Vagabonds Page 15

  To Sophia’s non-surprise the kitchen and pantry were stocked with the same sorts of foods as the other gods she knew. Maybe it was just because he was his mother’s son, but they didn’t care for all the ‘fancy’ fare one would expect from a family with more money than some could possibly imagine.

  That said, the deli meats and cheeses and bread used for the sandwich were top-notch. Simple, yet refined tastes. Even the corn chips were a cut above what her budget typically allowed. One day, she’d be rich and she too would buy name brand corn chips. That was her goal—the how was a question for later, but did it really matter so long as she got there?

  After lunch, Tarkit kept his promise of drafting Sophia into his campaign of chores.

  She held an axe in both hands, watching as he took a short log, placed it upon the block, and split it neatly in two. This she watched several times. A two-step process. Log, chop, log, chop.

  How hard could it be?

  Her turn came up. She placed a log upon the stump and brought down the axe with all her might. Her accuracy left something to be desired and rather than a clean split, the log pinwheeled away into the snow and the axe dragged Sophia along with it for the ride as it ricocheted off the stump and into the ground.

  Not to be defeated by a piece of wood, Sophia brushed herself off and attempted again. Another log sailed off, though to her credit she didn’t topple over the second time. The third time, however, saw a fragment of wood fly back and smack her right in the forehead. She recoiled, dropping the axe on her foot. A stream of curses followed.

  Not even a man of Tarkit’s strength could keep laughter at bay for long. He tried, of course; the first signs of tears at the corners of his eyes, the bunching of the jaw and pressing lips together. Didn’t last long until he was belly-laughing so hard he had to wipe away tears.

  “You make it look so easy! And it is easy! Or should be. Axe, wood, chop!”

  “It might look easy,” Tarkit said, his gaze wandering to Sophia’s noodle-like arms hidden within the sleeves of her jacket, “But there’s certainly technique to it. That and a bit of muscle.”

  “I’m not that weak! Probably,” Sophia said, mentioning one word quieter than the others, “I’ve been doing self-defense training.”

  Tarkit stroked his beard. “For a tiny thing like you, must be focused on kicks I imagine. Not so great for chopping wood,” he paused to smirk at her, “Though there are certain kicks that’d do the job. Just have to strap an axe to your feet.”

  “I don’t think that’d be such a good idea… And it’s not just kickboxing. Tess has been teaching me how to shoot, too.”

  “Ho ho, truly now? One couldn’t hope for a better instructor.”

  “Yeah, she’s been good. In just over a year I’ve become pretty good, I think.”

  Sophia puffed up, sticking her chest out.

  “I imagine,” Tarkit said with an easy smile, “I’ll leave you to this for a while. If nothing else, it’ll be a good workout.”

  Sophia tried to protest, but Tarkit moved faster and turned his back to her and power walked across the snowy trail from the work-shed to the garage and vanished within the house.

  The rest of the day, the few short hours that remained of it, left Sophia limp and ragged. Her arms ached. Her legs ached. Muscles she didn’t even know existed ached. Just climbing the few steps to get to the house had become the sort of challenge that one had to mentally prepare for before tackling. Hadn’t even been in the frigid north for a full day and already she was wistful for home and work that didn’t make her feel like collapsing in a heap. Boring she could deal with, but boring and laborious was a match made in any number of hells.

  But, at least once dusk and night fell, Sophia was released from her chores. She’d cozied up in the living room, or maybe den—she wasn’t really sure what the difference was— and bundled herself in a snug blanket on one of the two comfortable recliner-couches facing an impressive fireplace. Just the sort of folksy thing she needed to warm up, inside and out.

  A scent caught her nose, sweet and bitter at the same time. Moments later Tarkit appeared, holding two steaming mugs.

  “Cocoa? It’ll help ease the chill.”

  “Sure!” Sophia’s fingers poked out from under the blankets, wrapping her hands around the mug. The warmth seeping into her added another delightful layer of comfort. “Thank you.”

  “No problem! Consider it a small gift for the work you did today,” Tarkit said, plopping down on the same couch.

