Pokémon Lapis

Chapter 10: Monster

(Zahlia Nakawa)

The new printer was mighty for a device of its size. Though it was compact and light-weight, it was vicious, and with each flier the machine spat out Edith's entire computer table rattled back and forth. The rocking sound of the printer hard at work had filled the living room for the better part of an hour, and Zahlia returned to it periodically to remove the stack of fliers from its output tray so it wouldn't topple over under the weight.

They couldn't risk doing a bulk job of printing their posters down at the copy shop in Viridian. It was a little too public, and what with Beth's recent troubles there, none of them were particularly eager to return to the city proper unless they had to. Zahlia secretly thought that Gav had sort of enjoyed hooking up the new printer to Edith's dinosaur of a desktop computer, though. It had been nothing short of an IT mega-challenge to get the two pieces of technology to cooperate.

It was certainly a great deal less stressful a project than he had encountered a few days after their group was re-instated. Without warning a sizable chunk of their files had vanished from Gav's hard-drive and Edith's computer, and it was a frantic half-hour Gav spent tracking the files down in the recycling bin and restoring them all. The mood in the cottage had been akin to that of a hospital waiting room, but when Gav declared the files had not been permanently deleted, they could all breathe a sigh of relief.

He was so much better than she had seen him in months. He was still scared—she could see that in his eyes, and in his movements, which were still jittery and uncertain. But there was something else back in his eyes, too. It was a brightness, a propensity to look upward when he thought, rather than down. It was a small change, but it mattered.

Zahlia grabbed the lopsided stack of pages, ink-saturated from the machine. There had to be a way to adjust the settings so they weren't using up so many of their ink cartridges—for the next batch of 50 she'd look into it. Moving them over to the table with their stacks of brethren, Zahlia lifted one to admire it once more.

An anarchy A symbol was the prominent centerpiece of the flier, the upward spike of which formed the back spine of a Nidoran. It was all done in dark purple, an approximation of the band symbol the others had seen Andrew Drake messily sketching in a notebook during one of the many failed documentaries. Below that was a new email address Gav had managed to set up, nidofan at kantonet dot com. It would be his job to monitor that account daily for replies once these fliers went up.

The most difficult part had been getting a "hook"—something that would make WTF look twice, rather than just assume some long-time pal was giving a shout-out to the old band. It was unclear how popular Nidoranarchy had even been in its "hey-day," and if what Kieran and Andrew said held any weight, they'd been a largely unpopular little group. It ultimately held no bearing on what they chose for the flier's text, though.

We're big fans, and we've got big news to share.

Contact us at nidofan at kantonet dot com

You know it's the Exeggutor Decision.

The final line had been lifted from one of the videos that had more resembled a genuine jam session. The three young men were tossing ideas around for a song, and Andrew, keeping with what Gina and Amaris said was his usual MO, wanted more puns to be added. He was the one who had come up with the play-on-words line which WTF had almost instantly vetoed. Kieran, however, had burst out laughing at it, and insisted it was brilliant, which meant the guitarist and drummer were once again ganging up on the bassist and trying to get him to lighten up. The lyric had never made it into the song—and that was their ace in the hole. If WTF saw this poster, he would have to know that whoever had the "big news" to share also knew enough about him and his childhood friends to understand the meaning of that line. It would either earn his curiosity and tentative trust or scare the life out of him. They were really banking on the first one.

Zahlia smiled softly to herself as she put the flier down on top of the others, turning back to look at the room in general. The energy that had sparked under them that night was still there, humming and simmering, moving them forward and keeping them focused. They had huddled together around the computer, sitting on the ground, table, chairs and on each other when needed, listening to the Nidoranarchy documentary attempts and looking for ideas for the fliers. Blake had suggested, only once, that they could always go to bed and pick up on this in the morning, but none of them had wanted to—not even him. Kaylee jotted messy notes on a legal pad with her legs crushed up against her chest, Beth squished onto the chair with her, Gina popping her back repeatedly from her position stooped over behind them. Zahlia had cast periodic looks at the side of Amaris' face, as had some of the others, waiting and gauging, seeing if he could handle this much of his uncle in one sitting. But he had been altered fundamentally, too. It was a purpose, a drive that he had been chasing after and craving since Gina brought him to them years ago, and he finally had it. He had not only a connection to his uncle, but a way to try to discover what had happened to him, and why.

Around five in the morning the delirium had begun to set in, which hadn't been helped by the fact that WTF, Andrew and Kieran gave one another endless shit. Their irreverent, constant cursing, pranks and joking around in particular got Beth, Jason and Gina giggling frequently, and that spread like wildfire to the others. Victoria kept them plied with a neverending supply of sugar, tea, caffeine, coffee, biscuits and blankets, and by the time the sun rose Zahlia hadn't really felt like anything was real anymore. Everything was hazy and indistinct, and her sense of time was shot, the way it always was when she stayed up all night. At the same time, though, everything was sharper, everything felt stronger. Her nose prickled. There was static electricity clinging to the ends of her hair from the wool blanket Victoria had found her. Her bare feet were freezing on the wood floors. She was alive.

The hardest part now was going to be the waiting game. As soon as these fliers were distributed the ball would be in WTF's court, and there was little else they could do on that front while they twiddled their thumbs. They'd have to find more ways to move their efforts forward while they waited.

That was why Zahlia was currently using her bed as a sorting platform for socks, sweaters, travel toiletries and Potions. She and Blake were going on a trip.

Zahlia left the printer to its devices and returned down the hallway to her room, where Blake was standing in the doorway, staring blankly in at her half-done packing job. Coming up behind him and lifting an eyebrow, Zahlia cleared her throat to get his attention. "Yes?"

