It was midnight when her father dozed off and she made her move. Though she'd been forbidden to eat dinner, Maggie was patient, having already learned the rebel's oldest truth at five years old: that what her father didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
After a few tense moments Maggie made her way past him and left their room. It was cold, even in her pajamas, but Maggie couldn’t risk going back to get a blanket. She made do with rubbing her arms and missing her mother.
She and daddy were spending the winter in the homeless shelter. They had been there for the longest time, since… well, as far as Maggie was concerned, since forever. They wouldn’t be able to rely on charity much longer: two weeks more and they would have to leave. The priests and social workers had done their best, but Maggie’s father was too lazy to find a job, too mean to keep one. A few of the volunteers had tried to wrest Maggie from his custody, but he was cunning enough to know that a man with a daughter found help more easily than a man alone.
But all that was for tomorrow. For tonight, the only thing on her mind was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The kitchen had a jar of raspberry preserves, her favorite. Maggie was very proud of her sandwiches, as one of the few memories she had of her mother before she’d left was learning how to make them on her knee.
Maggie was almost to the kitchen when she heard floorboards creak. She whirled, terrified that her father had caught her. She couldn’t see anyone, even though the moon was flooding the hallway with milky light, but then Maggie noticed that the sounds were coming from old Mrs. McTavish’s room.
No sandwich for Maggie. She almost wished her father was coming instead. Mrs. McTavish always stank of cat piss and Maggie couldn’t help retching whenever the she was near. However, it wasn’t Mrs. McTavish that came through the door. Through the door. Not opening the door or breaking it down, but passing through it like a ghost.
First came the head, the flesh drawn sharply across a skull that by turns mirrored the features of man, wolf, and goat. Heavy ram’s horns curled down and out, forming wicked points that hung next to burning yellow eyes. The rest of the body followed without a sound, lean and emaciated. Despite the curious hump at its shoulders the creature’s body reminded Maggie of a cat's, or rather a man who decided he’d rather be a cat. A big, black, ugly cat.
Girl and creature stared at each other, the beast’s tail switching back and forth. It never occurred to Maggie to be afraid: perhaps life had left her too jaded to concern herself with a monster that wasn't her father. She couldn’t decide whether it was a person or an animal, so she decided to find out the best way she knew how. She leaned close and whispered “Do you have a sandwich?”
It blinked and shook its head.
Maggie looked at the thing’s flanks and noticed that its ribs were showing, to say nothing of the rest of its bones. Her face fell into a worried pout: her dog had looked like that just before it had died. And her mother had always told her sharing was caring. “You look hungry. Would you like a sandwich?”
The creature stared for a few moments and then nodded slowly.
“Okay.” Maggie held out her hand. “Come on. I’ll make us a sandwich.”
Maggie talked to the creature and it listened politely, tucking into the sandwich with the unique perspective of something that couldn't remember whether it had occasioned to eat before. After considering the matter, it concluded that it liked the experience and would have to do it again sometime.
The little girl told it her story, how she was born in the hospital a few miles away, how her mommy had left when she was three because her daddy was too mean, how they’d been moving around ever since. Daddy was always mean. Sometimes, like yesterday, he wouldn’t let her eat, but he got really nasty when he drank the bottles. Then she had to hide.
“I like it here. There’s lots of places I can play, and nice people too, though Mrs. McTavish is mean like Daddy. I guess you know that, since you were in her room. Do you live with her?”
The creature started to shake its head, then waggled a claw in a “kind-off” gesture. The hump on its back shifted slightly.
“Hmm. So you visited her?”
It nodded.
“She must like having visitors: even mean people get lonely, don’t they?”
An unpleasant expression might have ghosted across the beast’s face at this but Maggie didn’t notice, as she was busy yawning.
“I’m sleepy. Bedtime. Will you come back?”
The creature pondered for a moment, then nodded.
“Good. I like you.” Maggie smiled. “You need a name.”
The creature waited patiently. It had a title of sorts but didn’t recall ever having a name. It wondered what having one was like.
“You’re Bobby now, okay?” Maggie paused. “Do you like Bobby?”
