Happy 13th Fanfic Anniversary to me. Amber's officially 13 years old. So you get Saving Chapter 21!
Previously on Saving Part of the world
After falling out with Hilary and Ian, Amber collapses not far from her home. Luckily she's been followed by Mariam, whose instincts tell her that Amber's not quite right. On reaching Amber's apartment, Mariam introduces herself as Amber's cousin and a neighbour lets her into the apartment. Morrigan appears and insists Mariam protect Amber. At the arena, Kai and the Blitzkrieg boys are informed that Brooklyn and Mystel are in the city. During a conversation with Hilary and Mariah, Ian lets it slip that Mariam has been seen in the city and on hearing what the Saint Shields do, Ian and Hilary realise that Amber might just have something to be concerned about.
Chapter Twenty-One
With her fingers wrapped around the large mug of honey-milk, Mariam sat on an armchair, a blanket draped over her legs as she listened to the city sounds beyond the quiet apartment. Sleeping Beauty lay in the room adjacent still out for the count and her symbiotic other half seemed to be out of commission as well. Which meant, Mariam had the place to herself for the foreseeable future. The drone of traffic shuffled by, the town quieting now that the work day had ended. Every so often, the door of the tavern across the square would open with a whine and the sounds of music and laughter would burst out before fading with the receding footsteps.
It was nice.
And strange, to find such a pocket of tranquility in the midst of a city. She'd expected it to be non-stop energy, bumper-to-bumper traffic in all lanes, bright lights, buzzing conversation, and the constant rise and ebb of sirens. Like the backdrop of cities in the movies Joseph played for them upon a large white sheet in the loft. He used his mini computer jacked up to a projector he'd thrown together with spare parts to play films for the village. But no, Belfast became sedate with the setting of the sun.
She sighed and drew the blanket higher as the breeze shifted, coming through the open doors and carrying the scent of rain. So far the roiling clouds drifting in from the East hadn't released their deluge, but it wouldn't be long now. The heat wave would break.
At least, she mused, lifting her damp curling hair from her neck, she'd have a solid roof over her head when the rain came. In fact, she looked forward to it. She wanted to sit on the couch, sipping on her milk as she watched the rain drench the city until everything glistened, shiny and new. She wanted to curl up under crisp, clean sheets and listen to the rain hit the window while she remained snug, dry, and safe inside.
The domesticity of the scene seduced her. She wanted that. She wanted an apartment of her own in a bustling city, filled with her own knickknacks and comforts, where she could return after her travels.
A place of her own.
She knew what she was doing. She was nesting. Trying to find a place in the world that often left her feeling so apart from it. Most of her people loved the isolation, the connection with their past and ancestors, and the communal aspect of village life. Mariam wanted her own space. She wanted to make her own connections, not separate from the village, but outside it. She wasn't Jana and she wasn't Nadya. She was Mariam, with all the complexities that came with that. She would never be a sexless warrior or a doting mother.
She sipped her honey milk, grimacing as it swilled in her mouth, cool and sweet. Tossing aside the blanket, she rose and padded on bare feet to the kitchen.
Someone knocked at the door. Three taps, two taps, three taps.
Setting the mug on the table, she hurried to the door and quickly ushered Joseph inside.
"Nice to see you too, sis."
She waved away his mutterings as she bolted the door and led the way to the kitchen, gesturing for him to toss her things on the table. "I didn't want the neighbour to see you. She's invested in this family and she already gave my clothes a strange look, no point making her more suspicious by bringing in a boy with the same outfit."
"Is that why you changed?"
She glanced down at her oversized grey hoodie — stolen from Amber's father — and a pair of black shorts she'd found sitting in a bottom drawer with a few other female articles of clothing, all with tags still attached. Scorned lovers perhaps.
"That, and I wanted to wash my clothes," she said, jerking a thumb to the washing machine in the corner as it sloshed her clothing around with soft gurgles and rhythmic thuds. "If you want, I can wash yours too. I'm sure there are some men's clothing that will fit you."
"No thanks," he muttered, sniffing his sleeve. "I'm good for another two days and then Dunga's going to the laundromat again."
