.png)
I was at the family tomb, sprawled on my back as if Ulysses had just been dragged out. You paced back & forth in front of your cenotaph. Your Mary Janes clacked against the cold marble floor, & your muguet[6] trailed wilted, bruised petals behind you. Your painted lips were pinched into an uncharacteristic scowl.
“I’m sorry.” I rasped. You stopped & turned to glower at me.
“I don’t want your fake apology. I don’t want your excuses. You’re fucking nasty, Callum.”
“It wasn’t- I-” I’m not sure what pity-fishing birdshit I would’ve come up with if it didn’t hurt to talk.
“It’s not enough for you to squat in my house & fuck my wife?! You had to crash my vigil, too? My friends can’t look at you. It hurts. You know that?”
“I know.” I hiccuped. “I just… I don’t know what to do without you, &…”
You scoffed, & bent down a little closer. From here, I could see that your mascara had bled in the corners of your eyes.
“They won’t let you follow them around just because we shared a face. Everyone’s smart enough to tell the difference between us… Except for you.” You spat. I flinched. “Get up & stop licking crumbs off of the floor.”
I jolted awake. The layers of my clothes had been plastered together into a damp, cold, heavy mass that made it hard to sit up. Maybe it was from all of the cold sweat, maybe the ice bag had burst in my sleep, or maybe it was just a natural consequence of sleeping in the bathtub. (Cordelia didn’t want me sleeping in the attic anymore.)
My first instinct was to check a clock. It took me a moment to remember that your house was in the outer ring[7], so your whole street would’ve been bathed in sunlight if it weren’t way too early to get up… The bathroom window was dark, but it didn’t matter anyways. I wasn’t going back to sleep after that. It wasn’t you- By then, I knew for certain that you were dead & gone- But still, I hated when my brain dressed itself up as you when it was time to perform a stress nightmare & yell at myself. It was just gross.
I brushed our teeth, dribbled some aqua vitae[8] on my flesh wounds, & cleaned out the sink & bathtub until it was as though I’d never intruded. I flinched at the sight of Cordelia slumped over on the hallway floor, the ends of her mottled orange petals brushing against the ground. I should’ve noticed her snoring before I headed out. She slept just across from the bathroom.
Once or twice, I’ve tried to comfort her the same way you did- Y’know, with your heartbeat- But she told me it wasn’t the same… “Too fast”. So we didn’t try that anymore. But last night, maybe she missed you so badly she needed to listen in from another room anyways.
She woke up when I bungled my way through your cupboards in search of a frying pan, & ended up jostling your pots together loudly enough to make my wicked headache worse. It was truly a testament to her pacifist warrior monk philosophies, because she had the patience to not wallop my ass for it, & she was the one with superhearing.
“Grits.” She remarked, & sniffed as if there were anything to smell.
“Yeah.”
“With butter. Feeling indulgent, are you?”
I shrugged & immediately regretted it. I’d slept with our neck at a weird angle, & now our shoulder was painfully stiff. “‘S the least I could do to make up for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
“Haven’t got much better to do, other than keep you alive.”
“You still have a job. An important one. One where you need enough sleep.” I insisted. I’d found the pan I’d been looking for, & so I waved it in her general direction to punctuate my point before I set it down on the hearth.
“Don’t flagellate yourself over that, alright? You know me. I would’ve hit the bar after the vigil anyways.” & she knew me- sort of- so she knew that wouldn’t stop me, either.
She broke the yolk on her fried eggs & mixed it with the grits underneath before she took a bite. It could’ve been a triple-A-grade grub cutlet or a bowl of straight whey powder, & she would’ve made the same face. I was lucky that she’d just been taken off of the dawn shift, so she would’ve gotten up this early anyway, & dubiously luckier that she was so accustomed to unseasoned mush, no thanks to the cenobites who raised her. Anyone else would’ve kicked me out for it.
I took a caffeine tablet & swallowed it down with a sip of steaming water. We ate in silence for some time. When she was nearly finished with her second bowl, I told her:
“I’ll see Dr. Urbanus today. He’d want to hear about the claims of a new reincarnated human.” As if that were the most concerning thing that had happened yesterday.
“Right. You gonna let me know what he thinks?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. Thanks for breakfast. I’ll take care of the dishes.” She said, & got up from a stool which hadn’t been used in years, or quite possibly ever.
“I can do it.”
“No. Fair’s fair.” You could almost hold your own against her when she wrestled you away from your chores, so I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
I sighed when I found the steps to your porch littered with letters & flowers. Most of your mourners prefer to pile up their offerings at the gates to the family tomb- Or if they’re feeling extra parasocial, our parents’ lawn. I’m not sure what Mom & Dad do with that stuff, or for that matter, what I should’ve: Given it a cursory glance, let it sit around for a bit, then thrown it away? It sounded gauche enough to kill Mom’s political career stone cold dead, but what else could they do? Hoard it until their house had been packed full of the whole world’s grief, as if their own wasn’t already immense? At least your house had become something of a second mausoleum, so you had plenty of space to spare… I scooped your offerings up by the armful & left them in your mudroom. It took a few trips. The flowers were so sweet they stung our nostrils.
