.

Crimson Claws

32.

Abhisala shrank back when she suddenly saw the blond man in the suit standing at her counter without his arrival being announced by the bell on the door to her little nursery. She dropped the pot of freshly replanted poppies with a gasp and the ceramic shattered on the floor, spraying fresh soil in all directions over her sandals and the customer's previously polished shoes. The elderly lady, like the man, looked down at the misery. It was uncertain whether the poppy would recover from this shock, at least she could no longer sell it.

"Of course I'll pay for this," the man said, not rudely but rather indifferently, and Abhisala looked up at him a little miffed. His suit promised money and his demeanor did not speak of someone who cared for potted plants.

"I'll get the broom and dustpan," she said with a sigh, turned around and shied away again because she ran into a boy. The red-haired youth was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but definitely high-quality brands, and looked up at her with the deepest green eyes she had ever seen. Not that she could appreciate that as she was on the verge of a heart attack.

"Dear Shakambhari , you two must belong together," she murmured, holding on to her checkout counter.

The boy smiled mildly. "Yes, we do. Sorry for the scare."

"And the poppy, let's not forget the pot and the poppy," Abhisala huffed good-naturedly, as both people certainly were not responsible for her frightfulness. Perhaps the boy wanted to buy something for his mother. Which would be good because she really had to reduce the stock.

"Oh yes, about that," the boy said with a rueful look at her mishap, raised his hand over it and as Abhisala was about to exclaim that she could really use a dustpan to sweep it up, the plant stirred. The partially broken stems of the first flower buds stretched and straightened with a snap that defied every law of nature, then the plant crawled on its leaves and roots to the pot, which had reassembled itself from a dozen shards and lifted itself in, then diligently scooped most of the soil back into its pot itself before it froze.

Abhisala Chawla stared at the plant as the boy stood up again with the pot, a deliciously perky smile on his lips.

"This poppy has a special flower color. An almost blackish red."

She smiled broadly. "I –I have some successful hybrids to show for it. Unfortunately, no stable varieties. You can't earn much money with them if other breeders can't reproduce the special features. Or uhm something unwanted emerges. I... assume it's not really about business because you are here," she mumbled.

"It's all about business and it won't be to your disadvantage," the stiff blond man said as he turned the sign on her glass door to the store from OPEN to CLOSED.

"I, will make us a pot of tea," Abhisala said and led these two fellows (she couldn't even inwardly call them humans) to the back of the shop to her private rooms.

.

"We noticed the sign outside," began the blond man with the glasses as he politely sipped his tea. The boy next to him made a face at the bitterness and Abhisala smiled and pushed the sugar over to him, which he helped himself to copiously.

"Yes, I'm 66 now, I see no reason to work until I drop dead. The pots are getting heavier and heavier and I couldn't afford a young helper. Potted plants in the Bronx are less and less in demand. Young people don't want that much commitment anymore," she chuckled away the sad truth. The truth was that every month she stayed in business only generated financial losses.

"No one has responded to the sign? To take over the store?"

"No. And it's okay. I like my job but I'm not attached to it because I don't have anything else. My first granddaughter in New Jersey is having her first baby in 4 months and wants my help. Instead of nurturing and caring for plants, I like to focus on that. Well-" she concluded her private story because she was really intrigued by what these particular individuals had to talk to her about, "-what brought you both to my store?"

"I noticed what you said earlier when you were startled," Alexander began as if he were the boss and leader of the conversation. Was he? He spoke with the easy naturalness and self-confidence of a much older person who was used to people listening to him and taking him seriously. Not a trace of childlike anxiety.

"Oh, you mean Shakambhari?"

"Yeah, that. A deity? You know, like many Christians say `Oh God`?"

"Shakambhari is the goddess of vegetation. I know others refer to Vishnu or something. But in my family it has always been normal to invoke her. It was even said that we were descended from her and therefore always worked well with plants. My great-great-great-grandfather is even said to have been responsible for the Chakravarti's favorite garden," commented Abhisala, happy to explain such things to an eager boy. The redhead nodded and gave his adult companion a smug look as if he had confirmed something he had already discussed with the blond.

"And your name," the child continued, green fire in his eyes, "At the front of the store it says Chawla. What does that mean? Many names have deeper meanings."

"Quite so, young friend," Abhisala replied helpfully, because whatever these two were, they were certainly not to be trifled with. She was not frightened - but in her family they knew how to be courteous when encountering otherworldly beings. She had not only encountered them, she had been sought out.

"Chawla refers to rice or rice farmers - which also has something to do with vegetation and growth. I'm assuming that you're after that. And to add; my first name, Abhisala- I think roughly equivalent to: Something that moves towards an unity. So if we assume that names not only have power, but are like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Where do we stand then?"

