#label his parts in Latin and keep him on shelf

[ecle-c-tic]

"i'm good for nothing but books and walking"

same here girl. same here.

[earamis]

Crescente, cum Dilectione

“You were bound to Hojo as a protege and mentor. He had trusted you with various responsibilities, some were praiseworthy, some better kept hidden. It was a mutual kind of dependence that benefited both parties. One day the professor granted you access to a whole new part of The Shinra Tower. There laid an unfamiliar territory with a surprise at the end.

One surprise in the form of silver and jade barely two winters old.

When you first saw him, the thought of witnessing the growth of a child who'd eventually change the world for either worse or better never once crossed your mind.”

Sephiroth x reader fic reposted from my AO3 account.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734419/chapters/59792911

Before starting to read, there are some things I want to point out:

1. I gain no profit from writing this. It is written solely for the heck of it, cause I think the fandom deserves more Sephiroth/reader stories.

2. Reader is female, uses feminine pronounce, and can conceive, but in terms of the level of femininity and visual characteristics, I try to be as vague as possible to give more space for the reader's imagination. So, please, visualize yourself as freely as you are possible to do.

3. Reader is called “Praenomen” instead of Y/N. It comes from Latin and translates to “forename”, so reader can treat “Praenomen” or “Nomen” (name) as Y/N, and change it with yours respectively.

4. I will try to include as many canon references as I am able and cater to the timeline of events accordingly (probably some tweaks of time here and there, but not much aside from the reader's part that will be added).

5. Please feel free to ask me anything or point out any mistakes that I make, I will be honored to answer your questions!

I hope you enjoy the story :)

Good day.

Chapter 1: Two Seasons Old

Rain had been pouring outside your room since midnight. The air of early morning hours became colder both outside and in. The corroded, rickety heater your landlord was too lazy to repair could only help so much. Chill seeped from the cracks between windows to invade what warmth was saved inside your blanket. You had been awake for quite some time, and been pretty much reluctant to leave the coziness of your bed. Pitter-patter of tiny raindrops kept knocking on the glass as you watched it with fluctuating sobriety.

The lids of your eyes fought to keep themselves open. Getting some more rest sounded like a really good idea. The clock showed barely six, and work wouldn’t start until nine. Yes. You supposed more sleep would do no harm. You slowly let yourself be lulled back to slumber as you gave up the thought to wake up early and actually do your laundry before going to work.

‘It was raining anyway’, your mind supplied. ‘You won’t be able to dry them.’

So you slipped back to oblivion with the drizzle of morning rain as your lullaby.

Until one and a half hour later, the loud ring of a PHS jerked you abruptly awake. You tangled yourself between the sheets and slipped twice in a hasty attempt to reach it. Swiping your unruly hair from your face, you flipped the device open, then instantly paled to find Professor Hojo’s name blinking on the screen. On what business your mentor called you, you could only guess. It was only thirty past seven, far from being considered late. Strange. So it must be another matter. You quickly fixed your appearance out of habit and cleared your throat before pushing the green button.

“Nomen!”

“Yes, professor?”

“Come to the lab, I must show you something.”

You looked at your state of your partial undress, then at the mirror to find your disarrayed reflection. Your eyes blinked frantically for a moment. “R-right now, sir?”

“Yes!” His curt response left no room for compromise.

You hadn’t got the chance to say anything for he hung up as sudden as he’d called. Stunned, you took a few seconds to process what just happened. But then another sound, this time a small ping, from your PHS broke the silence. You saw a following message from your mentor.

 ‘Bring the first volume on Mako Molecular Anatomy.’

That book was stranded somewhere beneath the pile of your hoard. The old shelf at the corner had been filled long ago with tomes of your past research. Dozens of newer volumes ended up getting stacked on the floor around it to accommodate them in your snug apartment. Under a brief glance, this part of the room might cause befuddlement, but for you, well, they were still chaos alright, but a neatly organized one.

The required volume laid at the bottom of a stack labeled as “mako basics”. You lifted the heavy books above it one by one, wondering if you needed to up your workout routine after all. You were panting like a dog barely halfway. An academic life really made it easy to submerge one’s attention. For years you’d been doing mostly nothing but burying your nose in books and scriptures. What free time you had you spent either assisting your mentor, writing your own research, or to catch some sleep, hence the embarrassingly lame mass of muscles in your arms. After nearly dropping the last book and toppling every towering stacks over, you breathed a loud sigh of relief at the sight of Mako: Molecular Anatomy and Structure Divisions, First Volume.

For fear of risking your mentor’s wrath, you washed yourself lightning fast, forgetting the idea of brushing your hair altogether as you grabbed a lab coat and your bag in one arm and cradled the book in the other. The sound of your rapid footsteps must be bothering the neighbors. One grandmother from somewhere in the lower floor shot you her elderly disapproving look when you rushed past her. You didn’t even have a care to say sorry. If Hojo lost his patience waiting for you, he’d ignore your reports for the rest of the day and that would be problem. He was a man slightly screwed in the head but an exceptional mentor none the less. He’d given you priceless insights to boost your performance time and time again.

You ran through the morning drizzle with the book wrapped under your coat. Shinra tower was just three blocks away. You entered one of the entrance tunnel reserved for employees to avoid getting wetter. A guard saw you panting at the entrance, definitely suspicious toward the disheveled woman holding a bundle of fabric this early in the morning.

“Halt!” The guard approached as you stood still to catch your breath. “What’s inside that?”

Still panting from exertion, you answered with haste, “It’s a book.” Hojo must be wondering where the hell you were at this point. That man did have some crazy standards.

“Show what’s inside or you will be denied entrance.”

“Oh, Shiva.” You unfurled your coat with slight difficulty, revealing the cover of a thick book.

The idiot guard was still unconvinced. “Open it.”

You blinked incredulously, what in Ifrit’s name did this look like to him? “It’s a book! See? Plain old paper!”

When the guard didn’t say anything, you chose to just ignore him and go ahead, but he pulled the strap of your bag, causing you to jerk backward. “What’s in the bag?”

“For real?!” Hojo would definitely be pissed.

“Entrance will be deni-”

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately in a sense, your PHS rang again, and it was Hojo. He was pissed. You swallowed thickly and slid the device out of your pocket. Answering him was daunting, but not answering him meant certain hell.

“Yes, professor?”

“What is taking you so long, you slug?!”

You peered at the guard. “I’m currently denied entrance, sir.”

“What?!” He screeched so hard, you had to distance your ear from the speaker. “By who?”

You looked at what was written on the man’s nametag. “Uhm…. Markus P., sir.”

Hojo spat at the end of the line, “Tell him to let you pass or he’ll be the one passed into my lab.” Then the professor hung up, leaving an awkward silence to hang between you and Markus P. Said man was dumbfounded. You decided to pass on what your mentor had said, then, in a moment of peculiar understanding, his face turned five shades paler and let you pass.

You muffled a thanks.

Down in the lower levels of the tower, was Shinra’s Science & Research Division. The floors was each designated to one specific subdivision. Environmental research would be at the topmost, followed by civil engineering, mako development, bio-engineering, and lastly were Hojo’s personalized research labs. Only authorized personnel belonging to one of the subdivisions might enter. Every subdivision hosted plenty of confidentiality that not all members were permitted to move freely between the levels. You were one of the few who were granted more access due to working directly under Hojo’s mentorship.

The elevator ride was long enough to give you plenty of time fixing yourself. You put on your white coat and combed your hair between your fingers as best as you were able to. Thanks to the early hours, you’d only have to pass three other people beside Markus P., and two of them were overtime workers already knocked out on their desks. Hojo’s labs were inaccessible via the main lift. You had to transfer into a private entrance beyond the common area. The machine blinked green when it scanned your fingerprints, allowing you to descent straight into the professor’s office.

“Nomen. You’re finally here.”

“I’m sorry. I was-”

“Yes, yes.” Hojo waved his hand dismissively, not in the mood to hear your ramblings. “Come here child, and did you bring the book? Good.”

He led you away from the main hall to a winding pathways even you weren’t familiar with. You had the urge to ask where he planned to take you, but thought better. Hojo wouldn’t have called if this was anything but pertained to his research. There was a double metal door at the end of the aisle. Hojo scanned his palm to allow both of you access. You looked around, this was definitely an area you’d never ventured into. Everything about it was unfamiliar. There was an open space with multiple doors on its walls. Several glass windows showed medical facilities and rows of sealed bio-pods. Now you couldn’t scratch the itch to ask away.

“Professor, what’s in the pods?”

Hojo knew exactly what you were referring to. “Those, my dear, are the chrysalis of my latest experiments,” he said. “Let me show you a glimpse of their beauty.”

Your course teetered to one of the door. He entered with you on his tail. From this distance you could see series of numbers written at on each pod. There were about twenty of them connected to one another and by a single gargantuan pipe. Every pod had a small window about on its door, about as high as your head, but the glasses were tinted in black that you couldn’t get a glimpse of what was inside.

Hojo stopped in front of one labeled P-XII-001. He beckoned you to come closed and you did. A panel on the right side of the window was opened. Hojo typed a series of code and with a smooth whirr, the machine came to life. The tinted glass began to set alight, revealing the familiar green of liquid mako. You stood on your tiptoes to try and get a better look.

