"What?" Roxanne said, shock making her voice loud.

The word echoed against the cavern walls, and the chimera flinched again, its large, inhumanly luminous eyes fixed on Roxanne.

"My skin," the creature said, without looking away from her, and Roxanne saw that it trembled slightly as it spoke, a rippling shiver like wind over the surface of water, "have you come to take it?"

"No," Roxanne said, "no, of course I haven't come to take your skin. Why on earth would I want to take your skin?"

The metal orb was still in her hand; Roxanne was uncertain, now, as to whether she should lower it, whether she should try to seem less frightening—

"Isn't that what people like you do," the chimera said, "to people like me?"

It watched her, eyes flickering from her face to the orb in her hand, and Roxanne took a quick, painful breath.

(isn't that what people like you do to people like me?)

The chimera's teeth were no less sharp than they had been moments ago, the tapeta lucida shine of its eyes no less inhuman, but Roxanne nevertheless felt a swift pulse of shame at having threatened the thing.

"—not—not people like me," Roxanne said.

The chimera's tail moved very slightly, fins fluttering in the water. It did not look away from her. Roxanne swallowed.

"…may I have my flower back, please?" the chimera asked.

"I—" Roxanne glanced at the ball in her hand.

The creature did not seem as if it were about to attack her, but that might be a trick, to lull her suspicions. Or perhaps it did care about this little toy she held, and wanted to get it back and safe before it turned its attention to attacking Roxanne.

She looked back at the chimera, who looked back at her from the shallows of the pool.

"Yes," Roxanne said. "You can—you can have it back."

She took a step forward, holding out the ball, cursing herself for a fool as she did so.

The chimera flinched again when she took the step, making a small, frightened noise in the back of its throat. Roxanne stopped.

Oh.

(isn't that what people like you do to people like me?)

The words I'm not going to hurt you hovered at the edge of Roxanne's tongue, but she swallowed them down.

It was not that she enjoyed the chimera's fear in any way, but her own fear still fluttered in her chest, beneath her heart, and it whispered to her that the chimera's fear of her might be the only thing keeping her alive.

And what if it wasn't really afraid, not really? What if it meant to lure her into dropping her guard, to make her come closer to comfort it? The creature certainly did not look as if it wanted her to come closer at all, but that might be pretense—

"If I toss this to you," Roxanne asked, "can you catch it?"

An expression of relief flickered over the chimera's face—fast enough that surely it had to be an instinctive reaction.

And such a—a human expression.

"Yes," it said. "Yes, I can catch it."

Roxanne tossed the metal orb to it, and the chimera reached out with both hands and caught it, then cradled it protectively against its chest, out of the water.

The creature made another soft noise and carefully touched the top of the toy, making the petals unfurl.

"I didn't break it," Roxanne said, her suddenly empty hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, jittery and nervous.

The chimera touched the toy again and the petals of the metal flower folded back inwards. It looked back up at her again.

"Thank you," it said.

It smiled at her, then, a trembling, uncertain smile that unfolded like a flower itself. The expression was, undeniably, a sweet one, in spite of the sharp teeth.

"Did you make it?" Roxanne asked.

"Oh, yes!" the chimera said, smile brightening. "I made all of my auto-mata!"

It pronounced the last word strangely, placing the emphasis oddly, and for some reason, that seemed to strike a chord of Roxanne's memory, seemed somehow familiar—

(she was nine years old, and the teacher was laughing. Roxanne had just said the word 'genre' as 'jen-re'—Roxanne had only ever read the word, never spoken it aloud, though she'd known what it meant.)

Were the books the chimera's then, as well as the mechanical toys?

"They're beautiful," Roxanne said.

"You're beautiful," the chimera said, catching Roxanne utterly off guard. Before she could respond, though, it added, in exactly the same tone. "Are you a woman?"

Roxanne gave a bark of laughter.

"I—I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," she said. "Yes, I'm a woman."

The chimera's brows drew together, an expression of confused concern.

"That was rude?" it asked. "I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's—usually telling someone you can't tell if they're a man or a woman would be rude," Roxanne said.

She looked at the chimera—its chest was flat, but she didn't see any kind of, well—external genitalia. But then, you didn't, did you, with fish? A dark, thin, vertical line ran down from beneath its lower lip to beneath the tip of its chin, where a man might have had facial hair—looking closely, though, Roxanne could see this was actually a kind of marking on its skin.