Blake glanced up at her, his expression still blank and tired. "Do you own any color whatsoever?" he asked, pointing at her bed.

Zahlia looked in as well. Granted, much of her clothing was shades of gray, or black, but that was a bit of a broad blanket statement. "That's green," she said, pointing at a well-loved turtleneck folded up near the corner.

"Dark green," Blake retorted.

"It's still green," Zahlia argued, nudging past him into the room to zip her duffel open wider. "And who are you to talk?" she added, glancing back to him and giving him a once-over. Today he was in dark gray and black. "You're entirely monochrome."

"That's racist," Blake mumbled.

Zahlia just frowned at him for a second, trying to understand. She failed. "... What?"

"... I don't know," Blake admitted.

Zahlia dropped the socks she'd been folding and turned to face her brother in full. He wasn't making eye contact anymore, but now she understood. Blake was nervous. He always got talkative, weirdly so, spouting much more random nonsense than normal when he was.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting on the edge of her bed, not bothering to move her clothes first.

Blake looked like he was torn between denying everything or begrudgingly coming clean. She gave him his time.

He eventually moved into the room proper and nudged the door partially closed behind him, but didn't come over to sit on the bed next to her. Taking what she could get, Zahlia gently prompted him.

"Is it mom?"

Blake shrugged hard, the gesture a very petulant and teenager one. "Yeah. Sort of."

"You—" Zahlia edited herself. "You don't have to be worried." She'd been about to tell him he had no reason to be worried. She was trying to stray away from statements like that. "I think you've spent more time around mom than I have, total."

"Even so. It's been years. And, I dunno, we've like… never both been around her at the same time. You've been with her, then I've been with her. And, uh, you and I have been together. We're like a weird Venn Diagram family. I don't know what that middle section is going to be like at all."

Zahlia smiled, tried to hide it, and failed. The places his mind went confused and delighted her, but he narrowed his eyes at her clear display of amusement. Zahlia cleared her throat, stood, and went back to packing. Blake never did well with too much attention pointed directly at him. She offered him what comfort she could while sorting pants.

"Try not to worry. You're her kid, and so am I. And we're the kids who don't try to kill people, so… that's a plus."

Blake heaved a heavy sigh, and Zahlia wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. A second later, though he mumbled, "I apologize, deeply and sincerely. You've developed my sense of humor, but you do it so bad. I take full responsibility."

Zahlia shot him a deadpan look and Blake fixed her with a sympathetic, remorseful one, like he was beside her bed in a hospital where she had just received a bad prognosis. Zahila tossed some balled-up socks at him.

"Ack—it might not be too late!" he added, while she flung a hat at him next, which he dodged. "We might still be able to rehabilitate you!" The bra she threw his way hit target and, horrified and offended by the sight of it, Blake exclaimed his displeasure at decibels Nakawas usually never reached before retreating poste-haste from the room to confused questions outside.

Arrived safe. Coords in msg from BL. Will msg if need evac.

Zahlia hit "send" on her message as Jason's Alakazam vanished, and Blake typed up their landing place longitude and latitude in a separate text to Jason. Jason's return text reached her a few seconds later. LAC.

It meant "loud and clear," one of the new terms he was starting to use which he'd probably burn out on and forget about in a few days. Still, it made Zahlia smile to see it. It reminded her much more powerfully of the boy she'd met in Pewter over three years ago.

This would be a tri-purpose trip, as Zahlia had to keep reminding herself. They were putting up fliers wherever they could, trying to place them strategically so they wouldn't run out. They were there to inspect the last known coordinates of the Lavender Aggro Device to see if there was any sign at all of it being still there. And they were going to visit their mother.

Well, visit/interrogate, but Zahlia was the only one who was in the loop on that last agenda item.

Blake was back in a wig, a reddish-brown one this time, and Zahlia's hair was covered entirely with a kerchief. Lavender Town was already so dismal and gloomy, and viewing it through sunglasses just made it darker. Blake had told her she looked like a wannabe movie star trying to go incognito but failing to realize that no one cared. Zahlia had told him he looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Lavender in late spring still felt a lot like Lavender in winter. Zahlia wore a scarf bundled up around her turtleneck sweater, tucked into the front and zipped in place, and had her hands stuffed in mittens and then stuffed in her pockets. Blake was similarly bundled, and the two siblings drew little to no attention as they made their ways through the streets of the morose, quiet town. Some of the locals had already begun to tentatively bust out some of their summer attire. One man sported a sleeveless shirt and Blake made a huffing sound of scorn under his breath as they passed him. "Show-off."

The Pokémon Tower was still the largest building in town by far, the somehow sinister pinnacle reaching heavenward to the north. Blake and Zahlia stopped to order tea from a vendor, parked themselves on a freezing bench, and conferred as they played tourist.

"The coordinates Gav gave us are pretty clear. The device is either buried underneath the tower, or is inside it somewhere."

"Yeah," Blake grumbled, his word coming out with steam from over the top of his tea. "So, what do we do with that? We can't go there."

Zahlia's silence apparently gave him his answer. "We can't go there," he reiterated.

"We don't have a choice. We're here to determine if the device is active, broken, or even present. That's what we have to do."

Blake groaned and dropped his head onto the top of his carry-out mug. "The fuuuuck. This is such a piss-poor plan."

"We have evac backup," Zahlia said. "Speaking of which, you checked in with Jason recently?" Blake let out a seething sigh and pulled out his phone, yanking one glove off so he could text their current whereabouts to Jason's phone.