“Chimeras?”

“Yes!” Yelled Hojo with a childlike glee. “Oh…. Aren’t they exquisite?”

You observed with keen interest. The specimen behind that door wasn’t anything you had set your eyes on before. It looked humanoid with the characteristics of a cuahl – its skin was patterned, extended whiskers protruded from the top of its mouth, and two huge feline ears stood above its head.

“Taken straight from Gaea’s Cliff, I have enhanced its ability to thrive amongst the harsh winter of the north. They are suited to conquer mountainous terrain as they please.”

“Have you made prototypes, sir?”

“I have, and none were as perfect as this one would be.”

Amazing was too degenerative a word to describe him. You always wondered just how he found the time to create this things amidst the chaos of Shinra’s busiest department. Moreover, lately President Shinra himself had decreed expeditions to plant new reactors in strategic locations. Probably half of the Science & Research Division had to be deployed and here was Hojo, managing everything under his thumb like he was merely playing chess. Even Hollander, the Division Head himself, was having difficulties splitting his responsibilities.

“Alright, that’s enough.” He said suddenly, turning the pod back to sleep. “This is not what I had intended to show you. Let’s not get sidetracked, shall we?”

The professor moved along. In deafening silence you began to wonder who else had ever roamed this place. Curious tools and paraphernalia were scattered all around. You thought the winding path would never end, but then Hojo stopped once again, now before a small metal door. He opened it with, surprisingly, a set of analog keys instead of digitalized lock system.

“Now…. I know I need not ask this of you, Nomen. You have proven yourself reliable beyond my expectation. But still, I feel like I must inquire something.”

You stared at Hojo. His black eyes behind the round spectacles probed yours. Aware that you were treading on the edge of something unknown, you hesitantly nodded your head. “Yes, professor?”

His glasses flashed for a moment as his chin upturned.

“Do you like children?”

You needed a moment to let the question sink in.

“Do you?”

“I- I’m sorry…. I fail to see how that is relevant to….”

“Just answer me.”

You cleared your throat. “Uh, I don’t have any particular feeling, or, um…emotion toward them.”

Hojo nodded, apparently the answer was enough. “I suggest you get yourself used to one.” Then he pushed the door open.

Behind it a view you would least expect to be found in the deepest part of a Shinra lab was revealed. The professor had stepped aside to give you better vision. You doubted your eyes for a moment, but as you moved inside, slow on your feet, you knew that the object lying right before you was, in fact, a crib. A baby crib, complete with colorful ornaments and a heap of soft blankets. Such infantile properties were clashing horrendously with the sterile white and grey of the lab. You scanned around it to find even more objects of similar quality littered around the floor.

“What is…,” your words were cut short. As you casted your gaze back into the crib, the previously unmoving lump of velvety blankets had sat up to stare at you with equally curious eyes. They were most beautiful color of jade you had ever seen.

And they belonged to a baby.

“Behold, my ultimate creation.” Hojo slinked past you, waving his hand to the tiny form in the crib. Said infant followed the movement of your mentor with alertness uncanny to his age. “My son, Sephiroth.”

Right in that moment, your jaw dropped. That was…?

“Your s-son…?”

Hojo pushed the rim of his glasses up his nose. His face looked maniacal with a grin splitting it. “And you, Nomen, are the only one besides me who’s privileged to witness the wonders of this being. Give me the book and take him out.”

You absently handed the book to your mentor. He had asked to get…what was his name...? Sephiroth? “Pardon me, professor, but I’ve never lifted a child in my life.” You gawked at Hojo with wide eyes, hoping for leniency, yet Hojo had buried his nose inside the pages. Just like any other scientist and their tomes, he was immediately lost, deep in his own mind. That left you with his round-faced ‘offspring’ alone. The little boy directed those jade irises at you, blinking innocently. That only served to unsettle your nerves.

‘How does one even lift an infant? What if I drop him?!’

Steeling your resolve, for the sake of your mentor’s trust and your career, you lifted your palms toward the child. They were slightly trembling and your back was damp with perspiration. This felt ridiculous in a sense. Sephiroth was just a bundle of softness oblivious to your inner turmoil when you were only supposed to lift him up. And how in Shiva’s name you were going to get used to this, pray tell.

That calm eyes flicked to your hands as you froze in your way to hold him. You swore you saw him tilt his head one side like he actually understood what was going on, and lifted his arms. Either it was an encouragement or a force of habit, you didn’t know. Since the party involved had seemingly gave you an explicit clue on how to handle him, your hands finally landed around his middle. And, boy, was he soft.

A smile inadvertently bloomed on your lips.

Sephiroth was unexpectedly heavy when you lifted him. Or you were simply weak. The living, breathing bundle in your arms offered zero resistant. You cradled him to your chest and immediately the scent of chamomile and all the things calming hit your nose. You’d like to think this was exactly how purity would smell if it had one.

“…the aforementioned properties of its distilled liquid will cause the chain reaction of so and so and such…,” Hojo’s mumbling took your attention away from the boy that had begun to suckle on his own hand. You were considering taking it out but the professor addressed you first.

“Put him on the table.”

You walked to the mentioned furniture and carefully put him down, feeling somehow reluctant. Hojo came next to you, dumping the heavy volume in front of his child. He opened a chapter on distilled mako before pointing a finger upon one passage.

“Read, son.”

Your breath literally stopped in your chest. You made a sound teetering between a chortle and a gasp. The sun must have barely reached a quarter of its course yet today had presented so much anomaly. This infant couldn’t have lived longer than 3 winters and his self-proclaimed father asked him to read, an advanced mako science none the less! What in the world was going on, you didn’t know. Maybe your glorified mentor had finally snapped. He did have some screws loose in that big head of his.

Hojo casted a challenging look in no way you were capable of defeating, snapping you back in place. You quickly realized your slip and was planning to rectify that mistake when an ambiguous gurgling sound was heard.

If jaws could be taken off its hinges like a door, yours would certainly drop to the floor.

“mmako…ditti..aion”

“In Holy’s name….”

The pipsqueak just spelled freaking mako distillation, with baby language!

“…te…a- aometioned poppetie isth dilled…,” Sephiroth made a pause, his nose scrunching in confusion.

“Liquid…,” somehow noticing his difficulty, you unconsciously said the next word. The baby pouted for a moment before he tried to copy you and continue the rest of the passage. You were so dumbfounded, you didn’t realize when the miracle had ended until Hojo patted your back.

“I haven’t described your responsibility yet you’ve done it so well. I was right to choose you.”

There wasn’t a word to describe how you felt right then. Years of assisting research under Hojo’s mentorship had put you up against some of the strangest conditions. But this, by far, was the strangest of strange. You swore not once the thought ever crossed your mind, that you’d be a nanny when you signed up to Shinra’s exalted Science & Research Department, still green and a living proverb of an ‘empty cup ready to be filled’. You guessed there would always be things left to surprise you, huh….

“First of all, I have to remind you that what happens in my lab; my research, your work, and anything pertaining to my son, is of utmost confidentiality. You are to assist me in monitoring the growth and development of this child. To make sure he turns into the utmost prodigy, will be your sole purpose under my wing,” the professor was kind enough to explain only what you needed to hear, as you doubted you’d be able to process much right now. Not after this shocking turn of events. “You, Nomen, are thus now a member of my innermost circle of team. Pack your belongings and move to the tower. You are to stay near my son at all times.”

Your eyes opened wider than the Gold Saucer. Whether you wanted to thank Hojo for suddenly exalting your status and career prospect or sue him for dumping all this responsibility like cold water without consulting you first, you weren’t quite sure. You’d be justified if you sue him for labor extortion. But all was good still. You were the one who sold your soul to the devil when you requested Hojo a mentorship all those years ago after all.

Such was the prologue to your newest chapter in life. It was brusque and unceremonious to a fault. The oath of confidentiality forced you to keep mute. Nobody was to know about anything, not your shock, nor your bafflement upon how to properly approach the change. Your mentor was the only other person who knew and sadly was better posed as an academic than a colleague. He’d try to analyze the workings of your mind before you even finished telling a thing. Maybe, you consoled yourself, maybe some other human being would come into the picture later. Although you haven’t seen any, you were sure there must be more people wandering these labs besides just the professor and you.

At the beginning of the next day, this particular chapter had progressed quite dramatically. You found Shinra personnel moving to and fro your rickety abode with boxes and boxes of your belongings. Mainly consisted of books and clothes, then a small number of trivial objects like your favorite chocobowl with its moogle spoon. There were a couple of low-rank guards supervising the whole process, to which their purpose was quite ambiguous to you, but as they didn’t try to piss anyone off like Markus P., you supposed it was fine. Some nosy neighbors peeped with curiosity, either wanting to know with whom Shinra had business with or wondering if you were up to some shady deals with them. You tried your best to ignore them.

