Nine Lives of Chloe King

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Chloe said, kissing into the phone. He kissed back and she hung up.

  She drew Moby-Dick out of her bag and leaned back on her bed, slowly turning to the page where she left off.

  Okay. It’s eleven fifteen. Two good hours and I’ll be in the black.

  But her eyes soon glazed over. The fact that it was all about the fatty part of the whale called sperm didn’t even amuse her. She put her finger down to mark the page and looked out her window.

  A round, misshapen moon rose, too white to really be called a harvest moon. Amy would be so disappointed—it wouldn’t be full at Halloween but past it, already waning. Something she never would have known or noticed before becoming fully Mai. Mist or fog or smog blurred the bottom part of it and winked out the stars in the lower half of the sky.

  Brian was somewhere out there. The last missing thread of the fight. All of the other key players were accounted for.

  Chloe looked outside for another moment, then finally turned back to her book.

  Two

  She Was having that dream again.

  She knew it was a dream, but there was no way to stop what was about to happen: His arms had curlicues of ink and scar tissue spelling out the words Sodalitas Gladii Decimi. He dressed in matte black, like a shadow. His eyes were blue with something crazy in them.

  Wait, there was something familiar about that. …

  And then she ran.

  She ran into an alley, even though she knew that was the wrong thing to do. In the nightmare, it was the only thing she could do. The darkness swallowed her whole and before she could be spat out into the other end of the alley, a barbwire-topped gate loomed above her.

  His first throwing star hit her in the leg. A second caught her wrist. She fell down and he was above her, brandishing the silver dagger that would end each of her eight lives. He smiled, almost sadly, and cut her throat.

  Chloe sat up in bed, covered in sweat. “Seven lives,” she told herself aloud. “I have seven. That was my sister, not me.”

  The dreams were always about her sister, the other possible Chosen One, who had been murdered earlier that year. Once in a great while they were about her biological mother and her quest to unite all of the Eastern European Mai twenty years ago. But Chloe never had any dreams about the brother she’d been told she might have—did that mean he was still alive? Did she only relive memories of the dead at night?

  Her clock radio said 4:17. It was still dark out, and the stars shone in the coldest part of the night. Chloe got up and opened the window, letting the freezing air cool her down. There was no way she was going to be able to get back to sleep anytime soon.

  With one last glance toward her bed, Chloe leapt up to the sill and down onto the ground, disappearing into the darkness.

  Three

  “Chloe? Chloe?”

  A familiar, nagging voice was … well, nagging her into awakeness. Chloe dizzily swam toward consciousness, suddenly aware that her left arm was asleep, crushed against the desktop.

  “Maybe you really do have mono,” Paul said, kicking her chair to rouse her. “Trig is over, buddy. The good news is that Abercrombie dashed out to make a phone call.”

  “Gnnerrrrhh,” Chloe said, trying to make her mouth work.

  “What’s going on with you? Burning the midnight oil? It’s only a few weeks to catch up on.”

  “Yeah, I’m having a hard time getting a hold on this stuff. You know, like you can’t train cats to do tricks? Like that. I’m a dumb cat.” She stretched and, because no one was around, let her claws out. Paul still wasn’t entirely used to it, and his eyes widened. Lying to them again. What a great way to start over.

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re in superadvanced math. Because you’re stupid,” Paul said dryly.

  Chloe shrugged, choosing not to answer. “Kim’s going to help me out later with French.”

  “Kim can speak French?”

  “Flawlessly. It’s kind of eerie.” Of course, watching the Mai girl with the big cat ears and slit eyes and fangs do anything normal was eerie, but for some reason conjugating verbs and reading aloud from Les Liaisons Dangereuses was particularly disturbing.

  “Are you going … uh … there?” Paul asked, meaning to Firebird. She suspected that if he ever actually used the word Mai, he would whisper it, the way her grandmother said the word homosexual.

  “No, I don’t think so. We’re going to get a cup of tea or coffee,” Chloe said, shoving her notebook into her book bag and putting the pen behind her ear.