Evacuation had taken a new turn ever since their group had been reinstated. Beth hadn't been able to look up her exact coordinates on her botched date with Rei, and Jason's Alakazam had had to make a few hops to find her to the north of Route 1. Now it was standard protocol for each traveling person to send coordinates in longitude and latitude whenever they settled down in a new spot, even if it was temporary. That way they would always be ready for evac at the drop of a hat, even if all they could do was send a blank text or start a phone call. Blank texts now meant "get us out of here stat at our last known coordinates," which meant everyone had to take care to lock their phone screens to avoid being whisked away home unintentionally due to a pocket text.

The last Zahila had heard, Gav was still not up-to-speed on what had happened to Beth in Viridian. In light of all the revelations and news they had discovered the night Amaris returned from Pallet, it had been lost in the shuffle. She knew they had been keeping it from him before that so as not to overburden his already worried mind, but she wasn't sure if anyone had informed him since. She wondered if it was one of those things other people just assumed someone else would do.

"So," Blake said, putting his phone away. "How are we going to go about this terrible, horrible, ill-advised plan?"

"I was thinking I'd send Haunter up initially. He can cloak himself so he's not immediately visible, and that way we'll know if..."

"Yeah," Blake grumbled. "What do we do if he doesn't come back?"

"Then we go after him," Zahlia said.

"On foot?"

She paused. "No, not on foot. Ask Jason for Alakazam to meet us..." she pulled out her phone, called up a map of Lavender, and pointed at a small cemetery offshoot of the tower towards the northern end, shielded by trees and the beginnings of the craggy cliffs to the Rock Tunnel. "There."

Alakazam was waiting for them when they arrived. Haunter, who had been let out preemptively for instruction, looped into visibility and approached him, sending one of his disembodied hands out like a boomerang for a high-five. Alakazam lifted an "eyebrow" at that but lifted his hand (spoon included) for the greeting.

"Ready?" Zahlia asked him, and it took a second for him to respond, so enamoured was he with turning his hand into approximations of the spoon. "Hey!" Zahlia said, her tones clipped and harsh, and Haunter looped upside down and gave her a guilty look before drifting down over by her boots.

"This is serious. You know who's up there, right?" she asked, pointing behind her at the peak of the tower. Haunter nodded, giving the building a nervous, sullen side-eye. "Okay," Zahlia said, her voice softer and more understanding now. "Be careful. Come back in five minutes, okay? No matter what you find. Five minutes." She counted down from five to one on the hand she had freed from its mitten and Haunter's grin returned as he lolled his tongue out of his mouth. "Good luck," Zahlia said as he vanished.

Uncomfortable silence settled in on the Pokémon and humans who remained behind in the small grave plot, chills that had nothing to do with the unseasonable cold tracing themselves up and down Zahlia's arms. She knew what she hoped for, the best-case scenario: no Zeke, but something solid to take back home, a piece of technology, some clues—something. When Haunter returned, looking bewildered, less than two minutes later, Blake and Zahlia exchanged an uncertain look.

"Okay," she said, reaching out and taking Blake's shoulder, then reaching to Alakazam. "Take us up there next, then."

Her stomach fluttered and dropped with the teleportation, but it didn't stop once they landed. It just kept right on going, down through each floor of the tower, farther down into the old earth below.

The upper floor of the Pokémon Tower was definitely uninhabited. It had been for some time, as well. There was rank must, like old sweat, and in one corner some upturned food and a broken folding table had been reduced to a fly and maggot-ridden pile of rot. Blake put his hand over his face and fumbled to wrap his scarf around his nose and mouth. Zahlia's eyes were already beginning to water.

She had seen the smashed urns the last time she'd been here, so that wasn't new. What was new was the writing on the walls. Some of it was done in ashes, smeared handprints and angry, illegible sentences. Some was in a darker substance, and she hoped to god it was paint.

"It's ink," Blake said, reading her mind. She followed his line of sight and saw the bottles of calligraphy ink smashed in the corner, like bombs that had dropped in a row on an unsuspecting population. Dust and ash were stuck in the residue, hardened there along with a few Fearow feathers.

"Try not to touch anything with your hands," Zahlia said, knowing she didn't need to coach Blake on this. It felt better to speak their plans aloud. "But look for anything we can take. Anything at all." Blake made a sound of affirmation and moved off to the other side of the room while Zahlia kneeled down and began digging through the remains of a shattered chair.

They didn't find anything metal, or glass, or electric. There was busted ceramic, broken wood, torn paper and a great deal of mud that had been tracked in from elsewhere. Undisturbed bootprints, swiping in wide arcs, told Zahlia that her brother had been practicing his unarmed combat amidst the ashes of the dead. There was nothing here but anger and madness—they would be taking no useful information home with them, except, perhaps, that Zeke was no longer actively using the Tower as a headquarters.

Of course he wouldn't be, she chided herself. He knows I'm a traitor, and I know of this place. He wouldn't keep it after that.

The only thing Zahlia did find was something she wished she hadn't. It was written in ink, dirt and ashes, downy bits of feather trapped in it, smeared like a caricature of a fingerpainting present a brother might leave for his sister in childhood.

You aimed higher.

"Let's go," Zahlia murmured, standing and fighting the urge to wipe her boot through the fourteen letters. It wouldn't do to leave behind any sign at all that she'd been here, or had received his message.

"Are we even still in the same quadrant anymore?" Blake mumbled, peeling his scarf off and crumpling it up into a ball.

"South of Lavender, right off the water on the way to Fuchsia… what d'you expect?" Zahlia asked, folding her scarf up neater and bagging it. The gloves went too, but she kept her jacket on for now.