To be honest, the whole affair of moving was inconsequential in a greater sense. You have never felt any particular attachment to your home. There wasn’t much to incite emotional fixation, except, perhaps the memory of peace after a hard day’s work, after shower, buried beneath the layers in your bed. But it was just one between too many discontents accumulated throughout years – for instance, the heater could do with some maintenance. Winters were always arctic. You were gladder to finally break free from an old routine. Taking care of a Promethean scientist’s infant certainly opened the door to new and exciting opportunities.

The professor had prepared an empty room prior your arrival. It was deep down the basement of Shinra Tower, right next to his son’s. Whatever plan Hojo had for you to partake in, he surely thought it out well. Accommodation was taken care of and its basic facilities already provided. The new lodging had a bedroom, a living room, one spare room you planned to turn into a study, private bathroom and a kitchen. Though not by much, the space was larger than your previous home, and most importantly, the air conditioner worked out perfect. The only downside was an absence of windows. Bereft walls gave quite the forlorn impression without any chance to glimpse beyond them and into the sky. This would take some time getting used to, but you would manage. Slum residents beneath the plates had it way worse.

When the last of your boxes had been transported down, you learned two things at once. One, your hypothesis was proven true. There were other people besides you and the professor roaming these lowest levels. Janitors and technicians, mainly the latter, had been tirelessly helping you. And two, Sephiroth actually had another proper, professionally acclaimed babysitter named Eredith. You immediately approached to introduce yourself after chancing upon her with the infant. She had offered her name in return before excusing herself with the boy in her arms. It wasn’t the warmest of welcome. You didn’t mind one bit. Simply knowing that she existed to fill that role had lessened the burden you previously thought was much bigger. As they went down the aisles, the baby in her arms turned to stare at you with his jade irises. You absently waved a hand, which, to your delight and astonishment, was replied with a grabby-hand.

The rest of the day was spent unboxing. You had only a handful of things to be unpacked, except of course, the books. Half were deliberately left untouched for another day of labor. The muscles in your arm already screamed with exhaustion before you could even finish arranging the unpacked ones inside the shelves. That left you with two boxes abandoned in the corner of your to-be study. Everything else was already in place by night. You took a long bath afterward and only after you were sure pretty much everything had been settled, you allowed yourself to relax.

*******************************************************************************************

You made a humble portion of toast for breakfast to start the day. Hojo didn’t require you until sometime around 10 in the morning. He had told you to prepare a list of basic science textbooks, preferably illustrated, for his son to begin reading. So you made use of the free time to continue unboxing. From this collection alone, you could submit more than 50 titles to the professor. The existence of multiple bookshelves, each one bigger than what you previously had, displayed the diversity of your collection perfectly. The books were gathered into sections of congruous topics. There were plenty to choose, you had a habit of buying whatever writings caught your attention, though when you finally thought about it, nursery rhymes and clean energy looked astoundingly disparate next to one another.

Just before 10, Hojo took you on a tour while explaining the nature of your job. Beginning from the entrance where you first arrived, to the winding halls and the rooms he deemed necessary for your work. He had programmed an almost unlimited access for you. Only one area remained off-limit for some reason. Despite your curiosity, you decided against probing further unless the man himself allowed you in. Sometimes not knowing was actually easier. The ones you were allowed to enter was interesting enough. You even thought to propose borrowing the bio lab for your own research. Maybe later after having familiarized yourself better, you’d ask the professor.

Sephiroth was waddling around his room when you entered with Hojo sometime near noon. Eredith watched attentively from a distance with his bowl of lunch half eaten. The infant had been engrossed by a stuffed chocobo that he ignored everyone else completely. The professor glanced at his son once, dismissing the babysitter with a wave of his hand.

“Pardon me, sir, but Sephiroth hasn’t finished his lunch.” Eredith tried to explain.

“Your time is up, Edith. Just put the bowl somewhere, you are no longer needed.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t leave right away. She gave you a look that could almost be interpreted as a plea. Either she was asking for your help to reason with your mentor or actually hoping you’d continue feeding the baby, you could only stood in silence. The woman received a harsher repetition of the command before she dejectedly put the bowl down on a table. She bowed to Hojo and excused herself. It was the silent frustration on her face that suddenly moved you. Maneuvering with three heavy volumes in your cradle, you called out to her as she was about to close the door.

“I’ll continue feeding him, don’t worry.”

She paused to look at you as if you had grown a wing. Her smile was subtle yet genuine as can be when it appeared. “Thank you,” she said with relief, then left.

“Troublesome woman, that one,” you heard Hojo mutter in her absence. “Sephiroth this, Sephiroth that. Always making excuses for her own incompetence.”

You’d been here barely a day. Everyone but Hojo were still strangers to you. There was no way your input on the matter would be credible, so you opted to make none. You simply headed to the table where the last half of Sephiroth’s lunch was, putting the books you brought right next to it.

“Come here, Nomen.” Your mentor gave you a clipboard. He showed the papers attached to it. There was a table containing multiple statements which had to be filled and sometimes rated from scale one to ten. “My son is unique. He is far beyond his age, he knows how to process more and more complex stimulus everyday as his adaptability runs high compared to most, mediocre infants.” You had never heard your mentor spoke with that level of pride before. “But alas,” he casted his eyes at the sight of Sephiroth not six feet away, playing with the same stuffed animal, “A child is still a child.”

Hojo closed the distance between him and his son. His figure towered over the boy. “He lacks the ability to focus on what matters.” Sephiroth didn’t even heed the other’s presence, still too happily hugging the chocobo when Hojo took it from his tiny hands. For a second there was this stifling, immovable tension going on between them. A battle of willpower between a father and his son. Hojo kept the toy away from him, staring the infant down with intense scrutiny. “Bring the book here.” You snapped out of your trance, scurrying to get the book for the man. He exchanged the book with it. In lack of a better thought of what to do, you just held it like an idiot.

The child looked really upset. His mouth curved downward, his hands made tiny fists where they previously held the stuffed animal, and his eyes…. You thought he was about to cry, but looking closer, those jade irises actually held an entirely different emotion. Never have you ever saw a baby held such anger in silence. Children are supposedly prone to tears and tantrums. Not with him. He, for the second time, looked uncannily beyond his age. It was honestly ironic because mere moments ago he looked exactly how any infant would with the toy you currently had.

“Playtime’s over, son,” Hojo shoved the book closer. He opened its first chapter. “You have so much potential. I didn’t go through the trouble to create you with failure in mind, so don’t waste your time.”

That immovable tension increase tenfold. You shifted in your spot, wondering why the mere scene of a parent scolding his child seemed to bother you. But then again, seeing as the parent was your mentor and his child had the tendency to be creepily uncanny each time you saw him, this couldn’t be considered normal at all, and you didn’t have a child anyway, you wouldn’t know.

“Make sure you don’t miss anything on that list.” He said to you. Sephiroth was still glaring at him from the floor. “All the tool you will require is in there,” he said, pointing at an overhead cabinet. “If you have questions, message me.”

“Should I call Eredith back when I’m finished?”

Hojo snorted. “Just leave after you’re done. This child gets too spoiled with her.”

Like countless times before, you shut your mouth even though you disagreed. That child was independent enough. Hojo just had illogical standards most times.

“I will leave you to it, then. Report to me later tonight.” Unexpectedly, he began to go. You hastily asked the man in panic. “Wha- You’re not staying, professor?”

Said professor sighed with his distinct flair. “I am occupied and will be for some time. The President require me. That’s why I must entrust some things to you, Nomen. I believe you can handle it well. Now, I shall leave you to it.”

Just like Eredith previously did, he was gone, leaving you and his less than pleased infant alone. You peered at him nervously. He was hunched over the book that looked too big for his tiny figure. The child still looked upset.

“Um….” There was that list in your one hand and his toy in the other. You tried to weigh the value of each. As you inspected what was on the list, you instantly thought it was both intriguing and ridiculous.

  PROJECT-S

Report: 07-10-1983

J-01.S1.16817.00599.000.6

Subject Name: Sephiroth

D.O.B.: 05-05-1981

Age: 2 year 5 month

 Physical Development

Cephal

Circumference:

Shape:

Facio

Length:

Width:

Iris color:

Teeth condition:

Brachium

Length:

Circumference:

Flexibility:

Strength:

(….)

The whole first page of the document was all about the boy’s physical growth. There were even 10 pages in total, things were quite normal up to the point where Hojo actually wanted you to rate the child’s understanding of certain vocabularies like ‘cathode’ and ‘anode’. You didn’t mean to underestimate Sephiroth’s ability as he had proven to be quite the anomaly just after three brief meetings, you simply found it hard to believe that a two-year-old had to put up with this level of standard. You shook your head incredulously.

Looking at him now, it kind of answered some of the mystery his uncanny behavior omitted. If Hojo had done something to make ‘his son’ biologically enhanced, he was bound to be different in some ways.

“Sephiroth?” He gave you a scrunched nose and nothing else. The child fumbled with the hem of his shirt under your constant gaze, as if hesitating with whatever he decided to do next. You were about to struck a conversation when his tiny hands landed on the book.

He began to read.

“In e be..begin’in o’ e book-”

“Um…Sephiroth?”

“-a in…indodooction o ele..men-”

“Hey,” you put a hand to cover the page gently. “Seph, stop for a second, yeah?”

