EXCOLO

Zann's heart stop-starts like a shuttle on a loom, but then the beat of the poem steadies her into a smoother pulse.

"The male is not less the soul, nor more—he too is in his place;
He too is all qualities—he is action and power;
The flush of the known universe is in him;
Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance become him well..."

"That sounds like me," I say, smiling. "Although I would not particularly describe myself as male. But you know that, do you not, Zann?"

"I brought you something," she continues, and I tilt my head and observe her.

"A gift? What is the occasion?" The corner of my mouth turns up, and then Lilith comes up to me and kisses my cheek, light as a whisper.

"Hello, Kent, what are you doing out here?"

Ah, still playing the innocent. Is Zann, then, the teacher? That is rather delightful, Lilith letting Zann lead.

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less." I smile in the moonlight. "Would you like to come inside?"

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"That sounds like me. Although I would not particularly describe myself as male. But you know that, do you not, Zann?" and I'm dipping my head in acknowledgement and then just looking again. And that's its own wonder, really really is; a little ball of jelly and water picking out shape and colour and focus in its smooth shining glide. And he built them, two of them just for Kent (and set them in the fine delicate lattice of bone and muscle and blood and skin, built a whole man, my orrery's a joke against that, a child banging on a cymbal), and two for that pale strange townie, and two more for Danika--

I realize I'm touching my own face, the ridge of bone right below my eye, and I bring my hand down.

"A gift? What is the occasion?"

"I thought I should, you know? Since I was visiting. It seemed polite." I don't exactly know how this works, all of it, but I think... well. I'm coming to see the devil, I should be polite. Reach into my jacket and pull out a little metal box, maybe the size of three or four cigarette cases stacked on each other. Sharp edges and an oiled hinged lid and steel gone black with tannin and age and clockwork waiting inside like a trapdoor spider. "It'll play (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hgw_RD_1_5I) when you open it," I say, holding it out to him; carefully, because the edges aren't just decoration-sharp, they have burs and the thin sharp twists you get on the unpolished edges of broken things. Not the whole song, I couldn't fit the whole song in, but maybe a minute or two. "But only once. Then it'll break." The music winds out and the spring inside winds up and the jaws will snap shut inside and the fine gears will break. It was hard to make--not technically, it was even sadder that it was so easy to set up--but I didn't think he should--he would--

I didn't think something that kept working would be okay.

"Hello, Kent, what are you doing out here?"

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less." Oh, is he calling her Lily too, now, and not Lilith? Remember how rude I thought it was when whatshisname called Kent Iblis to his face, and okay, fine, Lily for now. "Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, please," I say quietly, glancing over at Lily.

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Zann pulls out a small metal box holding it out to Kent saying it will play part of a song and then it will break. What a clever girl to have made him such an appropriate gift. And I can tell Iblis is intrigued with her other gift as well, such a waste it only being used on the machines at the carnival.

"Hello, Lily. I live here now... More or less. Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes, please," Zann answers first glancing over at me. Pulling my lower lip between my teeth, I nod slightly, "Sure, I guess so," I say slowly looking back at Iblis again, "You live here? But I thought you said.." I trail off, biting my lip again as I shake my head in confusion. "Sure, lets go inside," I sigh, giving Zann a confused look before taking her hand.

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Zann hands me a box.

"It'll play when you open it. But only once. Then it'll break."

I hold it in my hand. I can hear it sing without opening it. It is as perfect an execution of an idea that I can expect from a human, and so I smile at her.

"Thank you, Zann. Let us look at it upstairs."

"You live here? But I thought you said.."

"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all," I smile, and I open the door and lead them upstairs.

For Zann, the upper chamber has walls stripped bare, brickwork exposed. There is a low wooden table, piled with books open on top of other books. There is a sheaf of yellowing paper - the original blueprints to the tower. I pick one (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/18748/18748-h/images/fig1.png) out at random and hand it to Zann.

"Part of the whole," I explain. "Keep it."

