Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (9 page)

Darkness had swallowed their neighborhood, and for the first time in weeks, a bit of the Canopy had cleared so that the moon and stars peeped through. Zeika looked up, smiling at the silver eye. Waning crescent, it looked like, an eyelid half-closed over a shining gaze, heavy with sleep. And no matter how little of it shone, it always filled her up.

She continued on into the black beyond, the gravel beneath her feet gleaming like crushed diamond. The only lights ahead were the tiny kerosene lamps of the Quonset huts in their rail-road style lot. Paused at the edge of the property, she sighed, her limbs feeling heavy and reluctant. She gazed up at the winking moon once more.

A few more minutes won't hurt.

She hung a left and made her way to the one joy of Co-op City: the gardens. She reached into her robes and locked her fingers around a wad of paper as she navigated her way towards a painted piece of wood labeled "Anon", which marked the start of their vegetable beds. The kids of Co-op City glided around her knees, giggling and chasing after one another under the sleepy lunar gaze, their white robes flying out behind them.
 

From the far right, hens clucked softly as they turned in for the night. The rustling of feathers reminded her of the boy who used to tend to them. The one who had disappeared from her lot and who now stared at her every day from his mount above a shattered looking-glass.

Zeika pushed off the thought and kept moving. At the corner of their garden, she set Manja down under their row of fava beans. The kid clutched her dinosaur bag, laying her head on its yellow snout, her eyes heavy. Guess the kid
had
had a rough day after all.
 

"You okay, kiddo?"

Beneath the willows, Manja smiled and buried her cheek further into the dino's nose. Her eyes twinkled between the milky fava flowers, their black and smooth paint splotches forming night eyes against white petals.
 

Zeika pinched Manja's nose and knelt down to push back some thick braids of honeysuckle. Beneath, a small square door, its hinges, and a braided lock shined up at her from the earth. With a graze of her fingertip, the lock lost its rigidity. Zeika bit her lip, her eyes searching the night; no one had noticed.
 

Quietly, she slid the limp braid lock from its latch and opened the door. Dry old earth spat up from the void. She reached down into the dark and popped off the lid of a coffee tin. From places within her robes, some unmentionable, she took out her tips and Davy's money and shoved them into the metal tin before replacing the lid.

That makes 5,565 dollars to date.
Only 15 grand to go.

That's how much it would all cost. For the move into Demesne Seven, for the relocation tax, probationary work passes, for a year's rent on a new place. Only 15 grand more.

Not if you don't get moving, though.
 

Zeika lifted Manja back up from the dirt, where she had been dozing off. She set her on her feet. "Come on. Let's get you something to eat." She started towards the house, but her arm went taut as Manja stood rooted to her spot, her fingers laced with hers.

"I don't feel good, Zeeky. My knee hurts. Please carry me?"

Zeika's eyes widened, and a familiar dread began to gnaw at her chest. "Of course I will, honey." She hoisted Manja up, wincing as she felt Manja's limbs drape limply, too limply, against her body. "You've had a long day. We'll get you something to eat and get you down for a nap, okay?"

"Kay..." Manja whispered into her neck. The response was so weak that it drove Zeika into a jog back to their hut.

Closing and locking the shabby door behind them, Zeika shuffled over into the kitchenette with Manja on her hip. After readjusting their little round table out of its tilt, she set the girl down into a chair. The light from Manja's eyes had all but disappeared, and a sag weighed down the girl's cheeks as she laid her head on the table.

Zeika set her knapsack on the other chair and began to rummage through it. She pushed past the ballerina slippers, past the ragged woolen hat, past the holstered field knife she carried for protection. Finally, she produced a travel medical kit and emptied its contents. A tongue depressor, cotton swabs, and a small flashlight fell out.

"Open your mouth, sweetie."

Manja did, and Zeika lifted the girl's top lip, shining the flashlight in. Puffy, red tissue had taken the place of what should have been Manja's normal healthy gums. Zeika took a cotton swab and pressed down on the gums-- and at the gentlest touch, thin particles of crimson beaded along Manja's gumline, staining the cotton with a dark rusty hue.

Zeika swallowed hard. "Which... which knee hurts again?"

"This one." Manja pointed at her right knee.

