Elendira’s POV.

 

 

 

Like A Criminal ~ Chapter 04 ~ “Card House”

By Bennu

 

 

*        *        *

 

 

“Have I told you that I hate you?” I crooned. The wind was reeling through my hair, moaning like a dying thing, and all around me blood was going cold.

 

Legato’s shit-fed grin only widened, exposing his teeth like—God, there was some kind of Old Earth animal that smiled like that. I could see it in my mind. It had been a small, square picture in blue and grey, a close-up of nothing but cold, black eyes and rows and rows of teeth. The pitiless smile of some now-irrelevant beast that had lived in water, of all places, and that had used that smile to rip whatever saw it into shreds. It ate and ate and was never satisfied.

 

A shark, it was called. He smiled like a shark. “Ah. It’s nice to know there are some oases of continuity in this world of chaos. Now, if you’d be so … kind as to follow me, there is some rather important business for us to attend to.”

 

“Wait. What about my crew?” I gestured back at the airship that creaked in her moorings behind me.

 

“I don’t make promises that I can’t keep,” Legato said, devoid of any pity at all.

 

“I don’t have the patience for your bullshit anymore,” I growled. If he was going to threaten the lives of my crew, then he was going to do it to my face. I thumbed the trigger under the handle again, right where he could see me do it. And he saw. His eyes never changed, but he saw.

 

There was a brief moment of silent panic in my mind, and I think as well in his. We were both playing a dangerous game by rules that could easily be long-expired; neither of us knew anything for certain as of yet. Would what worked on Bluesummers at eighteen work now? He looked the same, sneered the same, pressed all the same buttons. But—to risk blasphemy—God alone knew what went on in his head. Thirty years was a long time. Was I willing to wager my life that he still had the same Gift, the same black and self-consuming desires, the same wirings of half-hearted insanity?

 

I had my cards. He had his.

 

“You know it’s not my choice to make,” he said at last, never taking his eyes off of mine. “Whether they live or die—whether any of us live or die—is, ultimately, a matter that is completely out of our hands.”

 

“And in His?” I said.

 

“You’ll see in a moment,” he said. “I’ll explain it as we go. Your personal articles will be sent for later.”

 

“So, this is a permanent stop?” I asked warily.

 

He sighed and started walking away, and I followed him.

 

The cards were on the table, at least for this round.

 

 

*        *        *

 

 

Two days later, I was already dreaming of wringing his skinny little Telepathic neck. The reality of being stuck in Dhimitri was even less pleasant than the idea of such, even if I’d been re-afforded my old room, and when Legato had had said “personal articles”, he’d meant everything. It still felt like a huge step back, like I’d suddenly regained my youth, but with none of its beauty and all of its chains. It chafed horribly, and so I did exactly what I’d done in the past: I sat around, played solitaire, rooted restlessly through my closet looking for today’s perfect skirt, and imagined Legato feeling the wrath. Wash, rinse, repeat as necessary.

 

Needless to say, it got old fast.

 

If I’d been in the air and this cramped, I’d have landed and robbed a bank or something. Stolen a paperclip. Just walked around in the sun. It didn’t matter then, and it didn’t matter now. Tedium was the enemy, and thus whatever stopped said tedium was a friend. Here, on the ground, once again tied down like a pet dog—which, if you thought of it, I kind of was—my options were sorely limited.

 

So I sat up, got dressed to the nines (a sure cure for the blues) and started walking.

 

Nothing better to do, and I might as well get re-acquainted with my cage, right? I knew each of the three towers in and out, except for the bits He had always forbidden me and Legato to ever go near. Most of it was wrecked-up beyond habitation, human or otherwise, and was dangerous to enter. But the area just above, below, and at ground-level was quite nice. If I were looking for other people living in this rusty hulk, that was where they’d be.