The table is lit by a lamp made of brass and parts (http://steampunkworkshop.com/images/d-lyras-lamp.jpg). In the corner of the room a sculpture twisted out of steel (http://www.onlinemuseumstore.com/images/dreamin.jpg) looms, and as we enter begins to click; it is a kinetic sculpture which moves two steel balls around three tracks. I saw it long ago, and I took it for myself. My qareen has brought it out of where the qareen keeps things.

"Sit, please," I say, pointing to a battered sofa by the table. I place the box on the table and open it. The Chopin plays soft and sober, and in the funereal tones I also hear the gears clogging, the spring winding down, and the cogs jam and splinter. The music stops.

"What a lovely thing," I say. "Now, Zann, why are you seeking me out?"

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"Thank you, Zann. Let us look at it upstairs." And I think he means it, at least a little, and I smile at that. Best thing you can do, make people happy with what you give them.

"You live here? But I thought you said.."
"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all."

She's shaking her head, looking confused, and I catch her hand and squeeze it before bouncing ahead, hurrying up the stairs. Tower's bare and warm and built, bricks showing age and couch showing use and table piled with books open, old thoughts and patterns inked on the pages and waiting--and oh, it's beautiful. It's comfortable. Thin dark steel's humming and circling comfortably in the corner, and the light's warm as the brass holding it.

Sit down on the couch and take the paper he holds out to me and, oh, are you true? Wonder at who drafted this, and if they knew what it'd come to when they set pen to paper, back in the ago.

Look up to watch as my music box breathes and dies, and oh, it does what it's meant to do beautifully but I've still got a small knot down in the back of my throat. I've broken things before, but... well. Guess I'd do it again, to help someone, if I had to. Just feels odd to build something to break.

"What a lovely thing," he says and I look up and he still looks perfectly himself, the man I suggested try hitting the Carnaval for roustie work, who offered me a cigarette in the Tavern. "Now, Zann, why are you seeking me out?"

"I wanted to see you again," I say, and that's really the center of it all. I'll be glad if Lily asks him to help with Tez and Genny, and I think I might even, but... that's not it. "You're beautiful, you're meant--I mean, you make yourself up out of wanting to! I can't even think about that without hearing music, I can work machines but not out of nothing, not the way you work people. Kent and that townie girl and Danika..."

...oh God, I'm sorry, I know what he is, and I sound like one of those marks panting after a Grindhouse girl, whining promises and begging her to put down roots. But he's beautiful, he really is, can't I just talk to him?

"And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

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"I say many things, Lily, and you should know not to believe them all," Kent smiles as he opens the door to let us in. I let anger just barely start to simmer in my eyes as Zann squeezes my hand and we go inside.

When we reach the top of the stairs I look around, gazing at the room he has created just for Zann, of course it suits her perfectly. We both sit on the couch he points to and I let go of her hand, folding my arms across my chest. I quietly listen to their exchange looking from one to the other as they speak, he is not the only one interested in knowing why she came, I know her Genny and Tez is one reason but I don't think its the only one.

The gift she made him is simply wonderful and fitting, something beautiful made to break. "Oh, Zann, its beautiful," I breath. Its not the the thing itself but what it says that makes it wonderful. And for the second time I wonder what else she would be willing to break if he asked her to. "And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

"But he's not.." I pause, looking around and then sighing, "Never mind, I think I'd like to hear the answer to that one myself," I say looking straight at him.

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"I wanted to see you again,You're beautiful, you're meant--I mean, you make yourself up out of wanting to! I can't even think about that without hearing music, I can work machines but not out of nothing, not the way you work people. Kent and that townie girl and Danika..."

Ah, lovely Zann. You could be such a beautiful instrument, if only I can turn the tune of you from creation to destruction. It would not be so very hard, really; it is just unmaking, and that has its own method, too.

"And--I don't know, wanted to ask. Why're you wicked? I believed you, when you said it, but why?"

I ignore Lilith's false protests about my supposed lack of wickedness. I move some of the books out of the way and perch on the table, sitting opposite Zann.

