Page 23 of Awry
My nail polish matched Presh’s hair.Past tense.As with my wounds, the color on my fingers and toes is gone.My hair cut and color, my lash tint, the birth control that I really only use so I don’t menstruate, have all been … reset.For lack of a better way to put it.Reset with my death.
And yeah, I don’t really know how it works.Just that it happens.Same with the slow aging.I have some sort of default setting that kicked in around age twenty-five or so — and the universe just … reboots me.
Presh grabs the phone and the still-wet cash.I try to close the trunk, but it doesn’t want to firmly latch.I’ll have to avoid another high-speed chase or big bumps.
“Muta!”I call sharply.
A moment of silence follows my command, reinforcing the stillness of the entire area, other than the pounding surf on the far edge of the expansive beach.Then a massive snake slithers out from under a crumpled portion of the stone wall.Muta hates being wet almost as much as being cold.
Presh meeps like she’s forgotten there was a ten-foot-long, extremely venomous snake hanging around on the beach.
I crouch down, slightly worried that I won’t be able to straighten back up, offering my right arm to Muta.
“I … I thought maybe I’d just hit my head really hard,” Presh whispers.
“You did,” I say.“But Muta is real.”
Muta sets his broad head in my hand, covering my entire palm.He flicks his tongue over my wrist, smelling me.He’s not a fan of me dying, and I like to think that aversion is grounded in more than just my body going cold and uninhabitable.But even after twenty years — since my mother died on my ninth birthday and he transferred his protection to me — I’m not quite certain he gives a shit about anything at all.Not with actual empathy or the like.
Being an aspect of the divine trapped in the body of a snake and tied to a human bloodline doesn’t mean that Muta is capable of … well, feeling.Opinions regarding his status?Yes.True affection?Big nope.
Muta slithers over my hand and up my arm, shrinking, condensing, and then hardening into a spiraled bracelet of gold and topaz once more.
“Oh, my goddess,” Presh breathes, making me wonder if that’s just an expression or whether or not she worships a particular entity.If she does subscribe to a faith, I need to be careful what I say and do around her.For a while, at least.I can be a bit gentle as the unassailable truths of the universe, and all the fundamental energy that actually propels it, start slapping her in the face.
“He’s pretty, but he’s a total asshole,” I say instead of delving into a subject I don’t have the fortitude to navigate at the moment.I actually manage to straighten up and stand steady on my feet.“Just like most males.”
Presh laughs quietly.“I’m not a fan myself.”Then seeming to remember the phone she’s carrying and who might still be listening to our conversation, she adds, “Other than my brothers.But you meant … like you meant … as, like, lovers, right?”
“Males are good for lots of things …” I wink as I guide her to crawl across the driver’s seat into the passenger seat.I’m more than aware of the eavesdropper lurking on the edge of our chat.I’m also aware that Presh needs to fill this space between us, this moment in general, with something slightly more normal than being kidnapped, threatened with bodily harm and rape, then watching a woman she’s just met die and come back to life.“But I generally prefer their mouths shut, unless otherwise occupied.”
A snort emanates over the phone’s speaker.It’s drowned out by Presh’s quiet giggle as I climb inside the car and shut the door.Both of us are still barefoot.Presh because my shoes probably won’t fit her, and me because I’m still only about twenty percent functional.At most.And that minimal functionality needs to be applied to driving for the next thirty minutes at least, so I’m not bothering with socks and shoes.
I’m not sure I have five minutes in me, let alone twenty-five more on top of that.
I reach for the keys.
The car starts, purring gently after the initial roar of the powerful engine.Heat blasts out of the vents, though I don’t remember having the fan running so high at the time of the crash.
I leave that thought unexplored, along with all the other recent thoughts about nail polish and hair ties.Oh, and a car whose trunk opened by itself, and that wouldn’t start for Presh but easily starts for me.
“What the fuck?”Presh pretty much snarls.
“About time,” Rath snaps over the phone.
The clutch gives me a bit of trouble — likely my problem rather than the car being difficult — but I get us moving, inching around the abandoned motorcycles.
“Sunglasses,” I say.“Glove box.Please.”
Still shivering, Presh finds my second set of black-framed designer sunglasses and passes them to me.I put them on, feeling instantly relieved.Though that might have more to do with settling into the flow of theknowingrather than any mitigating of my sensitive sight.
As we continue along it, the beachside road is still empty.As before, the houses, most of them still larger, older dwellings set back from the road behind ancient-looking trees, appear likewise empty.But I have no doubt we’ve been seen, noted.Someone might just be waiting to take a jaunt down to the beach — before Rath’s cleanup crew arrives — to take care of Chains for us.
Presh gets the map app open and the directions to the safe house on screen.According to the app, we’ve still got twenty-seven minutes before we reach our destination.
“I’m on my way,” Rath says unprompted.Though he still doesn’t give any hint of a timeline.Presh slumps back in the passenger seat and doesn’t question him.
I glance in the rearview mirror, just once.Just in time to see Chains stagger out into the middle of the road, watching us drive away.
