IMMORTAL 7

1-04

"THE TOUCH THAT KILLS"

Slime mold had collected in the forgotten corners of Botu's mycogen caves. Zarich pulled up her black skirt so it wouldn't drag against the mess. Her boots slid along the stone floor, and she reached out with a gloved hand to steady herself. Her bones were fragile, and she knew it was a risk to tread on the slime.

But this was the only way to satisfy her hunger.

She pushed along the tall plastic vats of simmering fungus, keeping against the wall, where no one would see her. There was a sweet spot on the back side of the main simmering vat, where the thick plastic walls were thinner. She could pull from there.

Zarich's teeth had fallen out years ago. She used to go to doctors, but they never helped. She began to waste away at a young age. The best of Botu's medical establishment declared her to be a victim of a rare genetic error, and drew some blood. She never saw another doctor again.

As Zarich's bones withered away, and her skin wrinkled, she grew desperate. A twenty-five year old should never look this old. Death was fast approaching. She had turned to the Church, local spiritualism, and the occult. No one could help her. The Botuans were hopelessly practical, and shunned Outsider science. Botuan science and religion was the best Zarich could hope for, and they had failed her.

It was in a flurry of spiritual bankruptcy when she discovered the Pull. She was holding her pregnant cat in her lap. She reached out and felt her stomach. She could feel the kittens inside her cat. She could feel their energy... their life. She felt the larger life of her cat.

And it just happened.

She opened her eyes and found the shriveled husk of her dead cat in her lap... and an abundance of energy inside her stomach.

It kept her alive for a month.

Then she began to decay again.

Food couldn't help her. Medicine couldn't help her. Prayer couldn't help her.

The Pull could.

Since then, she made a trip to the mycogen caves every week. The fungus inside the vats was barely alive, but it was easy to pull from it without notice. People in her homecaves began to complain of the quality of mycogen coming out of the caves. It had become tasteless, stale, and low in nutrients.

Zarich pulled her gloves off, and pressed her hands against the plastic. She reached out and felt the fuzzy life force of the fungus. It was weak. She had been pulling too much from the vats. They weren't recovering.

Voices began to rise from the other side of the cave, and Zarich hugged the vat. Condensation traced chilly trails down her wrinkled cheek. Tiny alarms chirped from control panels on the other side.

Zarich looked up into the green opaque slime of the vat. Light began to penetrate the liquid. It grew more translucent the longer she stared at it. The fungus was dying off. Shadows of the technicians working the vats began to dance frantically on the wall behind her. Soon, they would be able to see her through the vat liquid. She had to move.

She pulled her hands from the plastic, and steadied her feet. She paused over the slime mold, and felt a hunger inside her. She reached down with her fingers, and dipped them into the green slime. It was stronger than the fungus in the vats. Feral. Alive.

The slime desiccated before her eyes, falling back into a brown powder. The boost gave Zarich enough energy to push against her legs, but she knew it wouldn't last long. Perhaps it would be enough to get out of the mycogen caves without breaking a bone.

She hopped behind the next vat, and slithered against the wall. As she paused behind the last vat, she felt the cold stone under her fingers. She had forgotten to put her gloves back on. Her mind was slipping. As she swore breathlessly, she pulled the gloves back on.

Frantic technicians poured from a doorway around the curve of the vat. She waited until the noise lingered primarily from the center of the cave, then poked her head around the vat. She slipped through the doorway, and into a brilliantly lit room filled with white uniforms on hangers. She stood out in the brightness, her black clothes against white jumpers.

Zarich gave the next door a tug, and plunged through. She landed squarely into the chest of a tall, burly man in white. He looked down on her, and grabbed her thin arms.

"Oh! Pardon me, madam!"

Zarich returned a chilly stare. She looked like an old woman, but she never learned how to act like one. She brushed past him, and into a darker control room.

She heard him grumble something sarcastic, then bark out a sharp, "Hey!"

She ran.

Negotiating the worktables and computer carts was easier than she expected. The energy she absorbed bolstered her fortitude.

The tall man was pursuing, but she wound through the control room quickly, and found herself in the dark thoroughfare of the homecave. She melted into the shadows as she darted past people.

Her pursuers increased in numbers, but were underestimating her speed. Her feet tread quickly through the folds of her black skirt, and she took a couple turns with grace.

As Zarich paused with her back against cold stone, catching her breath, she remembered being young. It was only a couple years ago. She used to run. She used to play sport. Now, she was reduced to sucking the life out of the slime on the walls, and trying not to break a hip.