"You are right," I say. "I am meant. I was here before man, and I am many things and none. Flesh is an instrument, or a song. I can wield it, I can sing it. I can be many things. And I am wicked..." I pause. It is an interesting question, and not one many have bothered to ask, so it is worth a reasonable answer. "I am wicked because I gave up love, and I took up instead as my mantle destruction - not that which is natural and comes about at the end of all things, but is - " I pause and smile - "like the deliberate breaking of a cog in a machine, the creaking sound of its ragged maw. So Man would call me wicked, and so has my Adversary."

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"You are right. I am meant. I was here before man, and I am many things and none. Flesh is an instrument, or a song. I can wield it, I can sing it. I can be many things." And I want to ask who meant you? but I think I know. Oh God, and I'm not thinking that just to swear by it, I'm really not, I'm sitting here talking to the Devil--

I think of tightrope walks, spins and catches, the ground of the tent so far below. It's okay, as long as you keep moving clean and sure it's okay, and even if it isn't I want to listen.

"I am wicked because I gave up love, and I took up instead as my mantle destruction - not that which is natural and comes about at the end of all things, but is - like the deliberate breaking of a cog in a machine, the creaking sound of its ragged maw." I glance at the music box again, just quickly. "So Man would call me wicked, and so has my Adversary."

I'm trying to imagine the end of things, that end of things, with all the pieces of the world torn down and apart and strewn through empty space, and the closest I can come is the idea of a million million grains of sand in a dark sky and none of them touching each other and no light to see them by, but even then I see patterns in them, that's what people do with nonsense shapes when you hand them to us.

Although I don't suppose there'd be anyone to see them. Something really meaningless, then, no light, no pattern, no music of the spheres? I shiver and realize I'm leaning forward.

"If you have... what you want, the breaking end, will you go to destruction too? Will there be anything left?" Glance at Lily to see how she's taking this.

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I listen as he answers Zann's question and Ohhh how I do want to smile at his explanation, put into the perfect terms that she would understand. Because of man, we both gave up something precious to become what we are, different but the same and wicked really barely describes it.

Zann doesn't blink at what he says, merely shivers and leans forward more interested than she was before, asking another question. Now isn't this just precious, what a unique little human she is.

My hands clench, arms tightening around me and my eyes narrow in suspicion as I look at Kent, "Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help," I say, voice low with just a touch of anger even though I'm anything but that.

Ohh I can't wait to hear his answer to that. Again as if something as simple as "the devil" describes all that he is.

Edited Date: 2009-01-12 01:58 am (UTC)

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"If you have... what you want, the breaking end, will you go to destruction too? Will there be anything left?" Zann leans forward, and there is genuine curiosity in her voice that carries her further than her fear. And then Lilith speaks words of false indignation:

"Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help."

I look at Zann with a serious expression.

"My own end is not appointed by me." That gives me a certain bitterness; I have done so much myself for myself. I have defied destiny. "But the only thing that awaits me is dissolution, yes. There is something satisfying in that." I smile at her now, a dark sort of glint. "You cannot imagine the depths of my despair. In the end, it can only be answered with obliteration."

I have been very honest with many people in this town. Lies work better when one is given to truths, also.

I look at Lilith.

"Am I the Devil? It is not a name I would give myself. I am ," I say, and I let the word carry a great weight. For a moment the air smells of the سموم‎ , the hot choking storm of the desert, and the lamp flickers. Then the air is cool again. "I am al-Shairan; I am He Who Despairs. I do not have horns, although I could if I wished. The number 666 means nothing to me. I dwell on earth, as you can see. The question then," I say, and I look at Zann, "is what do you think the Devil is? And am I that?"

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"My own end is not appointed by me. But the only thing that awaits me is dissolution, yes. There is something satisfying in that," and he's smiling and I swear it nearly fucking breaks my heart. "You cannot imagine the depths of my despair. In the end, it can only be answered with obliteration."

See, yes, I've heard people talk like that. Not that pretty, really really not, even without the whole weight of being that Kent has behind him, but I've heard them. Usually they cry it out and wake up sick and tired, and things get better.

Usually they're not the Devil.

"'m sorry," I say quietly, and anyone else I'd get up and hug right there, even the townie girl or Danika, but it doesn't seem to fit Kent. Reach out and catch one of his hands and squeeze it instead, 'cause I believe him, believe I can't imagine what it's like, but the hell he must be in--

Oh. Right.