Mariam rolled her eyes. For some baffling reason, Dunga actually liked going to the laundromats of various cities and towns, lugging in an oversized sack and sitting for hours with one of his car magazines. They were his happy place. Mariam could think of better things to do for some sanity.
She popped the pan of milk back onto the hob and turned up the heat, fetching a mug for Joseph from the stand on the counter. "You want some?"
"Honey milk?" He frowned, then understanding dawned with a tinge of compassion. "You never do sleep well the first night in a new place. You know, you don't have to stay here. It's nice but — you have a balcony?"
She suppressed a smirk as she stirred the milk with slow circles of the wooden spoon. "Mmhmm."
"Well," —he hoisted himself up on the counter— "we have a skylight."
She snorted, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "No. You don't. You have a hole in the roof, that's not the same thing at all."
He stuck his tongue out but accepted the mug she'd poured for him. He waited silently as she poured her own, removed the pan and turned off the stove, then he followed her out onto the balcony he so envied. Mariam lounged against the metal railings framing the balcony as the cool breeze teased and played with her hair, too light yet to lift its heavy weight. An alarm burst to life down the street, and a car gunned its engine as dogs barked in the distance. Lights cast a faint orange aura across the city and down below in the paved square, small spotlights beamed up against the cream walls of the buildings around it.
"So, what happened?"
Sipping her milk, letting the warmth flood her, she cast her mind back to the trip that led her here. "I followed her. She stopped for a rest and watched people pass by, seemed a bit annoyed. Then when she stood up, she stumbled. I thought she was tired, so I followed her on the street, closer than usual. She never noticed me." She waited for the censure, but Joseph nodded his agreement at her decision. Because it had been the right one. "When she went around a corner, I waited before I followed, and when I got there, she was on the ground. Fainted, I think. I couldn't leave her there."
Mariam pointed across the street to the lit up bar on the corner of an alleyway to a darker space — probably a carpark. "She fainted just before that tavern. There were three men approaching her when I showed up. One of the bar staff mentioned seeing her come out of this building a few times, so I took her over here." She shrugged, words failing her. It wasn't like she had a plan when she hoisted the girl onto her back.
"You couldn't leave her there," Joseph repeated.
"I really couldn't. Luckily, I ran into her neighbour in the lobby. She led me here, opened the door — she's got a key, hence why I've bolted the door. I don't want her sneaking in and seeing Amber still comatose."
"Shouldn't she be in the hospital?"
"She should, but I think I can handle this. It's minor sunburn with some exhaustion and I don't think she's been eating well for some time. But she's young and it looks worse than it is." She bit her lip, casting her brother an assessing look. "And then there's Morrigan."
"Morrigan?"
"Morrigan," she said with a grim smile, before explaining her encounter with the being/spirit that resided in the teenage girl.
When she finished, Joseph's eyes were wide, his lips pursed in contemplation. "Spirits above, Mariam. Your instincts weren't wrong about her at all."
Pleased by his indirect support, she bumped her shoulder against his. "Don't worry too much brother, someday you'll achieve my level of skills. You'll be old and decrepit by that stage, but you'll get there. You'll just have to live in my awesome shadow for some time yet."
He snorted and nudged her back before clasping his fingers and leaning forward on the railing. "Ozuma's going to want to know about this."
"No." Mariam jerked her head back, a sharp refusal. "Ozuma can't know yet. I need to know what's happening first. What if he demands to seal her?"
"Mariam, he won't jump to conclusions like that. He'll probably agree with you. Keeping an eye on her is a priority."
Maybe. Yes, he probably would. But he was also a stickler for the village rules and traditions. She just couldn't risk that yet. "My priority right now is to make sure she recovers. She's just a kid, Joseph. I don't even know if she knows."
Except Morrigan implied she did. She calls me the voice in her head.
"Just let me get her well again."
"And if she attacks you?"
"Then I don't deserve to be a member of the Saint Shields anymore."
He didn't look happy, but he nodded. "Your instincts tell you she's safe?"
"Yeah. They do."
"Then we trust in them."
She smiled at him, a hot lump in her throat at his willingness to support her, to trust her. Fortune smiled on her the day her parents had Joseph. "So tell me about the tournament draw, what did I miss out on?"