 

Legato had mentioned, in his own circuitous way, that there were all kinds of disposable grunts that had made their burrows outside of the “castle” proper, in the canyons and arroyos that guarded the main road and the lake. He had also outright told me that there were six other Gung-Ho Guns—I still snickered helplessly under my breath at the thought of that name. God, if I hadn’t known who’d thought up that ridiculous little title, I’d have burst a seam and died in hysterics—currently stationed here. Six other ready-and-willing assassins. I could feel my day brightening a bit already. If the potential promise for mayhem, disorder, and outright violence didn’t perk me, nothing else could.

 

Naturally, I was a bit disappointed to only find a toothbrush-mustachioed, creepy old man, an impertinent and over-suave saxophone player, and a girlchild who vanished into thin air before I could even get a good look at her. That last was most interesting; I honestly was having trouble seeing the other two as dangerous. I had, very long ago, heard rumors of musical instruments that killed, but I hadn’t thought this lounge-lizard’s playing quite that atrocious.

 

So it was with a return to elegant boredom that I sat down on the third step of the entrance hall’s grand staircase, set my suitcase beside me, and pulled out my pack of well-worn tarot cards.

 

By birth, all humans are given senses through which to perceive and manipulate their surroundings. Although I didn’t come to understand it until much later, the hand Nature dealt me was a little unusual. For some reason or another—call it luck or misery—I was born with an extra sense in my head. It was a simple gift, a quiet place that let me in on the secrets around me, just enough to keep me one step ahead. I can hear people’s heartbeats, see their souls glancing back at me through their eyes.

 

Interestingly enough, I had never heard Legato’s heart, or seen a soul in his sand-colored eyes. Whether this was because he lacked these facilities entirely or because of the intricacies of his own particular Gift,

 

(or because he’d given them away)

 

I couldn’t say. But, thankfully, whatever force it was that kept me blind worked on him, too. I can’t pry into his head, he can’t pry into mine.

 

So, I have to do it the old-fashioned way.

 

I closed my eyes and shuffled through the cards as fast as I can. Once, an old woman scolded me for reading the tarot “the wrong way”; well, this is how I do it, and so far, it’s been pretty accurate. Put my faith in magic and keep my finger on the trigger: That’s how I’ve stayed alive.

 

I pulled a card at random, then another, then two more. Four cards, and my hands slowed and stopped, leaving the rest of the deck at peace in my lap. As always, the four I’d chosen were of the major arcana, the fortune-telling ones. The cards with names and faces just below the surface, with stories to tell and warnings to give.

 

The Hanged Man grinned at me from behind his wreath of chains. Then the High Priestess, lonely as she worked her spells. Familiar cards. Inversion and Occult. So far, so good.

 

The next card was the Tower. Chaos.

 

I’d only ever pulled it once before. I stared down and saw past the faded picture and into a bloody inferno. I heard in my head the screams of a city, the screams of a man. I could see the light that was scorched straight through my eyelids and into my brain, forever. I had drawn the Tower the night before we went to July, thirty years ago.

 

My hands were shaking when I looked up again.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

I startled at the voice, suddenly angry that I had let a simple card fluster me so much that I’d let my guard down.

 

It was the girl from this morning. I could see now that she was tall and slim, dressed up in cute cowboy regalia, complete with a broad-brimmed hat and a pearl-handled pistol at her hip. Her hair was dirty-blonde and long, falling in her face on the right side but not quite concealing the fact that she wore an eyepatch. She looked down at me from the base of the stairs with a mixture of suspicion and true morbid interest—the kind typically reserved for the observation of the insane—in her one eye.

 

I realized then that I was shaking and I had spilled my deck off of my lap and all down the steps below me. I clutched frantically for any passing wisp of dignity as I started gathering the cards back up.

 

The girl just watched me. Brat. “Aren’t those fortune-telling cards?” she asked, with a definite hint of disdain in her voice.

 

“Yes, they are,” I snapped, scooping up the last few and fumbling to get them back in their box. I stuffed them in my pocket and stood, suitcase pressed to my side, grip firm, and descended the single step to stand on her level. I was, of course, a good deal taller than her. When in doubt, find your advantages, and exploit them.

 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re lucky number thirteen, aren’t you.”

