Hollyhock opens the car door for me.
“This is the first store we’re gonna check out. Then we’ll-”
“STOP BISCUITS!” A voice shouts. A creature runs down the sidewalk towards us. People just barely get out of the way for it.
“Watch this,” Hollyhock says to me. She stands still as it gets closer. “SIT!” The creature sits. It looks like a weird, skinny, short-haired wolf. She pets it as it obeys, parking itself in front of her. A little girl runs up behind it.
“Biscuits, I told you to stop running!” She grabs a leash attached to its collar. “Thank you, miss.”
“No problem. You just gotta be firm with dogs. He’s a Whippet, right?” The little girl nods the way kids do when someone guesses correctly.
“Mhmm, it’s my first time walking him by myself!”
“Really?” Hollyhock kneels to be at eye level with the kid. “Well he’s a big dog so wrap the leash around your hand like this.” She shows her how to do it, stands up and ruffles her hair.
“Alright, kid, get out of here.”
“Thanks again miss!” They walk off.
“She called me ‘miss’. Gotta love kids,” the assassin remarks.
‘That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.’
“That was a dog?” I ask instead of commenting.
“Yeah, you’ve never seen a dog before?”
“No, the people back home keep more eccentric creatures as companions. Such as wolves, or Farnooks.” Hollyhock narrows her eyes at me.
“What the fuck is a Farnook?”
“That’s a bit of a debate actually,” I start. “See they-” Hollyhock shakes her head.
“Y’know what, forget I asked. I don’t want to have nightmares from whatever awful thing you’re about to describe,” she interjects. I shrug.
“Your loss.” The assassin holds the door open for me.
“After you,” she says.
As we enter the store, Hollyhock leads me to the front.
“Excuse me,” she says, leaning on the counter. The clerk is turned around, is folding something.
“Give me one second, sir,” she says without looking back. Hollyhock turns to me just to raise an eyebrow. The clerk turns around to see the person attached to the voice. “Ma’am,” The clerk clumsily corrects herself. Hollyhock waves of the apology.
“Don’t worry about it.” She must be used to people making that mistake, with her voice being so deep and scratchy. “My friend here is new in town, figured I should get her some new outfits. I was hoping you could get someone to help her out,” she explains. The clerk quickly looks at Hollyhock’s arm. Not to observe the impressive amount of muscle, but the Bay Leaves tattoo on her deltoid.
She quickly swallows.
“Certainly ma’am.”
“Do I look like a “ma’am” to you?” Hollyhock asks. The clerk is unsure of how to respond. “Anyway, money is no object. So make sure she gets taken care of. “ the clerk nods and speaks into some device on her shirt. Another employee comes by and whisks me away from Hollyhock who just winks at me.
The employee takes me around the store asking a variety of questions I’m unsure of how to answer and showering me in compliments.
“What are your sizes?”
“I don’t know, all my clothes are tailored.”
“Really?” She looks me over like she’s trying to create a solution in her head. “Where are you from?”
“A small town, it’s not even on the map.”
‘Technically it’s the truth.’
Between her questions and showing me different garments, I peer over to Hollyhock who’s been standing in one section, looking at jackets. She’s testing each one with strange criteria. Rubbing the fronts of them between her fingers, I have no idea what she’s looking for. I’m taken to the other side of the store for more clothes.
When the employee decides she’s picked out enough, she stuffs me into a small room with a mirror and curtain.
“I’ll go get your friend, you just try on the first outfit!” She says from the other side. And so, for the second time that day, I strip for no particularly fun reason. I make sure that I don’t turn so that I can’t view my back in the mirror.
‘I’ve seen it enough.’ I browse through the collection, putting anything that’s backless to the side.
The first thing I pick is a black sheer lace blouse. The fabric is soft against my skin, going up my arms, and travels down to my hips. Loose enough around the waist that it flaps a bit as I turn.
Paired with it are shorts that have a flowing stretch of fabric attached to the back, giving it the feel of a skirt. The heels the employee picked fit well, even if the straps do bite into my skin.
“You wanna show me what you picked out, or do you want some assistance?” The assassin says from the other side of the curtain. I step out. She whistles, looking me up and down.
We’re the same height, but these heels give me an inch or two over Hollyhock.
‘I like them.’
“Damn girl, let me get your number,” she says.
“My number?” She dismisses my confusion with a wave of her hand.
“Never mind, let me see the back.” She twirls her index finger in a circle. I turn around and feel her gaze pan over me. She moves the fabric from the back of the shorts. “Mmmm, your ass looks good in those,” she says.
