Parlour Games, Part Two

By Amy K. Nichols

This week we’re writing a round robin story. This is part two. Click here to read part one. Check back Friday for part three.

PART TWO

Tensen looked past me and her smile dropped. “Come on.”

Before I could turn to see the trouble, she’d pulled me to my feet and we were scrambling further down the alley.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sentries.”

I’d only seen a sentry once, when I was like four or five. I was walking down Capshaw Canal with my parents. A scruffy man ran through the crowds, pushing and yelling. His clothes were torn and his face panicked. My mom put her arms around me and turned me away, but I wiggled around to see. I watched the crowds move out of the sentry’s way. I saw the eye search the man out. Saw the long arms pluck him from where he crouched. The man hung like a rag in the sentry’s grip. My dad put his arm on my shoulder. Don’t worry, honey. They wouldn’t take him if he didn’t deserve it.

I choked. “How do they know?”

Tensen’s voice remained cool. “Maybe they don’t.”

We ran into the shadows, around the bend and beyond the reach of their torchlight eyes. Tensen led the way. I’d never been down this far before. The alley’s walls gave way to blackness. The pavement grew soft under my shoes. I didn’t want to know what coated the concrete.

“Wait here a  sec.” Tensen let got of my arm.

I clutched after her but my hands grasped only air. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Toughen up, Shi. I’m just going to make sure it’s safe.”

With her gone, I felt the darkness slink around me. I reached out, taking halting steps until I felt the solid safety of the wall at my back. As my eyes searched the dark, my fingers traced the mortar grooves. The chiseled sound of my fingers against the stone sent shivers through my arms and up my neck. The more I heard that sound, the more I felt my fingers against the stone, the more I wanted to dig. The more I had to dig.

I turned my back to the shadows and pressed my hands against the wall. My eyes saw nothing, but my fingers scanned the surface, felt the pockmarks and crevices. I curled my fingers and the stone gave way, crumbling into piles at my feet. Then the urge overtook me. All I wanted was my hands in and the wall down. I dug in. My breath came in gasps as I worked, my blind eyes blinking away the dust.

“Shishi? Oh my God.”

I stopped digging and turned.

Tensen stood before me, green as a glowmite, holding her arms up before her. I stumbled toward her, tripping over the piles of stone.

Every hair on her arms, every eyelash and eyebrow, every hair on her head glowed green. She looked at me and I held up my hands. Her light confirmed what I already knew. Claws. Pickaxe fingers. Forearms of steel.

24 to 48 hours, my ass.

…TO BE CONTINUED