Pull my hand back as Lily speaks. "Wicked is one thing but Zann told me you're the devil, is that true Kent? If it is, we're going to need to have a long talk because I brought her here so we could ask for your help." Shoot Lily a quick and thoughtful look. Now it's her bringing me here, not to mention us asking for help? Oh honey, I'm too polite to contradict right now, but don't think I haven't noticed you're all over the place with your stories.

"Am I the Devil? It is not a name I would give myself. I am إبليس," and the air smells like hot earth gone dry as metal and something great and terrible breathing. "I am al-Shairan; I am He Who Despairs. I do not have horns, although I could if I wished. The number 666 means nothing to me. I dwell on earth, as you can see. The question then," and he looks from Lily to me, and his eyes are like stars, "is what do you think the Devil is? And am I that?"

"I don't know." The Devil--or, like the Doc said, Hell walks this town as a man. That's a little different, maybe. "I never thought of the Devil as someone that despaired." Strangest feeling, like seeing a feed chain pulling you in to crush you and hearing it crying all at once. "You made yourself into a malengine, purest one that could be, and tore out love, and want things destroyed... I guess that's Hell, real Hell, not just what people talk about when they swear." Go quiet for a moment.

"Does it bother you, that Tez loves you? And do you hate me? For being, I mean?"

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She takes my hand. An odd enough response to talk of hell; but I know well enough how to elicit sympathy. There have been songs about that.

"You made yourself into a malengine, purest one that could be, and tore out love, and want things destroyed... I guess that's Hell, real Hell, not just what people talk about when they swear."

"As if I could be satisfied with mere fire," I say, smiling. "If Hell is a place, I am also it."

"Does it bother you, that Tez loves you? And do you hate me? For being, I mean?"

I think on her first question. Does it bother me? I seek out men and gods' desire, need, fear, devotion... But love. I have a strange fondness for possessing it when I will not give it.

"No," I say, at last. "Because his love cannot end well for him, or for us." Tezcatlipoca will either betray me, or he will die because of me. Possibly both. And so onward with despair. "And yes, I hate you for being, as you put it." My smile glimmers. "But that does not mean I cannot like you, too. And I do, insofar as I can like Man. You are an interesting person. You remind me of a friend."

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He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I wonder why. I imagine he might be deciding what to tell me, which is not the same thing as lying although they can weave through each other sometimes. I'm not... I don't think I could tell if he lied, every word's so perfectly struck into the air.

"No. Because his love cannot end well for him, or for us." And I can feel my heart squeeze inside me, because even with what he's turning into... Tez. And deeper and clearer than that, Genny.

"And yes, I hate you for being, as you put it," and he's smiling and it's like... I don't make up names for my machines or anything, but this is like the slow wear of metal and loosening of joints having a face. Not being human, but having a face so real you forget that for a moment, and I smile back a little. Not 'cause I'm happy or anything, really not, but--yeah, I kind of knew that. "But that does not mean I cannot like you, too. And I do, insofar as I can like Man. You are an interesting person. You remind me of a friend."

I shrug and I'd pull my knees up to myself and rest my heels on the edge of the couch but I don't want to get it dirty. Odd thing to think about but it's there. "I like you too," I say quietly. "The bits I can--understand, hear, whatever." Being around him is a little like talking to Anushka except with her I keep having that feeling that she's moving away from anything I can see, following a psychokine track that takes her out into the pattern of things. With Kent it's--I know there's something in him that's out of sight, but I can't tell, he's just stamped into the world strong and bright as nothing else. "And you're interesting, you..." I shake my head and run one hand over the stubble of my hair.

"May-be," I say softly, "the things I perceive—the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known..." Look up at him. "So why am I interesting? I guess it's not just coming to see you. The patterns, then?"