Pushing away from the railings, Joseph stretched and muffled a yawn. "Well, the Blitzkrieg boys and the Bladebreakers are scheduled to face each other."
She stopped rocking on the railing and turned to gape at him. "What?! No way." She blinked rapidly, stunned. "That's a serious upset to the games. God, if the rumours about Kai joining the Russian team to go up against Tyson in the finals are true…"
Joseph nodded but the twitching of his lips and the gleam of amusement had her huffing out a breath. She turned her back to the railings and folded her arms, looking up at the dark sky when a dot of rain kissed the apple of her cheek. "Ha, ha, Joseph, you got me. So who are they really playing?"
"The Bladebreakers are scheduled to take on South America and the Blitzkrieg Boys face Australia."
She wrinkled her nose. That was boringly safe. "Was it fixed?"
"Oh, no. You could tell by Ming-Ming's face that it wasn't fixed. She looked so disappointed when her little red button failed her."
Mariam smirked at the idea of poor, poor Ming-Ming and her carefully constructed tournament betraying her. "What about the Americans and the European Team?"
"America faces India and Europe takes on Africa."
A drop of water hit the cement leaving a dark spot before the thirsty ground soaked it up.
"Really? There's no upsets there at all. It's really bland. Almost perfect." She glanced at her brother for his reading because honestly, given what she knew of the BBA's tactics, she wouldn't put it past them to fix the match ups without Ming-Ming's knowledge. Especially if it was computerised. Joseph wasn't looking at her. Wasn't paying any attention to her at all. Instead, his attention was on the Square below, body rigid, alert.
She followed his gaze and frowned at the figure skulking around the Square, avoiding the lights but… her fingers felt for crystal; it remained dormant. Still. The figure walked a little further into the light and her brows raised. She knew that stance. Seen it earlier at the arena.
"Owen with an E," she murmured, as something wet touched her nose.
The rain was about to fall.
Joseph hummed a soft agreement, barely audible, but as if he heard them, Eoin looked up over the building and froze. It was a bare hesitation, only noticeable because they were watching him. Then he stepped back and turned, disappearing into the shadows.
She met Joseph's intrigued look and she nodded. "Follow him, keep your distance. I need to stay here and keep an eye on our other complication."
Joseph flashed a grin, then climbed onto the railing of the balcony and just as she'd done earlier, he jumped, catching himself on another balcony to slow his descent and dropped safely to the ground. She shook her head with a reluctant smile as the rain began to fall, building from a hiss to a soft roar as she retreated inside.
Several streets away, the heavy deluge of rain roused Hilary from her sleep. She reached for her phone, squinting at the glare as she read the time: 01:10. She'd only slept for two hours. Drawing the thin sheet closer, she shivered, rubbing her bare feet against the mattress. It was so cold. The temperature must have dropped. She reached for the folded duvet at the bottom of the bed and noticed the fluttering curtains in front of the open window.
Ah. That's why it was cold. She'd left the window open earlier to help break the stifling heat in the room.
Heaving a sigh, she slid from the bed and padded over the coarse carpet to the window. She pushed the curtains aside and paused, looking out at the puddles forming on the street, rippling and reflecting the orange streetlights overhead. The rain fell in fat drops, hitting the flaking white sill and slapping against the metal poles. It tapped softly against the roof and trickled down the gutters and drains. Rooftops across the street glistened and rain drops turned silver as they passed through the beams of car headlights.
Stretching out her hand, she watched the drops splash against her skin and trickle over the curve of her arm, fresh, cool, and wet. It felt like forever since she'd last seen rain and the purity of it caught her breath, then forced a yawn from her lungs.
The thud of the frame locking reinforced the silence of the hotel. Everyone was tucked up in bed, sleeping through the sudden break in the heatwave. Stretching with another jaw-cracking yawn, she shuffled back to her bed just as something rumbled in the distance.
Hilary paused. Was that a lorry or thunder?
Another broken rumble sounded and Hilary dug her toes into the carpet, the hair on her body rising.
Daichi.