  The fire crackled.

  “You mean all the shit I screwed up?”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “I guess, still doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

  “Hah, I suppose not. You’ll just have to do better next time.”

  “Yeeaaahhh….”

  Sophia sipped at her cocoa, letting the warmth flow through to her stomach. Combined with the fire and cozy atmosphere, she completed thawing out.

  “So this is where everyone’s hangin’ out,” came a familiar voice, on a familiar woman, followed by two familiar, treacherous cats.

  Tarkit turned to her, looking higher than where she was—it took him a moment to correct downward. “Ah, Yf. A new look, I see! I was wondering when you’d show up. I hear you paid our guest a visit last night.”

  “A little, yeah.”

  She strode into the room wearing what appeared to be a great, white, fuzzy bathrobe that was far too big for her, what with the sleeves extending to her fingertips and the hem dragging across the plush carpet. In one hand was a long pipe of some sort, and in the other a can of beer.

  Yf eased onto the couch opposite them, flanked on either side by Gregor and Samsa. They immediately curled up and fell asleep, purring all the while.

  “Those two,” Sophia muttered.

  Yf set the pipe in her lap and stroked them, “They’re so affectionate! You must’ve raised them with heaps of love.”

  “Sure doesn’t seem like it…”

  “Don’t hate them too much, it’s just my animal magnetism,” she chuckled, “Boys will be boys.”

  Sophia retreated into her bundle, glowering at the cats and Yf. At least she wasn’t slurring and staggering about. Yf opened the tab on the can with a single hand and then, in one motion, brought it to her lips and chugged loud enough Sophia could hear it. Up and up the can’s bottom went until its contents were gone and Yf belted out what had to be the most unlady-like belch in the world.

  Yf crumpled the can and set it on the end-table, which also held an odd-looking device on it, part glass and metal. Looked sort of like a glass container for a candle with a metal disc on it.

  “By the way, we’re out of beer,” she said as she pulled a lighter from a drawer in the table and lit something in the device.

  Tarkit groaned, “Didn’t you just buy two cases?”

  “That was like, three days ago,” Yf half-snorted, half-laughed, “I’m amazed it lasted long as it did. You didn’t drink much, huh?”

  “Well, I was planning on having one or two tonight with our guest.”

  “The best-laid plans and all that,” Yf said through a smirk, holding the bowl of her pipe over the lamp-like object, the air it heated shimmering. She seemed to be counting time in deep meditation, until her eyes narrowed, and in a fluid movement took the bowl from the heat and the stem to her lips.

  Her chest rose with the deep drag, stilled, and she fell deep into the plush leather, Yf’s eyes fluttering shut as she left the comfort of the couch for the comfort of total absence.

  “Starting earlier than usual, I see,” said Tarkit with a note of concern.

  “Yeah, just feel like it. That’s all,” Yf said, peering back into the world from a heavy eye, “By the way, what do you think of the new look Sophia came up with for me?”

  “I like it. Very tiny and slim. Very you.”

  Sophia perked up, no longer so focused on the thing in Yf’s hands and on the table. “Huh? What do
you mean new look?”

  “Last night is a bit blurry, I admit, but I do recall you saying I had the wrong bits.”

  “Right. Yf is a guy. Everyone knows that.”

  She shifted her weight around, searching for the most comfortable angle that kept the stem to her lips and blinked each eye in time, slowly. “That so? Well, if I was a guy, what do you suppose I would look like?”

  “Well…” Sophia’s imagination went to work. Seeing as how the white cat from last night looked almost exactly as she’d pictured her being if she were human, then, really, if that cat was a male, he’d probably look like…

  Her brain slammed the brakes once it realized something, sending her thoughts crashing against the windshield.

  The figure in her mind was sprawled out across from her, where Yf used to be, holding the same pipe and in the same robe. He rolled the contents of the bowl back above the heat and took the pipe and another long draw.

  “Not much changed, really. Taller, broader, more muscle… and yes,” Yf said in a richer tone and struggled with his legs and robe, as if something uncomfortable had formed between them, “You certainly have big expectations,” he said with a broad grin.