“Why does that matter? Are people going to look?”
“Oh yeah, asses are the new tits.”
“...I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.” I just roll my eyes at her. “Does that fit okay?”
“They’ll fit fine. I’ll modify them later.” She raises an eyebrow, a question forming in her mind but she decides not to ask.
“You want to try on anything else? We have all day.” I shake my head.
“I didn’t come here to try on clothes. Show me around your city.” Hollyhock flashes a smile at me.
“Alright, Witch-Hazel. We still have a few things to pick up, but I’ll show you around.” She grabs the attention of another employee. “She’ll wear these out,” she says.
Back at the counter, she pays for my clothes and the black jacket she picked out with a fold of hundred dollar bills.
She deposits the clothes into the back of the car and we take off. Despite the heat, she puts on the jacket she purchased.
“I’m going to tell you everything you need to know about cities like this, Witch-Hazel.” She rolls down her window, leaning on her arm. “You can judge any city by its infrastructure.” The street ahead of us is mostly empty and she slows the car down. Hollyhock waves her hand out the window. “You’ll notice there aren’t any public buses here.”
“What’s a ‘public bus’?”
“It’s a communal car for people who don’t have one,” she explains. “Anyway, that’s fine because we’re in Saffron Cro, the ‘nice’ part of town.” The edge with which she says ‘nice’ doesn’t escape my notice but I don’t comment on it.
“Everyone here can afford a car ‘cause they all have nice jobs, there are plenty of supermarkets, private schools, and the emergency services have a 5 to 10 minutes response time,” she lists.
“All in all, it’s a fine place to live, if you got the dough,” I raise an eyebrow at her “money,” she explains. I nod, understanding.
“Tell me, you got money back in IronHenge?”
“We do have currency,” I answer. “A system of bronze, silver, and gold coins. But mostly we trade goods and services. No one really cares about coins,” I explain. Looking out the window, I observe the tall buildings as we cruise along. There’s more steel and glass than I’ve ever seen in my life all on one structure. Buildings back home are much wider than they are here. Smooth roads, rather than the weathered cobblestone streets I’m used to.
“Hmmm, well out here everybody cares about money. It determines everything. If you can keep a roof over your head, have heat and power, food in your stomach, and clothes on your body.”
“But people need those things just to live,” I point out.
“I know, shit’s fucked,”
“Surely they can’t cost that much.” Hollyhock merely scoffs.
“Sorry, I don’t wanna be rude,” she says while she turns the car. “I’m getting off-topic. Outside this little slice of easy living, you’ll find things are quite different.”
The street under us elevates to an incline that takes us up to a long narrow stretch of road, separate from everything else. Hollyhock speeds up enough that I’m pushed back into my seat.
A few moments of driving, she speaks up again.
“This is the real Oleander City,” she points out my window. The cityscape is much less impressive than the one I just saw. The buildings and houses close enough to see look rundown, much like the one I first set up in. What I thought was an anomaly seems to be quite standard. Splashes of graffiti all over, cars with no windows or wheels, cracked pavement, the look of downtrodden people fly by as Hollyhock presses harder on whatever makes this vehicle move.
Despite the subpar conditions, I sense what rests under the city. The intricately woven strands of pure magical power that crisscross our planet; Ley Lines.
‘They’re so rich and deep here’ I pool magic behind my eyes. The Ley Lines of Oleander City spring to life before me. Iridescent light of every possible color across the spectrum bathes the city. I’ve seen Ley Lines before, but never this many or so untapped.
They meet the blue sky at the horizon, one pure color of reality clashes with an eclectic blend of color that can only exist with magic.
“It’s beautiful,” escapes from my lips.
Hollyhock scoffs again.
“Then IronHenge must be a true shithole,” she remarks. I pull back the magic from my eyes, blinking away the excess smoke.
“You just don’t see what you have. The charm’s underneath it.”
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“Yeah, if you can get past the sixty-point-nine murder rate.”
“I don’t know what that means but I’m sure you’re not helping lower that statistic, right?” Hollyhock cocks her head to the side and shrugs.
“That’s fair,” she says with a chuckle. The assassin turns the wheel quickly and the car heads down a ramp to the “Real Oleander city.”
Closer up, the city does seem to be in dire straits. It’s a sorry sight compared to Saffron Cro.
Sometime later, Hollyhock stops the car and gets out.
“I have to get something real quick,” she says through my open window. I get out to join her. She opens her mouth to protest but decides against it. We walk into an alleyway, on the left wall is a simple iron door. Hollyhock knocks on it six times in a pattern.
