The Liminal People (25 page)

“Hold it close to your heart now,” she says, leaning back into her seat. “Just as a scalpel can be a weapon, it can also be an instrument of healing. Intent is important with names such as this.”

“Why . . . why did you tell me your god's name?”

“From the time you left, I've been petitioning my . . . congregation for permission to do so. I know of no greater strength to offer. I told you so that it might help in your coming conversation with your former master. And because I was directed to by mine. Can we go to bed now?”

“Where is your razor?” It's the younger Nordeen I face. But we are not in the jungle. We are sitting at a table on my rooftop in Biya. A place I will most likely never see again.

“I will not be wearing it anymore, Nordeen.” A harsh snort, a mix of a laugh and a grunt, escapes his spirit mouth.

“It seems the Ethiope bitch has limited my abilities in this visit. My goal was to devour your head whole.”

“I didn't think anyone had the power to curtail you.” I pour spirit tea for him and offer it. It's the first time I've seen confusion in the old man's face. He turns to the illusory sea.

“In this medium, as it is only spirit stuff, your whore—”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd stop calling her that,” I bark.

“It's pheromones, you addlepated oaf!” he barks back. “The only reason I sent you to her is because I thought you'd be able to defend yourself against them.”

“I have. This isn't about her.”

“Are you sure? Don't say it's about religion. Don't tell me she's converted you to her heretical ravings. . . .”

“It's not about the religion, either. I didn't like, don't like, who I am under your control.”

“But you are powerful with me.” He turns to face me. “Think on it, Taggert. Could you truly have asked for a better teacher than I? Not only opportunity and time to study your skill, but you also had interactions with others like us. Who else could have given you that?”

“And it is for that reason I'm meeting with you now. I would be a liar if I said I didn't appreciate what you've done for me. But the price is too high.”

“What price, boy? What have I made you do—?”

“You made me kill children!”

“Psychotic children that should've never been born. Twisted approximations of us at best, bastard spawn of demigods at worst. My God, Taggert, do you truly view me as such a monster that I would order the random slaying of children?”

“Yes.” It seems his fury will explode from his skin for a minute, and then he smiles.

“Of course I would. It's good to know you've grown past me bluffing you. By the way, when you wake tell your whore that she, as well as you, your daughter, and the totem girl are officially on my list. And when I come to London—”

“You come to London and all the tricks I've ever learned, seen, thought about, imagined, had nightmares of, and fantasized about will be leveled against you and whatever powers you bring.” I'm furious. He knows about Tamara. “I was yours. I did as you asked, without question, for seven years. My time serving you is over.”

“But you will serve someone, Taggert. If not me, then one of my allies. And if not them, then one of my enemies. But make no mistake, little healer, you cannot remain neutral in the forthcoming battle. I know you. I know your secret desires. Like the stupid American you are, you would try and take the Ethiopian as a wife and raise the totem girl and your daughter as sisters. Where do you think a quartet of power like that will be able to hide, boy?”

“If I have to serve, it won't be you!”

“Again I ask you, this time in all seriousness, what was so wrong with serving me? You killed children? So what? Do you know how many children there are on this planet? One more or less doesn't make any difference to anyone. The stakes that are coming will make one human life the equivalent of a peanut in a bag. Life, human life, our individual lives, do not matter.”

“Another might believe that, Nordeen. But I am a healer. Despite what you may think of me, I am at my heart a healer. All life matters.”

“Does life matter so much that the illusionist is still alive? How about her friend, who killed your old flame? Is he still alive? Or were you thankful for the opportunity to cull them both, as I knew you would be when I sent you up there?”

“What?” Even in my spirit body I'm shaken.

He clucks his sprit tongue and looks out at the sea. I think it's real until he waves his hand and turns the waters red. “You know better than almost any other living being on the planet how easily I could turn this image into reality. I could drown the coast of England in blood and muck and mire. You cry about the children I've had you dispatch. Imagine what one with my age and their temperament could do. Name me evil if it helps you sleep better, Taggert, but know that I've been practicing Atlas-like levels of restraint since before your country of origin was even formed. What you call evil, I call the bigger picture. I knew you'd go to London. My goal was for you to bring all four of the young ones under your wing—and by extension under mine. But what was I to tell you? That your former lover and your bastard child had need of you? That it was better for them to be protected by the legend of my power than some flimsy junior politician? Think, boy—what other reason did I have for letting you keep the necklace on? I sent you out in the hope that you would bring more of us back. But as luck would have it, this Alia child was too deranged and your daughter too resourceful. Fine. You still managed to bond both the whelps to you. Beg forgiveness, here and now, and I won't go to my contingency plans. Come now, Taggert, think. When do I ever lose? I wouldn't send you off to foreign lands without having a way of getting you back in line, would I?” It takes me a second. I'm afraid, more afraid than I've ever been in my life. He could have my brother, fully healed, waiting in the wings. Samantha could be one of his. That's how devious he is. Tamara, Prentis, they could have already been under his control before I even got here. But I will be brave.

“Yes, you would send me,” I say quickly. “You'd send me because you love me.” He stands, knocking over the table.

“What . . . ?” And I see it. The chink in the mighty Nordeen armor. “You've gone mad.”

“Maybe. But why else would you send me out to collect the one thing you couldn't give me, a family? It was the kindness of your nature, such as it is.”

“I've encouraged you to breed!”