  “You don’t like going back there, do you?” Paul asked.

  He was absolutely right. When Chloe was first taken there, it seemed like such a haven—not only were they protecting her from the Tenth Blade assassins, but Alyec, Olga, and Sergei introduced her to a whole new world. They helped find out who her biological mother was. They supported her and took her in …

  … and kept her there. Everything she did, she had to do with them. She couldn’t even leave by herself “for her own protection.” It was only toward the end that she began to think of them as a cult.

  Individual members were fine, like Alyec and Kim, one of her newest, closest friends. And Igor and Valerie were harmless, even if they bought into the whole philosophy of the place.

  It was Sergei she didn’t want to think about.

  There was no proof that he’d sent members of the Mai’s warrior class, the kizekh, to kill her mom. On Chloe’s one real escape from Firebird, while they were “protecting” her from the Tenth Blade, Amy and Paul had told her that they thought something weird was going on at her house—like that her mom was never there anymore. As soon as Chloe realized her mom had been kidnapped, Kim had volunteered her particularly feline talents to search Chloe’s house for clues. The girl with the cat ears had not only sniffed out traces of humans from the Order—but also the presence of Mai. What had they been doing there? If it was just to watch and protect her mom, surely Sergei would have told her … wouldn’t he?

  Kim had darkly hinted that Chloe wasn’t the first Mai raised by humans whose human parents had “disappeared” in order for the orphan to be brought back into the fold. But even if Sergei hadn’t been planning to actually kill her mom, he also refused to rescue her from the Tenth Bladers. When Chloe finally decided to “fix” everything by offering to trade herself for her mom, both sides showed up at the Presidio—along with Kim, Alyec, Paul, and Brian—for a royal showdown that ended in Chloe losing one of her lives.

  Sergei had let out a shot, but Chloe still wasn’t sure who the bullet had been meant for. Had it been really aimed at Brian and not her mom? Could it have been meant for Chloe? Sergei had taken her in and treated her like a daughter, lecturing her, playing chess with her, eating dinner with her, and doing other dad things that she had never gotten from her real father or the adopted one who took off when she was little. And there was the whole being-the-One thing she didn’t want to deal with, either. It would effectively mean usurping Sergei’s leadership of the Mai, which wasn’t something Chloe particularly wanted to do or even talk about.

  “Yeah, I’m a little off the whole kitty-kennel thing right now,” she admitted.

  “I don’t blame you. Hey, did I tell you I’m going to audition to spin at the fall formal?” He held up some twelve-inch records and waved them excitedly.

  “You’re going to make them dig up a turntable?” Chloe asked dryly. They started toward The Lantern’s office, the school newspaper Paul sort-of worked on so he could get access to their office and computers.

  “What? No. They’re totally not that hip. I just bought these off of Justin. I’m using my iPod and a computer.”

  “Wow. That’s so old school.”

  “Piss off, King. At least we’ll get to hear some good stuff this year.”

  “Yes, but can we dance to it?”

  “I’m counting on you to help fill the floor until things pick up,” Paul said earnestly. “I even promised Amy and som
e of her gothier friends that I’d play some Switchblade Symphony and New Order in the first set.”

  “You know, you should actually write something for the paper sometime,” Chloe said as Paul unlocked the office door to The Lantern’s office. She didn’t actually work on the school newspaper herself but often took advantage of the couch and computers that her friend had access to because of his position as editor. “Put your vast musical knowledge to use. Write a ’just released’ column or something. Get some college application points.”

  “Huh.” He paused, considering it. “Sure would beat editing the crappy freshman editorials. Well, that’s why you’re the brains of the operation.”

  “Nah, just the brawn. And the claws.” Chloe shuffled in after he opened the door for her, prepared to throw her backpack onto the couch like she always did before throwing herself onto it, but she stopped herself midswing, just in time to keep from throwing the ten-pound bag onto Amy’s head. She was flipping through a copy of The Nation, her legs primly crossed, pretending not to have realized she’d surprised Chloe and Paul.