She grabbed her peach robe from the bottom of her bed, pulled it on over her cotton pyjamas and snatching her keycard off the dresser — and the spare for the boys' room that she'd asked the receptionist to give her — she hurried out the door. Daichi and storms were a terrible mix. It was like giving coffee to a very small child.
After a per functionary light knock — bursting into the room of teenage boys could be a scarring experience — she unlocked the door and looked inside. Their room was much larger than hers, catering to a family rather than a single occupant. One double had had been separated into two singles with a smidgen of space between them, occupied by Max and Tyson. Max lay on his back, one arm over his t-shirt covered stomach, the other raised over his head. Tyson lay on his front, his face angled towards her, his sheets kicked off. He'd forgone a t-shirt and wore boxers only, leaving his back bare for her perusal. Not that she was here to ogle Tyson's back but it was there, she couldn't ignore the plains and angles and smooth tanned skin.
She shook her head and checked on the other boys. Kenny had taken the mattress from the foldout couch and had placed it by the window, his soft whistling snorts alerting her to the fact that his head was at the bottom of the bed, away from Daichi's feet. While Daichi, never one to sleep normally, had placed his own mattress alongside Tyson's bed but he slept upside down in a tangle of sheets and limbs; but he was there, chuffing loudly, mouth agape. He hadn't even noticed the storm.
Hilary smiled fondly and backed out, closing the door behind her. Daichi was probably too tired from practicing so much with the other boys. It was good that the Bladebreakers were taking this tournament seriously. Especially considering how lacklustre her managing had become. She'd left to get them water this afternoon and then spent almost an hour bemoaning boys with Ian. What kind of example had that set? No wonder she annoyed Tyson. After all, those years giving Tyson grief for avoiding his duties, here she was, doing the exact same thing.
She pulled out the card for her own room just as a door opened.
"Hey, are you okay?"
She turned to face Tyson, clasping her hands in front of her. "Yes. I was just checking on Daichi. You know how he likes storms."
Tyson grimaced and she knew he was remembering that moment when Daichi decided to climb the roof of a particularly tall building, with the idea of infusing the storm into his beyblade. It had been a frantic hour of looking for the red-haired boy, followed by chasing him onto the roof and then trying to coax him down in the blustering wind and lashing rain, with the constant threat of lightning shivering in the black clouds overhead. Terrifying was too tame a word.
"Rei figured there'd be a storm tonight, so we plied Daichi with hot chocolate."
Oh. That was smart. Her eyes narrowed. "Just hot chocolate?"
He rubbed his neck, eyes averted and she flushed to realise that Tyson had the beginnings of a dark trail of hair from his navel to the top of his boxers. "Well, maybe there was a little extra but only a little bit of harmless herbal help. It was Mariah's suggestion."
She didn't bother to ask where she'd been during this. Probably in her room sleeping. She really was failing in her duties as manager. She opened her mouth to apologise only to be cut off by Tyson closing his own door behind him.
"Look Hilary…" he trailed off, hands searching for pockets in the side of his boxers before he awkwardly shuffled and jerked a shoulder. "About this morning —"
Feeling bad for him, she sucked up her own pride and reached out to touch his shoulder comfortingly, the way she would have for Daichi or Kenny or even Max. Her stomach clenched, her blood hummed and her fingertips tingled at the casual brush of skin against skin and she dropped her hand. He wasn't Daichi, he wasn't Kenny or Max and what she felt for him was very different.
Suddenly everything felt too tight, too large and suffocating. She stepped back. "It's okay," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper.
"No, I was unfair —"
"Tyson, it's fine." She folded her arms. "You made some good points."
He raked a hand over his fringe and grumbled something under his breath before meeting her gaze with annoyed brown eyes. "Just let me say I'm sorry, Hilary. I am. I'm sorry."
She huffed out a reluctant chuckle and lightly punched his arm, because that's how she and Tyson worked. "I'm sorry too. Let's try to be better, okay? We can't win this tournament if we're too busy bickering amongst ourselves."
He grinned and nodded. "Yeah. We'll show everyone how strong the Bladebreakers are as a unit." He sobered for a moment and scratched his arm, leaving pale red lines on his tanned skin. She wanted to smooth them away. "But, if you want to get Kai things, you know, I get it."