Blake looked at her like she was touched in the head. "I'm going to die looking at you. Remove your jacket presently."

"I'm fine," Zahlia said, giving him a small smile and an eyebrow lift from the corner of her eye. "And now I'm gonna keep it on just to bother you."

Neither Nakawa had felt much like venturing on the day before, so they'd taken the rest of the evening off in the lower districts of Lavender, staying at a hostel that was more interested in marks than in identification. Zahlia had slept hard with troubled, indistinct dreams, but she knew she didn't have Haunter to blame for them. They all had a recurring theme—ashes, ink and feathers.

Now that they were on the road to their mother's home, though, dark thoughts were kept at bay while Zahlia listened to Blake complain about the humidity. She had a feeling he was hamming it up for her benefit, hoping to distract her. They'd both been quiet after what they discovered the night before, and if Blake was trying to keep her mind off it with his antics, it was working. Feeling a warm surge of affection for him, Zahila hooded her eyes and let out a soft sigh, leading the way along the docks farther inward to where the beach houses gave way to lower-rent, lower-quality homes farther inland.

It had been years since Zahlia had been properly home for an extended stay. This would be no different—already she was bracing herself for her mother's joy at seeing them, followed quickly by disappointment at learning their stay would be a short one, followed by the attempt to mask that disappointment so as not to burden her children. She wasn't looking forward to that, but she was looking forward to seeing her.

Their home was set against a hilltop, one of many that lined a steep upward incline that would eventually lead to the rolling hills of Fuchsia to the southwest. There was ample space between each plot of land, though, and as a result Zahlia and Blake had a hefty distance to walk, uphill, to even cover the territory between each residence. They were both sticky by the time they rounded the corner and the familiar line of scraggly trees came into sight.

Their mother loved plants but had a black thumb, and the shrubs that had managed to survive were probably glorified weeds, but she still cared for them daily. The driveway was even steeper than the road it preceded, and Blake paused at the bottom of it, huffing and groaning. Zahlia was pretty sure his hesitation was part nerves and not entirely heat exhaustion, though her face was glowing too.

"Frickin—so many—ugh," he groaned, slapping his lanky arms for the umpteenth time. Her brother had a halo of mosquitoes around him, merrily drinking from him, and had pretty much since they'd begun their journey past the docks. It was why Zahlia had gotten so used to wearing long-sleeved turtlenecks even in hot climates growing up. Bug spray was a lie, as these breeds seemed entirely impervious to it. Blake wasn't used to it anymore, and Zahlia tried to calculate when he'd last spent an extended stay with their mother—it had to have been even longer ago than she had.

Their mother was expecting them, at least. Zahlia didn't want to appear on her doorstep and give her a heart attack. It was a similar sentiment to Gina's, when she'd returned to Pallet. Advance warning was generally good in situations like this. So it was that halfway up the drive the screen door banged open and their rail-thin mother appeared at the top of the rickety wood stairs leading up to the house, tears visible in her eyes even from a distance. She started to quickly trot down the stairs and Blake and Zahlia picked up the pace to reduce the amount of distance she'd have to close to reach them.

Their family was an awkward, silent one. Zahlia could see that her mother was trying to find words of greeting, but nothing was really happening. Her expression told it all, though. Zahlia felt a rush of heat course up her neck, a sympathetic sort of embarrassment at her mother's lack of words, but they were making up for their strange silence in a three-way embrace shortly after.

Zahlia had never really learned what it was like to hug someone hard. Her mother had always been frail, from her earliest memory, with thin, birdlike bones. Zahlia had always been afraid of crushing her, so even now, with the three of them together with her for the first time in Zahlia's memory since childhood, she was gentle and careful. Their mother pulled back and looked at Blake, her face trembling with feeling. "So tall, you," she said to him, and he half-shrugged and looked at the ground, smiling. His eyes were frowning.

"How've you—?" Zahlia asked, trying to unstick her throat and find words. Her mom was ushering them in though, waving her hands stiffly as both wrists were firmly wrapped in beige colored braces. Her rheumatoid arthritis must be acting up. Sometimes, and Zahlia didn't know if this was a hypochondriac tendency rising in her, she could feel the ache in her own bones, the seeds of her mother's ailment she might mirror when she was older.

"Oh, good, you know—busy, keeping busy. You see the plants, yeah? How brown, they?" She put a hand over her mouth and stifled a laugh, her eyes bright and nearly-shut with excitement. "Come, come. You hungry? You're hungry."

"Evidently we're hungry," Blake joked, and their mom grinned and whapped him gently with her fingertips.

Normally Zahlia had someone else to take the reigns when it came to talking, but whenever it was a Nakawa family reunion she and Blake dug their heels in and struggled to be the quietest one in the room. Zahlia took the helm for the first half, answering questions, offering to help make food and being denied. Feeling like guests in a home that they had once called theirs, Blake and she sat at the very edge of the worn futon-style sofa, watching their mother bustle.

"Oh," she said, snapping her fingers with a leathery sound that was nothing like a snap. The braces prevented it. "Your Pokémon, let me see. You said they evolve, yeah?"

"Oh," Blake said, fumbling with his three Pokéballs at his belt. Then he paused. "Uh, mom, I dunno. It might not be a good idea, Grumpy…"

"Aiyah, Grumpy, why you name him Grumpy? I never understood…" She shook her head and tossed her hands up, but waved him to go on.

"No, I mean, he's—really big. Like, really big."

"How big?" their mom asked, her dark eyes going wide. "Like, too big for my house big?"