"I like her," said the boy, who had introduced himself as Alexander and his companion as Owen. Childish oversight not to mention surnames? Rather unlikely. Abhisala was increasingly intrigued.

"Do you believe in magic?" Alexander asked and Mrs. Chawla laughed, brushing gray strands behind her ear.

"Wasn't my accepting your saving my poppy enough? Of course. We Hindus usually call it otherwise but yes."

"And in your own magic? Would you cede some of this magic to us?"

"Cede?"

"You wouldn't particularly notice, especially considering that you no longer need the nurturing of plants to exist," Mr. Owen commented.

The flower seller considered the two beings at her coffee table for a few long moments, trying to be polite in her reply and at the same time using terms that were probably more familiar to these two than the ancient Indian vocabulary she knew from her own grandmother's stories.

"All those stories about the pitfalls of doing business with magical races can't all be malicious propaganda. What's the catch?"

The boy seemed unaffected by this statement where the blond man with the usually stony features wrinkled his nose briefly.

"No catch," said Alexander. "We buy all the flowers and plants, we buy the whole store at say ... 10 times the usual price. And you get a generous compensation. In return, we get your Vivimancer skills. The manipulation of living things, the ebb and flow of it - and judging by your first name and your breeding successes, the linking of living things - you won't need any of that when you retire. You will certainly still have a green thumb. But no more than normal people. Nothing will be cut off from your soul, nothing from your lifetime. You will not be a slave to any entity before or after you die. And the money we pay will not be fairy gold that disappears at sunrise. This is not a game for us to prank mortals, even if I can't tell you the reason why we need your gifts."

"I don't know," Abhisala thought aloud, turning the teacup in her hands uncertainly. Oh, she could really use this much money. But dealing with deities was potentially dangerous, despite all the assurances. She really wanted to experience her grandson's first years.

"How about ..." Alexander began, looked around and then jumped up, running to the front of her store. She and Owen looked at each other briefly, the latter shrugged his shoulders. When the boy returned, he was cutting off a strand of hair with one of her scissors. Owen took a deep breath as if he couldn't believe it.

Alex lifted the reddish-blonde strand to his lips and breathed soundless words on it. Then he held it out to the flower seller with a big smile.

"In addition to everything we've offered. A piece of me – always good luck for your grandchild if it carries this. Young magic in exchange for old and forgotten magic."

The woman stared at the strand. Names and a piece of themselves - that was the most valuable thing gods could offer. It showed that the boy and the man would not betray her. This strand held not only power but an oath. What did these two need her "magic" for? It couldn't possibly be just to make plants thrive or to transfer traits from one living being to another. Manipulation of living things. It probably wasn't about plants. Did she really want to know what role her tiny magic played in the great schemes of these beings?

"I accept," she whispered and took the strand.

.

.

"Nora's BACK in tha house, folks! Is there still grub to grab? I'm starving!" a loud voice called into the atrium, which was again sparsely populated after breakfast.

Derek almost fell off the ladder as Claw (who had been holding said ladder) spun around and made the ladder shake with his sweeping wing. Only the fact that he dug his claws into the wood, cat-like, saved him from falling. It was a lie that their feline DNA always made them land on their paws. At least that wasn't the case with him.

"Great!" he groaned as he tried to put his feet back on the rungs. Which wasn't so easy with his hands full of stirred concrete with which he had wanted to repair this specific hole in the ceiling. The trowel lay forlornly on the floor. It had been SO gloriously quiet all morning. A morning without Nora Sykes. Of course he regretted that Nora experienced something with the gargoyle clones yesterday, but it was her own fault for wandering into those corners of the labyrinth out of mindless boredom.

And it was concerning that Claw had been so brooding all morning, and that from a guy who was basically mute. When Maggie had asked him what was wrong, he had explained that Nora had been gone when he woke up (and, man, had his hand signals been agitated). Since he considered himself her nanny and probably her protector (although the general consensus was that everyone else needed to be protected from Nora), her disappearance after such an incident was really worrying. Until Maggie had remembered that Francine had scheduled THIS the day when Nora got her cast off, which Claw had accepted with a grim nod. And indeed, now Nora limped into view WITHOUT a cast, only with a fabric cuff and a matching chunky fabric shoe on that foot. She had probably also had the time to go shopping because she was also carrying various bags. She could have at least checked out. From someone. At least from Claw, since she let him save her from her foolishness.

She lost her cheeky grin when Claw approached in big strides, came to a halt in front of her and let his eyes wander over her. Suddenly she seemed strangely meek, maybe even embarrassed, as she looked at her feet.

