"We'll have the doctor look at you," she said.
"Fine. Anything else I should know?"
"I think we should introduce ourselves properly," Stacy said, smiling enough to show a hint of fang. "I'm Stacy Draig, a demi-human like you. Former vice-captain of the Draig family's black ops. My likes are sweets and training; my dislikes are people who put themselves first. My dream? I already have it-my family. Rebecca?"
"Rebecca," Rebecca said, as if the name didn't need a surname because it was busy doing its job already. "Human. Likes and dislikes are private. Dream: be filthy rich." She crossed one leg over the other, shoes aligned neatly under the chair as if they'd been drilled together.
Stacy flicked her fingers toward me. "Your turn, kiddo."
"Disappointing news," I said, palms up. "I don't know who I am. Name's Kitsuna."
"Liar," Stacy said, not unkindly. "We know you're a reincarnate. Same as my daughter. That daddy's girl..." She winked. "Start over."
I sighed. The kind that deflates your shoulders. "Fine. My name was Shiro Adachi. Likes? Food, sports, weapons. Dislikes? Socializing. Introverts for the win. Dreams?" I considered the ceiling for a beat. "Don't have one."
"Shiro Adachi..." Stacy's ears tilted, listening inward. She tapped her chin with a claw-tipped nail, then snapped her fingers. "Oh! You were that class playboy. Or gangster. Or the teacher's pet-depends on who you ask. You were popular. My daughter Amari-Izumi Hitomi to you-hates you. Says you were stuck up. She grudgingly admits you were good at school and sports."
"Popular?" I echoed, because the word felt like a borrowed coat. "Could've fooled me. I wasn't exactly a people person."
Rebecca's brow arched. "Didn't Amari say Shiro was a guy?"
The air did a small, mean thing to my chest. My mood took the elevator shaft down a few floors. I didn't have to look in the mirror to know it showed on my face.
"Hey... Is it even possible to get more depressed?" Rebecca asked, genuinely puzzled, like she'd discovered a new science.
"My life's been hell," I said. "Depression is just the interest rate."
"I get that," she said with a little shrug that left the chair exactly where it was.
"What would you do," I asked, "if you woke up after seventeen years as a guy and found you were a girl?" I thumbed toward her. "Reverse it for you."
"Same as you," Stacy said, deadpan. "Depressed."
"See?" I said. "She gets it." I rolled my shoulders, winced, and made it look like I meant to do that. "Anyway. Moving on. Doctor. When?"
"He's already here," Rebecca said, standing and heading toward the door that-my brain did a double take-no longer lay in pieces across the floor. It stood where it belonged, whole, hinges shining like they were pleased with themselves.
I blinked. "...When did-wait, the door's fixed!?"
"The mansion has an auto-repair spell," Stacy said, as if she were telling me where the forks were kept. Her tail curled and uncurled, pleased by my surprise.
That tugged a little smile out of me despite myself. "That's... awesome."
Rebecca opened the fully reconstituted door with its fully reconstituted handle. "Doctor, you can come in now."
A short man with gray hair and a white lab coat walked in, and the room shrank to a point behind my ribs. The coat was too white. The smell of antiseptic rode ahead of him. His shoes made that soft tap that echoes in tiled corridors.
A light angles down. The world is all glare and shadow.
A gloved thumb presses a vein. "Good girl."
The needle enters, and the world-burn
"Aah, hello, little demon," he said, smiling in a way that showed a lot of teeth, and none of them friendly to my nervous system. "How do you feel?"
"Check me and fuck off," I said, and my body moved before my brain signed the permission slip. My hand lashed for his throat. He slipped back, surprisingly quickly. The motion threw me off balance; I clutched a pillow and whipped it at him. It spun end over end like a slow, fat shuriken.
"Eeeeh!?" He squeaked like a kettle. "The little demon is attacking me!"
He dodged the first pillow. I grabbed the second, surged to my feet, and my legs clocked out. I folded forward and kissed the floorboards with my face.
"You shouldn't move like that," Stacy sighed, already scooping me up with competent hands, setting me back on the bed as if I weighed nothing. Her ears tilted forward, listening for something only she knew to check, then eased back when she didn't hear it.
"Sorry, little demon," the doctor said-voice different now, careful around the edges. He kept his distance, which made him smarter than he looked. "I needed to assess your mental state. You seem stable overall. There will be triggers. Physically, you're in the worst condition. You need rest."
Gloves squeak on skin.
A cart rattles, metal on metal.