 

I smiled in what I hoped was a cocky fashion. “Yes, I am.”

 

She smiled back, in a less-than-pleasant way. Upstart child. “I sure hope you are—lucky, that is. From what I’ve seen, you’re going to need it. Maybe you’ve got something special going for you…or maybe you don’t. But either way, you’ve joined the viper’s nest—“

 

And then she disappeared. I blinked rapidly, and was about to turn and look for her when I felt the hard coldness of a gun’s muzzle on the back of my neck.

 

“—and I think it’d be a shame for you to get bitten on your first day,” she finished, standing right behind me. I turned slowly, heart racing but my expression steady, and no betrayal in my voice.

 

“And I think,” I replied quietly, “that little girls should take the time to observe before they jump to foolish conclusions.”

 

She chuckled and ground the pistol even harder into my flesh. “I’m twenty-three,” she said, as if this somehow made up for the fact that if I wasn’t being threatened right now, I’d be doubled over laughing. I’d been a Gung-Ho Gun before she was even born. I’d been a Gung-Ho Gun before that stupid name had even been picked, much less the dozen rabble that now lived under it.

 

I opened my mouth to respond, but my words were taken away by the ever-peculiar timing of my goddamned hero on a white horse, Legato Bluesummers, who waltzed in out of seemingly nowhere, his footsteps nearly silent on the smooth floor. The girl was suddenly harmless again, her gun tucked away, bowing politely to Legato as he stopped and passively assessed the situation. I was still standing there like a wire had drawn up my spine.

 

“Ah, Elendira, I see you’ve met one of your new compatriots. This is Dominique the Cyclops, the second Gung-Ho Gun. She’s almost a quick a shot as you are. I’m sure you two will have a lot of fun practicing with each other.”

 

I cringed inwardly. It might have been my over-fried imagination, but I was nearly certain he’d smirked at me when he’d said that. The girl—Dominique—twitched silently at his words. Damn Legato. I should have known he’d pull something like this.

 

“I’m sure we will,” I said, voice smooth as his was. “Dominique was just showing off her speed a few moments before you arrived. It was quite impressive. I’m already very interested in her technique.”

 

“I don’t think it’s something you could learn,” Legato said. “Old dog, new trick, you see.” He brought his left hand up to his chest, as if feeling for the pulse below. “Besides, you have quite enough surprises of your own, don’t you, Elendira?”

 

I glared at him. He was quite unfazed. “Well, so long, then,” he murmured. “I’ll leave you two, ah, ladies to your business.” And with that, the bastard just melted off and away, leaving me alone to fend off the psychotic teleporter.

 

She looked at me and I at her. There was definite malice in her eye. Obviously, Dominique the Cyclops was not the kind that takes well to her competition, no matter how unwilling they are. “A quicker shot than me, are you?” she grinned nastily, and—

 

And this time, I was ready for it. I didn’t think; I felt her intentions to move. And, suddenly, she was behind me again, and I was already waiting for her, crossbow exposed and the tip of a fresh spike just barely protruding from its barrel, three inches away from her chest.

 

“Yes, honey, I am.” I smiled sweetly.

 

Her eye was wide in rage and shock as she stared from me to my weapon. I had given away two secrets in the space of a second, but today there was power to be gained from enlightening those who seemed deeply intent on becoming my enemies. She glared indignantly at me and then popped out of existence once more, this time with escape, not confrontation, entirely on her mind. I had bought a small victory, for now.

 

“‘Viper’s nest’,” I scoffed to myself. “Well, Dominique the Cyclops, I’m glad we at least see eye-to-eyes on that one. Stupid girl, you have no idea…”

 

I sighed and let the adrenaline slowly bleed out of my system. I was about to head back to my quarters for a well-deserved return to boredom when something caught my eye. One last tarot card, left alone on the floor. I reached down to pick it up, and somehow knew this had been my fourth drawn. I frowned.

 

The Moon. Lies. Secrets. Deceit.

 

A mystery in the making.

 

 

 

A/N: Well, that took damn well long enough…