Blake took a look around the cramped living room. "Uh. Yeah. Too big for your house big."

This positively delighted their mom, and soon they were congregated in the backyard with Grumpy, Farfetch'D, Golbat, and Haunter. Grumpy, self-conscious as ever, was looking about as flustered as his trainer while their mom fawned over him and crooned.

"What you feed him!? This legal? How he get this big?" Their mother's accent came out more when she was excited, but Zahlia had missed the sound of it. Grumpy clicked his beak and lowered his head so she could pet his feathers stiffly with wrists that didn't bend.

"Legal," Blake promised. That was one thing they could assure her, anyway.

"Zahlia, you going to evolve Haunter? You know how?" she asked, and Zahlia frowned, then regarded her sole Pokémon, who actually seemed remarkably shy around their mom. He was currently hiding in Golbat's shadow.

"Um—I think I heard he needs to be trained away from me for a while. Something like that. I know it's not a stone evolution."

"Right, that," her mom said, beaming her way. "So smart, you. Not like mom."

"Mom," Zahlia murmured, hating it violently when she said things like that.

"You know, you should take him to see the Channelers," she noted. "Who was it… one of them, somebody, they told me there's a…" her mother groped for the words, frowning. "A… skill? Technique? They can teach you, yeah? It make it so Haunter…" she paused again, and Zahlia remained quiet while she thought. Though her mother spoke poorly of herself constantly, she was a powerhouse of Pokémon knowledge, and had never steered her wrong when it came to advise about the creatures. It made it even stranger to Zahlia that she had none of her own. "Ah, yeah," her mother continued, once she'd gotten her train of thought. "They actually teach you, your Ghost-type can come into your body, whooosh," she made an animated gesture which got Haunter's immediate attention, "and he come inside you and you act like him!"

"What, like, possession?" Blake asked, sounding mildly horrified. "Why would Zahlia want something like that?"

"Useful, it has uses!" their mom protested. "Like, if you want spy on someone? Make Haunter go, then he comes back and you find out what he sees."

Zahlia was having a hard time wrapping her mind around that concept. "But, if Haunter um… possessed someone else, wouldn't they know?"

"Maybe, or maybe they just think they feel strange for a while. Won't know until you try, yeah?"

It was beyond weird for their mother to suggest that Zahlia use Haunter for espionage, and for a second Zahlia wondered if she could possibly know more about what they'd been doing lately than she thought. Then the true answer came to her and her heart sank.

Her mom had known all about what Vaughn Nakawa asked Zeke and Zahlia to do for him—the getting close to people, finding out their secrets, and reporting them back to their father. She had disapproved—violently, at times—but Vaughn always won out in the end. Her mother, unaware that Zahlia had cut all ties with her father and brother, might be dropping hints at ways for Zahlia to do her father's dirty work remotely, not risking exposure or harm herself.

"Oi, forgot the tea—Grumpy, you can come inside, yeah? Just be careful, okay?"

Grumpy seemed extremely dubious about this, though Haunter had already flown through the wall to head into the house. Farfetch'D fluttered up to a windowsill and Golbat flapped erratically into the open doors from the backyard, taking roost somewhere high from the sounds of it—probably the rafters. Zahlia and Blake followed their mother inside and Grumpy wound up resting his enormous head on the ground, half in and half out of the house.

Blake turned to Zahlia while their mother was distracted prepping mugs, humming to herself tonelessly. "You really think the whole Channeler-possession thing could work?"

Zahlia shrugged. "Maybe? I can look into it later, I guess. Why?"

"Well… I'm not the only one who thinks that'd be dead useful, right?" he began, but before he could elaborate their mother cursed loudly in her native tongue.

"Aiyah! I forgot, I'm sorry—" she was heading to the sink with their two chipped mugs and Zahlia and Blake hurried to intercept her. "I forgot, I made you tea, you like coffee, yeah? I have some, I can get it—"

"No, no mom, it's good," Zahlia said, reaching out to rescue her mug first, then Blake's. "Blake and I like tea, we love tea. Right?"

"Yeah," Blake agreed. "I actually don't really like coffee at all. So, no, this is good."

"What?" their mother asked, sounding a little surprised. "You do? I thought you liked coffee."

No, mom, that was Zeke, Zahlia thought dismally, but gave her a tight-lipped smile and shook her head, taking a drink of the too-hot beverage to prove her point. Tears tickled behind her eyes as she burned her tongue. Vaughn was a black coffee drinker, and though he'd probably preferred tea like the rest of them, Zeke was always bound and determined to imitate their father in all walks of life.

Blake was getting to be too astute. Zahlia saw him staring at her from the corner of her eye before she even realized that her expression, subtle though it always was, must be giving away some sort of tell to her brother. She glanced his way, managed a small half-smile, and went back to nursing her drink. Their mother, still bewildered, nevertheless seemed glad that she hadn't botched the beverages, and as Zahlia and Blake went to go sit down, she moved on to prepare her own cup.

Zahlia didn't know where it came from. She hadn't been meaning to bring it up this way, so soon, or as abruptly as she did. She'd wanted to ease into it, but her brain had other plans as the words spilled out of her mouth. "Mom. We need to talk about Zeke."

It was like she'd cattle-prodded the room. Blake's eyes widened and he nearly spilled his cup of tea, staring at her with a betrayed expression, clearly upset she hadn't given him warning. Her mother's face took on the look she'd expected—surprise, hurt, and then the desperate attempt to mask both.

"Ah… what about him?" she asked, smoothing her hands over the worn countertops, avoiding eye contact. It broke Zahlia's heart, but she pushed on.