"I'm still going to get Kai chocolate but Tyson, it's only because I know if I don't, he'll forget to eat and you don't want to face a weakened Kai in the final, do you?"
"Nah, I'd probably have to starve myself to make it fair." He made a disgruntled face like that was a fate worse than death and she couldn't help the giggle that spilled from her lips. Tyson's face brightened and something shimmered between them. He shifted closer and her skin grew warm.
The door opened behind Tyson and Daichi stumbled out, red hair mussed, muffling a yawn and scratching his — Hilary averted her gaze. "Oi, what are you two doing out here? Is Tyson sneaking out of your room? You're not very good at sneaking."
"Daichi, why are you awake?"
"I'm going to the vending machine for a drink." His suspicious look turned mutinous.
"There's water in your room," Hilary replied, voice quiet but firm.
"I don't want water."
Oh, he was not going to drink sugar while there was a storm outside — though she hadn't heard thunder in a while so maybe it had died away. "Daichi I am not spending another night cleaning up —"
Tyson's hand, rough and warm closed over her arm and sent her heart stuttering. "Go to bed, Hilary. I'll take care of Daichi." At her own look of suspicion, he held up his hands. "Water only, I swear."
So saying, he grabbed Daichi by his shoulders and began to push him back into his room, clamping a hand over Daichi's mouth when the younger boy began to complain loudly. Hilary blew out a breath, then entered her room, looking back to catch Tyson's eye just before their doors clicked shut. She leaned against the door and pressed a hand to her racing heart. Relief, she told herself. She was just relieved that she and Tyson were finally getting back on level footing again.
Footsteps down the corridor caught her attention and she peeked through the peephole to make sure Tyson and Daichi weren't sneaking out. Instead, she caught sight of Kai traipsing past, soaked to the skin. Was Kai only just getting back to the hotel? She reached for the doorknob, then stopped herself. She'd ask him tomorrow, or maybe she'd ask Rei to ask him.
Clenching back a yawn, she shuffled to her bed and lay down. She'd decide tomorrow.
The rain rattled like nails against the glass as Mystel sat on the edge of his bed watching the muted TV. He had no idea what was going on in the show. Brooklyn had turned on the TV for background noise and then promptly fell asleep ten minutes later. Now forty minutes had passed and water gushed down the streets, trickled down the gutters and Mystel put aside his thoughts of exploring the city to kill time until he could sleep. Rain with his hair never mixed well and he wasn't a fan of hats, or anything covering his hair. Even his mask had to be precisely attached.
He set aside the match listings he'd downloaded from the WBBA website — the computer in the lobby had charged an absolute fortune to print out a few sheets — and flicked his braid over his shoulder. There'd been no surprises with the match-ups, nothing controversial. From the looks of it, the final was set to pit the Bladebreakers against the Blitzkrieg Boys, and inevitably Tyson against Kai. Unless some of the new teams proved to be the surprise. That could be an upset no one foresaw, much like BEGA had been last time.
On the double bed to his left, Brooklyn stirred and Mystel immediately focused on him. He'd slept peacefully for a while but the dreams or visions or whatever they were had finally appeared again. He could tell by the way Brooklyn's foot jolted, the twitch of his fingers and the furrow in his brow. All telltale signs that his friend had become trapped again. He debated waking him but they needed the information the visions gave them. If they were to have any hope of defeating this great power, they needed to know what it was. It couldn't simply be a super bitbeast again, and Biovolt and Boris posed no threats, not anymore. No matter what Boris might like to believe. He'd fucked up last time. No one would sponsor him again; it wouldn't be in their best interests.
Drawing his feet under him, he plucked at the cream linen trousers. No, from Brooklyn's descriptions, this new power seemed to be different from what they faced before. He snorted. Faced. They hadn't faced anything. They, BEGA, had been the enemy last time. Even then, it had simply been a game. Now there seemed to be stakes, much larger stakes than who got to buy what parts and play in what league. These stakes, if Brooklyn's visions were accurate and Mystel had no reason to believe they weren't, spoke of worlds ending.
