Sandra had long fantasized about developing Sympathy. When she was a little girl, she called it something different. Magical talent. She hoped one day a Wizard would swoop into her life and carry her off to live a fantasy. As the years passed without a mysterious manifestation to whisk her from banality...
She grew taller. Her fashion sense evolved. She started learning the subtle science of autopsy. Soon that childlike dream was crowded out by other passions. But she never really forgot. It thrummed quietly in her veins. And when she was recruited for the Central Intelligence Magency, the adult world turned out to be larger and stranger than she had ever been told.
Sandra stood in a deserted orchard. Wind crooned through the canopies. Fallen apples rotted into the roots. She’d left the Blue Scene Manual back at Milo’s. Since I don’t need it.
She lifted her hand. In her time as a CIM coroner, she’d seen magents wield their Sympathies. She’d seen them beat trespassers senseless in the pursuit of rationality. She’d seen the stains. She saw them every time she closed her eyes.
“I’m allowed to do this,” she muttered. “Boss was already going to teach me. I just didn’t want to go to a compulsory boot camp to learn what I already know.”
Blood splashed from her palm. The stain spread over rotten fruit.
Under the moonlight, neon red flesh glinted. When she bent down and wiped the apple clean, its skin shone fresh once again. Good as the day it was grown. I don’t want very much, Sandra thought. Just for people to stick together. Limbs should remain on bodies. The heart should pump blood.
She started walking back to her car when someone stepped on a twig and it wasn’t her.
Sandra kept moving. Two sets of footsteps, including my own. I’m being followed.
She memorized the position of leaves as she waded through them. Moments later, two crunched again behind her. They’re closing! She whipped around and brought her palm forward to strike. If they’re innocent, I can always revitalize them later.
Her eyes widened as she slapped a chest she recognized and instinctively pulled her punch. The face attached was sallow-cheeked, with a short scruff of black hair and blue eyes that glinted in the moonlight. His mouth was memorably thin, too.
“Harold Kaster,” she said. “You were found dead. I checked your pulse in the morgue.”
He licked his lips.
“I got better, stalker. How’d you even find me?”
I needed my boss to pull some strings to let me test my Sympathy under no surveillance. She must have known you were here.
“Coincidence,” she said.
His smirk was infuriating. “You’re a hound of the CIM, aren’t you? That department grasping desperately for the right to rule a world that’s grown past them?”
Sandra frowned. “Is your mouth capable of speech or only defecation? Might as well not have a mouth at all. I know you’re responsible for the uptick in heart attacks.”
Harold’s mirthful grin vanished into a cold stare. Without a word, he materialized his Sympathy.
The arena shuddered into place around them. It was a medium-sized room with unmarked coffins shelved on every wall. The floor was slick with a thick layer of blood, but somehow both of them kept their balance more precisely than flat ground. Behind Harold, the grandfather pendulum began to tick. According to the file, that Sympathy of his has something to do with bodily rhythm. I shouldn’t breathe evenly.
Sandra took in two short breaths and exhaled one long and deep.
Harold wasn’t smiling any more. “Very good,” he said. “You’ve avoided the first pitfall easily. But can you keep up an inconsistent rhythm under the pressure of combat?”
He charged through the dark blood, fist swinging. Sandra ducked under his wild haymaker and jabbed his stomach. Harold jolted in pain and she swung again. The corners of his eyes crinkled in delight. Why’s he just letting me-
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The clock rang.
You’re kidding me! All I did was punch the same spot twice. That’s enough?
Harold doubled over, folding around her fist and stumbling backward. The sound of his yell dunked beneath a wall of grimy fuzz. Sandra’s blood slowed to a crawl. Her heart thumped in panic. Oxygen…
Sandra’s vision had gone dim and her body still. Can’t breathe. If it weren’t for the resistance to circulation damage my Sympathy provides, I might already be dead. Her eyes widened. Sympathy!
The blood showered Sandra and stained her entire upper body as a neon red mass. Her eyelids cracked open, exposing the whites of her eyes to the open air. The stain dried fast into a full-torso scab.
Sandra’s tunnel vision expanded. I can breathe. But I can’t handle another one of those.
Harold kneeled, wheezing steadily. He’s baiting me. I see his fist balled at his side, ready to uppercut. Frustrating. I have the edge in real combat experience, but I can’t fall back on any of those patterns.
Two short breaths in. One short breath out. Harold seemed to decide he couldn’t fool her and stood up. She swung as he rose.
The pendulum ticked strangely.
Why?!
Harold sped up. He narrowly flicked his head out of the way, then snapped a fist into her stomach. Oh, fuck! He’s doping! Or maybe he was slowing himself down the entire time?! She crumpled under the strike as her Sympathy’s revitalization flaked off. Two short breaths in. Two short breaths out.
I can’t move.
“I still don’t have an Anomaly,” Harold said gently as he supported her to the clock.
I REALLY CAN’T MOVE.
Sandra’s body felt so slow. Even another shot of blood wouldn’t help, she knew.
He chuckled. “You’ll do as a replacement. In fact, I think our powers are… very compatible.”
Compatible…? Sandra’s eyes widened. Of course! It’s all so simple! She barely managed to clench her limp fingers.
A bloodstain spread over her fist and it sped up beyond reason. Beyond rhythm. Her knuckles drove into his neck. It’s not just vitality. Blood is a “pulse”! If I spend it all on one body part operating separately, he won’t be able to predict its rhythm at all! Normally, you punch with the support of your whole body… but that key knowledge held me back!
Harold coughed up blood. Her boot stained red next and swung up, dragging her rattling lungs and bruised ribs along with it. My Sympathy was a hard counter to his, and I lacked the experience necessary to tell!
A feral grin spread over Sandra’s face. I just need to empower myself with a different dose of blood each time!
A rain of jabs fell on Harold. His bones shattered and he wailed in surprise as the tables turned abruptly. Piece by piece, his body was falling apart.
“Everything is being taken from me… I can’t…”
Harold moaned.
“Go to hell!” Sandra yelled in disgust. Her final blow sent ripples and splashes cascading through the blood on the ground.
Wind Milestone already?
The corpse melted into sucking red mire.
When Milo woke up, his muscles had sprouted new aches. Each limb burnt sore as he headed downstairs to study the Blue Scene Manual with his morning coffee.
Sandra was still there. Legs crossed on the couch. When she turned her face, she had deep bags under her eyes.
The Blue Scene Manual was closed on the coffee table in front of her.
“Hey Bellhop,” she muttered. “I just materialized my Sympathy a few hours ago.”
Milo scratched his head. She was here the whole time? How did I even fall asleep?
“It took me a couple days to manage that the first time,” he said. “But I took breaks.”
She smiled up at the ceiling behind him. “No worries. I’m used to all-nighters. And I know exhaustion best out of anything in the world. I was watching the staircase for you.”
Milo frowned. “Why?”
Sandra smiled. “There’s some real freaks out there, you know.” Then she collapsed backwards onto the couch.
She passed out. Milo pursed his lips. Well, maybe if I don’t give her a blanket, she’d wake up sooner to help me make breakfast.
He brought a spare sheet from the guest room and draped it over Sandra. One-armed scrambled eggs it is. Damn cast. If only there were a way to heal myself.