He turned to look at you with the most flustered expression a baby could ever muster.

“I haven’t told you my name, right? My name’s Nomen.”

There was silence after your awkward attempt at introduction. He still didn’t say a word, just stared at you with the same expression. You started to wonder if he actually get what you said. The child got tired of looking at you after a few seconds and dived back into the book, but you were persistent yourself.

You plopped the stuffed animal in front of his line of vision.

This time when he looked at you, not only was he flustered, but his eyes also round with surprise. He was visibly teetering between holding himself back or just accept the offering. Almost a minute passed with him freezing up. To your surprise he pushed the animal back to you. His face looked so conflicted it made you feel bad.

You quickly put the toy back on top of the book. “Didn’t you want to play?”

Sephiroth now fumbled with his fingers. His pout was back. “Tis a test….”

“No! I’m not testing you, kid. Oh, by the Goddess.” Your lips turned to a smile. Without even giving it a second thought, you patted the boy’s head. He then froze again. It was unclear whether he felt offended by the touch. Do kids even feel offended? Alas, you began pulling your hand away, but he suddenly grabbed your wrist with tiny hands and put it back on his hair, looking at you with an annoyed expression.

He liked it.

Just like you would with a cat, you petted his head. He leaned into your touch with the same pissed off face, but his body was relaxed. You took the chance to shove his chocobo at him. Fortunately, he immediately accepted. The two of you stayed that way for a while. It felt comfortable. Your heart was warmed up in the face of this unexpected softness.

“I promised Eredith you’ll finish lunch, sooo…before we start everything, let’s eat first, okay?”

His jade irises peered from below your palm. He looked unsure.

“You can keep the chocobo. I won’t take it away. I promise!”

After he nodded, you immediately took the bowl temporarily abandoned on the table. He was nothing but cooperative and you were relieved for it. Sephiroth munched his food with the toy never leaving his hands. You utilized the interval between each spoon to start measuring the boy’s physique. He was quite the slow eater, taking all the time in the world to chew. By when he finally finished lunch, you had managed to fill the first page of the document.

Hours went by unnoticed as the examination process was carried on. He time and time again amazed you with the ability to maintain almost unwavering focus. He actually always wanted to play, sometimes allowing himself to take a toy lying around when your attention was elsewhere. But once you subjected him to another test, he rallied all of himself to it. It was mesmerizing to watch.

Somewhere along the way, Eredith actually came knocking at the door. She brought biscuits and a bottle of milk for the infant’s afternoon meal. The woman didn’t say much to you, she just politely asked to feed Sephiroth again and brought the empty bowl away. Nothing much happened after that. You allowed the boy to munch on his snack while you asked him questions or told him to perform some task.

At some point you came across the question of whether Sephiroth understood some terms written on the paper – the cathode and anode one. You sighed exasperatedly. The child was currently drawing something resembling his favorite stuffed animal, if you weren’t mistaken. You leaned over him, asking just for sure, “Is that your chocobo?”

“Uh-huh.”

You nodded appreciatively. His skill was decent enough for his drawing to be understood. That indicated a capability to understand and replicate the existence of objects around him. You quickly took a note.

“Um…kid?”

“Hm?”

“Can you read these two words for me?” You showed the nouns for him to spell. He studied them momentarily and tried. “Ca’ffode an’ an….”

“Anode.”

“…aode.”

“That’s right,” you gave him a smile and another pat on the head. “Do you know what they mean?”

He shook his head hesitantly.

“Alright….” You thought to yourself the best way of explaining it to him. “Do you know battery?”

“Un…yea.”

“Cathode is the part of a battery that has the [+] symbol, while anode has [-].”

Sephiroth stared at you silently. He didn’t seem to get what you mean, so you looked around. Amidst the toy lying around was a fake gun, colored in bright colors appealing to children. You took it and opened the battery case.

“Here, look, there’s a [+] sign here and a [-] sign. This one is the cathode and this one is anode. The battery has power, it runs to the gun from here to here. Without one of these two, the power is stuck in one side, just like a road that’s blocked.”

“They…’re like ‘oors?”

You smiled fondly, “Yes, yes! They’re like doors. If they’re not set in properly, the power from the battery won’t flow to the gun, just like one can’t pass through a door if it’s not opened.”

The boy was astute. You never had to explain things twice as long as you gave him a good example. Filling the rest of the document became nothing but a breeze. Before you knew it, you had completed the day’s report. Sephiroth also looked bored, the chocobo was back in his cradle as he laid on the floor, his tiny fingers fumbled with its feathery butt. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. This was the first time you interacted with him and you could already see various shades of his personality. At times, his calm demeanor and self-restraint made you feel like there was someone much older trapped inside that tiny body, then there were also times like these, when he behaved innocently like every other child in the Planet did. He was highly intriguing at such a young age and you dared to bet he would continue to be so when he grows up.

Having nothing else to do left but gawk at the tiny fluff caressing a chocobo butt, you took another brief moment to appreciate it before preparing to leave. Your task was over technically, but you couldn’t help feeling like there was more you could do. Then an idea struck your mind.

“Seph, stay here, okay? I’m gonna get something for you.”

You hurried to your room, heading straight to the bookshelves. At the children’s section was a compilation of nursery rhymes and tales. You scanned the titles with keen eyes, finding the one you were looking for right away, then quickly headed back to Sephiroth’s. The boy was still on his back when you returned. You approached him with an enthusiastic smile plastered on your face.

“Look what I’ve got.”

The boy looked at you half-heartedly. He was definitely done for the day. Then he saw the book you had brought. He quickly sat up to take it.

Below the title – Pickle in a Fickle! – was a picture of one golden chocobo, just like his toy, staring at two gysahl greens completely bamboozled. “Chochobo!” Sephiroth pointed at the character.

“Yes, the same as yours. His name is Pickle.”

“’ickle…,” the boy copied. He wasted no time opening it, eyes seemingly glittering with wonder to see illustrated pages instead of black and white passages. You waited patiently for him to start reading. But the moment he saw some passages, he pouted.

You blinked in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“’m tired weadin’.”

Ah…. That made sense. He’d been forced to spell hundreds of words in a day. Some people didn’t even bother to read. The young boy had accomplished nothing short of a feat. You supposed he was justified to call it a day.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

His giddiness was back instantaneously, “Yea! Wead it!”

So began your habit of bringing children’s books to him. He spent morning ‘till sundown doing his best with the examination and you rewarded him with new tale almost every day. He was always tired by the end that you had to read to him. The young boy listened with rapt attention, sometimes sitting beside you while playing with Pickle – he named his chocobo after you narrated the story, some other time getting into your lap to see the pages as you read.

Eredith started to give you smiles that grew bigger each time you saw her, though you two still hadn’t talked much aside from some pleasantries and formalities. She was always there when you came in the morning, then proceeded to make herself scarce all day long, only coming in once or twice to deliver foods and drinks. By sundown, you’d be bidding little Seph a goodbye. Eredith was already by the door when you exited. You nodded your head politely and let her be to do her job.

By night, Hojo would call you to his office and ask for report. He’d inspect the document you filled every single day, taking notes of certain aspects that he deemed significant. The professor was overall pleased with his son’s progress, seemingly unaware of the new habit you had helped him build. If your mentor knew anything about you adding non-academic books – nonsense jabberwockies, he’d said – to his son’s curriculum, he had certainly done nothing to stop it.

Sephiroth had become much more open to you after a month of constant meeting. He would happily stand by the door every day at 10 o’clock, the time you were supposed to get in. He kept urging you to hurry with the tests so he gets to hear another story. You gladly did as he asked, it was a win-win situation for all anyway. The effects of your diligence was showing and it affected everyone. Hojo rarely spoke harshly to his son nor Eredith, he gave you a raise, and most importantly, approved your proposal to borrow the bio lab for the sake of your own research. He didn’t question your intentions much, simply asked you to not let it hinder your main responsibility with Sephiroth. He only allowed you to use them at night when you were done reporting. Without hesitation you agreed.

Life became much easier than ever before. For once things were actually going the right way. You couldn’t be more grateful, to the professor, to fate, and to the fluff of silver and jade who was the reason of it all. By the time you went to bed, the only thing that came to your mind was which story you should bring tomorrow.

[hmhteen]

HMH Teen Teasers: NOT EVEN BONES by Rebecca Schaeffer!

If you like your books a little bloody, prepare to devour this killer YA debut: NOT EVEN BONES by Rebecca Schaeffer is about a girl who dissects dead bodies for the magical black market...but soon enough finds herself the one in danger of being sold for parts. To save herself, she must unleash the monster within.

Keep scrolling to read the first FOUR chapters of NOT EVEN BONES!

***

ONE

Nita stared at the dead body lying on the kitchen table. Middle-aged, and in the place between pudgy and overweight, he wore a casual business suit and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses with silver handles that blended into the gray at his temples. He was indistinguishable on the outside from any other human — the inside, of course, was a different matter.

“Another zannie?” Nita scowled at her mother and crossed her arms as she examined the body. “That’s not even Latin American. I thought we moved to Peru to hunt South and Central American unnaturals? Chupacabras and pishtacos and whatever.”

