I look up at Vuur.
Well, crap. Vuur’s stance clearly indicates he isn’t looking for an answer. This just entices me to put him in his place, even if it means another trip to South Orange Blossom Trail to redouble up on Jane.
Jane is simmering to be let out. The old adage: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, plays a mental mantra as she sings. And although I’m not particularly fond of paid assassins and I really don’t want to go anywhere with him, even if he could help me find Gaire, a voice skewers and toasts the cockles of my vacant chest cavity and makes the call for me.
“She is not going anywhere with you, dragon.”
I know the voice. It’s my mother. Boy, I hate calling her my mother. But it’s a title I’ve learned to accept. Only two more years; can’t wait. The elders require twenty-one years of supervision—kind of a probationary stretch—and it’s totally stupid. It’s not like I’m some fairy hatchling or wolf cub. Doppelgangers are a demon conjuring mistake, and our image in size and shape is the same from birth to eternity … or until extinguished by our own kind.
No otherworld creature has yet to kill a single one of us, not even the demon that mistakenly created us, only our own kind. And the Mother title? Well, it’s doubly stupid, since doppelgangers are neither male nor female. We are who we wear.
“Show yourself, and claim rights,” Vuur says, “or your ashes will be floating alongside the sewage you are standing behind.”
Vuur’s posture is all testosterone induced ego and sublime horror. I want to laugh at the assassin. You don’t get ashes from a cloud of smoke. I bet my mother is grinding her pointy little teeth.
“Unless you want me to show you what we are made of, I suggest you back away from my daughter.”
Okay, so now she totally pisses me off. I have a demanding urge to put this to bed before Mother steps out of the shadows and shows her ugly self. I don’t think the dragon has figured out my true identity, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“I assure you, no matter what you think you are—”
Vuur swallows the rest of his sentence when I tuck myself under his arm, circle my hand around his back, push a thumb through one of his belt loops, and lay my head against his shoulder.
I smile at the darkness I know is seasoned with Mother and cut Jane’s brazen mouth loose on her. “Lady, what part of me no longer being a minor do you not understand? I’m going with him. You can’t stop me. So slither back to whatever hole you slithered out of.”
I feel Vuur’s body tense. He stretches his head around and captures my eyes with his. “I must admit, your cantankerous side can be quite amusing. However, the next time I am engaging in battle, be it verbal or physical, I will expect you to know your place. When I need your assistance, I will ask for it. Until I do, do nothing. I do not condone insubordination. Do I make myself clear?”
“’Ey, you can condone out your ass, plead your case till your balls turn blue,” Jane crudely slips deep into Brooklyn, which seems to come out every time she’s challenged, or in this case stifled, “’cause I’m not buyin’ it.” She swings her right arm over her head with a fair share of attitude and a flash of C-cup, and flips back her blonde waves with the other. “I answer to no one ’cept Smith & Wesson. Youse guys wanna mix words with them, just ask. I’ll do some intro—”
I give her a mental stab.
Back off a bit, Jane. My mother is not threatened easily, and the guy is an ego junky. You can get more by stroking it instead of stoking it.
Jane shoves back. I don’t stroke nothin’ I don’t get paid for. Hell you say, ’stroke’; I wanna douse the blowhard with lighter fuel and pull out the Zippo. Get it? And your mom? Screw that, I haven’t listened to no mother since I was ten.
I start to tell her we should always err on the side of cordiality when talking to Down Under creatures, but I’m rudely interrupted.
From the shadows, Mom says, “Well, isn’t she someone else’s nightmare? Do as you wish, dear. I can’t stop you. Just remember … They can.”
Her shadow moves. Barely discernible, it slithers toward the water running below us and disappears towards Purgatory. I immediately jump out of Vuur’s reach.
“’Ey, dog, get one thing straight.” Jane moves from the hood to the ghetto. “You may be as hot as two sewer rats gettin’ it on in grandma’s attic, but no one orders us to do nothin’ we don’t feel right doin’, sugar. We be droppin’ that shit like it’s right outta the dog’s ass.” She juts out her hip, works a little wiggle, and says, “Snap,” as she clicks her fingers and does a little head-roll thing. “Do I make myself clear?”
Vuur tilts his chin up, head cocked. “I’m not fond of that side of your temperament.”