German words in this chapter = mein lieber Gott = my dear God / und = and
Although Kurt said his prayers with grateful devotion every night, the memories of his recent past continued to regularly plague any attempt at restfulness. It was as if the cruelty of the events, though brought to a conclusion, still marked his hours and marred him deep inside. And so he dreamed, his subconscious piecing together the happenings of that fear-filled night, recalling the raw horror as freshly as when it had all come tumbling upon his unsuspecting head ...
***
The second beer tasted bitter. He sipped cautiously, but the scene with his boss had left butterflies in his stomach, so perhaps the sourness he felt was only reflux due to they day's confrontations, not the fault of the brew. Recalling the more traumatic scene occurring immediately after his argument in Leggett's office made his head ache; soon it was swimming, his harsh words and rash actions floating around until he felt he must lay his head on his arms for only a brief moment, to regain clarity. Instead he kept upright and alert, questions buzzing in his heart.
Mein lieber Gott, he thought, what have I done? I had so little to hold on to, und now I have jettisoned even that. For once, he felt the murkiness of the cantina, like a bear's den, penetrate his awareness. This must be what other people saw, not having his gift of vision in the dark. Darkness and shadows seemed to follow him, almost proven by the way his mutation made him fade into the shadows. If only he could take back the gloom-filled events of this day!
* * *
"Jimaine, you are back so soon from shopping?" He had wanted some time alone, to formulate a plan to present to her, and to nurse his hurt feelings after the spectacularly unsuccessful confrontation with their employer.
"Um-hum. Nothing worth buying in this low-budget port," she said, coming up to put her arms around his neck and give him a peck on the cheek.
Kurt shifted, aware of the growing discomfort he had been feeling lately toward his gorgeous foster sister.
Leggett's economical suggestion to share a suite seemed reasonable since the act partners got along well. Jimaine was family, the one person who had not deserted him after the whole Stephan Affair; however, she had taken to dressing provocatively when they were together and displaying affection which seemed to push a bit at the boundaries of sibling love.
Kurt would have to address the issue gently, yet with firmness of intent. Perhaps she would follow him if he suggested that the time might have come to try his fortune in America as an adult. They could continue as a duo act with separate private lives, or pursue solo careers, which might be for the best. Either way, he could not allow this burgeoning love to flourish.
He would never have wished for their affection to be broken in the manner that developed.
"Do you require anything to eat, Mister?" The question superseded for a moment the self-recriminations whirling through his head. He ordered a sandwich, and when the middle-aged waitress brought it to him, he did not bother looking to guess what kind of meat it was. Nibbling at the stringy food was a slight distraction from his worries. But the questions could not be forestalled for long.
Where would he go now? How would he survive? He could not return to the monastery to burden them with the results of his pride and rash action; nor was he thrilled at the prospect of living in the woods like some kind of wild animal. He was a man! That was the entire issue, and he would NOT be denied proper regard to his human dignity. Gott had made him this way; Gott would provide and show him a path, guide him to his true vocation. Not the life of a mercenary nor another circus. He must seek a life outside sheltering organizations, hold his own in regular human society. The beer still foaming inside him, Kurt Wagner allowed a tiny smile to creep over his lips like the first rays of an uncertain dawn. Yes, Gott would provide a change in his status, and soon – he could feel it in his bones.
As he sopped grease with the stale crust of bread, Kurt pondered what he could have done differently to have appeased his foster sister. Probably nothing, well, nothing short of having the sense to remain calm and finish out their contract. It was too late for that, and such things could not be mended. Even if she relented of her bitterness, would her presence be that of a cheerful companion, or a weight around his neck?
A lifeline when others rejected him, she had stayed in touch as much as both their itinerant lifestyles allowed. Despite her good wishes and confidence in him, the valley between them had grown ever since his expulsion from his foster mother Margali's Romany caravan.
At first he was full of optimism, glad to be free from Margali's shadow. After sanctuary with the Benedictines and the soldier for hire period – that had been a bad fit – there were a few brief moments of bliss when he embraced the circus life again. As a headliner he experienced no shortage of women, and only a few snooty restaurants refusing service to the famous mutant. The days brimmed with fast cars, well-cut clothes adapted to his peculiar shape, good wine, private showings of his favorite movies, comfortable hotels.