Zeika rolled up Manja's pant's leg, and as her fingers closed around the hot pulsing flesh, she creased her brow. The tissue was swollen about half an inch around Manja's entire knee cap, making an awkward brown lemon of the joint. Gently, she squeezed.

"
Ouch!" Manja whined. "It hurts."

"I'm sorry, honey." Zeika removed her hand. She had only touched it for a minute, but that was more than enough to send shivers into her body.

It's not serious. You caught it early. Deal with it now, and she'll be fine.

She went to the small fridge in the corner of the room and plunged her hand in, looking for the small orange she had taken from the Diner days ago. No orange. Her heart sank as she returned to her bag and dropped the day's take onto the table, hoping she could find
something
with Vitamin C or K in it. Zeika knew it wouldn't help... but it'd make her feel better.

Double-decker cheeseburgers, grilled chicken club, cold French fries, and even a few slabs of steak that some customers had been too full to eat. Zeika had also pilfered a few eggs, sliced ham, oatmeal, and a couple pints of milk. Her wasteful customers had really come through, but not a shred of green leaf or citrus could be found.

Stupid. Stupid of you to trust
either
of them with this.
As she thought of her parents, Zeika felt the anger take hold of her. She spilled the contents of Manja's dinosaur bag onto the table. A coloring book and a few broken crayons, a hair pick, a monster truck magazine, a snack tin, a medi-kit, and a small dark vitamin bottle. Empty.

Zeika held the bottle up to Manja. "How long has it been empty, hon?"

"I dunno." Manja was tired but lucid at least. She looked up at her, just a hint of a twinkle returning to her blue eyes. And just as always, whatever anger or sadness consumed Zeika's heart melted away. She placed a hand on Manja's head and forced a smile.

"Okay, we'll get you some more. What are you in the mood for, kiddo? We've got some hamburger, fries, a couple of moo moos..."

"May I have the chicken club, please?" She had been eyeing it the entire time.

"Right on. You know I made all of this myself, right?"

"No you didn't!" Manja giggled. "Your food's yucky!"
 

Zeika smiled and rolled her eyes. "Way to make your big sister feel like a champion."
 

She had barely pushed the chicken sandwich up to Manja before she snatched it up and started eating like a barbarian. Zeika filled two glasses, one with cold water and one warm with salt, and put both of them down for her. A quick rummage back through the medical kit and their fridge produced a crude icepack for Manja.

We have to get to Guild Five.

Zeika clenched her jaw, unsettled by the thought. She hadn't planned on swinging by there for at least another week, but in Manja's condition, they had no choice. Her right knee had already begun to swell. It wouldn't be long before the left knee followed.

She looked at Manja, who had put her sandwich down. The bite marks in the bread were pinked with splotches of blood. Zeika forced her eyes closed, the decision cemented. They didn't have a choice.

She took the holstered field knife out of her bag, and for a long time, she gazed at it.

More dangerous to be without it
, she decided finally, and she jammed it into the sash around her waist. She started towards the tail of their hut, to grab some last few things-- and practically slid to a stop as a tall body stepped out of the shadows.
 

The body didn't belong to her mother. It belonged to a man... and it wasn't her father either.

Zeika snatched her field knife from its holster, brandishing it. "STOP RIGHT THERE!"

She could hear Manja turn in her chair, but Zeika focused her eyes forward into the darkness. The figure kept walking towards her, casually even, and a chuckle rolled out of his mouth as he stepped into the light.

"A little paranoid today, aren't we, honey?"

Greasy smile, slicked back silvery hair, and a rolling gray gaze put a familiar face to the voice. Salvatore Morgan. Ombudsman, Representative, and Azure tax-collector for Demesne Five.
 

The first Monday of the month. It's tax day, and you forgot.

Zeika felt the tension in her muscles melt, but as the adrenaline washed out of her senses, her frown only deepened at the man standing before her. The awkward pitter-patter of unsure feet echoed out from behind him as Zeika's mother skittered out from the back, clutching the thin bathrobe around her body.

"Zeika, what in Christ's name are you doing?!" Mama's eyes were wide with fear. "Put that thing away!"

Lips taut, Zeika slowly slid the field knife into the holster at her back. "Excuse me," she muttered. "I didn't know we had...
company."
 