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She smiles at me. It is very rare for a human to smile at me in that way when they have any indication of who I am. Sometimes they do smile, with desire and greed and ambition; but rarely with friendship. It is an interesting thing to hear myself described as liked. That makes two mortals in this town who know what I am and like me. Zann and Anushka. They would be very pretty together, I think; Anushka has so much power, but with Zann she could direct that power, unleash it onto the mindful unravelling of time and place, rather than simply blasting it into white oblivion. Everything unwinding, yes, springs uncoiling into space.

"the things I perceive—the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night—colors, densities, forms—May-be these are, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known..."

"A dream within a dream?" I say, smiling. "Everything is real. I think that is one of the many things that humans cannot understand. This, and what is beyond; and reality becomes brighter the further from here one goes." I think of the brilliant certainty of Elsewhere, and Kent's mouth tastes of ashes, and the same old anger boils in me like steam from a mountain.

"So why am I interesting? I guess it's not just coming to see you. The patterns, then?"

"Perhaps," I say. "Everything is eventual. I think that you have something in you capable of seeing that." I lean forward and I touch the curve of her head with my palm, just grazing the stubble, and I feel the dim crackle of Anushka there; fading now, of course, and Zann is probably not even aware of it.

"You are like my friend, a little - though not as great. But very few humans are, so do not take that as an insult," I say, and leaning forward I press my lips to hers; not with passion, but in order to give her the kiss that Anushka gave me. I give her that moment, dry lips against Svetlana's dry lips, and then I sit back, hands folded in my lap.

Edited Date: 2009-01-12 11:26 pm (UTC)

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"Everything is real. I think that is one of the many things that humans cannot understand. This, and what is beyond; and reality becomes brighter the further from here one goes."

"A dream over something, a mask for... I think I know someone who sees it, a little," I say quietly. I'm thinking of Anushka again, and the great sweep of time and intent and music and hearing and light she unfolded out of a single hanging crystal. What she saw there, what she let me see, it's the shape of a single spoke on a wheel on some great interleaved machinery that itself is an echo of the shape of something spinning through and spinning out the world, bright and eternal.

"Everything is eventual. I think that you have something in you capable of seeing that," and yes, I think he sees this better than I can, but... everything? No. Maybe each thing on its own, but everything reaches out, takes in new things--

Unless he breaks it all, I guess... And I can't imagine seeing so much and wanting to destroy it, how can you look on it all and not love some part of it, the motion and the grace? Glance up as his hand dusts across my hair. "You are like my friend, a little - though not as great. But very few humans are, so do not take that as an insult," and he leans forward and kisses me--not the way I'd kiss anyone, calm and dry, and--

(white)
(the coming of the white)

different planes across my face taste in my mouth eyes and sight don't matter I can hear something different clocking past, time and days and different heartbeats and I breathe out and let it all go, hold together instead of holding on, fall into a memory like rushing white water, fractal motion.

light and blindness and joy and the dry feel of his lips against mine not mine not mine Anushka? Lady Anushka Voronin? And him--her taking her in, that great white heartbeat and cry, and the wonder of

This isn't what she showed me, that tiny shaped sliver of what people built and made beautiful, this is the whole of what she sees with, the wonder of eye and mind and breath of life, and she can do more than see and show, I can feel her stretching out and reaching, a great and shining shout of joy ringing out through the world and its strings--

I can feel my fingers on my mouth, and my eyes are open but I can't--I can see, but I'm not watching it. "Anushka," I say quietly, and her name's my own warm breath against my fingers, and then I'm smiling, want to laugh and share in her joy and see her stretch and reach and feel the patterns and strings run through her hands, and I'm laughing and crying again, and I put one hand out and feel Kent's shoulder, cloth and flesh and warmth and the faint tremor of a heart and all of it minted into the world on will alone, so close and near the beating skin of the world. "Oh, she showed me a little, only a little, she could do so much, what she must see..."

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I lean back into the couch with arms folded across my chest, appearing confused as I listen and watch him coil slowly around her. Zann didn't stand a chance against him and his beauty, few do if he has decided he wants them and even I fell for it once upon a time.

He kisses her and a flicker of a smile crosses my face when I hear Anushka's name mentioned, Ohhh how I did like that girl and I think I will visit her again soon. Brief as it was, she took a special interest in my pendant, in my djinn, and I look forward to watching them play.

