James Baldwin - Stained Glass

More big words. This huge tattooed biker across from me had the vocabulary of an academic, soft-spoken and precise. “Did they have any enemies?”

“Not that we know of,” Zane said. “That’s part of the problem.”

I considered him while I ate, reluctant to let the food get cold. Every bite was ambrosia: fat and protein had been in short supply. “Lily could transform into a hyena. Female hyenas are powerful animals, perfectly capable of defending themselves if need be. I assume you can’t just… change on command?”

The other man glanced to the side, discomforted. He was struggling between duty and necessity, an expression I could read on any face. I usually had difficulty with new faces, but his broad, bony features were surprisingly easy to watch. Zane’s features were very symmetrical and his voice was very deep, characteristics that helped my eyes to focus and bring the moving parts together with less difficulty.

“Don’t tell Jenner I said anything about this, not until she gives the all clear,” he said, haltingly. “Okay?”

“Men in my line of work don’t stay out of prison by being yentes .”

Zane gave me the kind of odd look that meant he didn’t know what I’d just said, but he seemed to take it as a reassurance anyway. “Alright. Yeah, they could have changed any time they wanted. But like I said, they were only just initiated, and not that long ago. They’re sentient when they’re in Ka-Har , but a new Elder still isn’t able to control themselves the way Spotted Elk or Jenner can.”

“I see.” Frowning, I motioned for him to continue. “So they would just become regular animals?”

“We prefer to say ‘Ka-Har’ – ‘Soulform’ – but yeah.” Zane grimaced. “She turned into this barely sentient, huge, super-strong predator that eats antelope alive. They were probably worried about the kids.”

“Well, yes… but even in dire circumstances?”

“Shifting burns a lot of calories. Not that any scientist has ever studied it or anything, but I know that if you shift too many times too fast, you can starve to death… so I figure that must be what it is. The first thing you want to do is kill monsters. If there are no monsters or you were too hungry to begin with, the first thing you do is eat. If it’s bad enough, even an Elder can’t control it. You eat anything.”

Even other human beings. I finished the unspoken part of the sentence. “I see. And this is universal to all shapeshifters?”

“That I know of.” Zane shrugged his broad shoulders.

I sat back, thinking it over, but the gnawing in my belly and the ache in my body was making analysis difficult. “Alright. I’ll sleep on all of this. Ayashe will be here GOD knows when, and we have a big job tomorrow. Today.”

“I’m sure we’ll ace it.” He smiled, reserved and almost a little shy, and rose. “Come on… I’ll show you to the bunks.”

I followed him through the house, closer to the ‘front’, where it faced out onto 5th Street. A wall had been knocked down between two rooms to turn it into one large room, and they had set it up like a post-apocalyptic barracks. Bunk beds were lined up along one wall end to end. There were lockers, a TV, and a row of glass museum cases. They held old uniforms, militaria, folded flags and banners, collections of Vietnam and Gulf War patches. There was a book with photos. It had been left open down the center to a grainy colored photo of four soldiers, standing in a line with their arms looped over the shoulders of the fellow next to them. They were all young, smiling, but already haunted with the entropic shadow common to Vietnam Vets. Mason was on one end, handsome but brittle. The man in the middle of the group was much younger and much lighter, but I recognized him as Big Ron.

I moved to the next case while Zane got the bed ready. Another case held photos of a Vietnamese girl I assumed was Jenny. These photos were much poorer quality. She was wearing a hat that was too big for her, carrying a rifle that was far too heavy for her slender hands, standing between two American soldiers. She looked as square-jawed and proud in that image as she did now.

“Jenner was a child soldier?” I turned back to find Zane stripping his shirt up over his head, and immediately turned back, red-faced.

“Yeah. She’s had a pretty wild life.” His voice drifted back to me, while clothes continued to rustle and fall. I could smell him now, the sharp cologne I’d caught at the door to the club. “You should talk to her over a drink sometime. She loves to talk about all the things she got up to. Over and over and over.”

“I don’t drink.” She was almost certainly the King of Swords I had identified in Talya’s tarot reading.

“What? A Russian who doesn’t drink?”

“Ukrainian.” I forced my hand flat on the glass to stop it from fisting up. Like I’d never heard that before.

“What’s the difference between a Russian and a Ukrainian?”

I looked back sharply, expecting a punchline, but Zane’s face was open, expressive. He was genuinely curious, and fortunately, he had redressed in pajama pants and a loose shirt.

“Ukraine was annexed by Russia in a genocidal invasion soon after the 1918 Revolution,” I said, clearing my throat. “They tried to destroy our language and culture, installed a puppet government, and claimed parts of the country because the people were already Russian speakers. My blood relatives fought against both Russia and the Nazis from the time they entered to the time they left, even while we were part of the Soviet Union. Ukraine is now independent.”

“Damn.” Zane blinked. “When did the occupation leave?”

My mouth sloped to one side. “Earlier this year.”

“Right. Well, I get it now.” Zane sat on the edge of his bed. It creaked under his weight. “Must have been a rough place to grow up.”

“I didn’t grow up in Ukraine.” I shrugged. It was a land which I had never seen, but which had defined my life and Vassily’s – socially, linguistically, culturally, gastronomically – from a great and shadowy distance. “But every man I know from there swears it is the most beautiful land in the world.”

“My dad said the same thing about South Africa.” Zane regarded me with the quiet curiosity of someone who knew they shouldn’t ask a question, but who wanted to regardless.

I looked away first. “Are there any clean clothes I can borrow? What things I have are still in the Bronx.”

“Sure. Check the locker. We can pick them up tomorrow, if you need.”

Grateful he didn’t try to continue the conversation – and grateful that I didn’t have to say something curt – I went to investigate. There were some clean shorts in the locker, and a Metallica t-shirt which smelled like strange men. I could hardly bear to touch them, but they were still cleaner than my clothes.

“You know, I always figured hitmen did lines of coke off their favorite strippers for kicks.” I heard Zane roll over onto the bed. “Go gay-bashing or something.”

“Men with that kind of temperament don’t last long,” I said. “There’re plenty of them – the city chews them up and buries them. Hardly any wet workers make it past their twenties.”

“You look a bit older than that. You’re some kind of professional, then? Mafia James Bond?”

I got a towel, wrapped it around my hips, and skillfully changed while staying mostly covered. It was a skill I’d learned going to the gym, the ability to strip and dress without showing skin. “As General James Mattis once said, ‘be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.’”

“Lord help me, Alexi.” Zane groaned, and slung his arm over his face. “Turn out the damn light.”