Brooklyn flinched and clenched his fist. Then he sat up, a shout ripped from his lips shattering the stale, staticky silence of the hotel.
Mystel froze, watched as Brooklyn stared sightlessly at the wall across from him before he sagged, running a hand over his face.
"Brooklyn?"
With a wave of dismissal, Brooklyn rolled off the bed and lumbered to the bathroom. The acoustics hollowed out the sound of his dry retching and the splash of water into the sink, the gurgle as it swept down the drain. Mystel sighed. The visions were getting worse.
Pushing off the bed, Mystel switched on the volume of the TV and padded to the bathroom, blinking at the glare of fluorescent lights in contrast to the soft golden lamplight that washed over the bedroom and pressed the shadows into the corners. Brooklyn stood over the sink, gripping the basin so tight the skin at his knuckles strained white. He shuddered, face dripping wet as he lifted it to meet Mystel's gaze in the mirror with eyes so haunted and dark they'd turned the same green of a healing bruise.
"You okay?"
Brooklyn shoved away from the sink and grabbed a crisp white towel. He buried his face in it and strode into the bedroom again.
Mystel pursed his lips, grabbed one of the upside down glasses from the counter, and filled it with cold water. If he'd thought, he could have bought a bottle of whiskey while they were in town. Irish whiskey had a reputation though with Brooklyn's dreams, anything that could burn away the acrid fear would be a blessing. Maybe tomorrow he'd grab a bottle of something.
He stepped back into the bedroom and nudged Brooklyn's hand with the glass until he took it.
"So, is it because you saw her?"
Brooklyn sipped the water and closed his eyes. They snapped open and the horror lingered as he swallowed hard, setting the glass aside on the bedside cabinet. "She keeps falling. No matter what I do, she just falls."
"She doesn't have to. We can change things."
"We can make things worse. Maybe we guarantee she dies. If I'm there, she dies there."
Mystel flopped onto the bed and wet his lips. "We need to know more."
Huffing out a breath, Brooklyn braced his elbows on his knees and studied the swirling patterns on the ancient carpet. "I can't control it — I can't. I keep seeing her eyes die, the blood from her ear bleeds into her hair and she's so small, so broken."
Snapping his finger, Mystel leaned forward, forcing Brooklyn to look at him. "You need to learn to control it. Have you tried meditating?"
Brooklyn averted his gaze and Mystel suppressed a growl. "Look, Brooklyn, you need —"
"I know. I just don't meditate. I don't know how."
"It's simple. Clear your mind and focus on what Zeus is trying to show you."
"Show me? What —" he broke off, jaw clenched.
Mystel frowned but didn't pry. "Empty your mind."
"I tried. It didn't work."
"It's like exercising a muscle. You keep doing it until you get it right. You try for five minutes, try for ten and keep going. Clear your mind when you go to the toilet, it's not like you need much brainpower for that. It's not neurosurgery, you just point and shoot." Then again, Brooklyn had nearly died by toothbrush so maybe it might be more dangerous than it seemed.
A glimmer of amusement brightened Brooklyn's gaze for a second as a smile flickered briefly then faded. "You want me to meditate while I visit the lavatory?"
Mystel made a face. "You love sitting in the quiet of Garland's garden, how is this different?"
Brooklyn shifted, jerked a shoulder. "It just is."
"Because you're scared. Want me to get you a pet bird to keep you company?" He could probably buy a budgie from a local pet shop - maybe he could catch a squirrel. If it helped Brooklyn focus, helped them get through this tension between Brooklyn and Zeus, he'd do all he could. It frustrated him to see Brooklyn like this.
Taking a drink of water, Brooklyn sat a little straighter. "You're right. We need to know more. How about you talk me through this meditating thing? We'll treat it like a training session. I've never actually trained for something I wasn't naturally good at before."
Mystel heaved a sigh. "You'll probably be good at this once you stop letting your fear control you." He stood up and took the empty glass back to the bathroom, setting it on the counter once more. "But not tonight. You're too shaken up to push the vision from your mind."
Brooklyn lay back on the bed, bracing his arms behind his head. "I'm too wired to sleep. I learnt nothing and I'm still no closer to knowing when this —" He sat up sharply and grabbed the printed sheets from side cabinet. "He's not on the roster."