Though Zann is distracted by him for now, I would hate for Lily's presence to interrupt this wonderful little game and there is no longer a need to ask for help with Genny and Tez. The task has been accomplished just the same, she is here and he has found another way to make her his.

While she's lost in the visions of his kiss, I quietly get up from the couch and flash him a smile, murmuring an excuse about going to find the ladies room as I pass through the door and go down the stairs. Then I allow my form dissolve and blend into the air so I can return and continue to watch what passes between them without her noticing. I have my own business with him but that will wait, this is far far more interesting.

Oohh how I do love watching him work.

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Lilith makes her excuses, and then returns to the room as warm air. She has always enjoyed being a voyeur. I remember once - but that is a thought for another time.

Zann is dazzled; but not by me, not quite - or rather, that dazzle is overshadowed by her response to Anushka. The first word of her lips as she looks back at me, and I smile.

"Oh, she showed me a little, only a little, she could do so much, what she must see..."

"In another age, Anushka would have been a queen, and around her for a thousand miles men would have paid fealty to her. But of course, in yet another age, she would have been burned as a witch," I observe. "She is great. She is the first human I have seen in hundreds of years who has that kind of power. And she is brave, for she let me help her pass beyond what is normal for a human, what is safe, into a wild and ferociously lovely place."

Zann's fingers are on my shoulder, and I smile at her and transform myself into Svetlana, the form that held Anushka like a daughter. It is the work of half a heartbeat, but it is not one movement but many; heart lungs veins eyes flesh hair clothes, a thousand thousand tiny steps one following another in the space of a breath. Now I am lean and female and crimson haired, and my dress is white as bone. I lean forward and take Zann's hands.

"Why else did you come, Zann?"

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"And she is brave, for she let me help her pass beyond what is normal for a human, what is safe, into a wild and ferociously lovely place."

"She's a wonder," I say softly, "psychokine strings like falling rain, I could tell--" and I'm going to say that much when Kent smiles and melts unfolds changes, someone new ripening out of him, Rubin vase flip rewriting itself under my hands. He's-- She's like Syl would be if Genny had to paint her for a poster, all glossed and smooth and bright with the scars and wrinkles slicked away.

"Why'd you help her?"

"Why else did you come, Zann?"

"I don't know," I say quietly, feeling the woman's fingers around mine. "Lily was saying she could maybe ask you to do something about Tez and Genny. But Lily's..." I think of the odd backward-forward between glossy confidence and coltish shyness, and how she followed me out here and didn't call out once and I didn't see her, and wonder why she needed to know anything from me if her plan was just to ask Kent to fix it the whole time. And I shrug, and look at the woman with a one-sided smile.

"Guess I'm not sure that's a good idea," I say quietly. "Deals with the devil, hey, contracts with Hell? Why'd you come to see her, anyway?"

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"Why'd you help her?"

"Anushka is more like me than most humans can be," I say. "And so I wished her to be greater than the sum of her parts." I smile and turn Zann's hand over, tracing my finger down the fine lines of her palm. "This is the form I wore to kiss her, although it is not Anushka's favourite of mine." I smile. "You can call it Svetlana."

"I don't know," I say quietly, feeling the woman's fingers around mine. "Lily was saying she could maybe ask you to do something about Tez and Genny. But Lily's...Guess I'm not sure that's a good idea. Deals with the devil, hey, contracts with Hell? Why'd you come to see her, anyway?"

I smile as she pauses over Lily's name, and I think, ah, Lilith, she has caught you out. Lilith is a good enough liar in general, but she usually lies to those who want lies. That is the nature of a succubus, after all. She does not view it as an art in quite the way I do. But then, I am more perfect than she, so it is not really her fault. She was made for Man; I was made only for the Adversary.

"Who said anything about contracts?" I say, shrugging one shoulder, white fur rising up against my throat. "We can simply talk as we are now." I smile. I summon my qareen with a thought; it brings in Russian tea in a samovar made from brass. The shape suits Zann better than a tea pot, and, of course, it is more appropriate for Svetlana. All things in their place. If one wishes to lie, lie completely.