Bobby shrugged and nodded again.
“Yay!” Maggie yawned again and reached out to her new friend. “Carry me to bed? Only you have to be quiet. Daddy’s asleep.” Bobby bent and gently lifted the little girl in its arms, letting her point the way. No noise was made, and had Maggie looked she would have seen the creature deftly step into the air, its clawed feet a good six inches above the floor. When they reached the room it drew back the blankets and tucked her in.
“Thank you, Bobby,” she whispered. “Night-night!” Bobby might have smiled but Maggie wasn’t sure. It turned and leapt through the window, and as she watched the hump on the creature’s back unfolded into great, ribbed wings, shadows and ash fingering the air as it flew away.
“Bobby’s an angel?” Maggie turned and was asleep moments later, but her delighted smile lasted for some time after that.
The next day Maggie made a peanut butter sandwich first thing, then looked everywhere for Bobby. Mrs. McTavish wasn’t in, though people kept coming and going in her room. They shooed Maggie away when she came looking for her new friend and seemed very sad, though they wouldn’t explain why. She went to bed disappointed, even trying to stay up late to see if Bobby only came out at night, but when she woke next morning she still hadn’t seen the creature. She ate a gloomy breakfast and then went outside to play on the rickety swing set outside, determined to have fun with or without Bobby. She found the creature waiting for her, perching like a bird atop the swing.
“Bobby!”
It fluttered down at her delighted yell, landing with a gust of wind and returning her hug.
“Bobby, where were you yesterday? I had to eat your sandwich.”
The creature hung its horned head and Maggie laughed. “Okay, I’ll make you another one. Then do you want to play?” Bobby nodded, eager to try eating again. They made their way to the kitchen. No one seemed to notice the horned figure trailing behind the little girl. They only smiled to see that she was having fun, even if it was with an ‘imaginary friend.’
After Bobby ate its sandwich they went back outside. Maggie jumped into the swing and the frame sagged. “Push me, Bobby!”
The beast looked with some skepticism at the swing and plucked the child from the contraption before it broke.
“Bobby, I want to swing!”
Bobby unfurled its batlike wings and gently flicked them at the air a few times, then cocked its head and looked expectantly at Maggie.
“You want to fly away, Bobby?” the little girl started to tear up. “Bu-but you just came!”
It mimed picking something up and then flapped its wings again.
It dawned on Maggie what Bobby was suggesting, and her eyes lit like the fourth of July. “Yes, Yes! Let’s go flying, Bobby!”
Bobby took her into its arms. There was a dull crack of sound and a rush of wind past Maggie’s face. She watched in awe as the homeless shelter and the rest of the town that was her whole world fell away. Laughing as Bobby soared in ever-widening circles, she waved her hands and was delighted by how easy it was to hide away everything she’d known when she placed one of them just so. The air was cool, but when it became too much she snuggled herself close to Bobby, marveling at how deliciously warm he was, like fresh laundry.
“This is great Bobby! You’re the best angel ever!”
Maggie couldn’t see its face as she said that. If she had, she wouldn’t have understood the strange and profound joy that shone in Bobby’s eyes The wry amusement that also glittered there would also have been lost on the little girl.
After a short but blissful hour, Maggie watched the little town slowly grow between her toes until they landed at the shelter’s door. Maggie turned and gave Bobby a huge hug as soon as she was on her feet again. “Thank you, Bobby.”
Bobby hugged her back, then gently took her shoulders and knelt. It locked its eyes with her and Maggie understood that it wasn’t going to be back for a while, and it didn’t know how long a while would be.
“But Bobby…”
It shushed her with a claw gently pressed to her lips, then took one of her hands in its own. Maggie felt the creature put something in her hand, and she looked down to see what looked like a coin made of black glass in her hand. Bobby met her eyes again, and Maggie knew that she was to break it if she needed him. Only if she really needed him, not to play.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Okay, Bobby.” Silent tears crept down her cheeks and Bobby wiped them away. It stared at the wet spots on its claws, then it drew Maggie to its breast one more time. Maggie felt a kiss on her brow as she hugged it back.
