Contractor (20 page)

vampiric spell."

Xik clasped its white gloves together on

its cane. "You’ve changed your minds?

That’s excellent news. I’ll be sure to -"

"You misunderstand." Her father’s face

darkened. Eleanor stiffened. Even she felt

edgy when her father had that look in his eye.

There was a reason he could get away with

interrupting Rothschild. "We want no part of

that evil."

"…I see. Then what could have

prompted such a gathering?"

"Do not patronize us!" The president

pointed an accusing finger. "I received a

report not last week from our members in

Cleveland. A young man—possessing no

indication as to his order, allegiance, or rank

—wielded magic power. His enchantment

absorbed an extractor. We have two

eyewitnesses to the fact. You ignored our

agreements outright!"

"Caught red-handed, then." The hint of a

smile touched Xik’s lips. "It’s for your own

good."

"Our own good." Henry clenched his

fists. "Our ignorance has brought our world

to the brink of darkness one too many times

for me to believe that kind of posturing."

"Cleveland, hmm?" Xik rubbed his chin.

"He’s moving quickly."

"Who is?"

"The young man you mentioned." Xik

shook his head. "I told him to lay low, but to

think he was able to finish off an extractor

already…I knew I was right to keep on him.

He’s incredible potential."

"Then you not only cursed him, you

helped him hide from us?!"

"Yes."

Henry looked ready to kill. "Were it not

for the fact that we cannot afford it,

Xikanthus, your actions are provocation to

war."

"My people realize this," Xik said. "It’s more than about time you changed your terms

with the demons, by the way. Your universe

has the advantage of being naturally

intertwined with another. You’d be fools not

to use that."

"…how did you know -"

"Your little parlor tricks are easily

detected and discerned." Xik stepped closer

to Eleanor’s father, and to the assembly. "I

tire of these games, so I will be frank. Do

you simpletons understand the magnitude of

what you face? Before the raw power of the

Vorid nobles, your greatest spells are

inconsequential mutterings. Their king has

absorbed quintillions of souls. If he so much

as blinked, your entire planet would be

annihilated. Do you know what keeps him

from running rampant? Do you know what

keeps the multiverse locked in an unstable

cease-fire? The Klide. The sacrifices of my

people."

Throughout all his dealings with them,

Xik had been civil. This was different. He

was still calm. His voice was still measured.

But his words were like bricks thrown

through glass.

He gestured across his chest. "Despite

the fact that we have lost more lives to this

war than the total number of humans that

have ever lived, you have the gall—the sheer

arrogance—to turn your nose up at our

assistance. You are consumed with your own

self-righteousness. If you truly believe you

still have the luxury of morality, then

humanity deserves the fate that awaits it." He

let his hand drop. "That of a slow, steady

decline as the Vorid’s weakest scouts eat

you away."

It was quiet for a long time. Her father

was silent. No one in the chamber moved.

Xik took it all in with a clinical expression.

Almost bored.

It was the way he looked at them—the

way he saw them as ants, the way he floated,

aloof, thinking himself an emperor that had

spared some of his precious time to address

them. Eleanor took a step forward. "You

know nothing of humanity."

"You’re right. I overestimated you."

"You’ve underestimated us. We’d rather

die than sacrifice who we are. We’d rather

suffer a thousand painful deaths than live as

monsters!" Xik laughed in her face. Even

Eleanor was surprised by his reaction, but

she steeled herself. "Laugh if you want,

ambassador. I won’t be cowed."

"Oh, no, it’s not that. You made an

admirable retort." Xik’s humor faded. "The

young man in Cleveland said the same thing."

She blinked. "What?"

"He said he’d become a monster, that he

wasn’t human anymore. And he told me to

remember that you’d rather die on your feet

than live on your knees. It seems he’s

grasped you all rather well. I’d watch out for

him. I know I would."

"Whoever he is, he’s the exception, not

the rule."

"And he should be the rule. You’ve all

come together, united under one roof at last.

And what do you have to show for it? What

grand strategy have you created? Where is

your sense of responsibility to the millions

that have already died?"

"The demons are with us," Eleanor said.

"Even they recognize it’s in their best

interest to help us."

"The demons," Xik said. "A class 1

civilization. Better off than you, in both

technology and magic, but not by much, and

they cannot bring that might across the bridge

between your universes. The Vorid will flick

them away."

"And what you’re suggesting is

supposed to be better?!"

Xik fully turned to face her. "I offered

you a weapon that would at least give you a

chance of survival. What happens after that

is up to you. But at least there would be an

after
."

"Enough," Henry said. "Do you have any apology to make, or will you continue to

waste our time?"

Xik brought his cane up and gave Henry

a slight bow. "On account of my actions, and

what I will continue to do, I have not a single

apology or regret. As we’re clearly talking

in circles, I bid you good day." And with

that, he was gone.

A moment passed. The lingering shadow

of harsh and impending doom peeled off the

room. Everyone began to mumble and talk

amongst themselves.

Eleanor felt more than one reappraising

glance fall on her shoulder. Her father

moved so his back was to the audience

chamber. He gave her a subtle nod. "Well

said."

For a moment, she basked in her father’s

acknowledgement, but a tiny crack of

confusion undermined her pride. If what Xik

said was true—if the boy that took the power

knew what he was doing to himself, and the

consequences of that choice—than why did

he do it? Why go that far?