"Mom… please. You know. You know way more than you're—than you've ever let on."

Blake's face paled and he set his mouth in a tight line, staring hard at the side of Zahlia's face, trying to get her to look his way. She refused.

She could see the struggle going on inside her mother, the urge to deny and deflect, but the knowledge that it would ultimately get her nowhere. Zahlia was rarely ever dogged and determined with her mom, preferring to handle her with the kid gloves on, but when she did show her backbone she was never the first to back down. A mother knew this about their child.

"I know he's… not well, but…" she began, slowly. "I hope… he's been better, have you…?" she asked, looking up to Zahlia now, her face hopeful but tentative.

Zahlia swallowed and took a slow breath. Blake seemed to be resorting to his freeze reaction beside her. "No, mom," she said, softly. "He's not better. And… we know, about the alpha gene. About Factor A."

Zahlia had still been prepared for the slim, but viable chance that the words would mean nothing to their mom. That was dashed when all the color drained from her face and she gripped the countertop so tightly it was clear her arthritic hands were the only things keeping her upright. Zahlia and Blake nearly collided and almost upturned the coffee table rushing to stabilize her, and then bring her to the couch. Zahlia was fully expecting Blake to shoot her a scandalized, betrayed look, but he didn't even glance her way.

"Gonna… tea," Zahlia murmured quietly, even while their mother insisted she was fine. Zahlia retreated to the kitchen, violently hating herself for having brought it up, while Blake hovered near their mom on the sofa, looking ill-at-ease in his skin.

It took their mom the entire time Zahlia spent reheating water in the kettle and setting up the tray of tea to find the words she wanted to say. As Zahlia set the tray down in front of her, knowing the tea would be neglected, her mother looked up at her and met her eyes.

"How did you…?" she began, softly. A moment later, though, she shook her head. "No. Of course you know by now. You were always smart. Your father said, she'll stay out of it, but… you learned. Should have known. Never trust a liar."

Their mother had closed her eyes, so Blake and Zahlia took that moment to look at one another. An understanding passed between them, wordless, certain.

They would be liars too. They couldn't tell her everything. She wouldn't be able to handle it. As far as the pair of them knew, Factor A and the alpha gene were words they had picked up, and it went no farther than that. No League, no crime syndicate, no murders, no broader conspiracy. Just something that was wrong with their brother that was the fault of this chemical.

They let her compose herself, knowing somehow that she would give them what they had asked for. Their family was never the kind to talk, even—especially—when it was needed the most, but this time it was different. It was a palpable feeling in the air between them, something that could almost be tasted.

"Your dad… never told me everything he did. Didn't trust me. I made trouble for him." Their mother sighed and rubbed her face, letting out a shaky breath. Preemptively Zahlia rose and went to the cabinet in the bathroom hallway a few feet from the living room, snagging her mother's migraine medication out from the mirrored compartment it lived in. She had a feeling she'd be needing it soon. Her mother had waited before continuing for Zahila to come back, and when she saw what she carried in her hands she gave her a watery smile. "Thank you." They paused while Zahlia shook out two pills and gave them to her, which her mother downed with difficulty, swigging most of her cooling tea with it. Grimacing, she sighed, smacked her lips, and frowned slightly, chasing her train of thought. "I made trouble. Fought him, every step of the way. I thought it was… unnatural. Wrong. He was working on… this serum. Trying to make super-trainers."

Blake and Zahlia didn't need to exchange a look at that. They knew this part inside and out.

"I tried to tell him, it's dangerous. He didn't listen." Their mother let out something that was frighteningly close to a derisive snort. "Zeke… he wanted to be him. You know," she said, addressing Zahlia. "Wanted to be just like dad. At first, I helped him—trained him." She paused, as if weighing a piece of information against its value. "You know, I was the one who thought up the signals." She pointed to Haunter, who was lurking nearby, worried, and made the hand gesture for "spin." Haunter eagerly obeyed, looking pleased as punch to do something useful in a tense situation. "I taught Zeke. Then Zeke taught you."

Zahlia had not known that. It was one of, she was sure, hundreds of things she had not known. Though it was a small detail, unimportant in the grand scheme, her mind clung to it, wrapped it up, and tucked it away, something precious.

"I also tried to teach another. He was... ah, can't remember his name. He worked for your dad." She paused again, pursed her lips. "He was… shitty?" she asked it like it was a question, and she wasn't altogether sure she had the right word. Blake snorted loudly, the sound erupting from him without warning, and even Zahlia managed a weak smile.

"Like… like in what way?" she prompted.

"With Pokémon. So, so shitty. He was terrible. No good at training. I tried to help him, he was like Zeke… so wanted to prove himself to your father. Ambitious, frustrated. But, he was just no good."

Zahlia knew this had to be relevant in some way to Zeke, and waited the story out, patient but terribly curious. Blake nodded beside her. Was it Azakawa? Zahlia wondered, not ever having known him to possess powerful Pokémon or a knack for training.

"So, you imagine… I was so surprised, when one day, overnight… poof, he is suddenly so good. Powerful trainer, they all listen to him—almost like they're afraid of him. He got stronger, too. Could never keep muscle on before, then…" she made an, "ahem," sound and lifted her eyebrows. "Well."

"You thought he was hot," Blake grumbled, jokingly disturbed by this, but while their mom smiled sadly at him, clinging to the moment of humor, Zahlia mulled this over. It was a Factor A experiment subject—likely one of the firsts, if not the very first.