  “Hey, guys,” Amy said casually. “What’s up?”

  “Not much—how’d you get in here?” Paul didn’t sound as thrilled as he probably should have been—his girlfriend had decided to surprise him by suddenly appearing in a semiprivate room. Once Chloe left, it would probably mean a major snogging session—what gave?

  “Carson let me in.” Amy jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Somewhere in the supplies closet, someone was rummaging.

  “I can take off…,” Chloe suggested. She would have to find someplace else to nap—maybe under the bleachers at gym? The only people to find her would be janitors or dealers, and neither would show up until after school.

  “Nah, it’s okay,” Amy said, putting the magazine down.

  “Good.” Chloe heaved a sigh of relief and fell down next to Amy, immediately curling up and putting her head on one of the well-worn and slightly grimy pillows.

  Carson came out of the supply closet and glared at the three of them. “Paul, you’re an editor. You work here—you can’t just keep using this place as your private club room.”

  “Actually, I’m a columnist now,” Paul said with an evil grin.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Chloe called sleepily from the couch. “You shut up about us being here, and we won’t tell Keira that you made the hot and heavy with Halley last night.”

  Carson didn’t even try to deny it; he just huffed and spun on his heel back into the supply closet.

  “And how do we know that?” Amy asked, looking at Chloe.

  Paul pointed at his nose and made a little cat-clawing motion with his hand.

  “Oh, right. Nice work, Chlo.”

  But Chloe was already fast asleep.

  Alyec actually took her out to dinner that evening—a diner, but at least it wasn’t McDonald’s—and gossiped about the band trip. He was as bad as a girl, his eyes lighting up delightedly as he related the exploits and disasters of various hookups that had occurred. No wonder he didn’t mind the cultish aspects of Firebird: it was just one big soap opera to him.

  The lighting in the diner was dismally fluorescent and the decor was faded plastic aqua, all the way from the scratched-up bar to the bench seat Chloe’s ass was sticking to. Outside giant pane windows, the blackness was solid except for the lights of an occasional passing bus—kind of like that famous painting by Edward Hopper. It was a far cry from Firebird, with its velvet curtains and mahogany desks.

  It was the same place where Alyec, Kim, Paul, and Amy had eaten after the fight at the Presidio, wondering what was going to happen next. Chloe had gone home with her mom and had the big talk about everything she had been hiding for the past couple of months: the claws, the Mai, everything. Afterward Brian had said goodbye to Chloe through her bedroom window.

  She probably shouldn’t have been thinking about him while she was at dinner with Alyec, but it was hard not to. She nodded when it seemed appropriate and grunted at regular intervals.

  “… and then I shot flaming chickens out of my ass,” Alyec finished, biting off the end of a fry that was speared on his fork.

  “Uh, what? Sorry,” Chloe said when she realized exactly what he had said.

  “You’re not listening! They’re talking about actually having a king and queen of the formal—like out of some cheesy old movie or something.”

  “Oh. Bizarre.” She stared out the window, looking at the darkness, concentrating on not letting her eyes go slitty. She could feel the muscles tensing.

  “Is there something you want to talk about, Chloe King?” He mock-frowned when he said it, but Chloe could see the worry in his eyes.

  This was her chance to be honest, to let him know how confused she was about him and Brian, even though Brian was nowhere to be found.

  Nope. Not yet. She just couldn’t.

  “Remember when we were eating Chinese,” she said instead, “and you told me that it was hard for you sometimes to relate to normal humans and normal human life?”

  “Yes. We had chicken and ten-vegetable lo mein,” he recalled fondly.

  “How do you do it?” Chloe asked earnestly.

  He raised his eyebrows, surprised by the directness of her question.