“I love you, Bobby.”
Bobby nodded, its wings made that cracking boom that she already knew so well, and it was gone.
“Beer.”
Maggie pushed herself off the couch and walked to the kitchen, careful not to step between her father and the television. She nudged the few groceries they had and cringed: the bottles were gone.
“There aren’t any, Daddy.”
“Of course there’s beer, you little bitch,” he snarled. “Get me one.”
She shook her head, shaking. “I don’t see any bottles.”
“What are you, blind?” He rose on unsteady feet and looked himself, shoving her out of the way as he did. “Hmph.” He scowled and reached up into the pantry, pushing aside a few boxes and cursing when he found nothing. Then he went to the bathroom and returned, smiling.
“Good old Jack.” He took a swig and got back in his chair. “You’re lucky I had this, Maggie.” She knew better than to disagree, but also knew that she was most definitely not lucky. She left as soon as the commercials ended and stayed in her room for a few hours, hoping that he’d be asleep when she came back and she could have some food.
He wasn’t.
Her father bellowed obscenities at her, blaming her for her mother’s departure, his alcoholism, even their poverty. He threw bottles, though thankfully he’d drunk too much to hit her. They shattered on the wall behind her, the glass lying in countless shards around her feet. Maggie stood through it all unflinching, her face wooden and her eyes blank, far away, two years away, back at the homeless shelter. She was flying, flying with Bobby… she smiled. She couldn’t help herself.
He hit her and she fell, crying out as glass cut into her hands, her sides, her knees. She could feel her face swelling where his fist had connected and she cringed back, cutting herself more but not caring at all, desperate to get away from him.
“You think I’m funny? You little shit,” his fingers scrapped at the floor and drew the remains of a bottle up with a hideous glitter in his eyes. “You won’t smile again. I’ll make sure.”
Maggie screamed and ran to her room, locking the door and sobbing as her father battered at the thin wood, making the hinges squeal in protest. She plunged her hands into her sock drawer and frantically scrabbled at the contents. It was there, it had to be…
The door shattered under her father’s laughter as Maggie’s fingers closed around something small and flat. He swung and a flare of pain suddenly burst in the corner of her left eye. Her hand tightened in pain and the glass coin broke.
Time stopped.
Maggie turned and stared at her father, stuck with his hand still slashing towards her, the broken bottle sprinkled with drops of red. She slowly rose to her feet and wiped the blood from her eyes. Maggie was awed that he did nothing as she touched him, then hit his unresisting body. All expression drained from her face as she struck him again. And again. She rained blows into him, not stopping until she felt a touch on her shoulder.
“Bobby.”
She didn’t need to look. At its touch, a wall broke and sobs wracked her body. Gentle hands turned her and held her close, wiping the tears away until she was able to look up. Bobby watched her silently for a few moments, expressionless, then looked to the countless marks on her body, the old bruises and new cuts, the blood on her lips, in her eyes. It raised a claw and passed it over the wounds. The shards of glass fell one by one from her flesh. As they fell, the gashes knit themselves into scars. Even the swelling on her face faded away like sand brushed from skin. Bobby nodded in satisfaction and then turned to her father, eyes blazing.
“What are you going to do, Bobby?”
The creature glanced at Maggie and then took her by the hand, leading her from the room, walking her through her father like a ghost. Bobby took her to the kitchen and made a curious gesture with one hand. Raspberry preserves appeared on the counter. Laughing, Maggie fetched peanut butter and bread from the pantry. Bobby watched for a few moments, then gestured again. Maggie was to stay in the kitchen. Bobby went back upstairs. Maggie made sandwiches and ignored the screams.
Bobby came back and went to the sink, washing something from its talons. Maggie asked no questions. She simply offered it a towel and a sandwich. Bobby wiped itself clean and ate, considering Maggie as she watched. When Bobby was finished it reached out, took her in its arms and carried her from the house. Maggie wrapped her arms around its neck and smiled into his soft, warm skin. “My angel, back for me…” She fell asleep and Bobby smiled, a little sadly, a little bitterly, but with a joy beyond anything it had ever known. It flew away, a little girl in its arms. It wasn’t an angel, and knew it.