Two quick, one, two quick, and one again.
A panel slides and a pair of eyes look at her for a moment before the panel slides back into place. The door opens on what sounds like a thoroughly abused hinge. We enter a backroom filled with metal crates except for a desk, behind which sits someone poring over a book. The pair of eyes that let us in is perched on a crate, doing something on their phone.
We walk over to the desk. Upon closer inspection, the book is a ledger; encrypted with some kind of cipher. If I cared enough I could definitely break it, but I don’t. Besides, a cursory glance around the room suggests it is for the import and export of whatever is in these crates.
“Hello Hollyhock,” the man writing into the ledger says without looking up.
“Hey Clingstone, surprised to see me?” She asks.
“Why would I be surprised? You always come by after you finish a job.” He finally looks up at her with a confused expression. This man, Clingstone, is bald but has large, wild, brown eyebrows. They remind me of Magipillars, little fuzzy creatures that love places of potent magical energy.
Something tells me that his forehead isn’t one of them.
“I guess I do,” Hollyhock comments. After her betrayal last night, she’s suspicious of everyone it seems.
“So,” he closes the ledger and gives me a look over. “Who’s this?” His voice of as smooth as his head.
“Daisy Silver, she’s new in town, and she’s been around the block,” Hollyhock answers for me. I recognize the alias but not the phrase she used. Clingstone looks me over once more and shrugs.
“If you say so. C’mon, got something you’re gonna like.” Getting up from his chair and Clingstone leads us over to an open crate. He produces a metal briefcase from inside.
“Here we are,” he opens the case. A gun of some kind lies in black foam with three sleek metal cases that I guess holds the ammo for it. I’ve never actually seen a gun before. “Desert Eagle, hot and fresh for you. Should you decide you want to make a statement.”
Hollyhock takes the weapon in her hand. She inspects it like a Wizard inspects a tome or a relic. She closes her left eye and looks down at the top of it. Pulls a little lever and something slides out of it, then she pulls the top and catches the bullet that flies out.
“This it?” She asks. Clingstone smiles.
“Of course not. You’ll notice these,” he picks up one of the metal packs. “Hollow points, for when you’re really trying to be bold.” He puts it down and picks up another. “Explosive. For when things get messy,” he says with a wink. “And the Pièce de résistance,” he announces the last one.
“Depleted uranium rounds. We’re talking bleeding-edge shit here.” Hollyhock takes the case, popping one bullet out to examine.
“Uranium? Isn’t that radioactive?” She asks, still holding the bullet. Before Clingstone can answer, I do.
“It’s what’s leftover from the uranium extraction process. It no longer emits harmful radiation,” I answer, remembering my lessons on the earth sciences. If I had to guess what benefits they serve as bullets then I’d think it’s because, “it heats up quickly, very dense, so reaching a high velocity will make it punch through anything and burn on the way through,” I explain. They both look at me in surprise.
“That’s right. Your friend here knows her stuff. These will go through body armor like nothing.” The assassin nods.
“I’ll take it, two clips of the explosive, and three of the hollow points. Send it to the usual place.”
“I’ll give ya an extra clip of the DU for old times sake,” he replies.
“You’re a real peach, Clingstone. Catch you later.”
“Hold on, does your friend here want anything?”
“No thanks,” I answer. “I don’t need any guns. I can take care of myself.”
“She can,” Hollyhock chimes in with a quirk of her eyebrows.
We get back to the car and drive off. She turns to look at me.
“You’re just full of surprises, huh?” I feel like she should be watching the road instead of me.
“I figured you’d know about it, miss assassin.”
“I know what depleted uranium is,” she replies, finally turning back to look forward. “I wanted to know if he did.”
“Why?”
“If someone is selling something that dangerous, they should understand it. Otherwise, he’d sell it to any idiot who can-” she swerves around a man running in the middle of the street. “GET ON THE SIDEWALK, SHITHEAD!” She yells out the window. The man enraging her is the one called ‘Falecido’. I twist in my seat to stare at him, feeling a small pull in my chest.
It’s unusual.
“What was I saying?” She asks me, but I’m focusing on him to figure out what’s going on. But all I see is a man chasing after someone on a bike.
“Something about idiots,” I absentmindedly respond.
“Right, between the Cleavers and the Ru-Mexs firepower like that is trouble. Unless they take out the Dead-Nettles.” She turns the car so I face forward again. “How’d you know about it? The bullets, I mean.” I shrug.