  “I don’t know. …” He squirmed uncomfortably, like a completely normal human teenage male. A lock of thick blond hair fell into his eyes. “I have fun with everyone at school, but I’m not really that close to them, you know. They think it’s because I’m Russian or supercool or something. And …” He frowned, thinking about it. “And I’ve got my mom, and my dad when he bothers to come home, and everyone else—I grew up Mai, you know? Surrounded by them. It’s easy to be ’normal’ in the day if you can relax with others like you at night.”

  “Oh. Right,” Chloe said glumly, picturing her own mother and house in the evening. Not exactly relaxing. She suspected that if there was a book called Dealing with Your Adopted Mai Child, her mom would have already read it and decided to make sure Chloe was appreciating her native culture. Difficult when my ethnicity is a big ol’ secret and my people can—and do—take down running deer with their bare claws.

  “And … you’re different, Chloe,” he continued gently. “Even from us. You’re our spiritual leader—you have nine lives. Chloe, you died and came back to life. Twice. That makes you different from everyone.”

  Chloe began to suck noisily on her chocolate milk shake, not wanting to hear about it. There were big issues—death, the afterlife, the goddesses of the Mai, God in general—concepts of thousands of years and infinities, and she wasn’t really prepared to think about them right now. Maybe never. Dying and coming back to life was weird. And she didn’t want it to have anything to do with her current ennui at school.

  “I’m sorry,” Alyec said instantly, seeing her look. He brushed her cheek with his hand. “We don’t have to talk about this. But you asked. I think maybe readjusting to your old life is going to be … difficult, Chloe.”

  “So not the answer I wanted,” she growled.

  “Okay, how about this: If you have sex with me—like actual sex—I promise it will fix everything. Including your acne.”

  Chloe cracked up. That was what she needed right now—to laugh, even if it only put off thinking about the inevitable for a little while.

  “Wait,” she said, suddenly sobering. “What acne?”

  Four

  “ll faut que nous parlous,” Kim repeated patiently.

  “Il faut que nous parlous,” Chloe said, trying to copy the sounds exactly.

  “Better. Now can you give me all of the present subjunctive of parler?”

  They sat on the roof of Café Eland, Chloe with a latte and Kim with her green tea. While the other Mai girl was growing more and more curious about Chloe’s daily life in San Francisco proper and what “normal” teenagers did, she was still too shy to ask. It had taken a lot of pleading from Chloe—as well as personal coaching on how the buses and BART wor
ked—to get Kim to agree to meet in the city instead of at Firebird.

  “Parle, parles, parle, parlous, parliez, parlient…”

  “Parlent,” Kim corrected. Then one of her ears flicked back and for just a moment her eyes narrowed. “Your friends are here—in the café below us. They just came in.”

  “Amy and Paul? I’m not meeting them tonight,” Chloe said, intrigued. And willing to do almost anything other than conjugate verbs.

  “Perhaps they’re on a date,” Kim said mildly.

  “Maybe.” Chloe crawled over to the heating vent and put her ear up next to it. Her hearing was nowhere near as good as Kim’s, but it was still several times better than a normal human’s. It took her a moment to sort through the extraneous noise: chairs scraping against the floor, the cash register ringing, other people talking, before she was able to single out her friends.

  “Yeah, she kind of freaked when I told her.” That was Amy, settling herself into one of the big, comfy chairs. Chloe could imagine her friend tucking her long legs up underneath her, looking like a little girl in a big chair. Affected, but cute.

  “Well, it’s big news.” That was Paul, stirring even more sugar into his hot chocolate.

  “You didn’t freak out.”

  “I want whatever’s best for you.” There was a pause and some wooden-sounding noises, like someone was pushing around them to get by.

  “You up to a long-distance relationship?” Amy said this perkily, but there was something in her voice, something strained. Something testing—like this was a question on which many other things were balanced.

  Paul let out a sigh, which he tried to cover by blowing on his drink.

  “Amy, I’m not sure we’re up to a close-distance relationship,” he finally said.

  There was a long, frosty pause. Even Chloe stopped breathing.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I … We … It hasn’t been … You haven’t felt anything weird recently?”