower. "Please, Deon. Her inhaler."

I blink as I pull back. "Right. Yeah, let me get it."