Her pursuers overshot her, and she held her breath. Her heartbeat weakened, and she felt the floor pushing against her feet. She let her knees bend before the lancing pain of her joints stabbed into her legs. Her perspiration began to stink.

She snarled and struck her fist against the wall as hard as she dared.

Zarich had been given a hole in the wall to live in, down below the public works. Her neighbors were charity cases, as well... some physically disabled, some socially disadvantaged. It was a dark, dreary wing of her homecave, which the residents referred to as the Hall of Squalor. Rats were pervasive, and were a real threat to their food. Sometimes the public works would shut down for routine maintenance, and they would be forced to evacuate for a day. Typical Botuan compassion.

Sometimes Zarich wondered if she wasn't an Outsider, at this point. She sat alone most of the time, in her hole. She had only a few items from her parents' estate left over. They had died several years ago. When she came down with her illness, she had to pawn the valuable items to continue treatments. And when she had given up and was moved into the Hall of Squalor, repeated burglaries stripped her home down to a few pieces of tattered furniture and some straw mats on the walls.

There was almost nothing left. And now she wouldn't be able to visit the vats anymore. Zarich had lost her source of energy. She sat in the shadows of her hole, resting her head against the straw mat on the wall, wondering if it wasn't time to let go and die.

A tiny voice carried through her doorway.

"Mizz Zary?"

Zarich lifted her head, wincing at the wisps of silvery hair caught in the straw mat. She saw a young boy in the doorway.

It was Tobi.

She lifted a hand and beckoned him in.

He trotted up to her, a beaming smile on his face. He lifted up a handful of flowering weeds.

Zarich reached for the weeds, her face cracking into a grin.

"Thank you, Tobi."

She took them in her gloved hand, and squeezed his arm gently in gratitude.

He stood swinging at his hips. "Watcha doin'?"

"Thinking."

"Watcha thinkin' bout?"

"Life. Things."

He grinned and put a finger in his mouth. He was a tiny little thing. An orphan. The young woman who was supposed to be raising him was hopelessly addicted to hallucinogenic mushrooms and was prone to long trances. Zarich had warned him that if she ever got that "look", to come over and stay with her.

"Prava's gone on another trip?"

He nodded slowly, then chuckled.

She waved her hand to the mat. "Sit."

He hopped onto the mat and crossed his legs, his finger still in his mouth.

Zarich threaded the flowering weeds into a clip on the wall behind her.

"Where did you find these flowers?"

"'ponics."

She nodded. Sometimes the men working in the gardens would let children pick weeds.

Zarich thought about the gardens. Lots of plants. Lots of life. Too open, though. She would be seen before she got anywhere near the gardens. Real vegetables were reserved for the upper crust of Botuan society. Armed guards were placed outside hydroponics. Not so with the mycogen vats. Who would want to steal fungus?

Who indeed?

"Whatsa matter, Mizz Zary?"

"Hmm? Nothing, Tobi."

The sounds of the passageways quieted down for the night.

Night. It was always night inside the caves of Botu. And the nights kept getting shorter and shorter, as the demand for labor increased. Whoever decided how long night would be in Botu was shaving minutes off each year. Zarich was disgusted with her own people.

They gave up on her. She gave up on them. All that remained was for her to rot and die.

Tobi lay on the floor beside Zarich. If anyone came into her hole, they could do whatever they wanted to both of them. She lacked the energy to fight, to protect Tobi. She was no good to anyone.

Zarich closed her eyes, and felt the energy slowly leaching from her bones. It was sickening and painful.

She fell asleep at some point, and awoke in a confusion. She twisted her head with a pop. Tobi was gone. He had probably lost interest, and wandered back to Prava's, or off to find some trouble.

And she was alone, again.

She pulled a glove off of her hand, and reached up to the flowers in the clip. She squeezed them between her finger and her thumb. The weeds curled up and wilted into dry husks, and fell out of the clip onto the dirty floor.

A tear traced Zarich's cheek, and she fell asleep with her arm hanging over her mat.

A noise by her ear startled her awake, and she sucked in a breath. She could see nothing.

A large figure towered above her, dressed in black. He was wrestling with her table.

A burglar!

She moaned.

The intruder turned and kicked her in the side.

"Quiet, witch!"

She snarled at the stabbing pain in her side. She could feel her pulse in waves of pain. He broke a rib.

Zarich hissed at him. "Go to hell!"