She made a face at the frazzled state of her mother's hair, and then she saw them, chalky smudges that lined the skin under Mama's nose. They sloped, forming arrows pointing towards her mother's swollen and pathless gaze.

"Mama!" Behind them, Manja jumped out of her chair and hobbled over to their mother, arms wide. "You're home!"

"Hi darling!" Mama took Manja up in her arms, smothering her with kisses. Manja wrapped her arms around Mama's neck, and smiling, she turned to Sal.

"Hi Mister Morgan!"

"Hey there, munchkin. How was school today?"

"It was good! I practiced spelling long words! Seven letters!"

Sal slipped his hands into his pockets, curious. "Wow, already? You must be the smartest girl in the class!"

"Yup! Zeeky taught me. Everyone else does the alifbet, but not me! You proud?"

"I most certainly am, sweetheart. How old are you now?"

Manja proudly held up four straight fingers. "But my birthday's soon! Zeeky's gonna make me a big
fūl-medammis
and bread pudding!"

Smiling, Sal leaned in further. "Well that's mighty sweet of her, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's real sweet," Zeika snapped. She stepped between Sal and her family and handed the ice pack to Manja. "Here, sweetie. Go in the back, get a cloth, and wrap your knee good and tight, okay? Then re-pack your dino bag. We're leaving soon. And no running."

"Kay, Zeeky."

Mama set the girl down, and after Zeika handed her the dinosaur bag, Manja disappeared into the back. "Bye, Mister Morgan!" She called over her shoulder.
 

Once Manja was gone, Zeika turned to Sal, her gaze settling.

"Why don't you have a seat, Lord Morgan?" Her mother offered gently. "Zeika, show him to a chair."

Zeika took a step back and slowly lifted her chin. "A chair can be located approximately ten degrees to your left."

"Zeika!"

Sal lifted a hand, still smiling. "It's all right, Mika. I'm sure she's just had a long day. I'll make myself at home."

As though he hadn't already.

"Are you hungry?" Mama pressed.

"No," Sal said with a warm smile. "I'm quite satiated. Thank you."

Zeika's eyes widened, and she looked at her mother for meaning. Her mother was diligent in avoiding her gaze.

"I... I'm sure we could do with some tea, though. Zeika?"

Zeika's dark gaze rolled over to meet her mother's.

"Would you please?" Mama urged.

Zeika turned and started to walk out the kitchen.

"EZEKIEL!"

Zeika stopped short as her mother called out her full name. Mama only used it when she was upset.

"Get the tea. Now."

Tea leaves blustered from their tin, and the water in the teapot rolled around more angrily than usual as Sal and Mama settled into the living room's weathered couches. The cracks in their plates, teacups, and sugar bowl deepened as Zeika slammed everything down on their shaky coffee table. She tossed the last of their frozen bread loaf onto a warming skillet to make toast, and when it was done, she dealt the toast out, blackjack dealer-style.
 

Mama's eyes glittered with anger as her own slice of bread backflipped its way onto the tabletop, spilling crumbs. Finally, a half-filled jar of jam clattered into the middle of the table along with a couple of butter knives. Then, Zeika sat herself on the couch next to her mother, her lips smushed up against her knuckles as she glared at Sal.
 

As she watched his vile Adam's apple throb with the gulps he took from his mug, all Zeika could see was Mama crouched next to their withered ten-by-ten dirt patch, urging those tender tea leaves to life. Their
last
tea leaves.
 

She closed her eyes against the scene and clenched her teeth. "Mama. Manja and I really have to go now."

"Where are you headed?" Sal asked. He was spreading an inordinate amount of jam on his toast.

She pursed her lips for seconds on end as she stared at him-- and at the too-thick layer of jam on his bread-- until her mother's gaze on her cheek urged her to answer. "Guild Five. The Guild of Almaut."

Mama stiffened, her jaw going tight beneath the smooth chestnut of her skin.

"Ah." Sal took more jam from the already waning jar. "You realize that your demesne's guild is under investigation for its ties with Koa?"

"Its
alleged
ties with Koa. We have nothing to do with them."

"We?" Sal looked up at her, his eyes dark. He set his teacup down on the table. "Have you joined, then? Are you looking to become a Civic Alchemist?"