It wasn’t that zannies were common, but Nita had dis- sected plenty during the months she and her mother spent in Southeast Asia last year. She’d been looking forward to dissecting something new. If she’d wanted to cut up the same unnaturals as usual, she would have asked to stay with her dad in the States and work on unicorns.

Her mother shrugged, draping her jacket over a chair. “I saw a zannie, so I killed it. I mean, it was right in front of me. How could I resist?” Her black-and-red-striped bangs fell for- ward as she dipped her head and half smiled.

Nita shifted her feet, looking at the corpse again. She sighed. “I suppose you’ll want me to dissect and package it for sale?”

“Good girl.” Her mother grinned.

Nita went around to the other side of the dead body. “Care to help me move it to the workroom?”

Her mother rolled up her sleeves, and together they heaved the round, deceptively heavy body down the hall and onto a smooth metal table in the other room. White walls and fluorescent lights made it look like a hospital surgery room. Scalpels and bone saws lay in neat lines on the shelves, and a scale for weighing organs rested in front of a box of jars. In the corner, a tub of formaldehyde caused everything to reek of death. The smell kept sneaking out of the room and making its way into Nita’s clothes. She found it strangely comforting. That was probably a bad sign.

But, if Nita was being honest with herself, most of her habits and life choices were bad signs.

Her mother winked at Nita. “All ready for you.”

Nita looked down at her watch. “It’s nearly midnight.” “And?”

“And I want to sleep sometime.”

“So do it later.” Her mother waved it aside. “It’s not like you have anything to get up for.”

Nita paused, then bowed her head in acceptance. Even though it had been years since her mother had decided to illegally take Nita out of school, she still had some leftover instinct telling her not to go to bed too late. Which was silly, because even if she’d had school, she’d gladly have skipped it for a dissection. Dissections were fun.

Nita pulled on a white lab coat. She always liked wearing it— it made her feel like a real scientist at a prestigious university or laboratory somewhere. Sometimes she put the goggles on even when she didn’t need to just so she could complete the look.

“When are you heading out again?”

Her mother washed her hands in the sink. “Tonight. I got a tip when I was bringing this beauty back. I’m flying to Buenos Aires.”

“Pishtacos?” asked Nita, trying to hold in her excitement. She’d never had a chance to dissect a pishtaco. How would their bodies be modified for a diet made completely of human body fat? The promise of a pishtaco dissection was the only thing that had convinced Nita moving to Peru was a good idea. Her mother always knew how to tempt her.

Nita frowned. “Wait, there are no pishtacos in Argentina.” Her mother laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s something even better.”

“Not another zannie.” “No.”

Her mother dried her hands and headed back toward the kitchen, calling out as she went, “I’m going to head to the airport now. If all goes well, I should be back in two days.”

Nita followed and found her sitting, booted feet on the kitchen table as she unscrewed the top of the pisco bottle from the fridge and took a swig. Not cocktail-drink pisco, or mixed-with-soda pisco, just straight. Nita had tried it  once when she was home alone, thinking it would be a good celebration drink to ring in her seventeenth birthday. It didn’t burn as much as whisky or vodka, or even sake, but it kicked in fast, and it kicked in hard. Her mother had found her with her face squished against the wall, crying because it wouldn’t move for her. Then Mom had laughed and left her there to suffer. She showed Nita the pictures afterward — there was an awful lot of drool on that wall.

Nita hadn’t sampled anything in the liquor cabinet since.

“Oh, and Nita?” Her mother put the pisco on the table. “Yeah?”

“Don’t touch the head. It has a million-dollar bounty. I plan to claim it.”

Nita looked down the hall, toward the room with the dead body. “I’m pretty sure the whole wanted-dead-or-alive thing ended in the Old West. If you just turn this guy’s head over, you’ll be arrested for murder.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Why, thank you, Nita, for teaching me such an important lesson. Whatever would I do without you?”

Nita winced. “Um.”

“The zannie is wanted for war crimes by the Peruvian government. He was a member of the secret police under the Fujimori administration.”

No surprise there. Pretty much every zannie in the world was wanted for some type of war crime. When your biological imperative was to torture people and eat their pain, there were only so many career paths open to you.

That reminded Nita — there was an article in the latest issue of Nature on zannies that she wanted to read. Someone who had clearly dissected fewer zannies than Nita, but with access to better equipment,  had written a detailed analysis of how zannies consumed pain. There were all sorts of theo- ries about how pain was relative, and the same injury on two people could be perceived completely differently. The scientists had been researching zannies — was it the severity of the injury that fed them, or the person’s perception of how much it hurt?

They’d also managed to prove that while zannies could consume emotional pain, as well as physical, the effect was significantly less. Emotional and physical pain receptors over- lapped in the brain center, so the big question was, why did causing other people severe physical pain feed zannies, while causing severe emotional pain had less effect? Nita privately thought it was because physical pain had the added signals from nociceptors, but she was curious to see what others thought.

Her mother continued, oblivious to Nita’s wandering mind. “A number of interested parties have offered very large bounties for his head. They, unlike the government, don’t care if he’s alive to face trial.” There was a sharp flash of teeth. “And I’m happy to oblige them.”

She rose, put the pisco away, and pulled on her burgundy leather jacket. “Can you have him all packed up by the time I get back?”

Nita nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

Her mother came over and kissed the top of her head. “What would I ever do without you, Anita?”

Before Nita could formulate a response, her mother was out the door. There was a creak and then a bang, and the house was silent. When her mother departed, sometimes Nita felt like she took more than just noise. She had a presence, a tangible energy to her that filled the house. Without her, it felt hollow. Like the life had left, and there was only a dead zannie in its place.

Which, really, there was. Nita turned back to her newest project and allowed herself a small smile. A pishtaco or a chupacabra would have been better, but she’d still enjoy a zannie.

The first thing she did was empty its pockets. An old- fashioned timepiece, some Brazilian reais (no Peruvian soles though, which was odd), and a wallet. Nita gazed at it a long time before putting it on the tray, unopened. Her  mother would have already taken the credit cards and used them to get as much cash as possible before ditching them. The only other things left in the wallet would be identity cards, club memberships — things that would tell her about the person she was dissecting.

Nita had learned a long time ago — you don’t want to know anything about the person whose body you’re taking apart.

Better to think that it wasn’t a person at all. And really — it wasn’t. This was a zannie.

Nita took an elastic and tied her hair back in a puffy attempt at a ponytail. Her hair tended to grow sideways in frizzy kinks instead of down. In the glow of the fluorescent lights, its normally medium-brown color took on an orange tint. No one else thought it looked orange, but Nita insisted— she liked orange.

She put a surgical mask over her mouth, just below her freckle-spattered cheekbones, before putting the goggles on. After snapping on a pair of latex gloves, she rolled her tool set over to the metal slab where the body rested. She slipped her earbuds in and flicked on her Disney playlist.

It was time to begin.

  Nita couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been fascinated by dead things — perhaps because her home was always full of them. As far back as she could remember, her parents had acquired the bodies of unnaturals and sold the pieces on the internet. The darknet, to be specific. Black market body part sellers didn’t just post their items on eBay. That was how you ended up with a short visit from the International Non- Human Police — INHUP — and a long stint in jail.

When Nita was younger, she used to run around the room, bringing her parents empty jars. Big glass ones for the heart, small vials and bags for the blood. Afterward, she’d label them and line them up on the shelf. Sometimes she’d stare at them, pieces of people she’d never met. There was something calm- ing about the still hearts, floating in formaldehyde. Something peaceful. No more beating, no more thumping rhythm and noise. Just silence.

Sometimes, she would look at the eyes, and they would stare back. Direct, open gazes. Not like living people, who flicked their eyes here and there while they lied, who could cram an entire conversation into a single gaze. The problem was, Nita could never understand what they were saying. It was better after people were dead. The eyes weren’t so tricky anymore.

It took Nita all night and the better part of the next day to finish with the zannie, put everything in jars of formaldehyde or freezer containers, and clean the dissection room until it sparkled.

The sun was up, and she didn’t feel tired, so she went to her favorite park on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Tropical trees with large, bell-shaped flowers covered the benches like a canopy, and blue and white mosaics patterned the wall that prevented people from tumbling over the side of the cliff and into the sparkling waters below. Newspapers sat abandoned on the benches, from tabloids announcing Penelope Alvarez looks twenty at age forty-five. Good skin care or something more “unnatural”? to official news sources with headlines like Should Peru sign into INHUP? The advantages and disadvantages to an extraterritorial police force for unnatural-related incidents.

Peru was one of the only South American countries left that wasn’t a part of INHUP. There were always a few countries on every continent that stayed out so that black market dealers had somewhere to flee when INHUP finally nailed them. Certain people paid politicians handsomely to ensure it stayed that way.

Nita took a seat far away from the other people in the park. Under the shade of a floripondio tree, she cracked open her medical journals on unnaturals.