  Sophia looked away with a faint hint of redness to her cheeks. She managed forced laughter to cover her embarrassment, for all the good it did. “Yf is supposed to be a god of romance and all that…”

  Tarkit burst out in laughter, to the point of actual knee-slapping, “There’s more to the little girl than she seems!”

  Just shoot me now, Sophia pleaded to the heavens. To her dismay, no lead from far-flung reaches granted her reprieve.

  There was a rustling of fabric and when Sophia looked again, He had become She once more, the very same as the one that had snuggled up to her last night.

  “Gotta say, Sophia, you have a good imagination. I like this shape. Or, well, I have come to prefer the female form in general as of late,” she said, sinking back into the depths of the couch, “Less to get in the way, for starters. But yes, I am a god of romance, among other things.”

  Face half-buried in the blankets, Sophia’s train of thought made a brief stop to take on as many questions as it could haul.

  “That’s not part of your myth at all,” Sophia said half-accusingly.

  “Isn’t it? Oh dear, I’ve gotten myself all wrong,” Yf said with exaggerated umbrage.

  “You know what I mean! I guess there might be a few sources that say you were a woman, but most say you’re a guy.”

  Yf almost seemed to shimmer around her edges, like the air licking the bottom of the pipe. Gregor and Samsa stretched out, yawned, and fell back asleep.

  “The city over there said I had a cunt, another over yonder insisted I had a cock. Some even thought I had a dick and great big tits for a nice hybrid package. Hah, package… Just so happens the ones that thought I could impregnate a hundred women a day, a man’s man, were the best at spreading it around, see? Or maybe they were just the only ones to survive The Great Darkness,” said Yf, letting her head fall back on the armrest, her silver-white hair spreading like a cloud around her dream-soaked grin, “And time took care of the rest.”

  “Okay,” Sophia said, making sure her thoughts were in order, “So like, what’s your real self?”

  Yf smiled wide, revealing twin rows of sharp, cat-like teeth, “How philosophical! I’ll answer if you can tell me who your real self is.”

  “Huh? Me, right here,” Sophia said with a frown, pointing at herself.

  “Is it?”

  “It is! Tarkit, help me out here.”

  He shook his head, “I know better than to get involved with Yf when she gets like this. Might as well try to fight mist and shadow.”

  “How little you know, though that’s to be expected if you’re here with us,” Yf said, her good humor faded like a setting sun. She glanced at Tarkit, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” she continued, cresting a new dawn.

  Tarkit coughed, “I don’t believe Sophia is into your brand of entertainment.”

  “Hey! I could be. What’s that you’re smoking, anyways?”

  Yf tapped her pipe, letting it hang from her lips. “Opium. Want some?”

  “…Sure,” said Sophia, getting up and making her way over to Yf. She took the pipe, placed it to her lips, and inhaled the warm vapor deep.

  And just as quickly her chest convulsed. Coughing hard around the alkaloid burn, Yf’s hand shot out from her personal paradise, taking the delicate stem from the girl. Sophia staggered back to her own couch as a spring of pure warmth spread from her core, almost lifting her away from the flesh now draped across the chair beside Tarkit. But the spring fell to the pit of her stomach, the warmth turning an oily black. What had been a pleasantly numb distance a second ago was now just emptiness.

  Anxiety rolled on the nausea, and the nausea deepened the the anxiety. Her chest caved in as her stomach rose to her throat.

  “Oh gods, I think I’m going to be sick,” she urped, “Why—”

  She cut her own words off to run from the room. It was all she could do to make it to the kitchen sink before she retched. After a few minutes her now-empty stomach calmed down enough where she could brave a few chance steps, and once confident she wouldn’t heave again, stormed, insomuch as a green-faced, queasy girl could storm, back to where Yf and Tarkit were.

  “Look who’s back!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me it’d do that!”

  “What’d be the fun? Don’t give me that look. Besides, you only get all urpy the first few times. After that, it’s just… bliss,” Yf said, already searching the depths of the couch for her kit, for another pill to draw paradise back to her grasp.