That didn’t matter.
***
“He wasn’t an angel, was he?”
Maggie took her hand from Nathan’s with a slow shake of her head. “In a manner of speaking, he is. The Inameas−” She corrected herself. “Bobby… is one of the aspects.”
Nathan frowned, still trying to sort through Maggie’s and, if he was right, Bobby’s memories. “One of the what?”
“One of the aspects. An incarnation of death, or at least one of death’s facets.” Maggie shrugged. “People argue whether they were created by belief or if they’ve always existed. I never asked. Thought it’d be rude.”
“So he… kills people?”
“Better to say he is present when they pass on,” she said with a humorless smile. “But yes, when they wish to the aspects can take life.”
Nathan nodded slowly. “The horsemen of the apocalypse. War, Famine, Pestilence…”
“That's a few of them, yes.”
“Which one is he?”
“Suicide,” Maggie said, her cheerless smile widening. “I’m his apprentice.”
“What?”
“How do you think I can do all this tinkering, as you put it?” Maggie asked. “It’s part of a process shaping me to take over for him. The aspects are immortal but they... well, they burn out. When that happens, provided they have a suitable replacement, they are permitted to retire.” Maggie laughed bitterly. “If Bobby chooses to die I get his job, provided I’m not dead when it happens.”
“So he…” Nathan took a spoonful of cold stew, trying to come to grips with what she was telling him. “He took you on as an intern?” He tried to say it as a joke but Maggie didn’t bat an eye.
“No, he adopted me,” Maggie said. “Took me in. From what I know, Bobby has never done this before. He might even be the original Inameas, I don’t know. It was the only way he could keep me.”
“It sounds like he loves you a lot.”
She nodded. “And I love him. He’s like a second…” she smirked. “He’s a father to me. Fed me, housed me here with good people, even fixed things so I could still go to school in your world when I was ready, choose which world I wanted to live in. He never could fix my eyes after that night, though. One went dark, then the other. By the time I was nine I couldn’t see a thing. Not that it mattered.”
Maggie leaned forward, intent on her story, and it was Nathan’s turn to back away. “I’ve sensed the people around me ever since Bobby took me in. Felt the thoughts skimming the surfaces of their minds, known what they were feeling and, when I was touching them, what they were thinking.” She sat back and took a spoonful of stew, eyes frigid. “I even made them think what I want.”
“Like with Tyler,” Nathan said cautiously. He didn’t like where this was going.
“Like with Tyler,” she echoed. “And while we’re putting everything on the table, I’ll come clean. Yes, I can step through the veil between worlds. Everything death does I can shadow. I can take someone with me…”
The pieces came together in Nathan’s mind with a horrible, twisted symmetry. “But someone has to die for it to happen,” he finished.
“Yes.”
“For me to go home, we have to kill somebody.” Maggie nodded and nursed her bowl. Nathan folded his arms, suddenly very cold. “And you’ve done it before.”
“Done what?” Maggie asked with the brittle tone of someone who already knows the answer.
“Killed someone.” The implications of what Maggie was telling him, of what he had seen her do, were filling his guts with ice. “What you did to Tyler was easy for you. Natural. You’ve done it before.”
Maggie’s face lost all semblance of warmth as he spoke and she offered him a hand. “I kill people for a living, Nathan. Want me to show you how?”
Unable to stop himself, Nathan reached for her. The moment he touched her, she vanished.
He turned to look for her and hands seized his head like a vice. “Fight me,” Maggie hissed in his ear. “Fight me with everything you’ve got.”
Nathan’s body went rigid as the pain began.
When Maggie first touched him she'd tried to remove Nathan’s memories of her. The process had been blunt, invasive, and something in him had resisted. Maggie had met with resistance before but had never been stopped, never encountered anything like it in all her years of bending minds to her will. As she touched him he came to know this as though the knowledge had always been there. Maggie was using it as a distraction, a knife to carve through the walls barring her from his mind.