"Yeah, I was at Doc Fran's. Don't have a cast anymore."

Claw put a hand on her cheek after a moment's hesitation, lifted her head, studied her face, and huffed a growl.

"I'm fine," she answered the unspoken question. Derek sometimes didn't see the forest for the trees... but why did he get the impression that this was about more than Nora's experiences with the gargoyles or the fact that she had left unannounced in the morning to have the cast removed at Fran's practice?

"I'm really fine," Nora insisted after Claw had let his hands ghost over her neck, bit her lip uncertainly, then raised her eyes. "Um, are we cool?" she asked quietly. "I mean, I'm cool, are you cool, sorry for going AWOL, but I needed some fucking fresh air, and hey, no crutches anymore, hooray!" She said all this without much swearing, without sarcasm or acrimony. She fidgeted a bit in her always subliminally ADD-like way, but seemed absolutely benign. Derek had climbed down from the ladder, his hands remained on his T-shirt where he had wiped off the almost dry concrete mass.

"Since you're obviously feeling better, I want to see you in my office later for a report on exactly what happened last night," he said.

Nora turned to face him, standing a little wide and probably still a little unsure without her crutch, but she gave him a cocky salute. Better than that insecure look she had when facing Claw, whatever that meant.

"Sure, Big Black, I'll give you my report. And you're going to love my plan."

Derek growled like a big cat.

"I don't think someone like you should make or have plans."

"You'll love it! But first, I HAVE to shower. I mean, you guys are used to strong smells and right now I'm wearing long jeans to spare you, but have you ever had a cast on for weeks? What accumulates on dead skin and sweat and stuff? IT STINKS man. It stinks nasty. Can raise the damn dead. So I say; quick breakfast, LONG shower, including shave because half Wookiee, half naked mole rat style is not mine. AND THEN a session with my newly acquired peeling sponge and maybe a nap and then I'm yours as long as I endure your interrogation- cool? Yeah, see you then."

She turned around with a broad grin and hobbled away. And Claw- was already in the kitchen area to make her a late breakfast!

Derek sighed and prayed to whatever god there was for patience and strength.

.

Under the pretext of bringing Nora her breakfast, I entered my room. Our room. God, I was nervous. Happy and nervous. Happy that she hadn't run away when she realized she'd had sex with a monster. Nervous because she had been gone for hours, and even if no one but me thought about it, it was clear that she hadn't just gotten the cast off and done a little shopping during that time, but maybe questioned everything she – I - had done. God, I - had I forced myself on her? I felt so bad, so disgusting.

I heard Nora in the bathroom and scrubbing noises, which was probably the sponge she had spoken of. Did she need help? No! No, I, gosh, this was not the right time to invade her personal space again. It was the opposite of the right time. Nora had come back and she had smiled earlier, but uncertainly, much too anxiously. I didn't like it when she was like that, meek as if she expected me to bite her head off. As if SHE felt guilty! I was a bastard. I had exploited her weakness, her confusion and her hunger for closeness after a traumatic event, and I felt so much worse that I had done that. That I had liked it. Liked it so much, and I couldn't think about it too much because then Nora would see my erection as soon as she came out of the bathroom. I really was a monster, a beast, guided by my lowliest instincts.

I wanted her to feel comfortable and secure and... loved. Was that it? Did I love her? I was aware of her flaws. Many flaws. But... she had so many good sides. Sides that... partly only belonged to me. A part of Nora, the kind part - I wanted to show everyone and prove that she was good, that she deserved affection from all sides even if she couldn't always control her words and behavior as much as she wanted to. And sometimes didn't want to control. But that time last night, so vulnerable, so hungry for me, her body under mine, screaming when I made her come, that was just for me and I never wanted anyone else to see or hear her like that! It was selfish and unrealistic because Nora wasn't mine, but... I couldn't stop thinking that way.

I had to talk to Nora, so I sat on the bed (freshly made because even though I liked the smell of our mingled sweat and desire, I didn't want Nora to be reminded of bad things) with my tablet and waited. After what seemed like an eternity, she came out, her now-not-so-stubby hair at the back of her head damp and tousled like that of a baby chick. Baby chiks were adorable, Nora was adorable.

She was also freshly dressed, just closing the last button on her blouse. None of her clothes were really expensive. And yet everything looked good on her. With her fleshy curves, such a thing was rarely available off the rack. As was to be expected from a seamstress – she was far from model size but her clothes always fit well, making everyone else look a little shabbier. I wasn't vain, but I did tug uncomfortably at my T-shirt, knowing that it, like all the clothing of the mutants and clones, never fit perfectly. The older ladies in the labyrinth were nice and bored enough to alter everything we brought them, but I had the feeling that Nora always thought it could be done better. She was a bit snobby in that regard, but she was a professional, not a grandmother who sewed as a hobby or learned it in home economics class as a child to fix her children's torn pants. But this time, Nora Sykes's look was not disparaging, but at first a little surprised, then concerned when she saw me. Her gaze softened when it fell on the plate of freshly made bacon, egg and toast.