He reared back again to deliver another kick towards her face.

She lifted an arm to block his blow. She felt the leather of his boot in the palm of her hand. Her glove...

She had forgotten to put it back on.

Without thinking, she slid her hand along the boot as it landed underneath her chin. Her head snapped back, and she grabbed his ankle.

Bare skin.

Zarich didn't feel pain as her head slammed into the stone wall. She felt a warmth wash through her arm, centering in her abdomen. The intruder made gurgling sounds, and fell backward.

She pulled her arm away. The stabbing in her side stopped. She drew in a breath... a strong breath.

The intruder pawed at his throat and flailed his legs.

Zarich stood up, staring at him. She spit in his face.

"Quiet, asshole!"

She reached down for his neck, and wrapped her fingers around it. His eyes widened as his mouth drew agape.

Zarich closed her eyes, and felt the warmth. It filled every corner of her body. It was totally different from the plants and fungus she had pulled in the past. This was far more vital. It was the amplified life of a consumer. She could feel a twinge between her legs. A thrill fluttered into her thighs.

The intruder twisted under her hand as his body bucked uncontrollably. She grabbed the back of his neck, sinking her fingers into his skin.

Waves of pleasure washed up through her spine and into her breasts. Her skin felt electric. She dropped to her knees, as her hips began to convulse with the throes of orgasm. She gritted her teeth, and sucked in harsh breaths, trying not to make any noise.

Then, the warmth stopped flowing into her fingers. It swirled and circled inside her womb. Her legs quivered in minor aftershocks. She drew in easy breaths. Her bosom heaved in and out. She felt different. Stronger.

Younger.

She opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she saw was the cleavage that now filled the V-neck of her gown. She hadn't seen that for years!

She looked at her hands. They were still thin, but the skin was tighter, and evenly toned.

Instinctively, she ran her fingers over her face. She could still feel wrinkles, but far less than before. The old numb spots on her face now felt her fingers as they ran across her skin.

Zarich pushed against the floor, and stood up. No pain. Just a weightless feeling deep inside of her.

The room filled with the smell of rot. She looked down on the intruder. She kicked his body over with the toe of her boot. It sailed up and over effortlessly. There was very little left. Brown, dried skin clinged tightly to a skull. Blackened teeth peered out from behind lips that had pulled back sickly to the bone.

She knew this was trouble.

She had taken a life. She didn't feel ashamed of it, but she knew that she would have to do something with the body.

Zarich reached down into her sheets and found her black scarf and her other glove. She bundled up the way she did when it was especially cold in the caves. She peered out into the passageway. It was dark, and no one was around. Looking up, she saw the huge iron pipes of the public works.

Perfect.

She turned back to the corpse, and folded it neatly in half. There was little resistance... just bone and skin.

She hoisted it over her shoulder like a satchel, and forced herself into a hobble. She tread carefully but quickly past the open doorways to the adjacent holes. Everyone appeared to be asleep, passed out, or dead. She climbed the metal steps to the pipework. Once, she had to coax Tobi from the pipework, and knew how to get up and down.

As she cleared the top landing of the metal steps, she paused. A tiny pair of eyes was watching her.

"Watcha doin', Mizz Zary?"

Zarich gritted her teeth.

Teeth!

Her teeth had grown back! She bit down on them a couple times, incredulous.

"Mizz Zary?"

"Go... go on home, Tobi."

Tobi jumped at the sound of her voice, as did Zarich. It wasn't the sandpaper crackle of an old crone. Her "T" came out as a clear consonant. It sounded like a rifle shot.

"Go on..."

Tobi backed away, then slid past her down the steps. He looked scared.

This was going to be difficult to explain. But first, the body.

Zarich wound through the scaffolding and pipes. They would lead to the public works. All of the sewage emptied into cisterns deep underground. Not even bone could withstand the wash of enzymes and bacteria that broke the sewage down into recyclable compounds. Zarich used to tease her little sister about children getting sucked into toilets, and never being heard from again.

Her little sister, Isa. So long ago!

The smell of the sewage sloughs hit her in the face like a wall. She pulled at her scarf to tighten it. There were no technicians. She wasn't sure how many people were required to maintain the sewers, or if they even required attention at all hours. Maybe she was lucky.

She ventured up a small flight of rusted steps to a wide deck of metal grating. The giant iron pipes pulled down from the upper caves and took an elbow directly beneath her feet. Where the pipes were horizontal, large openings made the sloughs of sewage visible.