"Quite honestly, though," Roxanne said, "I'm not sure about you, either, so I see where you're coming from with that question. Are you a—" she hesitated slightly. 'man' wasn't the right word, but she wasn't sure how else to put it. "Are you a he?" she settled for asking.

"Oh!" the chimera looked surprised. "I—suppose so."

That was not quite as definite an answer as Roxanne would have expected, but she supposed it would have to do. She couldn't keep on thinking of the chimera as 'it'; that really would be rude. Especially since it didn't seem to intend to eat her.

"My name's Roxanne Ritchi," she said.

"Roxanne Ritchi," the chimera repeated, clearly enjoying the words. His neck frill gave a little shiver, and he added, again with clear enjoyment, "Miss Ritchi."

Roxanne laughed at his obvious pride in remembering the correct form of address.

"Yes," she said. "And you are?"

"Warden calls me Syx," he said—which, Roxanne noticed, did not quite answer the question.

But the evasiveness hadn't been the oddest thing about that statement; had he really said—?

"The warden?"

"Is that why you're here?" the chimera asked. His fins fluttered, like someone gesturing excitedly with their hands. "Did my father send you? Is he still angry with me?"

"I—I'm sorry," Roxanne said. "No one sent me. I found a piece of paper—a list of—things. I thought there might be treasure. I don't know your father. I've never seen anyone like you before."

The chimera—Syx, he'd called himself, though Roxanne still wasn't certain if that was really his name or not—Syx drooped slightly, shoulders dropping, along with the frill on his neck.

"Warden isn't like me," he said. "Warden is like you. And he's been gone a long time; I thought—I thought maybe he sent you."

Roxanne's lips parted—gone for so long?

"Is—is your father's name Dan Seavey?" she asked.

Syx tilted his head.

"I don't know what humans call him," he said. "I call him father. And warden, but he doesn't like that. It makes him angry. We argued over it. I thought that might be why he's been gone for so long."

"How long has he been gone?" Roxanne asked.

"A month," Syx said, "a little more than a month."

Roxanne frowned.

"He can't be Dan Seavey, then," she said. "If it's only been a month. Dan Seavey's been dead for much longer than that."

Syx made a soft noise, a sort of hissing, indrawn breath.

"—oh," Roxanne said, realizing how that must have sounded, "I'm—I'm sorry; I didn't mean—"

"But perhaps he is dead," Syx said in a small voice, frill drawn in again, eyes large and liquid. "I don't know; that's—I don't know."

Roxanne stepped forward without thinking, until the tips of her shoes touched the edge of the water, then crouched down there, her hand outstretched.

Syx blinked at her for a moment, long enough for Roxanne to regret the impulsive gesture, and then, with a few movements of his long, powerful tail, he moved forward, too—swimming at first, but when the water grew too shallow for that, the motion turned into a kind of snakelike slither, his lower body undulating smoothly, the human part of his body held upright.

It was an utterly fluid and graceful motion—and it was also very deeply unnerving for some reason.

—because it made him look like a cobra about to strike, Roxanne realized, an edge of panic to her thoughts. She regretted her impulsive gesture of invitation even more thoroughly. And even now, she couldn't bring herself to run—stubbornness and politeness holding her in place in spite of the sudden spike of fear.

He didn't lunge for her, but merely stopped before her, very near to her.

Near enough that Roxanne could see the delicate dark markings that rimmed his eyes like kohl, could see the individual droplets of water beading on his skin, could see the way the delicate neck frill moved slightly with every breath he took. When he blinked, Roxanne could see that his eyes had second eyelids, could see the first transparent eyelids flick across his eye just barely ahead of the blinking of his more human eyelids.

Hesitantly, the chimera took one hand from the metal ball and reached it up to hers, touching their fingertips together.

Roxanne could see the webbing of it through the spaces between her own fingers.

She glanced up at the chimera's face, and saw her own uncertainty and fear and wonder reflected in its expression. His expression.

Roxanne felt a tremor go through the hand that touched his, and could not say if it was herself or the chimera who trembled.

Perhaps it was both of them.

The chimera's gaze was fixed on their hands, but when she looked into his face, he lifted his eyes up to meet hers.

The second eyelids flickered over his eyes, and the tapeta lucida gleamed green at the back of them.

The chimera bit his lip, sharp teeth showing in an expression of worry.

Roxanne took a breath and pressed her palm against his.


...to be continued.