Sometimes it was frustrating reading them and knowing they were wrong about certain things. While lots of unnaturals were “out” and recognized by the world, most still hid, afraid of public backlash. So when the journals talked about zannies being the only species of unnatural that consumed nontangible things, like pain, Nita wished she could point out that there were creatures who consumed memories, strong emotions, and even dreams. INHUP just hadn’t officially recognized them yet. INHUP was big on doing damage control, and part of trying to decrease racism and discrimination against unnaturals was not telling people just how many types there were.

It also kept people like Nita’s mother from finding out about them. Sometimes.

Nita whiled the afternoon away in the shade of the tree, devouring medical research like candy, until the sun dipped so low there wasn’t enough light to read by.

When Nita got home, she was greeted by a string of exple- tives.

She crept into the hall, shoulders tight with tension. Her mother could be unpredictable when angry. Nita had been on the receiving end before and wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

But ignoring her mother was more dangerous, so Nita padded into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Nita gaped, staring at the mess.

Her mother tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave Nita a wry smile. Around her, empty shipping crates littered the floor, along with packing materials like bubble wrap and Styrofoam worms. A gun sat on the kitchen table, and Nita briefly wondered what it was doing out.

“I want to have the zannie parts shipped out tomorrow.

We’ve got something new, and to be frank, this apartment isn’t big enough to hold all the parts.” Her mother flashed her another smile.

Nita was inclined to agree. Her dissection room was already at capacity, and they’d only dissected one zannie. There really wasn’t room for a second body.

“Something new, huh? I take it everything went well, then?” Nita’s mother laughed. “Do things ever go well with unnaturals that aren’t on the list?”

Among the unnaturals that were public knowledge, there was a list of “dangerous unnaturals” — unnaturals whose continued existence depended on  them  murdering other  people. It wasn’t a crime to kill them in INHUP member countries, it was “preemptive self-defense.” But anything not on the list, the harmless unnaturals (which was most of them, in Nita’s experience), it was very much a crime to kill.

Her mom mostly brought Nita unnaturals on the list. Mostly.

Nita knew her mother had probably killed a lot of not-evil, not-dangerous people and sold them. She tried not to think about it too much, because really, there wasn’t much she could do about it, was there?

Besides, they were always dead by the time they got to Nita. And if they were already dead, it would be a shame to let their bodies go undissected.

Speaking of . . .

“What did you bring back?” Nita asked, weaving through the crates to the fridge, where she took out last night’s leftovers and shoved them into the microwave.

“Something special. I put it in the dissection room.”

Nita felt her fingers twitch, the imaginary scalpel in her hand making a sliding cut through the air, like a Y incision. She couldn’t wait for the slow, relaxing evening, just her and the body. The straight autopsy lines, the jars full of organs watching over her, like her own weird guardian angel.

She shivered with anticipation. Sometimes she scared herself.

Her mother looked at Nita out of the corner of her eyes. “I have to say, this one was tricky to get.”

Nita removed her food from the microwave and sat down at the kitchen table. “Oh, do tell?”

Her mother smiled, and Nita settled in for a good story. “Well, it wasn’t hard at the beginning. Buenos Aires was lovely, and hunting down my tip was easy. Even acquiring our new . . . I don’t even know what to call him.”

Nita raised her eyebrows. Her mother knew every unnatural. It was her job. This one must be something really rare.

“Well, anyway.” Her mother sat down beside her. “It wasn’t even so bad getting him. Security wasn’t too much of an issue, easily dealt with. The problem was getting him back.”

Nita nodded. Airlines usually frowned on stuffing dead bodies into overhead bins.

Her mother gave her a conspiratorial wink. “But then I thought, well, why don’t I just pretend he’s a traveler? So I put him in a wheelchair, and the airline never even guessed.”

“Wait, a wheelchair?” Nita scowled. “But wouldn’t they notice that he didn’t, well, move or breathe or anything when they were helping him to his seat?”

She laughed. “Oh, he’s not dead. I just drugged the hell out of him.”

Nita’s fingers twitched, then froze. Not dead.

She gave her mother a sickly smile. “You said you put him in my room?”

“Yes, I spent the morning installing the cage. Bugger of a thing. You know they don’t make human-size cages anymore? And I had to get the handcuffs at a sex shop.”

Nita sat there for a long moment, smile frozen like a rictus on her face. Then she rose and began making her way through the crates to her dissection room.

Her mother followed. “This one’s a little different. He’s quite valuable, so I’d really like to milk him a bit for blood and such before we harvest the organs.”

But Nita wasn’t listening. She had opened the door to see with her own eyes.

Part of her beautiful, sterile white room was now taken up by a large cage, which had been bolted to the wall. Her mother had put a padlock and chain around the door. Inside the cage, a boy with dark brown hair lay unconscious in the fetal position. Given the size of the cage, it was probably the only way he could lie down.

“What is he?” Nita waited for her mother to list off the heinous things he did to survive. Maybe he ate newborn babies and was actually five hundred years old instead of the eighteen or nineteen he looked.

Her mother shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s a name for what he is.”

“But what kind of unnatural is he? Explain it.” Nita felt her voice rising and forced it to calm down. “I mean, you know what he does, right?”

Her mother laughed. “He doesn’t do much of anything. He’s an unnatural, that much I’m sure of, but I don’t think you’ll find any external signs of it. He was being kept by a col- lector in Buenos Aires.”

“So . . . why do we want him?” Nita pushed, surprised at how much she needed an answer, a reason to justify the cage in her room and the small, curled-up form of the boy. His jeans and T-shirt looked like they were spattered with something, and Nita wondered if it was blood.

“Ah. Well, he’s supposedly quite delicious, you know. Something about him. That collector had been selling vials of his blood — vials, not bags, mind you — for nearly ten thousand each. US dollars, not soles or pesos. Dollars. One of his toes went up for auction online last year, and the price was six dig- its. For a toe.”

Her mother had a wide, toothy grin, and her eyes were alight at the prospect of how much money an entire body could make. Nita wondered how soon the boy’s time would be up. Her mother preferred cash in hand to cash in the future, so Nita doubted the boy would be prisoner for long.

“I already put him up online, and we have a buyer for another toe. So I took the liberty of cutting it off and mailing it while we were in Argentina.”

It took a few moments for Nita to register her mother’s words. Then she looked down, and sure enough, the boy’s feet were bare and bloody. One foot had been hastily wrapped in bandages, but they’d turned red as the blood soaked through.

Her mother tapped her finger to her chin. “The only problem is, his pieces need to be fresh — well, as fresh as we can get them. So we’ll sell all the extremities first, as they’re ordered. He should be able to survive without those, and we can bottle the blood when we remove them and sell it as well. We’ll do the internal organs and such later, once we’ve spread the word. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Nita’s mind spun in circles, not quite processing what her mother was saying. “You want to keep him here and cut pieces off him while he’s still alive?”

“Exactly.”

Nita didn’t even know what to say to that. She didn’t deal with live people. Her subjects were dead.

“He’s not . . . dangerous?” Nita asked, unable to tear her eyes off the bandages around the missing toes.

Her mother snorted. “Hardly. He got unlucky in the genetic draw. As far as I can tell, everyone wants to eat him, and he has no more defenses than an ordinary human.”

The boy stirred in the cage and tried to twist himself around to look at them. Nita’s heart clenched. It was pathetic.

Her mother clapped her on the shoulder before turning around. “We’re going to make good money off him.”

Nita nodded, eyes never straying from the cage. Her mother left the room, calling for Nita to help her organize the crates in the kitchen so they could start packing the zannie parts.

The boy lifted his head and met Nita’s eyes. His eyes were gray-blue and wide with fear. He reached a hand up, but it stopped short, the handcuffs pulling it back down toward the bottom of the cage.

He swallowed, eyes never leaving Nita’s. “Ayúdame,” he whispered.

Help me.

TWO

Nita was not a heartless, murdering, body-part thief.

That was her mother.

Nita had never killed anyone. Her plan was to keep it that way.

Why couldn’t Mom have killed him before she came back? If she’d killed him before coming home, Nita wouldn’t have had to see him like this. She could have just pretended he died naturally. Or blamed her mother and chalked it up to another of those well, too late to do anything now cases. But now he was alive, and in her apartment, and she actually had to think about this.

About the living, breathing person her mother planned to kill.

And have Nita dissect. Alive.

What would it be like to cut someone up while they were screaming at you to stop?

“Nita?” Mom came around the corner from the kitchen, and Nita realized she’d been standing in the hall staring off into space for the past few minutes. “Something wrong?”

Nita hesitated. “He’s alive.”

“Yes. And?” Mom’s eyes were as tight as her voice. Nita had a sudden feeling she was treading on very dangerous ground.

“He talks.” She shifted her shoulders in unease, more so from her mother’s look than anything else.

Her mother’s face relaxed. “Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart. He won’t be around for long. He’ll be on your table shortly, and no one talks back to you there, do they?”

Nita nodded, appreciating her mother’s efforts to quell her anxiety even as her nausea rose. “Yeah.”

Her mother gave her an appraising look. “You know, if you want, I can go cut his tongue out now. I have some pliers — I can pull it right out. Then you won’t have to worry about him talking.”

“That’s okay, Mom.” Nita forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure . . .” Her mother gave her another searching look before sighing. “All right. Shall we start packing some of those zannie parts?”

Nita nodded, glad for the change in subject.