She hustled to one of these openings, and dropped the body into it. The current of viscous waste carried it off and out of sight quickly.

She was safe.

No one would ever find his remains. Never. Now, all she had to do was explain her new appearance.

She wanted to find a mirror. She wanted to see her face. The energy inside her abdomen remained strong. It was sticking longer than the energy she pulled from plant life. The last time she had pulled animal life was that first time, when she killed her cat. The energy from that little animal sustained her for a month!

This time, it wasn't just animal life... it was human life. How long would this stay with her? Several months? A year? It was strong enough to reverse her disease!

Zarich reached out and grabbed a pipe as she trembled. She was in shock. What frightened her wasn't the fact that she had killed, but that she felt no shame.

But why should she? He was taking the last possessions of an old woman. He kicked her, and was about to kill her. Her life meant nothing to him, so why should his life mean anything to her?

But it did mean something. It meant youth.

The smell began to turn her stomach. She moved back for the steps, and descended quickly and surely.

When she reached the Hall of Squalor, she heard voices. She froze in the shadows.

Two men in black stood at the doorway to her hole, peering inside, making frustrated gestures. They were even larger than the last.

One of the men with a bushy moustache pointed into the shadows at Zarich.

"It's her!"

His crony turned and peered at her. "Where is he?"

She made fists and walked towards them, pulling the scarf away from her face.

"Witch! Where is... oh."

"It's not her."

She paused in front of them. "Who are you looking for?"

"Get lost, woman! This is none of your business!"

She glared at him.

The man with the moustache bent down and jabbed a finger into her shoulder. "None... of your... business."

She reached up and bit down on the tips of her gloves, sliding her hands out. She took a glove in each hand.

"You made it my business."

She tossed a glove at each of them. They threw a hand up to catch them. With a snarl, Zarich lunged forward, and wrapped a hand around the men's throats.

Their legs buckled, and they hit the floor. Instantly, she was hit by the life force of both men. She let out a yelp involuntarily. The men gurgled and flailed on the ground.

People began to stir in nearby holes. Zarich looked back at lamps being lit. This was too much. Too public.

She pulled her hands away, and stood up. The men threw their hands to their mouths, struggling for air. The man with the moustache now had a streak of white in his whiskers.

A man popped his head from a neighboring hole. "What's going on?"

Zarich returned a challenging stare. "They attacked me. I'm ok." She turned to the other faces peering from their doorways. "I'm all right. Go back to sleep."

Most of the faces returned to their holes, but the man stepped forward, staring at the assailants.

"What the hell happened to them?"

"Don't know. Lucky shot. I'm ok."

He reached up to touch her arm, but she pulled it away. He leaned forward to look into her face. "Zarich? Is that you?"

She began to plod away. "Don't bother helping them."

She continued down the passageway until she reached the thoroughfare. The stony ceiling climbed higher in the main arteries, like an air duct. The wind picked up at the mouth of the Hall of Squalor, kicking her skirt up in furls. Zarich turned randomly into the thoroughfare, and kept walking.

She didn't know where she was going. She was just walking. Escaping. Exploring.

Her knees didn't hurt. Her bones felt strong. Her breath was regular and deep. She stood erect, not hunched over. She could still feel the afterglow of her orgasm. It rang up and down her spine, crawled all along her skin. It felt like a drug.

As she joined a light foot traffic of late night pedestrians, she realized what she was looking for.

A mirror.

The public bathhouse was open all hours, for those whose jobs required what the Botuan aristocracy referred to as "unnatural circadian rhythms." There were only three women huddled together at the far end of the rough-hewn stone pool.

Zarich crept into the entrance to the pool room, and ducked back into the changing room. She had bad memories of the bathhouse. No one wanted to bathe with a filthy, decrepit old woman. She had to resort to sponging herself off in a thrown-out piece of a washing machine.

Zarich pawed at the walls for a light switch. The room eased into a soft bluish-white glow. There were white robes hanging from rods, and a large array of bins for clothing.

And on the side wall, was a full-length mirror.

Zarich turned slowly, and stared at her reflection.

Her jaw dropped.

She looked like a woman of forty! The skin of her face was a flesh tone, again, and the wrinkles had receded to crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. And her eyes... they were clear light blue.

However, her hair was still a silver-white mess.

She traced her fingers along her reflection, still in disbelief.