"Hold her." Hands on wrists. A strap tightens around an ankle. The buckle bites.
Do not cry. Do not blink. Count the breaths. Don't give them numbers to write down.
"How long before I start training?" I asked because if I didn't place my mind on a firm surface, it would slide away.
"A week, maybe more," he said. "Mostly muscle damage. Your connective tissues need recovery. Walking is acceptable. Strenuous training is not."
"That won't do," I said. A little more force than I intended, but at least it shoved the memories into a closet and held the door.
"So eager for power?" Stacy's voice went light, teasing, but her tail had stilled, which said she was watching harder than she let on.
"Do you blame me?" I asked and didn't add for wanting a lever big enough to move my own life.
She smiled in a way that had room for both teeth and warmth. Her ears angled toward me. "No. I don't. I'll help you get it-enough that your choices are yours."
"You know I might betray your kingdom, right?"
The room held its breath. Rebecca's hands didn't tighten, but I watched them anyway. The doctor pretended to check his pocket watch and checked me instead. Stacy's tail drew a lazy question mark in the air and then dropped the punctuation altogether.
"Meh," she said. "Wouldn't surprise me. Wouldn't change much."
Mask descending.
"You can scream if you want."
I don't.
I looked at her long enough to feel the urge to blink and refused to. The marks on my forearms gave a patient pulse I could almost time a breath to.
"I narrowed my eyes. "Why should I believe you?"
Download the app for greater interaction!
You can chat with me about my writing experience apart from the comments section!
TheRealSkollie
TheRealSkollie
avataravatar
RE: Chapter 4: Bones!?
"Why should I believe you?"
All three of them stared. The doctor blinked like I'd coughed in his face. Rebecca's brows went up a millimeter. Stacy's ears tilted forward, tail flicking once, a cat hearing the exact tone of a challenge it likes.
"What!?" they echoed together.
I didn't flinch. "Why shouldn't I be defensive? You were ordered to train me for the kingdom, right? I've played Asset before. Didn't like the ending."
"Don't be so defensive, kid," Rebecca cut in before Stacy could chirp something reckless. She didn't move closer, just eased a hand against the chair back like she was keeping the room upright. "She wants a daughter to pamper, not a weapon to polish. And the doctor shouldn't even be in this kingdom anymore, so don't waste your worry on him. I'm only a maid."
The doctor sniffed. "Semi-retired," he corrected under his breath, which told me Rebecca wasn't wrong.
Stacy stepped in, her tone gentled but still unapologetically bright. "We weren't ordered to do anything with you. My husband was. There's a difference." Her ears softened at the edges. "What's the point of making your life more miserable than it already was? You've lived five years of hell. It's time someone pampered you for a while."
That pushed a tiny cool breath through my ribs. I didn't let it show. "You can say anything. Anybody can lie and stab later."
"Oh, come on," Stacy whined-actually whined-then hopped once in place like her body could bounce my suspicion out of me. "Let me pamper a daughter for once. Rebecca, help me out here."
Rebecca gave her such a flat look that if it had a surface, you'd skate on it. "Tone down the hopping."
It was ridiculous. It was also funny-this grown-up cat girl with blood on her aura throwing a tantrum in a guest room. The corner of my mouth tried to misbehave.
"You already have a daughter," I said instead, one brow climbing. "Why not pamper her?"
Stacy's ears dipped. "She's a big daddy's girl and never wants to be with me."
"That's because you want to train her or drag her into something active," Rebecca said, completely unsympathetic. "Let me remind you: she isn't fond of being active.'"
I blinked. "You're... an active person?"
"Yes!" Stacy brightened like a sunlamp. "I love training and running around." Her tail made a pleased S-curve in the air. She really was an airhead. A lethal, enthusiastic airhead.
"Huh." I rolled my shoulders carefully. "In my previous life, I liked the outdoors and working out." I let her see a sliver of that. "We might get along. I'll still see if I can trust you completely."
"That's fine," she said, beaming. "I'll make you call me Mother' in no time."
"We'll see." I glanced down at my forearms. "What happened after the Duke pushed the primordial blood? I mean, I can see I got some lovely tattoos-and my vision's sharper." I flexed my fingers; the marks pulled and settled. "What did I actually survive?"
"They're not tattoos," Stacy said quietly, pointing to my arms. "They're curses."
My attention clipped back to her face. "Cute."
"Curses with benefits," Rebecca murmured, for once not entirely dry.