“I said a
family
.” I stay seated, remembering that I am safe in a glass bed next to a woman capable of stopping this interaction if it becomes too untenable. “Yes, you've pushed whores and norms my way. But another one like us? Never. You say you knew about Tamara. That means you've known about her for a while. But you found a way to send me to her when she needed me most. I know how your mind works, Nordeen. You wanted to frame me as the hero so the girl and her mother would look to me for support. No doubt you had a plan to get rid of Bridgecombe, leaving me the inherited parent.”

“You are a competent parrot, boy. I've said as much already.”

“True, but not the why of it. There are a thousand and one ways you could have gotten both of them to come to you. A simple alliance with Alia would have gotten at least
her
under your wing, maybe . . . maybe even saved Yasmine's life. It wasn't their powers you wanted. It was them. And it wasn't for you personally. It was for me. You did what you could to give me a family so that I would stay with you, love you like you love—”

“Has your time in London limited your scope of vision so severely that you can't see the difference between control and love?” His rage radiates, turning not only the sea but also the sky red. But my table, my tea, and my mind stay the passive blue that I will always associate with the good times in Biya. “When I brought you to Suleiman, did you think I didn't know his wife was having a hard time conceiving? Do you think I didn't know he would love you for your minimal efforts and hence ease your transaction into the razor-necks? Do you think I don't know how he still watches, forever concerned that you might take his position as my right-hand man? And do you think I don't know how you do the same with him?”

“I know how you used me, Nordeen,” I say, borrowing the technique Samantha taught me of speaking without judgment. “But I think in this one case, you didn't realize how affected you would be by your tool. I know you started off wanting me to be your dog, your slave. But I think you've come to love me.” His gaze is intense. I have never seen him so enraged. But when I'm done with my cup of tea, I pour him another—and watch as once more he is utterly confused.

“So be it.” He begins to walk away. “May your delusion dissipate enough for you to be a worthy opponent by the time my principals and powers come to fetch you and yours.”

“Thank you.”

“What? Child . . .” He stops, realizing the implication of his word choice. “I am declaring unholy war on you and yours.”

“I know. But before the mayhem begins I just want to thank you, while I still can. For all that you gave me, all that you showed me, Nordeen. For your love. You've been more than a father to me than my own blood. You're right. I wouldn't have gotten the exposure to so much if it hadn't been for you. I wish we could part under better terms. I didn't come here for us to fight. I came so that I could tell you that I appreciated what you did for me. Most of it, anyway.”

“You will not stay my hand with this sentimental—”

“There's no ploy in this, old man. I am actually not your enemy. I just no longer wish to be under your wing. You have to know what that feels like, to want to strike out on your own.” With spirit eyes, I close the distance between his yellow orbs and mine, and for a second I see nothing but questioning. I realize then he does not know what it means to be your own individual. He has always served someone else.

“Stay out of Africa, Taggert!” He walks down spirit steps to the spirit beach as it slowly compromises between his violent crimson and my passive blues. As he gains distance, I still hear him clearly. “Tell your whore the next time she sees me she'd better have the protection of her god firmly established. Guard your children like a hawk and raise them well. If they wash up upon any of my beaches, they will not be returned.”

I wake up. The day is new. Samantha wraps her powerful thighs around me. Her scent is intoxicating. But responsibility calls already. I've left the girls alone overnight. I call them. They're making waffles. Tamara quips, “If the first shag is for secure contact, what's the second time for?” I tell her I quit. She says so there's no need for more sex. I hang up.

“Who was that?” the miniature Ethiopian goddess asks.

“My daughter.” We both smile at the sound of that. “I don't think she likes you.”

“It is not uncommon for a girl to be jealous of her father's . . . paramours.” I nod. Over chocolate tea I tell Samantha about the entire conversation with Nordeen.

“You were wrong about one thing,” I mention softly.

“Only one?” She smiles, showing me brilliant teeth.

“Nordeen did protect me. He showed me the world. This world, our world.”

“There are better ways,” she starts.

“But that was his way. Look, I'm not saying I'll do the same for the girls, but when I had to get Tamara ready to fight, I trained her in hours. If not for Nordeen, I never would have been able to.”

Samantha stands from her table and finds one of her special-blend joints to smoke.

“There is more to this world than fighting.”

“I agree, but—”

“Then let us be happy that we agree on that, if nothing else,” she says, lighting her joint. Her inhale is deep.

“I've offended you.”

“Oh no, dear healer. Not at all. If I seemed distracted just now it's because I've received a message from the herald of the new god.” She smiles and exhales an impossibly large puff. The smoke acts as a living thing, forsaking the rest of the world and circling my body.

“You've lost me.”

“Never.” She winks. “I think I am supposed to meet your daughters.”

“Tamara is my only . . .” And then I stop, realizing Nordeen made the same “mistake.” Biologically, Prentis is not my child, but if anyone knows how mutable and ultimately inconsequential biology is, it's me. What matters is family. Alia was willing to rip London in two to make Tamara part of hers, and Tamara bisected herself—one part teenage girl, the other liminal killing machine—to avenge hers. Prentis would have been happy with her animal family had Alia not screwed it up. Samantha speaks of her religion as though it's the ultimate family. Even Nordeen scoured the world, probably for centuries on end, trying to make sure his “family” was controllable. His only weakness was his love for me, his “son.”

I'm the only one who'd given up on family. Maybe it was Mac, my mother, maybe even Yasmine, but somewhere along the line I'd simply allowed the dream of being in a stable and supportive community to collapse around me. Yet somehow, through no conscious effort of my own, I now have two “daughters” to care for, and a gorgeous Ethiopian woman who seems determined to join us for waffles at least.