When I set out for Dr. Urbanus’ home, the sunrise crested over the horizon & stained the outer ring fiery orange. Our eyes watered. I’m not entirely sure I’d been in open air & sunlight ever since I got that temp job on a mining barge, & I still hadn’t adjusted. I didn’t mind the wind, though. Sometimes I got a whiff of construct exhaust[9].
I reached the shaft that spanned the city’s height. It was illuminated from one side with natural light from long, narrow latticed windows carved out of the city’s bark. Noise from the roots echoed up the shaft to the precipice where I stood: Trundling carts, shouts with their discernable syllables eroded off, hundreds of buzzing wings as the lower city woke up & went to work. I wondered if I could pick up the grinding mandibles of my old workplace if I strained our ears hard enough. This sentiment turned into an embarrassing pang in our chest, so I stopped myself.
By the time I’d ventured deep into the city, the lamplighters had come out to refuel the inner rings’ firefly lamps[10]. This tunnel opened up to a plaza, far taller than it was wide, where the city’s heartwood had been hollowed out in the shape of rowhouses & workshops. It was dimmer in here, which was easier on the eyes. The ventilation this far in wasn’t very good, & so the place stank of life, of sweat, smoke, & garbage. Salty steam billowed from the other side of the plaza where a cluster of new public housing warrens had been set up near the Clerical Corpus’ campus. If I followed a queue of hungry, tired survivors to the steam’s source, I could’ve gone to one of the city’s dining halls for a second breakfast- But why would I though.
The Clerical Corpus headquarters’ jagged spires very nearly brushed against the plaza’s ceiling; the wide, buttressed chapel towered over the teeming warrens on the ground & clustered upon the walls. A gaggle of kids had perched on the roof to eat their soup & crusty bread, & some officers were trying to shoo them back to the tables below[11].
I passed under the headquarters’ arched entryway & came to the nave. It was mostly empty this early in the day, so my footsteps were the only echo as I passed through. Altars with multicoloured drapings lined its walls like textbooks on a shelf, but they were bare of alms so far. Censers hung from the ribbed vault ceiling, heavy with incense, & an apprentice priest flitted up to light them- Maybe they were an acolyte of the written word; their robes looked grey & black in the nave’s low light. I hurried down the corridor that led to the residential wing before the nave could truly fill with incense smoke, because I knew I wouldn’t stop sneezing if I breathed it in.
I finally arrived at the courtyard which connected the condos where the tenured professors lived. It had spongy moss underfoot, & a few leggy daffodils in the corners which had grown so tall that they grazed the ceiling & drooped back downwards.
Something big & white stampeded past me. I froze, & it luckily had the reflexes to duck away while it continued on its full circuit around the courtyard. I would’ve been knocked flat on my ass otherwise. It skidded to a stop at the toes of a woman in long blue robes & a white escoffion, so, clearly an acolyte of the moon… Probably not in a fascistic way[12], if she had a reason to be here of all places. She clicked a button on a stopwatch & grinned down at the creature.
“100 metres in 11 seconds flat. Good job, buddy!” She cooed, & knelt down to kiss it on… The face? I think? It was around the size of a moth, it was paunchy & furry like a moth, it had long fat feeler-thingies on its head like a moth, but its beady red eyes were on the side of its head & it didn’t have any wings. So, in short, I had no idea what that thing was, & I wasn’t about to approach a stranger to find out. Dr. Urbanus’ condo was right there, on the other side of the courtyard, so I shouldn’t dawdle.
“Sorry about that, we didn’t see-” She started, but never finished. “-Callum?” This close, it was abundantly clear that she wasn’t a stranger. Our stomach clenched so hard I got nauseous. I didn’t immediately respond. I just stared at her, aghast, as if she were a real live human who had descended from a spaceship. She returned my open-mouthed gawping with the same expression she’d have if a springtail[13] got run over by a cart, & its soft innards splattered onto her face.
“I- You-” I floundered. “What are you doing here?”
“My shifu[14] lives here.” She replied, her lips & throat gone tight. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I muttered, & looked away. There was a plaque beneath Urbanus’ mailbox that read Dr. Gavriel Urbanus, PhD, DGm[15], Professor of Medical Fleshwork & Mycelial Theory. I knocked on his door with an uneasy eagerness to come inside, as if she was something to be saved from.
“Oh, Callum!” Said Dr. Urbanus. His pruney purple face beamed at me. “It’s been so long, are-” He faltered. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I puled. It got just a little bit harder every time I said it, & this was far, far from the first. “May I have a moment? It’s important to your work with human soul theory.”