Stacy nodded. "I'd rather show you than explain with an audience." She turned slightly. "Rebecca, Doctor-please give us the room. I trust you both, you know I do, but this part isn't for anyone else. Rebecca, could you also ask the kitchen for food? Something warm and easy, and... a lot."
"That works for me," the doctor said, already rubbing his eyelids. "Call me in a week or more if needed." He paused in the doorway. "Preferably more."
"Go," Rebecca told him, then to me, "I'll bring up food." She didn't add if you're still in the mood to eat because she was smarter than that. She closed the door behind them, and the room exhaled.
For a moment there was just the lamp's low hum and the soft brush of fabric when Stacy crossed to me. She took both my hands, palms up, cool fingers careful over the black-and-red lines that coiled there. Up close, the markings had depth, like ink poured into the grain of wood.
"They might be curses," she said, meeting my eyes, "but for you they're blessings. Let's start with the blood. You were injected with the blood of a nine-tailed primordial fox."
My mouth went dry. A light tilted through my skull.
Bright overhead glare.
Hand turns a syringe.
"Hold her," someone says, and the strap bites.
burn
"I survived that?" I asked, voice flat on purpose. "I felt myself go."
"You did die," Stacy said simply. "But the blood recognized you. You were the rightful host, so it dragged you back. The curses are the negative effects. Your eyes changed. Your hair, too." She released my hands gently, like she was giving them back.
"My eyes and hair..." I lifted my tail forward and blinked. It was no longer completely black; instead, red threaded through near the end like ember-glow. Something warm moved along the bone when I touched the fur.
"Here," Stacy said, offering a hand mirror.
I took it and braced for the usual hit. The girl in the glass blinked back, black hair shot through with red like sparks in soot. Eyes: black sclera, red irises, pupils narrowed slightly-fox slits, but not inhuman enough to belong to a monster. Just enough to make most people forget how to breathe for a second.
I rubbed my face and felt the pressure of teeth against my lip. I opened my mouth. Two six-centimeter canines extended like a vampire's party trick. I had to admit: they looked lovely on me. "How," I said dryly, "am I getting a wife with this face? I look terrifying."
Stacy blinked. "Wife? Don't you mean husband?"
I set the mirror on my lap and met her eyes. "Hello. I was somebody before. No way in hell somebody is going to-" I snapped my fingers for a word and didn't find a polite one. "Yeah. No."
"Right, right." She tapped her lips with a claw and nodded like she was filing it next to no broccoli. "Then you're like Rebecca. She prefers women. I don't really care either way; I married your adopted father because I loved him, not his category. He won't be against it, and you aren't the heir to the house. I'm sorry if that's a problem."
"I don't care about being heir." I flipped the mirror closed. "I like my freedom. Give me a title, and I'll die of boredom before a blade finds me. So don't worry about me fighting your daughter for the family name."
Her ears perked. "Your sister will be delighted. She thinks paperwork is a disease." A flicker of pride crossed her face and was gone. "Back to the curses. Positives and negatives-you should hear them from me."
"Go on." I leaned back and found a position that didn't make my shoulders complain.
She gestured to my left arm. "Left is lightning. It makes pain ten times worse than normal." She raised a hand before I could snort. "But it also makes your growth ten times better. "You'll climb fast, whether it's based on stats, attributes, or any other measurement that some priest prefers."
I looked at the thin scars around my wrists-ghosts of buckles I didn't let my brain name. "Ten times the pain, ten times the growth. Fair trade if I'm the one choosing."
Her mouth twitched. "Right is fire. It makes your leveling crawl at a snail's pace. But skills, arts, anything learned? You'll pick them up twice as fast. If it takes someone ten years, you can do it in five. Maybe less." She glanced at my arms again, and her expression grew complicated-jealousy and pride making a little storm. "I'm... a little envious."
"A curse that's a blessing." I rolled the words around. "Balanced like a bad joke that works."
"Exactly." Her tone hardened a notch. "One thing: never tell anyone the details. The colors are obvious, but the effects are your secret. Understood?"
"Will do, ma'am," I said, giving her a lazy little salute. I hadn't planned to tell anyone anyway.
"Good." She exhaled, and a coil in her shoulders loosened. "Let's get you food before you pass out. Then sleep. Tomorrow-" her eyes brightened-"fun."
"Fun," I echoed, suspicious. "Define it later." But as we walked, I noticed something quietly traitorous in myself: the more she spoke like that-open, a little chaotic, absolutely certain about taking care of me-the less the old panic had room to crawl. I didn't trust her. But a stubborn rock can still sit in the sun.