"Who?"
"McGregor."
"From the Majestics? Enrique's here. He's on team Europe."
"Yes, but McGregor isn't here." Brooklyn tapped his finger on the sheet. "He is in my vision. Or his bitbeast is."
"Are you sure?"
"Salamander's aren't exactly a common bitbeast."
Mystel stilled. So, they waited for Johnny McGregor to show himself. That's when things would happen. "But what McGregor's already here? What if, like us, he's not here for the tournament? He's Scottish, right? That's a stone's throw away. He could already be here."
Brooklyn groaned and nodded. "You're right." Covering his face he peeked through his fingers and nodded again, dropping his hands to his lap. "You're right. We need to know more."
Mystel silently agreed. He'd find some way to help Brooklyn connect with Zeus. Until then, he snatched the remote from the edge of Brooklyn's bed and flicked through the channels until he found something mindless and humorous, he'd just help Brooklyn forget the vision.
"Ugh, not South Park."
The rain spat against the balcony doors behind Mariam as she sat on the couch watching TV with her blanket drawn tight around her. Now she was restless, her mind filled with questions. Amber still hadn't woken up, not even when Mariam had dabbed her forehead with a damp sponge to cool her down or when she pulled up her bronze quilt when she got cold. It was strange.
By rights, the girl should have woken up by now. She wasn't actually sick. A bit dehydrated but nothing serious, a few glasses of water would sort that out. Her skin was a little tinged from the sun but again, not something to render her comatose. Nothing should have had such a long reaction. But, she mused, she was also dealing with an unknown element in the form of Morrigan. How did you treat a possessed girl?
The rain grew louder, pelting at the glass as the washing machine thumped in the background. Mariam snuggled down further with a smile. She did not envy her brother at all. He'd checked in with her fifteen minutes ago to inform her he'd lost Eoin in a residential area. She'd check tomorrow, see if there was some kind of shortcut or reason for him to be in the area. If she hadn't seen Amber's reaction to him earlier that day she would have entertained the idea that they were friends. As it was, considering how her instincts flared at his presence and Morrigan's vehemence over watching Amber, Mariam refused to take chances.
"How did this happen?"
Mariam leapt to her feet, nearly tangling in the blanket as she whirled to face the thick shadows near the balcony door. Lightning blasted the room with light before fading, illuminating the figure in the corner, arms folded. His spiked hair dripped and beads of rain rolled down his face and… he was dripping a puddle on the floor.
"Dammit, Ozuma, use a towel!"
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, stepping forward.
She held up a hand to warn him back. The last thing she needed was for him to drip on the rug or, worse, the sofa. She stalked to the closet and jerked a thumb towards the master bedroom where her patient lay. From the slightly ajar window in the kitchen, she could the sounds of rain pinging off the guttering and trickling down drains.
"Who is she?" Ozuma asked, leaning against the doorframe to Amber's room as Mariam passed him a blue towel. He wiped his face and then drew back with a frown. "What is this made of?"
"It still has threads in it," Mariam said, slipping past him to the kitchen. She flicked on the kettle and folded her arms over her chest, idly plucking at the ends of her curling hair. "So why are you here?"
"You went missing. I tracked you here." He looked towards the open door. "Who is she? What are you doing here?"
"She's my new pet. Some women marry old men, wait for them to die and then take their assets. I plan to raise this child as my own and take all her belongings."
"Mariam."
Mariam rolled her eyes. Sometimes Ozuma could be such a stuffy old man. "I'm nursing her, Oz. It's something I'm good at."
"Why? Who is she, Mariam?"
With a sigh, she jerked a shoulder. "I don't know much about her. Her name is Amber. I saw her at the arena today and something about her drew my attention. I decided to follow her — leaving Joseph to watch the arena — and she collapsed and lost consciousness. I couldn't leave her, so here we are."
"You're babysitting a random girl?"