They spent the rest of the afternoon filling up crates. Her mother had arranged the bribes to get them back to the family warehouse in the States. Her father would handle them from there. He dealt with the online sales, storage, and shipping of the body parts, while her mother dealt with the retrieval. Her father was also their major cover, if INHUP ever came sniffing. Nita was sure her mother had a record a mile long — her stack of foreign passports, driver’s licenses, and credit cards was probably two feet high. That sort of thing usually came with a record, in Nita’s opinion.

Her father, though, was squeaky clean as far as Nita knew.

By day, he worked as a legal consultant in Chicago, and by night, he sold body parts on the internet. Nita missed him, and their home, and their shitty Chicago suburb that was actually a two-hour drive from Chicago. She hadn’t been home since she was fourteen.

She wondered what her father would say about this situation. Would he be unhappy her mother had brought a live unnatural home? And moreover, a harmless one?

It  was  one  thing  when her  mother  dumped  a  zannie or a unicorn  on Nita’s  table.  For one,  they  were monsters  who couldn’t continue to live without killing other people. And the world agreed — that was why there was a Dangerous Unnaturals List. It wasn’t even a crime to kill them. You were saving lives.

But someone like the boy in the other room? How could she justify that?

Sighing, Nita wiped the sweat off her forehead as they closed another crate. No matter how she thought about it, she couldn’t find a way to justify murdering that boy.

Well, except money.

“It looks like we’re going to need a few more shipping crates.” Her mother ran a hand through her hair. Her manicure caught the light, black and red and yellow, like someone had tried to cover a fire with a blackout curtain.

Nita poured a glass of juice. “Probably.”

“I think we deserve pizza now. How about you?” Nita heartily agreed.

After dinner, they realized they were low on bottled water.

Tap water wasn’t drinkable unless boiled, and Nita’s mother didn’t like the taste. She’d been promising they were going to get a UV light for purifying water since they arrived a few weeks ago, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Her mother sighed and got up, dusting pizza crumbs off her lap. “I’ll go down to the store and get a seven-liter bottle. I’ll start on the boy when I come back.”

“Start what?”

Her mother grinned. “I sold his ear an hour ago.” Nita stiffened. “You’re going to cut it off tonight?” “Of course.”

Nita swallowed, looking away. “But you can’t mail it until tomorrow morning. It makes more sense to cut it off tomorrow. If freshness is important, like you said.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. Nita tried to resist the urge to shift in place, but failed.

Finally, in a small voice, Nita whispered, “I don’t want to hear him screaming all night. I won’t get any sleep.”

Her mother laughed, throwing her head back, then came over and clapped Nita on the back. It was just a little harder than it should have been, and Nita stumbled forward a step.

“You’re absolutely right, Anita.” Her mother grinned as she walked back to the door. “We’ll do it tomorrow morning.”

Nita stood there, trembling, as the door closed with a thud and a click. She remained in place for a few minutes, calming her breathing before picking up a slice of pizza and walking back to the dissection room.

When  she opened  the  door, she  found  the  boy sitting cross-legged in the cage, watching her. She approached with caution, and as she got closer, she was able to discern that yes, those stains on his clothes were definitely dried blood.

She put the pizza close enough to the bars that he could wiggle his fingers through and pull pieces off. She skittered back, afraid if she got too close he would leap at her. Not that he could do much, chained to the cage, which was chained to the wall. But she was careful anyway.

He looked down at the pizza and licked his lips. “Gracias.” “De nada.” Nita was surprised at how hoarse her voice was. She stood there for a long moment, awkward, not sure

what to do next. Logically, she knew better than to talk to him. She didn’t want to know anything about him if — when — she had to dissect him. But she also felt weird just giving him food and leaving.

This was the part where she could really have used more social skills practice. Was there etiquette for this kind of situation?

Probably not.

He wormed his fingers through the bars and ripped off the tip of the pizza. His hands wouldn’t reach to his mouth because of the handcuffs, so he had to bend his head over to eat. He chewed slowly, and after one bite, just sat, looking at the pizza but not eating. She wondered if he didn’t like pep- peroni.

“Cómo te llamas?” he asked, still not looking up. His accent was clearly Argentinian, his y sounds blurring into sh, so it sounded like “cómo te shamas?”

His accent wasn’t too hard to understand, unlike Nita’s.

Her father was from Chile, and she’d lived in Madrid until she was six, so Nita’s Spanish was a hopeless tangle of the two accents. Sometimes the Peruvians in the grocery store couldn’t understand her at all.

“Nita.” She hesitated. “Y tu?”

“Fabricio.” His voice was soft. “Fabricio Tácunan.” “Fabricio?” Nita couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her

voice. “Is that from Shakespeare or something?”

He looked up at her then, and frowned. “Pardon?”

Nita repeated slowly, trying to make her accent less pro- nounced.

This time he understood. He raised his eyebrows, voice pitched slightly differently. More curious, less sad, his Spanish soft and barely audible. “Who is Shakespeare?”

“Umm.” Nita paused. Did they teach Shakespeare in Latin American schools? If the boy — don’t think of him by name, you’ll get too attached and then where will you be? — had been a captive of a collector, had he even gone to school? “He’s an English writer from the fifteen hundreds. One of his characters was named Fabrizio, I think. It’s . . . I guess I thought it was kinda an old name.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s fairly common where I’m from. One of my father’s employees has the same name. But he spells it with a z, Fabrizio. The Italian way.”

Fabricio looked down at his shirt, crusted with dried blood and swallowed. “He spelled it with a z.”

Oh.

Nope, too much information. Nita didn’t want to hear about this.

Why did you even talk to him, then? she scolded herself. This was going to make everything worse later.

Nita turned to leave, but he called her back. “Nita.”

She paused, wavering, before glancing over her shoulder at him. “Yes?”

“What’s going to happen to me?”

She watched how he strained against the handcuffs, leaning forward in the cage. His face was tense, fear shining through in the angle of his head, the crease on his forehead, and the wide blue eyes.

She turned away. “I don’t know.”

But that was a lie. She just didn’t want to admit it to him.

  THREE

Heading back into the kitchen, Nita found her mother waiting for her.

There was no water.

Nita paused when she entered the room, uncomfortable. Her mother was watching her with cold eyes, hand resting near her gun. Casually, not on purpose. Not that her mother had ever needed a gun. She preferred poison.

“You weren’t talking with him, were you, Nita?”

Nita shook her head, looking at the floor. Her shoulders hunched as her body instinctively tried to curl into itself. Nita’s mother had an aura around her, an unspoken sense of coiled menace when she was angry. Nita would never admit it to either of her parents, but she was secretly terrified of her mother. She’d only stood up to her once in her life.

When Nita was twelve and they’d been living and operating near Chicago, her mother had tried to get into the dact fur business. Dacts, small fluffy balls of adorableness people kept as pets, were totally harmless. Her mother would come home with groups of them in cages, never saying where they were from. And every night, after her parents went to bed, Nita would sneak down to the basement and take the cages to the twenty-four-hour emergency vet clinic and ask them to give the dacts to the SPCA or shelter. A few times they’d scanned the dacts for microchips and found they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard.

Nita’s mother had not been impressed. She’d come home one day with a cage of dead dacts instead of live ones, and Nita had responded by flushing five pounds of pure powdered uni- corn bone down the toilet (that stuff sold better than cocaine and was more addictive by far). She took the dead dacts’ bodies to the emergency vet clinic anyway.

Nita’s mother hadn’t appreciated Nita’s discovery of morals. After her father calmed everyone down and ended the plan to sell dact fur, Nita’s mother still hadn’t been satisfied. So she’d poisoned the dact food in the pet store, and every single dact in their suburb had died. Her mother, knowing Nita’s pro-pensity for ignoring things that weren’t right in front of her nose, took to putting the corpses in Nita’s bed for a week.

It had only  ended when  Nita broke  down crying  on the front step, begging her mother to stop. Her father had agreed and told her mother  it was affecting their  profit margin — by that time Nita was dissecting most of the bodies coming through, and she was such an emotional wreck she hadn’t worked in a week. Money convinced her mother to stop when nothing else had.

But there was an unspoken promise: if Nita ever disobeyed her mother again, the punishment would be far, far worse.

Nita swallowed and tried to push away the memories. “Why would I talk to him? What would I even talk about?”

“Of course you weren’t talking to him, you’re socially incompetent.” Her mother took a step forward, and Nita nearly flinched. She kept herself in check. Barely. “Because, if you were trying to talk to the boy, you might develop sympathy. I don’t need that. And I can promise you” — a sharp, mean smile— “you don’t want that.”

Nita shrugged, trying to play it nonchalant when every nerve screamed at her to run, run far and fast and never ever look back. “I gave him his food. He said thanks. I said you’re welcome. Then I left.”

Her mother gave Nita a long, searching look before bestowing a condescending smile on her. “That’s good. It’s always appropriate to be polite.”

Nita tried to force a smile, but it wouldn’t come. “I’m tired. I kinda want to go to bed. If you don’t mind?”

Her mother waved her away. “After you pick up some water. I decided I didn’t want to go myself after all.”