With slow, cautious motions, Zarich untied her blouse and slipped her arms through the sleeves. After she had neatly folded the dusty black garment and slipped it into a niche, she admired herself in the mirror. Her breasts had filled in, but were still not what they were at twenty-three. With a tug at her waistknot, her skirt fell to the floor in a dusty cloud. She kicked off her skirt and slid out of her leggings, folding and stashing them with her blouse.

Zarich appeared out of the changing room in a white robe. She padded along the granite stones to the pool. The three women looked up at her with indifference. When she disrobed and slid into the steaming water, the other women returned polite expressions, and resumed their conversation.

The warm water caressed her skin, and she leaned her head back against the stone ledge, watching the steam rise. Water soaked into her skin, and she relaxed enough to close her eyes.

It had been such a long time since she bathed.

She thought about the past. Her family.

She wondered what had become of her sister, Isa. It was two years since she was exiled to the sewers, but it felt like two lifetimes. Perhaps things would change, now. If there was a way to reverse the disease, then she may be able to see Isa again, without bringing her pain.

Warmth spread over her legs and her stomach. It increased in energy. It became electric, and washed into her skin.

She opened her eyes.

The three women were pulling themselves up out of the water, heaving for air. Zarich looked down at her hands in the water. The surface of the water seemed to ripple. It grew glassy again as the last of the women rolled out of the water and onto the stone. They remained there, catching their breaths.

Zarich dropped her face, and stared at the water as they hobbled by, muttering self-chastisements for being overheated. They disappeared momentarily into the changing room, then reappeared in their clothes and left.

And Zarich was alone again. Alone with the Pull. Alone, and charged with the life forces of several people. She felt like she could stay up for several nights straight.

She slid her feet along the smooth granite basin, and let her head slip underwater. Her hair surrounded her in a white cloud. It was very long, and she had long since stopped attempting to brush out the knots. But it all hung around her in single, delicate strands. It glistened.

Zarich pushed off the bottom, and let herself slip through the water. She didn't think she could ever feel this free again.

In the changing room, she spent several minutes running a wide-toothed comb through her silvery hair. As it dried, it lay silken... no longer the tangled mess. Why had it not turned back to its original vibrant green?

She touched her reflection in the mirror again. She smiled. She liked the white hair... it reminded her where she had been, and where she was destined to go, eventually.

Zarich beat as much dust from her skirt and blouse as she could, and threw her old leggings into the refuse container.

As she plunged into the main thoroughfare, she had one thought on her mind.

Isa.

It was easier than one might expect to gain access to the higher-class caves in Botu. Without the lower classes to clean their homes or cook their meals, the upper classes would actually have to work.

Zarich found a mob of housekeepers flooding towards the lifts. All she had to do was throw a few towels over her arm, pull her hair back, and melt into the crowd. During the shift change, the sheer volume of hired help changing levels made it impossible to screen for class. Zarich shuffled into one of the lifts with two dozen other women in multi-colored robes, and folded her hands into her sleeves to keep from touching someone.

The lift lurched upward, and the air grew quickly stagnant. Zarich was close to the way she looked when she left home. If only she could add just a little more youth... just one more pull, then she would present herself to her parents without too much shock.

No more pulls!

Especially in a public lift.

The lift disgorged its riders onto three levels of the upper class caves. Zarich flowed with the servants into the neatly quarried and decorated stone walls of her youth. It had been two years since she had breathed the clean and scented air of the upper levels. Two years since she ran her fingers along the smooth, shiny granite walls. Two years since she reclined on cushions, bathed in private baths, dined on food she could trust. A smile covered her newly young face. She watched it in the reflection of the granite walls as she strode with the servant women. She snickered as she realized that she looked younger than any of them.

Her chuckle bubbled forth from her chest, and she caught her composure. She was acting like a drunkard.

The hallway emptied into a huge open space, the largest in Botu. This was where the presentable residents of the caves gathered to do business, sip imported coffee, discuss the inanities of their lives while taking for granted that the residents from the undercaves were making their lifestyle possible. She stared into the eyes of businessmen and women as she passed them. Only when she approached an law enforcement officer did she cast her gaze back down. These were the ones who had banished her. They had separated her from Isa.

She wanted them all to know what the last two years of her life were like. She wanted them all to pay.

With gloved fists clenched, she found her way to the avenue that led to her home. For brief instances, waves of nostalgia overcame her, and she lapsed back to happier days, when she would be returning from school, or from work. She could almost hear her parents' voices droning over the din within the avenue. Her stomach was filled with butterflies as she found the door to what was once her home.

