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Origami
“...what?”
The tiger hesitated, an ear flicking in thought. “Blood,” she repeated. “Iotroeka.”
“Blood?”
Her giant head bobbed in affirmation. “Yes. Blood. Blood of the others. My younger brothers, the ones that stink and roll on ground.”
“The what?”
Her fur ruffled as she heaved a heavy sigh. “RectoeNelahky. HonyChybatpreco?”
With a shudder, her body began to shrink back. Paws shrank into fingers. Elbows and knees thinned, popping as they shifted back into place. Her shoulders and hips flattened, tail slipping into nothingness as her head shrank back and withdrew. Soon, a humanoid woman stood before me, body wrapped in white tiger-skin rags bound by rope. Her shape was solid but lithe, and what skin I could see was a pale brown.
I wasn’t convinced of what I was seeing until I saw her face. A set of gleaming yellow eyes sat under cropped powder-white hair, small streaks of black marring the color like reverse highlights and continuing down her face and neck.
She stood slowly, carefully, as if she wasn’t used to working her limbs or standing on two feet. The skins hung loosely on her frame, quickly remedied by a sharp yank on the rope around her body. To my surprise, she began to move backwards towards the brick house, while managing to keep her predatorial eyes on me. Reaching down, the tigress began retrieving a few items from one of the bushes.
She returned with a small blue box and a saw-tooth knife. Holding it to her mouth, she began to speak softly, her words weaving together to make an unearthly melody. A gentle glow began to pulse along the surface, the light spreading in a wave from her fingertips as she sang. After about half a minute she drew the song to a light conclusion and held the box out to me.
“Sing,” she demanded. “It works. You sing.”
Ah. So it was a translator.
I reached back into my memory, coming up with an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. I repeated the melody as best I could, making up forgotten words as I went along. After another half a minute, the box gave off a beep and the tigress pulled it away. She watched as the color shifted and the box wheezed, circular symbols beginning to spin and dance. She nodded to herself as the noise and lights died down, tucking it away in an unseen pocket once it finished.
“Now we speak,” she said confidently. “You are good thief. Better than I have seen. You steal from Keepers. Not easy.”
“You’re right, not easy.” I shook my head as I answered, looking back down the alley. “Speaking of,” I said slowly, “can we get to a more...safe location?”
She smiled a little knowing smirk. While her features were humanesque in the face, somehow the tigress had managed to maintain a set of elongated forward fangs. “You fear them still. You are like prey in mountains.”
“They left the ‘or alive’ part off my warrant, so when they chase me it’s either run or die,” I responded, turning back to her.
Sliding forward, the tigress landed gently against the wall next to me and let out a soft, alluring sigh. “They will not come. I have more importance. Many lights will go off thanks to Keeper chase, much work with paper. It will take them many hours to come find me. By then, we will be gone, or you will be dead.”
“Dead?!” I asked, edging away from her. “What do you mean, dead?”
“Not alive. No agreement, I will kill you and look for another.” She said it so matter-of-factly, I believed she could do it.
“I guess I don’t have much choice then,” I snorted, folding my arms.
She smiled, her fangs pressing against her bottom lip. “No. But I am not heartless. I make it worth your time.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “How?”
Her shoulders hunched as she turned to face me, a finger playfully trailing against the brick and grout. “You get blood of my brothers, I give you magic. Magic not from this planet. Magic no earthers have.” Her eyes glinted as she leaned in closer. “Do this well, and I even get you what you want most.”
“And what is that?” I asked, curious.
She smiled again. “Freedom.”
“...freedom?” Miles asked. “Freedom from what?”
“I had a couple debts hanging over my head at the time,” I lied. “She promised to wipe the slate clean for me. Eliminate all my Keeper records, settle my debts, things like that. Anything that could make trouble for a thief like me.”
Miles gave in with a slight humming grunt, not trusting my words. Couldn’t blame him; I probably wouldn’t have trusted them either.
“So, she wanted blood in exchange for freedom,” Miles continued, changing the subject. He drew out the vials I gave him earlier and tipped them, watching the dark red liquid slosh around for a moment. “The question is...why?”
“Why?”
“Don’t play dumb,” he sighed, switching his eyes to me. “Did she ever tell you why she wanted the blood?”
I gave a half-hearted shrug and stood, walking back to the dash. “Something about genetics. She’s doing some sort of experiment with marwolaeth genes and needs a wide pool to draw from. To be honest, I stopped listening about five seconds into her theory.”
Half-truth. Apparently, a war had broken out on her homeland involving biological warfare. The marwolaeths had come to earth to get away from it while they worked on an antidote, but their enemies followed. Suma hoped to speed up the process by getting samples of everything marwolaeth, including mixes, hybrids and half-bloods. She told me she was developing a new genetic strain of the antidote and needed samples in order to test her formula.
Of course, she could have been lying to me. So long as she held up her end of the deal, I honestly didn’t care what she was doing with the blood samples.
“Sounds plausible,” Miles said, slipping the blood back into his pocket. “Sounds like you, anyway.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” I asked, flashing him a mischievous smile. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I pointed to the screen where Olyvia and Layla were now embracing. “So what’s their deal?”
Miles gave a one-shoulder shrug, turning back to his console. “I don’t know; I put it on mute.”
“Well play the recording,” I insisted, trying to get Miles to focus on something else.
“You’d really spy on your friends like that?” Miles asked, flipping another switch and pulling on a lever. An old set of tapes gave off a high-pitched whine as they began to wind backwards.
“They’re not my friends,” I said, tapping out a text message. “They’re my protectees.” I flashed him a smile as I finished and rested my elbows on the dash. “I’m not spying on them so much as I’m making sure they’re not planning something that’ll put them in danger.”
“Ah,” Miles said, the tape snapping as it finished. “Loopholes are a favorite pastime of our kind, aren’t they?”
“How else do you pass the time?”
Any news?
Collecting swords talk later?
Fine.