"I went to your dad. Asked him how it happened, what was going on. He told me, 'mind your own business, Nancy.' Like always." Zahlia and Blake hung off every word, but their mother trailed off here, and Zahlia knew it was getting to the point of the story where the particulars of their brother's fate would be revealed. "I didn't know what he was planning. I never thought—stupid. I was stupid. I thought he wouldn't try it on his own blood. I thought he was smarter. So smart—and so stupid."

"So… he gave it to Zeke?" Blake asked. "Right after the first guy?"

Their mom shook her head. "Not right away, no. It happened when he was ten. Before that, when all this happened—he was seven." She turned to Zahila. "You, five. And you," she pointed to Blake.

"I wasn't born yet," he finished.

"Right," she said. She settled back on the futon and frowned, closing her eyes again. Zahlia wondered what she was doing—trying to remember a name? A year? Or just trying to put all her mental notes in order?

"I had… a friend. A very, very good friend. She knew your dad, from Fuchsia. His day job, with Gym policy… she knew him from there." With her eyes still closed, their mom began to unwrap her left wrist brace, slowly. "She worried about me, about you kids. Knew I wasn't happy. One day, finally, after that trainer changed overnight, she was asking me what was wrong. And it all came out."

Must have been a very, very good friend, Zahlia thought. She couldn't imagine the weight of unloading such a secret, so intimately linked to her family, to just anyone. She had gone through that terror with the others, and even then, it had only been after keeping it from them for such a long time that she almost lost their trust entirely.

"That was… the time when I was away. The first time," her mom explained. "That friend, she helped me. I got away from your dad for a while, she told me to go, she would cover my tracks. And she would get you kids." Her voice cracked, but it was a good place for her to pause, anyway. Blake spoke up immediately with questions.

"You had a friend who was powerful enough to help you hide from dad?" he asked, the words incredulous. "Who the heck could manage that?"

It was a good question, and while Zahlia was sure that their mother wouldn't want to divulge the name, she gave a small, shaky sigh and lifted one of her shoulders, finishing with her left wrist wrap and dropping the bundle of cloth onto the table. "Janine," she said, simply.

She didn't need to give a last name. Zahlia's mouth dropped open, and Blake sat back heavily in his chair. "Not so surprising," their mom explained, misreading their shock. "She was Gym Leader, he was in Gym policy… they knew each other. I tried to be a good wife. I lunched with her a lot. You know. Keep up appearances. Was just lucky she turned out to be such a good friend to me."

Zahlia nodded dimly, not sure where to go from there. "So—you were away for a while. And Janine…" she paused, feeling constricted by the words that were trying to form themselves. "And she… promised she'd get us to you. But… that never happened."

Tears welled up in her mother's eyes and Zahlia fought the urge to take it back, to change the subject and bust out a game of cards instead. "She tried," she said, her voice giving out. "I'm not proud. I left you alone."

They were a family of silence and a lack of words again. Zahlia knew what she felt, and she tried to at least let it show on her face. It was impossible. We don't blame you. It's okay. As much as Zahlia wanted to say it, the words got stuck and died, and beside her, she could feel the same happening to Blake. Why couldn't they just say something?

It was break time. An unspoken understanding passed between the Nakawas, and Zahlia stood up to clear away the tea tray. Their mother remained on the couch, unwrapping her other wrist, and Blake wound up standing next to Zahlia at the sink. He pretended to help with the dishes but in reality he was simply handing her each cup from the tray as she washed them in cool, soapy water.

When they returned to the table both of their mother's wrists were free, the stretchy tan bandages folded up neatly in two piles on the table. She was stretching her hands out delicately, twisting them left and right, wincing as she went.

"When I left your father, I tried to come home. The small town where I was a girl," she explained, not feeling the need to preface the return to her story with any explanations or transitions. "But… my friends and family, my neighbors… they didn't like me so much anymore. Thought my family married me away for money." She paused, then shrugged a shoulder upwards. "Well, they were right. So, I didn't know where to go."

This was news to Zahlia. She knew that the current house her mother stayed in was in the same general ballpark as her childhood hometown, but in all the years she'd spent here her mother hadn't had a single guest over. There was no one left on her mother's side of the family, or so she had assumed. She'd figured they had passed on, but now she wasn't so sure.

"And then this boy—" their mother continued, a softer, more wistful look coming to her face. "I say boy, but he was a young man by then—he sees me, and he comes running up to me, shouting, 'Nancy! Hey! Nancy!'" She coupled this with a pantomime of the young man's enthusiastic wave. "And for a while I couldn't place him but then I remember—he was this little boy who used to follow me around all the time, back when I was a hot shot trainer, best of my class. He used to like me, I think, and he's turning so red when he comes up to me." She patted her cheeks, grinning fondly. "He asks me how long I'm staying, where I'm staying—I say the truth, I have nowhere to stay, and…"

"And that was my dad," Blake cut in.

"And that was your dad," she affirmed. "I was gone, for… a long time. Too long. I had you, far away. Your dad found out, somehow." This part she addressed to Zahila. "He always had ways. But, he didn't mind." Now their mother looked down to the table, brow furrowed. "I was so scared that he would… but he didn't. He was fine with you being born." She looked back up to Blake. "And then that scared me more."

The room lapsed into silence again. Zahlia would have been terrified, too. It would have almost been better if Blake had been an object of scorn and derision. The best-case scenario would have been being disowned entirely. Vaughn Nakawa was not a sentimental man. He did not love. He gauged people and things based on their potential value to him, and he saw value in Blake. And it was terrifying.

"And Janine… she tried to fight him," their mom finally continued. "She paid the price for it, in the end. Now she's afraid to fight him anymore and I don't blame her."