Would Isa recognize her? Zarich wondered if she had pulled enough to bring her face back to some kind of resemblance of her former self. And if Isa didn't recognize her, what would she do? Could she handle rejection from her sister? Could she endure it? Could she be banished once again?

Zarich paused at the door, her gloved hand resting lightly on the doorknob.

She sucked in a deep and healthy breath, then tried the door.

It was locked.

Zarich pounded her fist against the door. Her emotions were raging relentlessly, as nausea filled her stomach. "Isa! Isa! Open the door! Please!"

Some of the servants down the hallway screwed curious glances in her direction as they entered the domiciles of their employers.

"Please? Isa? Please be here. Please..."

Zarich rested her forehead against the door as deep sobs racked her slight frame.

"Isa," she whispered, as her knees failed her.

A high-pitched voice called out down the hallway, "Oh, dear! I'm sorry!"

Zarich spied a glance through her silver-white hair at a middle-aged woman sprinting down the hallway with an armful of packages.

"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't realize Hume had called the agency."

Zarich discreetly wiped her face and picked herself up to face the woman, who was fishing keys out of her jacket pocket.

"Here, be a dear, would you?" she muttered to Zarich as she handed over half of the packages.

Zarich stood in disbelief as the woman pawed at the lock. When the door finally opened, she mumbled, "I am so embarrassed, he should have warned me, or I'd have the place ready for you."

The woman dropped her packages onto a sofa.

"You can leave those there for now. Follow me."

Zarich paused at the door, looking into the darkened space where she grew up with her family. With a sigh, she followed the woman in.

The entire domicile had been redecorated. New furniture filled the spaces. New rugs lay on the stone floors. It even smelled different than she remembered.

Zarich lay the packages down beside the others, and wandered cautiously into this new yet familiar house.

"This way, don't be nervous."

Zarich followed the woman into the back where the bedrooms were. She passed her old bedroom, and sucked in a breath as she saw office furniture and antique lamps and bookcases.

The woman plowed headfirst through the door to her parents' room.

"Ok, this is the master. Every morning, turn the bed and clean thoroughly. This is the most important room, as far as I'm concerned. My husband, Hume, is away for weeks at a time, and I spend most of my time here or in my study."

She led Zarich to her old bedroom. "This is the study. Please do not interfere with any loose paperwork you may see, and please do not open the desk drawers. Only empty the trash and dust frequently. And the chair is genuine leather, so it will need oil, as will the furniture in the living room."

Room by room, this woman led Zarich on a tour of her old home, blathering away her instructions. When she finished, she put out a hand to shake.

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Kendra. And you are?"

Zarich stared into the woman's eyes, and pulled off a glove.

"Home."

She gripped the woman's hand tightly, as her eyes flared in panic. She clutched at Zarich's arm, but it wasn't long before her strength was leeched from her. Zarich dropped down over the woman as the warmth from the Pull filled her stomach, swirling about her womb. As she straddled the choking woman, she felt the tingle between her legs. Zarich reached and gripped the woman's neck, bucking with spasms of ecstasy.

Euphoria filled Zarich's brain, and she slumped off of the corpse of this intruder into her childhood home.

And Zarich closed her eyes, her chest heaving, her body filling with vital energy. She dozed off, drifting in waves of pleasure.

The room was filled with a stench when Zarich awoke. The dried up bundle of bones wrapped in brown skin still lay beside her on the floor. Zarich pushed it away with disgust, and pulled herself up onto her feet. She stumbled through the stranger's domicile until she found a washroom.

She ran cold water in the basin, and splashed her face clean. Her hands were smooth against her cheeks. Her cheeks were smooth. Everything felt soft and supple. Zarich grabbed a towel and patted her face dry. When she looked into the mirror, she gasped.

She was looking at the face of a fourteen-year-old!

"Gods!"

She stumbled backward, and looked down at her body. Her limbs were foreshortened, and her body didn't respond to the signals her brain was giving it. With clumsy strides, she scurried into what was her bedroom. It was an instinct, and she shook her head as she entered the office. She slumped into the chair, and let it spin, as she balled her hands against her throat.

Too much. The Pull had taken too much. It wasn't reversing the disease... the Pull was the disease. It was taking the life out of others, and making her younger. Without it, she would age quicker.

So this was the way her life was doomed to be. A constant balancing act of death and life. How long would this go on? Indefinitely? If she used the Pull, would she ever die of old age? How many would she have to kill to keep herself young? How often would she have to do it?

