Luminous (5 page)

“Don't dally, then.” Sissy's voice rang clear as a bell, not like the soft hum of echoed strings.
Like an electric angel.
Consuela wondered where she'd heard it before, or if she'd ever hear it again.

“Later, Bones,” Sissy said.

Consuela hung up, still in a daze. Sissy's wasn't the voice that had spoken before. It was as if her last name had been said with steel-stringed violins. A chord that formed her new name as a word. It buzzed through her memory in low harmonics.

She stood in the shower while hot water ran over her scalp.
What does it mean?
She soaped up her hair, scrubbing hard. She was glad she'd grabbed the phone before her parents had.
How am I going to explain this to them? Mom? Dad? Allison?
Consuela dunked her face under the jetting stream.
I can't imagine. I can't believe it. And
I'm
the one living it!

She wasn't certain of anything, but she showered quickly and draped the towel and her skin over the glass door to dry.

 

WHEN
Consuela arrived at Sissy's office, there was another person there—a guy. Somehow he managed to look scruffy and greasy at the same time, like a lost dog who'd been living in Dumpsters and trash.

His hair was brown and raggedly cut, his face pointy and thin with an extra-long nose. He wore a black T-shirt and a denim jacket completely covered with novelty pins. His hands, thin and lanky, kept moving, tapping the armrests and the pins and his chin. His foot bounced nervously, crossed over his knee. Sissy's eyes were closed, but her face turned toward Consuela as she stepped into the den. Consuela stood behind the chair, waiting politely to be introduced.

“Hello, Bones, this is Wish.” Sissy gestured from one to the other. Wish nodded, but didn't say anything, glancing nervously back at Sissy.

“Bones?” He grinned unsteadily. “Is that a joke?” He sounded unsure whether to laugh or not.

“No,” Consuela said. “Hi.”

Wish jumped and gripped the armrests, looking wild. She realized she'd frightened him. She'd never considered herself frightening.

“Why ‘Wish'?” Consuela said as a way of breaking the ice.

He settled warily into his seat. “Oh, that.” He placed a finger on one crooked eyetooth. “See this? It's still a baby. Never got another growing in. My mum said that I could wish on baby teeth—that was her game since we were too stint to play tooth fairy, probably figured food stamps under my pillow wouldn't be a big thrill.” Wish grinned around his scraggly teeth. “So now I can break it off, make a wish for somebody, and have it come true.”

Consuela didn't doubt him. “So you have only one wish to give away to anyone at all?” she asked politely.

“Naw,” he said, warming to the topic. His foot stopped bouncing. “That's the best part! It grows back every time. But it's only one wish per customer, so choose carefully.” He wagged a finger, all nervousness gone. “When you got a good one, you come see me and I'll blow it true.”

She laughed. “‘Blow it true?'” The idea tickled her like a little kid with a bubble pipe.

“'S how it works,” Wish said. “Watch this . . .”

Sissy groaned. “He loves this bit.”

Wish pinched his eyetooth and broke it off with a practiced snap. Consuela cringed, which made him grin wider. Wish ran his pink tongue over the hole and tossed the tiny tooth in his palm.

“Check it out,” he said with childish glee. He pursed his lips and blew. She watched the bit of bone dissolve into dust as if it were a magician's trick, swirling and reeling inside his cupped hand, like a snow globe, spun by the gentle pressure of his slow breath. The flurry cloud expanded, growing solid, taking shape. It twitched with a jolt of life and a burbling, crooning coo.

Wish grinned and tossed the handful of white into the air. The startled bird ruffled its wings with a newspaper sound, and flew past Consuela on its way out the door.

She ducked aside to let it pass, staring after it in delight.

“Wow,” Consuela said to Wish's obvious pride. “What was it?”

“A dove,” Sissy said.

“A wish,” he corrected.

Consuela stood, awed, and asked, “Whose?”

“Oh, that one's a freebie,” Wish said. “I give those out all the time—a general wish for health or happiness, that sort of thing. It'll go to whomever, wherever, even though they didn't ask. I mean, it's never wasted, right? There's enough to go around.” He opened his mouth wide. “See?” Wish pointed to the gap and Consuela could just make out a nub of white bone buried in the tiny sea of red.