And a yawning hole in his inner being. A lack of fulfillment. Troublesome thoughts about spending his short earthly life for very little in the way of heavenly possessions.
Jimaine kept him uninformed that she pursued dark magic. He loved her as one would a true sister, and so he saw a prime chance to fill in the gaps in his life when she urged him to go away with her and do something different. The illusionist act on a cruise line seemed the perfect thing: a surfeit of interesting people and the traveling lifestyle to which they were accustomed from their very youngest days. A family act, but far from the memories of family tragedy.
It all crashed with their disagreement – such a polite term! – the last time he had seen her. Probably the last time he ever would see her.
"You no-good creep! Ungrateful, ignorant wretch!" Jimaine pounded upon her foster brother's torso, defiance lending force to her fists. "How could you ruin everything for me?"
"This is not an end. It's a beginning." His quiet reassurance did nothing to soothe her, and seemed to inflame her frightening fury even further. He backed around the corner of a bookshelf in their suite, more out of self-preservation than cowardice.
She picked up a ceramic trinket and tossed it. The rococo porcelain shepherdess statue shattered, the tinkle of its fragments resembling the echo of a dying sprite's cry. Shards of pearlescent pink curlicues nicked at Nightcrawler's toes.
Jimaine rounded the corner, teeth bared and fingers curved like claws. He struggled to keep her at arms' length; catlike, she spat and scratched, almost hissing the invectives that spouted from lips which had kissed him in greeting not ten minutes earlier.
"Mother should have taken the hint that nobody wanted you." She aimed a swift kick to Kurt's ankle. "I wish she'd left you to the elements instead of complicating our lives."
Purple smoke swirled around the wild woman; she whirled around searching for her target. From halfway up the wall where he crouched, Kurt said, "I understand you may regret my coming, but if your hatred is so deep, why did you talk me into a tandem career?"
In answer, book after book crashed against the ceiling to fall on the floor, splayed like crippled birds. He caught one with his tail, settled several feet up from the floor, and squatted against the cabinet as he regarded the cover.
"Shakespeare's sonnets. Not quite fitting in such a situation," he mused aloud.
The humor sailed past her. She charmed a huge framed picture, sending it to fly straight at him. He dropped the book, caught the painting, then bent to lower and lean it against the wall.
"Maemae," perhaps the pet name he gave when both were small would remind her of their family association, "they will send Security here if you continue this. Let us discuss in a reasonable manner where we can next make a living."
"Let them come! They can arrest you for all I care." Her chest was heaving, face flushed, no sign of slowing down.
"For quitting a job that was below our dignity? That is not a crime."
The young woman poised, moving toward him as if ready to pounce. "I could tell them why you're always on the move."
"What do you mean?" Kurt began to climb slowly downwards, keeping her constantly in sight.
"Don't act innocent. You might find forgiveness in that dark box from your whore of Babylon, but in the eyes of the law," she rasped, "you are still guilty of murder."
He reeled with the unexpected accusation. His sister had kept the guilty secret all through his season of renewed fame, yet now brandished it with almost gleeful venom. The malicious slap at his religious beliefs was another knife to his heart. "Hush, woman! What would you know of the circumstances?"
She flung herself at him, curses spewing from her rose-colored lips. Once again she clutched at his shoulders, but now with the fevered intensity of anger, in marked contrast to the amorous cling of her greeting.
He tried to silence her, placing his long fingers across her lips. She muttered something, and a glass vase zoomed across the room. Nightcrawler ducked, pulling his sister down with him. The force of their descent moved his hands from covering her mouth to encircling her throat. She yelled, "If it weren't for you, my real brother would still be alive."
In a red rage, he almost crushed her windpipe.
Eyes wide in fear, Jimaine mashed hard on his instep. His hands spasmed away and she rushed to the door, jerking it open. She croaked, "Get out of my quarters and out of my life, you fur-covered freak!"
* * *
Kurt shuddered as the fight replayed itself in his mind. From a corner of the café, a robed figure watched the blue demon's head descend gradually into his arms, as if tugged by unseen cords. Soon enough, real cords made of metal would await the monster.