“‘You have to understand how things truly are in nature, before you can change it with magic’,” I repeat the phrase that’s been drilled into me by my instructors over the years. “A thorough education of the sciences is key to effectively utilize magic.”
Hollyhock considers that for a moment.
“I guess that makes sense...kinda.”
We sit in silence for a moment. “It’s been a long ass day and something tells me this is just the first of many with you,” she says, notably soft to me.
‘The first, huh?’
“I just realized I didn’t eat all day, you hungry?”
“Yes. The last thing I ate was some Omninuggets.”
“What are those?”
“They magically change to the tastes of your favorite things,” I explain.
“That sounds dope, you have any left?”
“No. I ate them all.” She just shakes her head.
“‘Course you did. I’ve been meaning to get groceries, but to be fair to myself, I almost died. What kind of food do you like?”
“...What do you mean?”
“Like, what sort of cuisine do you enjoy?” I sincerely have no idea what she means, food back home was just food.
“The edible kind?” I answer. She snaps her head towards me, opens her mouth for a second, and then closes it.
“Forget it, let’s get something to eat.”
She pulls the car over in front of a small store, leading me inside. There are shelves all over containing plastic packages that I assume to be snacks. Hollyhock goes to the counter and whistles.
“Yo, Ock!” A petite man walks up to her call.
“Holly, you still haven’t been killed?” He replies in a thick accent.
“He’s mad cuz I made his sister realize she’s gay,” she explains to me.
“No, I’m mad cuz you ghosted her.”
“Whatever, that was months ago. Let me get two chicken over rice.” The man scoffs and disappears to another section of the store. The sound of a stove turning on finds my ears, the sizzling of something hitting its heating surface.
“That’s the second time I’ve heard you ‘ghost’ someone. What does it mean?” The assassin leans on the counter to look me over again.
“I’m going to have to teach you slang, aren’t I? ‘Ghosting’ means cutting off contact with someone,” she clarifies.
“Why’d you ghost them?”
“They’re too clingy, wanted to get too close. And with my...lifestyle, it’s best for them not to go down that road with me.”
‘Noble, in a way.’
“Hmm, and what if you find someone who’s not only okay with it but can handle herself?” She pauses for a moment.
“Then I guess she and I can get close,” she suggests with a wink. My face heats up a bit.
“HOLLY! YOU WANT WHITE SAUCE?!”
“YEAH!” She answers back. “Ok, quick slang tutorial.”
She educates me on how people colloquially here while we wait for our food. From greetings, slick terms, insults, and variations of a certain word that she told me not to say.
“Here’s your food. You’re lucky your friend is with you, otherwise, I’d spit in it!” He says.
“Love you too! Peace out!” She dismisses his hostility.
The assassin takes us back to her place. She hands me my food as we sit on the couch.
The chicken is delicious, its spices spit fire across my tongue that the rice and tomatoes extinguish before it overpowers my whole mouth.
“So, tell me, is it hard to kill people?” I ask her. The question has been on my mind since she told me that she’s an assassin. Hollyhock doesn’t flinch at the question. I doubt she flinches at much.
“Hmmm, light dinner conservation,” she wipes her mouth. “Nah, human beings aren’t that hard to kill. Poke them hard enough with a stick and they die,” she answers.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she says, more serious this time. She takes another bite of her food. “Ummm, at first; yeah, it was. But once you do it so many times, it doesn’t carry the same weight as before. You spill enough shit on a carpet, after a while, it doesn’t matter what else stains it,” she asserts. ‘Stain’ she used that word when we first met. She didn’t want the stain of seeing someone die on my soul.
‘She isn’t as cold as she thinks she is.’
“How’d you get into this line of work?” I’m not interested in my food anymore, putting it on the table next to us. She puts down her fork.
“I was raised into it,” she says. Her eyes lock onto mine as a steely expression takes hold of her face. “For reasons, I’ll never know, I was on my own as a kid. I don’t know how I survived so long in this city by myself. My earliest memory is digging through garbage for something to eat. Being a beggar here isn’t a viable option, most people aren’t that much better off than you, and those that are usually can’t afford to help.”
She pulls her legs up onto the couch and our knees brush each other.
“And it was like that for years. I was either scavenging or straight up stealing food to keep myself alive. But the place where I was squatting,” she stops to explain “staying without permission. A gang was moving in. I think they were the Cleavers, anyway I got out of there and went to Saffron Cro. Figured it was a nicer place, could steal some better food.”