He knew how I felt about humans, & this seemed a good enough explanation as to why I jittered harder than the last time I’d taken too much caffeine. He nodded, his brows drawn together.
“I see. Come in. Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I would.”
“Pardon my mess. I would’ve tidied if I knew I’d have company, but I’m glad it’s you- You’re the last person who would mind!” Dr. Urbanus chuckled.
His hardwood office had been scrubbed until it was utterly antiseptic. His “mess” was comprised of various containers for fleshwork[16] components, suspended in medical-grade aqua vitae to heal their tissue grafts. His projects crowded his desk, cluttered the shelves behind him, there were even a few perched on the windowsill. Even with the containers sealed, the room stank of iron & warm, living meat. Urbanus was right. If nothing else, the familiarity was a dull comfort that threatened to sharpen into an ache if I dwelled on it too much.
I was too tired to drag the ends of our mouth into a smile. He didn’t expect me to. “Are these all for the same project?” I asked.
“No. Some are already complete, & we’re just waiting for the patient’s graft date.”
I glanced at a windowed incubator to my right. An incomplete hand floated up through murky green & pressed against the clear chitin membrane. Its bare sinew had been laid over dozens of pieces of meticulously placed testa[17]. It was pristine. It could’ve been an anatomical model for a textbook. Our own hand clenched tight, & my resolve solidified as a hard, heavy pit in our gut. If anybody could’ve saved that man in the bar, it would’ve been Dr. Urbanus. I’d never be okay, so I had to make sure he would be. I sucked in a sharp breath.
“I’ve been approached by a man who claims that- That his brother has been possessed by a reincarnated human.” I explained.
“Dearie me. I see.” He murmured to himself, then said to me, “We’ll have to investigate further to see if these claims hold water. I’ll reach out to him, invite him over for tea. Do you have his contact information?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s fine. I’m sure we can ask around for him. What’s his name?”
“I didn’t get his name.” I hadn’t maintained eye contact to begin with, but my gaze drifted from my cup of near-tepid tea to my shoes. “His brother was, um.. Interrupted before he could get to that…” I trailed off as our stomach sunk.
“But his brother introduced himself, right?” Urbanus prodded.
“Right. His name is Diesel Dauberman. He mentioned they were staying at the Blue Rose.”
“There you go!” He nodded, & smiled at me.
“Wait- Hasn’t that hotel been completely booked up by lunar tourists?” I frowned.
“Hm. It’s a good thing I’ve been practicing that petit four recipe.” He mused. I had no idea how he, of all people, did not quiver at the idea of entertaining them.
“I should’ve known when Dauberman mentioned their masters, eugh.” I sneered. “He & the human aren’t tourists themselves; they’re here to cook & do laundry for one.”
I swallowed a mouthful of tea that was mostly milk. Dr. Urbanus took out a fountain pen & a sheet of vellum with the Corpus’ insignia in its header.
“Dauberman never mentioned which noble house he works for.” He said, just to double check.
“He didn’t.”
“But he’ll recognize you if you approach him again.”
“Probably,” I agreed, as if our translucent freakass hadn’t been on lunar wanted posters since we were 16.
“Right. I’ll draft up an invitation, but I need to know who to address it to. Could you find out who he came with, & give it to the leader of his travelling party? We don’t want another Sabrina Savoy situation- Speaking of which, have you heard from her lately?”
“No.”
“She’s moved with her partner to another tree. They’re thinking of adopting a mantis.”
“That’s a relief.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d come to tell him about an alleged human. The last human I’d heard of was a false alarm: The Savoys insisted that their daughter had been replaced because she never visited, got a septum piercing, started dating a “bad influence”, & developed a chronic smart mouth. Urbanus had to explain to them that young adults just do that sometimes, with what I could only imagine were great pains to not bruise their fragile, oversized egos.
After Urbanus published that paper on the phenomena behind human possession, I’d heard horror stories where people thought they could take matters into their own hands to excise the human… But their methods killed the host, too. Savoy refused to become one of them. She had the guts to knock that pot of boiling water out of her father’s hands & onto him instead; & that cunt was lucky that Urbanus’ specialty is hand grafting from scratch… Not that he’ll get to use those new hands for much in prison.
All this to say, if this new alleged human were stuck to his master, they’d notice if he left on his own. It’d be safer for the human & his host if we didn’t single him out- Framed the proposition for a cure as a friendly discussion of Urbanus’ work over tea.
A timer went ding in another room.
“Ah!” Dr. Urbanus gasped, & set down his pen. “It can wait until after breakfast. Callum, have you eaten yet?”
“Yes.” I said. I followed him as he tottered from his office to the kitchen.
“Well, do take a scone for later…”
“Of course, Doctor.” I didn’t just say that to assuage him. He made good scones.
He put on a pair of quilted floral-print oven mitts & hoisted a steaming tray out of the oven. Then he went to the front door &, to my complete & utter horror, called to the woman outside:
“Ado, breakfast is ready!”