  Sophia scowled like a wet cat. “Pass.”

  “Aww, you’re no fun.”

  “See? She’s not liable to fall for your traps,” Tarkit said, “At least more than once. So why don’t we talk about something else?”

  “Like what,” Yf said, careening into a pouty mood as she fixed her next pipe.

  There Sophia was, in a room with the son of a god—Did that make him a demi-god?— and a real god. Or goddess. Maybe both. Compared to Tess and, especially, Sejit, they were significantly more laid-back. Tess could be friendly enough, in her odd way, but in an instant she could be the wrong sort of “friendly.” And she could get high-strung about the strangest things. Meanwhile, Sejit was always turned up to at least a seven.

  Which got her thinking. Sophia was, in a sense, surrounded by gods, and while yes, some of the things she witnessed went beyond what a mere mortal was capable of, they never really felt “godly.” Just sort of superhuman. Wereanimals with incredible strength.

  The one time she’d asked Tess about her godly abilities, Sophia received her answer with a piercing laugh in the form of a question: “Do you really want to know?”

  Sophia politely retracted her question.

  Then there was Sejit, who she’d never gotten the nerve to ask. There had to be more to her than super-strength and the ability to change from human to lion, because otherwise why would everyone obey her?

  So, she decided she may as well ask Yf, because what was there to lose? “Well, you said you were a god of other things, right?”

  “Many,” she said, “Cats, hunting snakes, antidotes, the soul, and personification of the enjoyment of life.” Yf had been counting on her fingers. Confident she’d gotten all the major points, she nodded smartly to herself. “All that good stuff.”

  “Cats? Well, I figured that’s why they like you so much, but, what, exactly, does being a god…dess of cats let you do?”

  “Ah, so that’s what you were getting at,” Yf replied with a coy smirk. She placed her pipe upon the tray with the oil lamp and stood, much to the annoyance of Samsa and Gregor, who stretched out as cats do, toes splaying wide with unblinking eyes, “You wanted a magic show.”

  “Not really… Okay, yeah,” Sophia sheepishly played with a stray blonde lock.

  Yf t
ook a bow, and not just the normal sort of bow by people who fancied themselves aristocratic may sketch out, no, this was the bow of a showman. An inebriated, drug-addled showman, given the stumble and looseness, but a showman nonetheless.

  A flourish of the hands, swaying so far as to go behind her back, a shuffling of the feet, and when she stood upright again with her hands at her sides, there was a cat. Not Samsa or Gregor, but a tiny, white and black-striped tiger cub in her palm.

  No. It wasn’t a cub. It had the proportions of an adult tiger, but made tiny as a kitten.

  It made an adorable noise and leapt from her hand towards the floor.

  Only, it never made it. Sophia was sure she had watched it carefully. Her eyes had followed the tiny critter, she was sure of it, but halfway to the floor and her eyes no longer had anything to follow. It’d just vanished, same as it’d appeared.

  Another tiny noise sounded out. The diminutive tiger was on Tarkit’s shoulder, rubbing its cheek against his. Tarkit reached up and stroked its chin. It let out a happy noise, somewhere between a purr and a mew.

  The modern magician, of course, was capable of a great many tricks. Sleight of hand, mirrors, misdirection—all tools to make the impossible seem possible. With a bit of creative thought, one could piece together a few explanations for the trick. The bit of cloth they so often held onto concealed a box from which the rabbit could be pulled and the hat had a false bottom. Things like that. For this, her mind blanked.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Magic,” Yf said after a slight delay, as if she couldn’t believe she had to explain something so obvious.

  “Yeah, but how?”

  Yf scoffed, half-looking away, “A good magician never reveals her ways.”

  “You’re hardly a good magician,” Tarkit said, placing the tiger on the floor.

  “How rude!”

  It scampered over to Sophia, snuffling at her feet and legs. The fluffy creature appraised her with its big blue eyes, and satisfied with the sights and smells, deemed her legs satisfactory to rub up against. Her annoyance with Yf’s response may as well never have existed, such was her desire to touch the fluff. Her hand reached out. The tiger held still.