Zarich rested her elbows on the desk, and stared.

On top of the stack of papers lay an itinerary for the husband of the household. He would be gone for three weeks.

Zarich had three weeks to decide what to do with herself. Three weeks in her old home, alone, to ponder her fate.

She had three weeks to find Isa.

Water cascaded down the waterfall sculpture in front of the hospital. A fine mist wafted from the waterfall, and drifted across the heads of Botuans flowing in and out of the front doors.

Zarich reclined on the ledge of the pool, dipping a bare hand into the water, feeling its cold swirl around and through her fingers. Her streaming silver-white hair spilled from the ledge, the only physical distinction now between the Zarich that lived before the Pull took her, and the Zarich that watched impatiently as workers changed shifts in the hospital.

Zarich sat up as a young, vibrant woman emerged from the hospital, her green hair pulled back in a tight bun. Zarich waited until the young nurse passed by, then hopped to her able feet, and wove herself into the foot traffic behind.

The nurse ambled through the commons and into a bookstore. Zarich followed her inside, watching her from an aisle away. She watched as the nurse fingered the spines of books, reading back covers, pulling and replacing. She watched her buy the books, and sling them into a bag as she plunged into the foot traffic once more.

An hour of slow chase, remaining within the organism of the crowd, and Zarich finally paused as the nurse unlocked the door to her domicile.

Zarich leaned against the granite walls and waited again.

Three days. Only three days left until the man named Hume returned from wherever the hell he was, and found his wife was missing. Three days Zarich had left until she was once again banished from her home.

This would be the fifth Isa she followed. She had no idea if her sister had married, taken a new name, or changed it outright. She had no idea if her sister was, indeed, still alive. Not until she got close enough to speak to these women, would she know if she had found her sister, or was following an anonymous namesake.

Zarich slid down the wall, waiting for the traffic in the hall to subside. It might take some time, but eventually, rush hour would end, and Zarich might steal a minute of solitude in the hallway.

She waited for nearly two full hours before the foot traffic slaked to a trickle. Gathering herself up, she kept a sharp eye on the hallway. Three pedestrians. One pedestrian.

And then her moment came.

With a burst of speed, she leaned forward and rapped on the door. She pressed her gloved hands against the granite, trying to make them stop shaking. She didn't know if it was her nerves, or if she was having withdrawal from the Pull. She had not taken more lifeforce since she killed the woman named Kendra. And in two weeks, her body had aged ten years.

It was good timing. She was twenty-three when she last saw Isa. If her sister opened the door, she would see Zarich exactly as she had left her... only with silver-white hair.

If she would answer the door.

Zarich waited, looking over her shoulder. A scene would not be good. Her name was out, now, thanks to her former neighbors in the Hall of Squalor. The name Zarich was tied to three murders, and she was trying to stay low.

The doorknob rustled, and the bolt inside threw open. The door opened a crack.

And from the darkness behind the opening door, Zarich saw the tired face of her little sister.

"Isa?"

Isa squinted at Zarich.

"What do you want?"

"Isa. It's me."

She stared at Zarich, tilting her head.

"Zarich?"

"Yes!"

Zarich wilted a little, feeling a smile stretch across her face.

"Zarich? It's you? Really you?"

"Yes, Isa. It's me."

Isa stepped back and opened the door to Zarich.

"Come inside."

Zarich poured through the door, careful not to touch her sister.

Isa closed the door behind her, and stepped towards Zarich.

"Where have you been?" she asked with a timid voice.

"Below. Trying to survive. But I made it. I made it back to you!"

Zarich yearned to reach out for her little sister and hold her, but knew better. She couldn't endanger her life.

"So, you're cured?"

Zarich looked at Isa. Isa was standing well away from Zarich, her arms folded in front of her. She was not smiling. She wasn't even looking her in the eye.

"It cured itself. Isa, what's wrong?"

Isa turned to the kitchen.

"Hungry? I can make us something to eat."

"Isa!" Zarich brushed forward. "Look at me! It's me, Zarich."

Isa turned and glared hard at Zarich.

"Yes. I know who you are."

"What's wrong with you?"

Isa turned to the pantry and began to pull out ingredients. She threw together a batter as she spoke.

"You're alive. I knew it. They told me you had died in the hospital, but I didn't believe them. I didn't think you could."

"No, I survived."

"Yes, I figured you might. I figured you wouldn't die on their account."

Zarich leaned over the counter. "Who? What are you talking about?"

"Mom and dad."