Zahlia wanted to know, burned with the need to ask. Instead she said, "So that's when you came back."

"I came back. And you were with your dad," she said, addressing Blake. "And after I came back… that was when Vaughn gave Factor A to Zeke."

There was something there, but Zahlia didn't pick up on it right away. She felt more than saw Blake go still and stiff beside her, and when she glanced to her brother out of the corner of her eye she saw just how stricken he was. Blake, normally so unflappable, was harrowed down to his bones, and Zahlia turned to face him in full, worry flaring to life inside her chest.

And then she understood.

Zeke had only been introduced to Factor A after Vaughn's second son had been born. Vaughn hadn't been upset when he'd realized Blake was on the way. He'd come up with some sort of use for the boy already. There would be a "fallback" now. He could afford to experiment with his eldest, to go out on a limb with Zeke. If worse came to worse, he always had another son waiting in the wings.

"We know the rest, mom," Zahlia whispered, softly. "You don't have to… yeah."

Their mother just nodded, as weary and melancholy as her children. "Okay."

Blake cleared his throat softly, and Zahlia, surprised, looked over his way. She'd expected him to be stunned into silence for a little longer. After a revelation like the one he had just heard, she would have been mute for the rest of the day.

"I guess I just have one more question. The guy—the shitty trainer." He offered their mom a wan smile which she returned, and Zahlia could all at once see the man emerging from her younger brother, the adult who could put aside his own feelings and make someone else feel more at ease. It stole her away to a place of wonder and profound, gut-wrenching sadness. "He was fine, after all of it? Nothing bad ever happened to him?"

"No, not at all—I mean," Their mother said, shaking her head and squeezing her eyes shut, hunting for the words. "No, it was… your father gave the formula to Zeke because it was such a success, all that time. Seemed like it was working," she clarified. "But that man… no. He did not end up okay." Zahlia hadn't expected that story to have a happy ending, but her heart sank anyway. "He was so happy, even as a shitty trainer. Had a wife, they were planning on having kids. Then he becomes such a good trainer and his life seems really perfect. They have two sons. But then… everything changed." Her mother let out a soft sigh and scrubbed her thin hands over her face. "Last I heard, their marriage fell apart. And he became a monster… and a Gym Leader."

It was the final blow, and Zahlia stopped being able to track the tapering conversation as Blake navigated their mother into smoother waters, talking to her about Gym Leaders in general and how many other ones she had met. It was enough that they had tortured their mother with painful questions for a half hour. Zahlia let Blake take the helm as she stared down at her hands. Nathan Fremont's severe face and wild blue eyes flashed in her mind, and as she watched, they morphed into Orion's. And then her brother's.

Zahlia focused on breathing. The feeling of her chest rising and falling under her shirt wasn't a comfort, but it was almost a distraction. It was almost good enough to stave off the aftermath of the talk with her mother. Almost.

Haunter was crooning sadly at her feet. Every so often he drifted through her ankle, or her hand, peering up at her with his red eyes. Zahlia reached out for him, wishing, not for the first time, that her one Pokémon was tangible. The gesture helped, but the lack of feeling was something she was keenly aware of now.

She almost didn't hear Blake when he ghosted into the threshold of her door. He was always quiet, but ever since his training from the HM Master, he'd become doubly so. Zahlia tried to turn her face away, pretending to be focused on petting her Pokémon, but her trembling posture was a dead giveaway. When was the last time Blake had seen her cry? It had only been a handful of times in their lives—perhaps only twice. Tonight, and in Victory Road, when she'd thought he was dead.

She expected him to hover at the doorway for a bit longer, not sure what to say or do, but after a second he settled down beside her, let out a sigh, and latched onto her back in a hug combined with his head flopped against her shoulder blade. It only made her cry harder, and her free hand snapped up to her mouth to strangle off the choking sobs. So much for being the strong big sister who could keep it together in any situation. It was yet another thing she could say she'd failed at.

"You know," Blake began, quiet and gruff. "You melded with Victoria that one time, right? I mean, you didn't tell me what you saw there, but, that's not what I mean. I don't want to know that." He was taking his time getting to his point, but it was just as well. Zahlia had begun silently hiccuping and wasn't sure she'd be able to compose herself enough to reply any time soon. "Just… maybe. I know there was more. Way more, that mom didn't say. Maybe stuff she didn't even know, but you know it. And…"

And Zahila understood. Blake must have felt her tense beneath him, because he buried his face further into her back. She could feel him shaking his head against her spine.

"No, I swear, it's not just—some morbid curiosity, or some shit, or because I want to know. I mean I do want to know, but… I want to…" He trailed off, and Zahlia took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm herself enough to speak.

It took about half a minute for Blake to finish his thought. "Carry it. Some of it. For you, with you." And so much for composure. Hot tears leaked down Zahila's face again and she crumpled in on herself, reaching one hand up to grope for Blake's thin arm, squeezing him tight to her. "So. Maybe," he murmured, resting his cheek on her shoulder again. She could see his face a bit better now from this angle. His tired, dark eyes were staring out at an undetermined spot, calm and neutral. "It doesn't have to be tonight. But. Sometime, maybe."

"Okay," Zahlia said, the only word she'd managed so far. It was a broken thing even as she spoke it. She closed her eyes, felt Blake headbutt her gently against the temple, the way a grudgingly affectionate cat would.

Then Haunter reached out for them, his disembodied violet hands reaching through the Nakawa siblings, and Orion's voice seared through the room, booming off the walls, sending a drenching jolt of adrenaline straight into her heart. GET OUT OF THERE.