When he had shown her the stars he had been willing to share, and the act of giving had apparently not triggered whatever it was protecting him. Now Maggie was actively trying to invade his mind, forcing him to understand who and what she was, sliding over those strange barriers like oil over a raging sea. The agony of her invasion was indescribable and yet Nathan fought. His mind ignited, blazing like a newborn sun in the struggle, and Maggie’s presence dwindled for a moment.
What are you, Nathaniel Seldon? Her voice echoed in his head like a thought of his own, both a question and another thrust into his mind. He didn’t answer, turning depths of determination he’d never known he had into a knot of iron at his core, forcing her back.
You put up a good fight, Maggie murmured, the best I’ve ever seen. The pressure on his mind suddenly rose like a black tide and the first cracks fractured across his psyche. But you picked the wrong metaphor. Iron, just like a man, can bend. And in the end, it breaks. One of Maggie’s hands drifted down to trail across the veins in his neck, and the last splinters of determination were swept away by her touch.
***
He woke at home.
Nathan was curled up in his favorite chair in front of the fire, the clock on the mantelpiece marking the day as Christmas morning. He leapt to his feet as the memories rushed into his head. Was it a dream? he thought, lifting his hand to check for the burn at his neck and finding nothing. He laughed quietly and slumped with relief, for one precious moment thinking that it had all been imagined, that she wasn’t real, that none of it had happened…
…that Jack was still alive.
A salamander? Interesting. That explains how you survived the revenant.
Nathan shuddered as she spoke. Her voice shivered out of the walls, the fire, the air itself; it wasn’t simply coming from everything, it was everything. The world was built solely of Maggie’s desire to make him feel a moment’s peace and then tear that moment away.
“Where are you?” he whispered.
You know.
Nathan’s eyes were drawn to the photos above the fireplace, frozen glimpses of friends, family, and happiness.
Each had changed. In every scene was a little girl where none had been before, the smile on her face filled with the despair of an adult who has seen too many horrors, committed too many, to forget or forgive. Nathan began to tear them from the wall and throw them in the fire, but with each picture he burned her image grew a little larger in the rest.
“Where are you?!” he screamed, turning toward a familiar knock at the door. The thought of who it might be sent him running for his room rather than risk receiving those papers again.
You know. What papers? What happened to your brother?
Nathan slammed the door to his room, sobbing as the poster he’d plastered over it shifted and changed, becoming another haunting picture of that terrible, beautiful, impossible girl.
I’m glad you think I’m beautiful.
Nathan tore the poster from the door and moaned as another was revealed behind it, the girl in the picture a bit closer. Again and again he ripped the paper away, each time finding another poster underneath, until those scarred eyes were all he could see.
Nathan collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down his face. “WHERE ARE YOU?!” he cried. “HOW ARE YOU EVERYWHERE?!”
“You know.” There was a tap at his shoulder and he whirled to find Maggie sitting on his bed, a bloody tear in the corner of her left eye. “I’m not everywhere,” she said in an old voice, her face cracking into that awful smile as she reached up to prod his forehead.
“Just here.”
***
Nathan shoved himself away from the table, eyes blurred with tears. Maggie sat in her place at the table, her face a mask of indifference as she sipped at her bowl. He threw a glance at Stak but the grint was still bustling about behind the bar as though nothing had happened. Hell, Nathan thought. As far as he’s concerned, nothing did.
“Now you know,” Maggie said, and got up to walk away. Nathan reached out to stop her but she turned and locked dead eyes with him, forcing him to look away. “Where are you going?” he asked softly.
“We need supplies. We’ll be leaving in an hour. Be ready.” She left, and Nathan made no move to stop her.
He slumped back into his chair, marveling at the loathing in her voice, hurt and bewildered by her change in attitude. How can she hate me so much, so quickly, he thought, when I don’t even know what to think? He racked his brains for something he’d said or done that could have wounded her so badly, fury with himself mounting as he could think of nothing. What did I do? What did I… nothing.
I did nothing. It’s her, Nathan realized. She hates herself. She hates what I see when I look at her. He eyed the last few mouthfuls of cold stew, wondering at Maggie, at himself, at the world around him. And what do I see?
He couldn’t answer that.