Ann Aguirre: Mortal Danger

God, I had to be out of my damn mind. Hey, coma dream, how you doing? Let’s see where this takes you. But on the off chance it was real, I whispered, “Stop. Make it stop.”

Another shift, and we were back at Cuppa Joe. My hands felt like chips of ice. His, still wrapped around mine, radiated the same heat I’d noticed when he touched my shoulder. I glanced around wildly, wondering if anyone had noticed. The other patrons showed no signs that anything was wrong, but people didn’t do that. Vanish and materialize, like somebody was beaming us in a transporter.

But maybe that was key. People didn’t. Kian had called me an exceptional human, implying he wasn’t. I’d been full of breezy skepticism before; it died on that mountaintop. I drew my hand away, took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart.

“How come nobody even blinked? That was some straight-up Star Trek stuff.”

“This is our place,” he said. “Company owned. I can’t tell you more right now.”

“Well, that jaunt registers pretty high on the she’ll-take-me-seriously meter.”

“I don’t usually have to resort to it this early in the conversation,” he admitted.

My milk shake was still sitting on the table, melting into baby-pink goop. “Sorry I cut you off. You said something about extremis?”

He nodded. “That’s when a human is about to die.”

Oddly, that cheered me. “So I was going to succeed.”

Kian didn’t seem so pleased. “Yes. In a sense, you’re already gone, Edie. If your fate wasn’t currently in limbo, I wouldn’t be permitted to talk to you. There’s a pivotal moment just before death, when bargains can be made. I’m authorized to offer you three favors now in return for three favors later.”

“I don’t understand. What kind of … favors?”

“Anything you want,” he said.

“ Anything? ” By my tone, it had to be obvious I meant things bigger and more impossible than tickets to Tahiti.

“My ability to change your life is limited only by your imagination.”

“But then you can ask me for anything,” I pointed out. “Three times. What if it’s not something I can deliver?”

“The favors requested in return will always be within your power to grant. That’s the way it works.”

“But there are no parameters of what you might ask … or when. It might be terrible. Or illegal.” Too well, I remembered “The Monkey’s Paw,” the burden of being a reader. Somebody who spent less time lost in books might’ve already signed on the dotted line.

“You were ready to throw your life away,” Kian said. “But are you brave enough to change it?”

“You never answered me. What are you?”

“How would that help you decide? If I’m a demon, I’m unlikely to admit it, so I could say anything. How would you know if I’m telling the truth?”

He had me there. I scowled and sipped my shake, the possible dangers and consequences banging around my head. Since I’d accepted I didn’t have a future, it seemed less scary to consider everything that could go wrong down the line. If my life imploded twenty years later when the bill came due, wouldn’t it be worth it to be happy first? It had been so long since I laughed that I couldn’t remember what it felt like to walk around without this awful weight in my chest.

“In a theoretical sense, say I agree to your deal. Is there a time limit on when I have to use my favors?”

Appreciation sparked in his gaze. Kian inclined his head. “The first must be used within a year. The rest within five.”

“To prevent people from getting what they want with the first, then sitting on the others until they die, thus blocking you from asking anything in return.”

“Exactly. The return favors may be collected anytime after completion of our side of the bargain.”

“So repayment could be due anytime. Talk about living under the hammer.”

“Some people feel the way. Others live in the moment and don’t worry about what might come.”

I jammed the straw deep into my glass, chewing my bottom lip. “This sounds pretty diabolical. I hope you know that.”

“I’m aware.” Sorrow threaded his tone, making me wonder what could make someone like him sad.

“Can you tell me anything about the people you work for?”

“At the moment, no.”

I’d like to glean some more information before making a decision, but his response implied he could only answer questions after I agreed to the terms. That seemed shady; it couldn’t be good if my benefactors preferred to hide in the shadows. One thing could be said of this situation; curiosity had supplanted despair as my dominant emotion.

“You said you come to exceptional humans. Why me?” I was brainy, but not the kind of smart that cured cancer.

“If I told you why we want to save you, it could screw up your timeline.”

“You mean if I learn that I solve cold fusion, then I might not. I might decide to breed rabbits instead.”

“You hate rabbits,” Kian said gently.

“Yeah.” I did—since one bit me in the fourth grade—but how weird that he knew.

“The deal is on the table. Choose, Edie.”

From here, I sensed it was up to me. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“It comes down to a leap then, either way. You can put me back on the bridge … only this time you don’t stop me. Will it be like we never came here or went to the mountain?”

“Yes.”

I smiled. For someone like me, there could be only one reply.

“I’m in. Obviously my life sucks. If it didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

Kian smiled, a soft breath of relief escaping him, like he truly cared, and he was glad he didn’t have to dump me back on the bridge. More likely, he worked on commission. Life had made me cynical, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He reached into his pocket and drew out a shining silver coin. At first glance, it could’ve been a quarter; it was around the same size. But there was a symbol I couldn’t identify engraved on one side; more similar to a kanji than any Western language I’d seen, yet I didn’t think it was Japanese. Kian flipped it over, revealing an infinity sign on the back.

“Let me have your wrist.”

“Why?”

“Accepting the mark formalizes the agreement.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Yes. But it’s quick.”

I appreciated his honesty. A deep breath escaped me as I pushed my right hand toward him. His fingers were warm and sure, exposing my palm, then he slid back my sleeve. As promised, it burned like fire when the metal touched my flesh. A glimmer of light shimmered—almost like a photocopier—and an intense prickle-pain worked beneath my skin. He pressed the coin even tighter to my flesh, until I almost couldn’t bear it. I bit my lower lip, blinking hard against rising tears. Just when I thought I’d scream, the sensation eased off.

“Done?” he asked, watching my face.

“You’re asking me?”

“When it stops hurting, I can pull the token away.”

“It just feels like metal now.”

With a relieved look, he removed it and I studied the mark on my arm. My parents would freak if they saw it since it resembled a tattoo. Oddly, there was no residual pain, and the skin didn’t look red or irritated, as I’d seen on people who came to school with new ink.

“There’s no special care required,” Kian told me. “But I’m afraid we’re not finished. I need your other arm.”

“The other symbol?” I guessed.

He nodded. “The infinity sign signifies your agreement to the deal. You need the other mark to identify your affiliation.”