Mariam scowled at him. Really, didn't he have any faith in her? Did she look like someone who just bestowed care upon random strangers? She reached for a mug and the jar with 'tea' embossed on it. She poured the boiled water into the mug and stirred with deliberate slowness before squeezing out the teabag. "She knows the BEGA boys. I saw her talking to them before she came to the arena. And before that, there was something in the alleyway she appeared from, something that triggered my crystal. So until she wakes up and tells me who she is and how she is involved in this, I'm not leaving this apartment."
Ozuma sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wait, she knows the boys from BEGA? BEGA is here?"
"Two of them," Mariam confirmed. "The blonde pretty one and the red pretty one. They passed me on the street. I followed them. This girl ran out of an alley and into them and they talked. After she left, they went into the alley. I followed and—" She reached into the neck of her hoody and drew out her crystal. "The crystal reacted to some kind of energy in that alley. It wasn't from the BEGA boys. It was something else." Not Morrigan, or so Sharkrash believed, but something powerful, and Amber might be the only one who could tell her what it was. But Mariam couldn't go to Ozuma without more info. "I'm not someone who believes in coincidences, Ozuma. This girl knows something and I intend to find out what. She might be a key component in this apocalypse."
Ozuma grimaced. He hated when she called it an apocalypse, but really what else could you call it? Yet again, something was trying to end the world.
"How did you get in here if she was unconscious?" he asked, as he looked around the apartment checking for what, a broken window or a lock? Didn't he have any faith? Please, she could lock pick with the best of them when needed.
She sipped her hot tea. Tumbling glass shattered across the street — the tavern emptying its bottles again; this time, it hadn't startled her. "A kindly neighbour gave me access to the apartment. I'm Amber's cousin Mariam. Ozuma, if I hadn't come across that girl, the gods only know what could have happened to her. She was on the street outside a pub."
"Maybe someone would have sent her to the hospital."
Where Morrigan might have interacted with the doctors and nurses? Mariam shuddered at the thought. The poor girl could have awoken in a padded cell. No, she did the right thing keeping this girl under her watch.
"I can look after her, Ozuma." She needed to look after her. It wasn't just about seeking answers, it was about caring for this girl. She'd feel so guilty if she just walked away and the girl's condition worsened. "She's fine. She's just tired. I'll keep an eye on her just like I've done for half the village. Or do you suddenly not trust my skills as a healer?"
Blowing out a breath, he braced his hands on the back of a chair, his knuckles damp. "Fine. You look after the girl, find out what you can from her but if it has nothing to do with our mission, I expect you to report back to us immediately."
"Yes, boss."
"Don't salute me, Mariam."
"How about I heel click?"
His look was unamused.
"Maybe I can convince her to let us all stay here. It's pretty good real estate and the arena is right over" — she paused, finger pointed in the air before thrusting it towards the door— "there. I mean, you have to go around the next building and across the street, but it is closer than where we're staying." She also liked the fact that it had a non-leaking roof, a balcony, central heating and really comfortable furniture — oh and an actual stove for proper cooking. Maybe she'd make a proper three-course meal for Joseph tomorrow, and Amber if she woke up. It would make a nice change from the small meals she cooked up on their camp stove — if she did, she could give Joseph a few leftovers to take to Dunga and Ozuma too.
Ozuma ran a hand through his wet hair and inched towards the balcony door. "Just stick with the plan." He flipped up the hood of his cloak. "Contact me if there's news."
"You can stay," she blurted out. "She's not going to wake up for a while, and it's cold and wet outside." Even the slight breeze from the kitchen made her shiver and rub the sole of her cold foot against her equally cold calf. Plus it would be nice to have some company since coma-girl wasn't providing much entertainment. Morrigan was right it seemed.
And she missed hanging with Ozuma her friend, rather than Ozuma their infallible leader.
"Close that window Mariam, and lock the doors. All doors," he said, stepping out onto the balcony and then he was gone.
Mariam didn't question it as she moved to the balcony doors and locked them with a quick flick of her wrist. Her reflection stared back at her in the faint light from the kitchen as the rain began to die away. She glanced to Amber's room and sighed. She hoped this girl was worth it.
TBC
Guys is anyone still around? Let me know what you think. Things are really beginning to pick up now as the various factions come together.
Also again, happy 13th Fanfic anniversary to me!