"I did not come to see Genny," I say. "Genny found me. I sensed something interesting about her. There is power in her," I say, "a power she does not really understand. Genny could be a great artist," I say. "Now she is quite good, for a human. But she has ambition." I smile serenely. "I have always enjoyed ambition. And, of course, Tezcatlipoca has an interest in her." I feel the wind move as I say his name, and I wonder if he feels it, my mouth around his name. I think that he probably does, and I smile at that little intimacy. "She is his priestess now, so you need not fear I will harm her. I have no wish to hurt an acolyte of his."

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"Anushka is more like me than most humans can be," and even here and thinking of Anushka I frown a little, and wonder how she's like... Hell, I guess. Wonder if she hurts, and if there's that sorrow in her, and think of how she smiled through the shattered glass and kissed me. "And so I wished her to be greater than the sum of her parts. This is the form I wore to kiss her, although it is not Anushka's favourite of mine. You can call it Svetlana."

"Svetlana," I say politely, and watch her long strong fingers run over my palm, the oil stains and the little scars and the middle and ring fingers clipped just a little short and healed over smooth all this time ago. No time at all to her, I guess. Don't feel ashamed at all, just... watch her watching me, and open up my hand a little under her fingers.

"Who said anything about contracts? We can simply talk as we are now." And I open my mouth and I'm gonna say something, but I'm... I don't know. She's not a mark, she's not a townie, but she reminds me of Anushka a little, pale and rich and draped in gloss and finery. I think she knows what a talker can do, wrap a mark up fine and neat and get them all tied into themselves, patter and flash and pride and promise until no way in hell would they back off, but I can't--I don't say that. Not to her, it seems rude, a kind of bare-to-the-bones thing that I could say to family or carnie or maybe a grifter I didn't know, if we were talking, but...

Not to someone who's never had dust on her hands.

So I nod a little, and glance up as a shadow flickers away from the table, and there's a great fine shaped brass pot or tower of steam and tea on the table, taller than a kettle, and I smile and reach out towards it, run my fingers down the air a distance from the surface, feeling the heat reach out from it.

"I did not come to see Genny," she says, and I listen to her voice, lighter than Kent's and smoother, and an accent thick as snow running over her. I remember an old act, ice queen, woman frozen in a block of ice and the marks could see anything in her glazed-glass shape, anything at all, and they came to see her in the tent in the summer air hot as tea, and the cold of the block of ice rose through the air like a breath. Svetlana's not like that, I can feel the beaten shape of her humming in the air, but she's... something pale and beautiful, like the iron lattices of buildings in winter with the windows all shattered out, cold air blowing inside and out with no difference and the white ice crystals piling up in hexagon stars to soften the steel angles beneath.

"Genny found me. I sensed something interesting about her. There is power in her, a power she does not really understand. Genny could be a great artist," and I nod again. "Now she is quite good, for a human. But she has ambition. I have always enjoyed ambition." I feel my heart pinch and dip inside me, and she's beautiful, but if Genny was here right now I'd be holding her hand so hard...

She's not for enjoying. Not like tea or sugar or those fine light cookies that Edmund bakes. Smile a little, and I'm sorry Svetlana, I'd help you if I could but she's not for enjoying. Not like that. Think of Tez by the river saying I'd have given you back to her, before and the wet warm smell of mud and crushed grass, and the taste of his blood, and the memory of that throbs stronger in my mouth when she speaks again.

"And, of course, Tezcatlipoca has an interest in her. She is his priestess now, so you need not fear I will harm her. I have no wish to hurt an acolyte of his."

"Why not?" I say carefully, and then I shut my mouth again, shocked by the sound of it. But really, honestly, why not? If she hates me for being, if she likes Tez loving her because it'll end badly for them at the end... "I mean... I'm sorry, I guess, if you hate for being, and she makes things, makes things mean things to people..." Look up at her again, and wonder what Syl looked like when she was young. Hair not red like this, and never in furs, never so white.

Edited Date: 2009-01-17 03:02 am (UTC)

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