“It'll grow in pretty fast, so I'll be good to go.” Wish glanced at Sissy, who was shaking her head. “So, that's it, then?” he asked her. “Are we good?”

“We're good,” Sissy said. “Thanks, Wish. You'll be okay?”

“I'll be fine,” Wish said, though even Consuela could tell he was lying. His nervous twitching had returned.

“Can you do me a favor? Ask V to come by,” Sissy said. “I know Bones will want to meet him.”

“V?” Wish sounded nervous about the request, but then something clicked; he stared at Consuela with open shock.

“You're . . . ?” He pointed at her questioningly. “You're that girl.”

Consuela rested her hands on her hips. “I'm what girl?”

“Wish,” Sissy interrupted with more than a hint of warning. “V first.”

“Yeah,” Wish said uneasily, glancing between the two girls. “Yeah, sure thing.” He patted the pins again in rapid succession. He thumbed one that said HEAVEN DOESN'T WANT ME & HELL'S AFRAID I'LL TAKE OVER.

“Nice meeting you, Bones,” he managed.

“You, too,” Consuela said as Wish scurried out of the office like a dog caught peeing on the rug.

Consuela looked at Sissy, who was blind, both eyeballs gone. “What was that all about?” she asked.

“His real name is Abernathy Squires,” Sissy said into space. “He's a bona fide paranoid, obsessive-compulsive sycophant with a major martyrdom complex that borders on the tragic. Welfare kid, DCF, DDS, DSS—a whole long list of
D
s.” She tweaked the muscles of her face to wink an empty socket and smiled. “But he means well. He's an artist and he's got a good heart.”

“How do you know all that?” Consuela asked. It was a ruthless description of someone she didn't know.

Sissy shrugged. “He told me his name and I looked him up,” she replied. “My computer works in the other world, too.” She typed something expertly into some random document file on-screen as she talked. “If you make a wish, I don't know if God can hear you, but sometimes Wish does.” Sissy gave a little smile. Consuela noticed she had a small dimple in her cheek. “Sometimes I think God might be like me, and that Wish is one of his removable ears.”

Consuela flinched, half expecting a rumble of thunder at Sissy's arrogance. She said a mental,
Sorry, Jesus,
and quickly switched the subject.

“So who's V?” Consuela asked.

Sissy pursed her lips. “Hmm,” she said. “I don't know much about him since he comes and goes a lot. I guess he's not bad, mostly keeps to himself, sort of quiet and broody in that good-looking-guy-lurking-in-the-back kind of way, but he's handy in a pinch. V can walk through mirrors.”

“Through mirrors?” Consuela said weakly.

“Uh-huh.” Sissy smiled. “It's his power. He can see into the real world. Says there's a whole other world in between, but I've never seen it.”

“So, not everyone removes body parts?” she guessed.

“What? No!” Sissy burst out laughing. “I guess you wouldn't know that given the recent sample, huh? No, we've all got different talents. Yehudah thinks it's inherited, while Wish thinks it's all circumstantial and Joseph thinks it's our totems at work.”

Consuela shook her head and folded herself into the nearby armchair. “Who's Yehudah?”

Sissy blushed and smiled, shyly. Without eyes, she couldn't look away. “He's the Yad, which means ‘the hand,'” she said while gently touching her own palm. “That's the thing Jews use to read their holy scroll. No one's allowed to actually touch it. Same's true with the Yad.”

“I don't get it,” Consuela said. “What does his hand have to do with anything?”

Sissy shrugged again. “What do your bones have to do with anything? Or, for that matter, your skin? We all have a power that can cross over from this world into the next. For you, it's your skin. For me, it's my parts. For the Yad, it's his blood. He can draw protective shields of warding with his blood.”

“Ew,” Consuela said.

“No more ‘ew' than walking around without skin.” Sissy sounded a little affronted.

Consuela raised a forefinger. “Point taken.”

Sissy cooled and clicked on her screen saver.

“Is that why you invited me over?” Consuela asked. “To meet the neighborhood?”

“Well, you've only met Wish.” Sissy chuckled. “You haven't met Joseph Crow or V or the Yad—don't offer to shake his hand, by the way . . .”