A laugh escapes her mouth, but it’s cold and hard. She deposits her food next to mine.
“I kinda had this fantasy, in the back of my mind, that some rich person there would see this poor, dirty, little black girl and adopt her out of the kindness of their heart.” She closes her eyes to think about it. “But that didn’t happen. In fact, the first day I was there someone saw me dumpster diving and called the cops on me. Can you believe it? I was a kid, maybe nine or ten, I honestly don’t know.”
Hollyhock smiles as if the memory is funny to her now, but I see the pain in her eyes.
“The cops in Saffron Cro come faster than a virgin in a brothel. I tried to run but I was malnourished and the cop had a car so it was hardly fair.” Another fake smile flashes across her face for a second. “He threw me in the back and I was thinking he’d take me to the station to get a meal at least.” The edge of her countenance dulls as her voice gets quieter. “He didn’t take me to the station, the precinct, or juvie.”
I watch her neck as she swallows air, recollecting the event. She drops her head and stares blankly at her own legs. “Instead, he drove me out to Hemlock Estates. He dragged me into one of the houses there. His place was sparse, he lived alone in a house too big for just him. It didn’t even look anyone really lived there. I got tossed into some room and he handcuffed me to a radiator,” she gesticulates a handcuff around her wrist. “There was a bed in there, too big for a kid but there was kid stuff in there.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“I still remember the stench of the room, it always smelled like sweat; grown man sweat. The scratches on the floor from the door always opening and from the bed being moved constantly. And that camera on the tripod, aimed at the bed. I don’t know how long it was but that cop came back, looking at me like a piece of meat.” Hollyhock frowns. I’ve never seen her look so furious.
“He told me that no one was gonna find me, cuz no one was looking for me.” Tears well in her eyes and her voice catches in her throat. “Bastard told me what he was gonna do to me and that he’d hurt me if I didn’t go along with it.” A chill runs through my body. If she doesn’t say it then it must be truly heinous. “I spit in his eye. Got ready for his fist across my face. But it didn’t come. He just left. Left me in that room, still handcuffed,” she continues.
Even though I see her in front of me, a grown strong woman, I feel that scared little girl instead.
“Might’ve been a day later or maybe two when he came back. He had snacks in his hands. And I was so goddamn hungry,” she says while clutching her stomach. “Sick son of a bitch said I could have them if I agreed...I couldn’t eat them fast enough, Witch-Hazel.” She braves a smile for me. “Nothing like eating a honey bun after starving for a few days. Damn near choked on it.”
She stops to blink the tears away. I regret asking the question. Regret that I’ve trudged up what is obviously a painful time for her. Regret that she’s shared so much with me and I’ve barely shared anything with her.
“I was getting ready for...what was to come. He turned on that camera and that’s when my life changed. The door crashed off its hinges and standing there like an angel of justice was Tamara. The cop didn’t have his gun on him, he already had his belt off. Not that it would’ve done him any good. Tamara already had hers out and ready. Put one in his head, two in the chest. Dead before he hit the floor. Tamara saw her target first, then me. Koki’O came into the room second, she was watching her back. They got me out of there and took me in. Gave me a name, taught me to read and write, and how to kill. That’s how I became a Bay Leaf-”
I can’t hold back anymore, I lurch forward and wrap her in a hug.
“I’m sorry that I made you talk about that. I should’ve known it wasn’t a happy story. I’m sorry that you had to be alone all those years and I’m so sorry that you had to go through all that,” I say so fast I’m not sure if it was coherent. Tears start to trickle down my face. “I’m sorry that this world has been so cruel to you when I’ve been so fascinated with it.” Though I took her by surprise, she returns the hug. Wrapping her strong arms around my back.
“It’s okay. That’s my sob story, lotta people have one, especially ’round here,” she assures me with a pat on the back. The pounding in my chest is so strong I’m sure she can feel it. I lean back and start to wipe the tears from my eyes.
“Branches of Yggdrasil,” I say “You must think I’m such a fool, crying over something that only happened to you.”
“Nah. It’s...nice. Nice that you care enough.” She glides her tongue over her teeth. “I’ve never really told anybody else that story. Tamara and Koki’O obviously know since they were there but, no other Bay Leaf knows that about me,” she confesses. I’m stunned.
‘How can she just trust me like this?’
Almost like she read my mind, she says,
“If you wanna make it even between us; you could tell me about yourself,” she proposes. I nod in agreement, take a deep breath.
“I also never met my parents.”
“Oh shit, this oughta be good.”
Chapter 5 End