I felt awkward and guilty and didn't know how to start the conversation without Nora feeling cornered and lashing out with one of her desperate rants, so I typed the first thing that came to mind.

"I forgot the orange juice."

"If I wanted you to, you'd probably get it," she said with a wry smile.

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was a good start. Even better, she sat down next to me. The meal was between us, but she didn't avoid me like the plague, which I had feared. I felt a new surge of affection for Nora, even awe. She was traumatized by so much and had a weak moment yesterday (like me). But she didn't shy away from anything, even though her bones broke easily and her mental health was already fragile. How could I not... love her.

My gaze rested on her hands in her lap. Seamstress hands. Hands that had clawed into my fur last night and so much more. It was probably because Nora reminded me of my mother. Not in character but because of her hands – as ridiculous as that sounded. Yet Nora's character was so different from that of my gentle, always softly speaking mom, at least at first (second and third) glance. And again – tonight Nora had made it worse without meaning to. That she had left – fled maybe, and I had found the bed empty – abandoned. I had felt abandoned, like my mother had abandoned me. It wasn't the same thing, I knew that. Death was final and it was a tragic accident. But I felt emotionally raw and vulnerable without knowing that Nora was safe and well. Even when she swore and antagonized others, it calmed me in a way that was probably toxic. I didn't want to imagine an existence without Nora anymore.

"Honestly, who gives a shit about orange juice? I don't give a shit about it. You're too nice, Claw, you make me forget that I-" she took a deep breath and pulled the plate onto her lap, began stuffing her mouth with toast to spare herself the embarrassment. Maybe now would be a good time to apologize?

As I was about to touch the keys on the tablet, she spoke again – with her mouth full, barely intelligible and without looking at me.

"I didn't run away because I had post-sex panic, if that's what you thought."

I fidgeted and bit my tongue in surprise at these words. I winced and yelped and when I looked up again with tears in my eyes, she grinned, her lips shiny with bacon grease.

"Sorry," she chuckled, and even though I had just pierced my own tongue and tasted blood, I started chuckling too. Nora was SO awful and SO divine.

It was still weird and embarrassing, but the tension seemed to bleed out of both of us.

"I wouldn't mind doing it again, so... if you want," she said, grinning because my eyes had been glued to the way her tongue darted over her lip to catch crumbs.

I flailed surprised like an Idiot and nodded eagerly and Nora anticipated my questions in my head, her gaze now turned to me and intense even though her cheeks were quite blushed.

"The, um last night was great. You were great. Definitely five stars on Yelp. If you're worried about that... I don't know if I want to date or anything. I like you, Claw. I really do. In a girl-likes-guy kind of way. And that's fucking weird for me, okay? I mean, so romantic and cuddly, and I'm not really a PDA kind of person unless I'm really comfortable with it. And, honestly, I think Derek would have a nut fall out of his pants if we made out in front of him. Hahaha-."

She started to laugh out loud at her own words and I laughed too because the image in my head alone was cushioning her sentences around it. When we had both regained our composure, Nora patted my hand and asked about MY feelings on the matter, as rarely happened. The mute guy was usually not included. I was used to that. Even the other mutants assumed that I followed their lead. Because they knew me well and knew that I would let them know if I didn't like something.

"Are you okay with this? That we, uhm, see where this goes first without ringing a bell?"

I nodded again, knowing my smile looked a bit lost. I hadn't thought of something like dating or public displays of our relationship. It was only now that she had said it that I knew I wanted that. But she was right. I didn't know where we stood either and had to take the first steps in this - yes, it was something of a relationship. And the first thing she had said - What should I worry about? That others found out about Nora and me? But I understood what she meant when I thought about it for a second. Nobody liked Nora. They would want to talk me out of it.

I felt raw and vulnerable and yet revitalized at the prospect of Nora continuing to put up with me. Even more, that she wanted to get intimate again, that she liked me. Like a girl liked a boy, although of course we were both much too old for girl-boy terms, but she hadn't rejected me. On the contrary. She had said we would both see how it went. That left room for more. For the future. She was worried about my family. Which only meant that I would continue to support her in anything that would show the others her good sides. That was my new mission. Which Nora's next idea, which was more than bold, somehow also made mine.

Thanks for reading Q.T.