Zarich pursed her lips.

"What about them?"

"I saw you, Zarich. I saw what you did. I saw how they died."

"What? Isa, I..."

Zarich's voice trailed off as she remembered.

Isa began to beat the batter with a whisk, and turned back to her sister.

"I remember how you screamed when they brought you back home from the hospital. I remember how they wept when the doctors told them you wouldn't survive. I remember when they started to sell things. My things. To try to keep you alive. I remember, Zarich."

"Isa..."

Isa shouted, "Shut up! I saw you! I saw when they came to you! You were moaning in your sleep. They woke up and came to your bed. I saw how you grabbed them."

Isa dropped the bowl as her arms trembled, sending batter spreading across the floor.

"I remember how they choked to death, grabbing their throats, reaching out for you. I knew it was you. I knew you killed them."

Zarich stood upright. "No."

Her lip trembled.

"No, I... No. I didn't do it."

"And then you got better. A miracle. And they gave you control of everything. And you got sick again! And you sold everything! Everything! You left me nothing! And when they came for you, I was an orphan, and a beggar, and I had nothing left... all because of you!"

Zarich felt tears fall from her eyes.

"No... I didn't. I didn't know. It was an accident. I swear, it was an accident!"

"Sure. And those people you killed down below? When I read in the paper that they were looking for an old woman named Zarich, suspected for murdering three people, I knew it had to be you. I knew you sucked them dry, just like mom and dad."

Zarich felt a knot in her stomach.

She backed away from the counter, and towards the door.

"Isa? What did you do?"

Isa's eyes were alive with rage.

"The only thing I can do. End it. I'm ending it, Zarich."

Zarich turned and threw open the door.

Outside the door was a line of officers, clad in riot gear, holding batons.

The door behind Zarich slammed shot, and she heard the bolt throw closed.

She reached behind her and grabbed the wall as the officers inched forward.

Zarich closed her eyes.

The first blow caught her by surprise. It was more painful than she imagined. But as more baton blows rained down on her, she grew numb to it.

Numb. Dark.

Alone again.

Zarich woke up with a pain in her head. Her left eye was swollen shut, and she could taste blood in her mouth.

She waited to grow accustomed to the light, but couldn't. It was blinding.

Her skin was hot. Dry.

What was this place.

She coughed up some blood, and as she opened her mouth, she tasted dust.

Her hair fell over her eyes, and at last, she could see something.

The ground.

Not stone... dirt. Dust. The broken and arid surface of Botu.

Zarich sobbed deeply. They had banished her again. But this time, they banished her to the surface... a fate no Botuan could survive alone.

Zarich lay down, and wept. It was time to die. She knew it. All that ever was for her was gone, now.

And her search for the past only revealed the pain she had been spared the last two years. The pain of knowing she had killed her own parents.

Death would be a sweet and welcome sleep, now.

Zarich fell in and out of consciousness. Eventually, the sun of Botu set, and frigid cold wind began to pull at her skirt and her hair. Dust drove into her face. She just lay there, trying to die, not knowing how.

A dull throbbing noise leeched through the howl of the wind. Zarich could feel a new wave of heat against her, as she sat up.

Huge plumes of blue flame hovered above her, as a dark object occluded the sky. The massive object settled down onto the surface not far from her, and a door opened.

Zarich scrambled backwards in panic as a tall, dark man strode out from his ship.

This man's skin was very dark. His eyes pierced out through the dark skin, searching her. His head was bald and shined in the setting sunlight. His cape flew behind him majestically. His shoulders were wide, and his arms seemed powerful.

With a deep, booming voice, he called out, "Are you known as Zarich?"

She cleared her throat and called out, "I am."

"Then come with me."

The figure turned back to the ship, and waited by the doorway.

Zarich fidgeted with her hair for a moment, sizing him up. His face was even and blank. His posture was straight and non-threatening.

And she had nowhere else to go.

With great labor, she picked herself up out of the dust, and stumbled towards him. When she reached the doorway, the man offered her his hand. She jerked away from him.

"Don't touch me."

"I'm here to help you. My name is Indra. I've come to take you away from here, Zarich."

"Still. Don't touch me. It could kill you."

Indra stepped forward with a snicker. "Then the visions are true."

"What visions?"

Indra gestured inside. "Come with me, Zarich, and I will tell you all."

Zarich paused, then continued into Indra's ship.

The ship lifted off of Botu, and sent dust flying in a gale, bearing Zarich up into the night sky.