"…father…is it the right thing? To reject

the contractors?"

"You don’t understand what happened

before. You haven’t seen what unchained

magic can do."

"…but he…" Eleanor clenched her fists.

For all her eloquence, she wasn’t sure that

she’d been in the right. What was her

experience compared to Xik’s? What if they

were only holding themselves back? "He

mocked us for our powerlessness," she said.

"I was angry. Maybe rightfully so. But we

are losing. And so many people are dead. Is

this really enough? Is the treaty alone enough

to avenge them?"

"We don’t even know if we can trust the

Klide in the first place." He squinted hard.

His face seemed old to her, then, older than

usual. Tired. "It’s right to put them off. It has to be."

He said the words. But he didn’t sound

very sure.

****

2 Months Later

****

Rachel made for the steps of the grand

stair within the mansion’s foyer. The gold-

carpeted staircase split in two at the upper

landing, branching out in two curves over the

marble floor below. Lighting the space was a

chandelier about the size of a car. Even after

years of living there, the lavish decorations

made her feel out of place. She toed her way

down the carpet as if expecting an angry

maid to leap out and demand to know why

she was wearing boots indoors.

She cracked open the oak doors and

walked out over the gravel drive. She

stopped at the fountain that was the

driveway’s centerpiece and stared at the

water bubbling out the mouth of an angel.

The cherubim statue was poised above the

stone pool, pointing to the sky with a little

bow and arrow.

Eight long years ago, she’d been brought

here from home. She remembered pulling in

through the forest, then the gardens, and then

seeing the castle itself. When she was ten, it

seemed like a wild adventure.

They got out of the car. Her mother and

father held her. The worries started to come.

The palatial lodgings didn’t change the fact

that they were leaving her there. She’d never

been away from them before. Not like that.

Her mother knelt down next to her.

"Don’t worry, Rachel. You’ll be able to visit

us in a few years."

"…but what if I want to visit sooner?"

"I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that."

Rachel gripped her mother’s arm. "I

don’t want to go."

"Rachel." Her mother tapped her on the

nose. "This is an honor. You’ve been chosen

by the main family because you’re special.

You’ll have the best of everything." Her

mother’s hand moved to her cheek. "I

couldn’t be more proud of you. Everything

will work out. You’ll see."

Rachel nodded, but she still felt water in

her eyes. She tried to blink her way out of it.

It didn’t work. "Do you think she’s nice?"

"I think you’ll be best friends, soon

enough." Her mother smiled. "You’re a big

girl. You’ll do just fine. Make sure you take

care of Reggie."

Rachel tucked her doll into her side.

Reggie was a mess of patches and exposed

stuffing, but she’d made him herself. "I will."

Then they left.

And then Rachel had met the president,

and Eleanor, his daughter, one year Rachel’s

senior. Henry treated her like one of his own.

Rachel trained hard to become a good

attendant.

One day, Rachel couldn’t find Reggie.

She searched the entire house for him, even

the gardens. When Rachel still didn’t give up

after a week, Eleanor came and told Rachel

that she’d thrown him out. Her attendant

didn’t need a ratty old doll. She should just

buy a new one.

Rachel was furious, of course. But her

ten-year-old self couldn’t vocalize the

emotion she felt. The only way she could

express herself was by hitting the person that

had hurt her so much.

She was supposed to be shut in her room

with only water for 24 hours as punishment,

but Henry relented after just a few of them.

The President told her what she’d done was

wrong, but he left it at that. Once he left for

the day, she was quickly pressured into

apologizing by many of the older attendants.

Rachel had felt bad about it; she didn’t need

the prodding.

And so she found Eleanor, and told her

she was sorry for hitting her; it was just a

reaction. It wasn’t worth a doll.

Eleanor didn’t say anything. She just

turned and started walking away.

"What about you?" Rachel asked.

Eleanor looked back. "What do you

mean?"

"You should apologize too! Reggie was

important!"

"I won’t apologize for doing what’s

right."

"Reggie was mine," Rachel said. "You

can’t just throw out other people’s things!

My mother showed me how to make him, and

he’s always -"

"He?" Eleanor said. "It is a doll. Was a doll. Now it’s trash."

"But -"

"You’re my attendant," Eleanor said.

Even then, her eyes were like ice. "You

don’t get to have things I don’t like. It’s part

of the job."

Rachel was stunned. If she had said

something like that, her mother would have

spanked her until she cried. But Eleanor

went off like it was nothing.

Her mother had taught her how to sew.

In silent rebellion, Rachel continued with her

hobby with greater ferocity. Her room

became littered with her dolls, pillows,

blankets.

Eleanor threw most of them out. Rachel

didn’t complain, not even when Eleanor

made her drag the bags to the dumpster

herself as a punishment. Not even when

Eleanor whined to her father. She just made

more.

Eventually, Eleanor gave up on her anti-

doll campaign and instead quietly purged the

unworthy—dolls that had loose stitches, or

were losing a bit of stuffing here and there. It

was sort of a game, then. Survival of the

fittest. Rachel worked harder.

And then Rachel beat her to the punch.

She’d knit, and knit, and then give them

away, before Eleanor had enough time to

decide which ones should stay and which

should go.

It wasn’t really about the dolls, Rachel

realized. It was about control. And so she let

Eleanor have her control, and worked around