Consuela didn't have a brow to furrow. “Why?”

“It's a modesty thing. That's what I was talking about. He doesn't touch girls. I mean
at all.
” The subject seemed to make Sissy uncomfortable as she hurried on. “Then there's Nikki, he's a cross-dresser from Silicon Valley, you'll like him—he's sweet. Maddy's in hibernation or whatever, right now—
long
story—and I haven't seen William Chang in ages, but he could be holed up in Quantum; he does that sometimes. We call him ‘Abacus.'” Sissy's voice slowed. “Then there's Tender.”

“‘Tender'?” Consuela laughed. “Is that a name?”

Sissy hesitated. “He calls himself Tender because he tends the Flow,” she said. “But I think it's more like all those before him were ‘pre-Tenders' and he's the real deal.”

“So what's he like?” Consuela asked.

“He's not like us,” Sissy said, too quickly. “He cleans the Flow. All those dark and unpleasant bits we haul around and leave behind? Tender has to clean them up like a janitor. It's not a great job, but someone's got to do it, otherwise we'd all be knee-deep in karmic hell.” She spoke with grudging respect, but Consuela noticed that Sissy slowly wound herself tighter and tighter in her chair, hugging her forearm to her chest. Consuela wished she could look the Watcher in the eye to see what was wrong.

“What?” Consuela asked.

Sissy made a face, nervous, embarrassed, and upset. “It's . . . he
eats
pain. Digests it.” She touched her own abdomen almost protectively. “The Flow calls him, and he answers. He takes pride in doing his job—and it
is
really important—still . . .” A shudder slid down her limbs. “When he's called, he's like . . . an animal.” Sissy muttered to herself, “A sleek, sharp-toothed animal.”

Consuela imagined a young boy with sharp, pointy teeth chewing red-brown waste. A shark in a sewer. Her stomach turned. Or would have.

“The Yad calls him ‘Bottom-feeder' and Joseph Crow calls him ‘Vulture' for good reason,” she murmured. “And he's kind of . . . intense.”

So was the awkward silence that followed. Consuela felt she had to break it.

“Anything else I should know?” she asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Sissy said. “He'll come looking for you soon.”

Consuela stammered. “Me? Why?”

There was a knock at the door. Consuela turned, half expecting teeth.

“V?” Sissy swiveled in her chair. “Come in.”

The door opened and a young man walked in. He had black hair and olive skin like an Italian oil painting, his face smooth and serious. His button-up shirt hung open at the neck and Consuela could see the sculpted muscles of his chest. She concentrated on his eyes in case she was staring. They were deep brown.

“Wish said you asked to see . . . ”—his eyes locked on Consuela sitting in the armchair and he faltered, midstride, his deep voice sliding to a whisper—“. . . me.”

He stopped, black boots settling heavily on the floor. He looked at Sissy, then back at Consuela with the oddest expression, almost a plea.

“V, this is Bones,” Sissy said. “Bones, this is V.”

“Hi.” Consuela waved, trying to be friendly. This was clearly an awkward moment, although she wasn't sure why.

V stared at her. Swallowed visibly.

“Hi,” he managed.

Consuela sat up, alarmed, as the last threads of violin-voice faded fast.

“What was that?” she demanded.

V frowned. “What?”

“That . . .” Consuela stared at Sissy. “Did you hear it?”

V stood silent. Sissy paused, unsure.

“I didn't hear anything except you saying hi,” she said. “V?”

V shook his head. “No.”

“But . . .” Consuela felt stupid, but certain. Déjà vu and the feeling of
almost
echoed inside her. She searched the ceiling, the walls, the floor.

“What did it sound like?” V asked.

Consuela felt his eyes sinking into her sockets. She looked away quickly, straining to hear it again, to put into words the sound of an electrified hum singing her name and prove that she wasn't totally crazy.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “I guess this is all a bit much.” She didn't even believe her own lame excuse. Neither did V. Sissy rescued her by interrupting.

“Well, I was hoping that V would show you around a bit, offer a few pointers, give you some time to get acquainted,” the Watcher said brightly, her closed eyes facing V. “Won't you, V?”