So her mother didn’t trust her. She’d just sat there, eaves- dropping, and knew Nita had lied to her.

Great. “Okay.”

It was always best to obey her mother.

Nita grabbed her sweater and a bag on her way out, making sure to lock the door behind her. She took a deep breath, leaning her head on the door and closing her eyes. She felt like she was walking a tightrope. One wrong step, and she could fall to either side. The problem was, she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d be falling into, except that it would be bad.

Would her mother kill Fabricio while she was out so Nita couldn’t interfere?

No. Of course not. But she might start cutting off pieces. Nita swallowed, hands clenched at her side. Would that be

so terrible? It wouldn’t be Nita’s fault then — she wouldn’t be here; she couldn’t do anything about it. She could just brush it aside.

But she’d still have to dissect him when it was all over. Scoop out those scared blue eyes and put them in a jar.

Nita let out the breath she’d been holding. It would be a waste to start cutting pieces off Fabricio now.

She walked down the hall and to the stairwell, heading for the store.

Outside, it was dark and hazy, but the streetlights kept things moderately well lit. Nita lived in a nice part of Lima, right in the heart of Miraflores district, and she wasn’t too concerned about safety at night.

The heat of the evening settled comfortably on her skin, and a gentle breeze brought her the scent of something spicy in a nearby restaurant. She’d only been in Lima a month, but she liked it a lot so far. It was one of the nicer places they’d set up shop.

Nita and her mother moved around a lot. They would move to a central location on a continent, and her mother would tar- get all the nearby countries, hunting for unnaturals she could kill and sell. They’d spent years doing this in the US before they’d moved on to Vietnam, Germany, and now Peru.

She passed by the open door of a restaurant and saw a pair of American tourists snapping at a waiter. The woman was snarling something in English, and the waiter just stared at her, smile frozen on his face while shaking his head and try- ing to tell her, in a mix of broken English and Spanish, that he didn’t understand.

“Well, find me someone who does!” snapped the woman, and then she turned to her husband. “You’d think they could hire people that speak English.”

Nita rolled her eyes as she passed. Why was there this obsession Americans had that others should learn their language to accommodate them? They were in Peru. Why didn’t those American people learn Spanish?

She saw it everywhere, the weird entitlement. Tourists who stole pieces of pottery and coins from German castles because they could. Rich men who flew in to Ho Chi Minh thinking they could buy anyone they wanted for a night and do anything they wanted to them, laws of the country be damned.

Nita kept walking past the restaurant and down the street. Her footsteps slowed just beneath a plaque commemorating a battle against the Spanish. She thought about the Spanish conquistadores five hundred years before, who’d swept through South America and painted the whole continent red in their hunt for gold.

Something uncomfortable and squiggly shifted in her chest. The plaque was talking about Pizarro, the man who’d carved a bloody swathe through Peru. He’d taken the Inca — the  ruler of  the  Incan  people — hostage, and  then  ransomed him for a room full of gold. When the Incan people gave him the gold, he killed the Inca anyway.

Pizarro wasn’t even the worst of the conquistadores. Christopher Columbus used to cut the hands off indigenous people who didn’t dig enough gold for him each month.

Like her mother cut off Fabricio’s toes. Nope.

Nita really didn’t want to think about that.

So she ignored the niggling little voice that told her she had no right to claim the tourists were being entitled jerks when her mother felt entitled to take these people’s lives and sell their body parts for profit.

She went to the local bodega instead of the giant grocery store. She didn’t like how crowded the grocery store was. People were always talking to her and breathing near her, and some- times they brushed by her, and she found it uncomfortable.

The bodega was smaller, and she actually had to talk to the person at the cashier sometimes, but it was worth it to not feel the press of so many bodies around her. Also, the bodega never had a line.

As she was paying, Nita’s eyes were drawn to the television sitting on a chair on the other side of the room, a stack of toilet paper and Kleenex packages on top. It was an old, boxy unit, and someone had put on the news.

“The debate over whether to add unicorns to the Dangerous Unnaturals List continues, as INHUP starts its third day of discussions over the proposal.”

Nita smiled as a memory surfaced, one of the few she had where she really felt her mother cared. A man with blond hair and swirly black thorn tattoos had reached to ruffle her hair at a store, and her mother had nearly shot him right then and there. Nita had been swept away before the man could get too close, and while her mother never said, Nita knew that particular soul-eating unicorn was dead now. He would never again target virgins. She’d seen the new powdered unicorn bone stock.

Letting out a breath, Nita shook her head. Her mother might be many things, but she loved Nita. It was a scary kind of love, but it was there. That was important. Sometimes it was easy to forget, given her mother’s suspicious nature and obsession with money.

A reporter was interviewing a scientist about unnatural genetics.

“Unicorns are another type of unnatural linked to reces- sive genes. This means these creatures can reproduce with humans, and the genetic makeup can lie dormant for generations before the right circumstances combine and two per- fectly normal parents give birth to a monster.

“It’s not only unicornism that’s hereditary,” the man on the screen ranted. “But other creatures. Zannies. Kappa. Ghouls. Even vampires, to some extent.”

Nita thought of the pieces of zannie in her apartment. She wondered how many people it had tortured in its life to feed its hunger for pain. It was a good thought, because she had no guilt about cutting up a monster like that, and even admired her mother for killing it.

“Could you describe the proposal you’ve submitted to INHUP, Dr. Rodón?”

“Genetic manipulation. It’s a very select series of genes unique to each species, so once fully mapped, it should be easy to screen for and eliminate them. If we catch it before they’re born, we can eradicate all dangerous human-born unnatu- rals.”

The clerk gave Nita her water with a smile, and she nearly ripped it out of his hand as she stormed out of the shop, unable to listen to another minute of that drivel.

Nita hated people.

While Nita agreed it might be an effective, even humane way to reduce the monster population, she knew people would take it too far. People always took it too far. How long before people started isolating genes from harmless unnaturals and eliminating them too? Aurs, who were just bioluminescent people? Or mermaids? Or whatever Fabricio was?

Or even Nita and her mother?

FOUR

The next morning, Nita woke to screaming.

She yanked the covers off and reached for the scalpel she kept on her nightstand. Her feet tangled in the sheets as she stumbled out of bed and fell on her knees with a thud.

The screaming rose in pitch, sharpening into a long, horrible shriek.

Breathing fast, Nita freed herself and climbed to her feet. She crept out of her room, scalpel first, toward the source of the noise. The screams were punctuated by the rattle of metal against metal, the scraping squeak of something heavy on the linoleum floor, and her mother’s vicious swearing. Nita’s heartbeat stuttered.

Her mother hadn’t been testing her when she mentioned cutting off Fabricio’s ear. She was actually doing it. Right now.

Nita opened the door to the dissection room and saw blood. It had spattered her clean white walls and floor. Droplets clung to her mother’s angry face, and streaks of red tears patterned Fabricio’s cheeks. He’d scooted his head as far into the cage as he could and had bunched his legs so his feet were pressed to the front of the cage. He rocked it from side to side, trying to prevent her mother from getting a grip. The padlock was on the floor, but the cage door had swung shut, and Fabricio was holding it closed by wrapping his remaining toes around the door and tugging.

Her mother was holding a syringe, probably something to sedate Fabricio. He knocked it out of her hand with his shoulder, and it clattered to the bottom of the cage. He used an elbow to smash it, spilling the contents and chunks of broken glass across the ground.

Both of them turned as Nita entered, and Nita flinched when she saw Fabricio’s face straight on. Her mother had clearly tried to cut off his ear while he slept, and he’d woken up mid cut. His ear had been partly severed, and then the knife had slipped, slicing a deep red line across his cheek.

Nita took an involuntary step forward to stop this, to do something. Her mouth opened to protest. Then it closed.

You can’t stop this, Nita. You can’t save him.

If you show sympathy, your mother will make sure you regret it. She wouldn’t hurt me, Nita protested. But that didn’t mean

there weren’t worse things her mother could do. The memory of small broken bodies stuffed between her sheets surfaced, but she shoved it away.

She let her hands fall to her sides as she talked herself out of action and looked away. She was no stranger to blood and carnage, but she hated that shard of hope shining from Fabricio’s eyes. She didn’t want to see it replaced by betrayal.

“Nita.” Her mother rose, flicking blood off her fingers. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Nita paused. “Are you trying to get the ear?”

“Yes. He’s not cooperating.” Her mother beckoned her. “Give me a hand.”

Nita hesitated only a split second before approaching. “How can I help?”

The hope in Fabricio’s eyes cracked, and then melted into terror and anger. Nita tried not to look.

Her mother took out another syringe, presumably full of sedatives. “I’m going to try and hold him still. I want you to sedate him.”

Nita took the syringe with trembling fingers, not letting herself look at Fabricio. It was better this way, wasn’t it? This way he wouldn’t feel the pain when his ear came off.

Nita wouldn’t have to hear him scream.

“Why didn’t you sedate him before you started?” Nita asked, hiding her shaking hand from her mother.

Her mother shrugged, nonchalant. “I thought I could cut it off fast enough.”

No, Nita realized, looking at the half smile twitching across her mother’s face. You thought no such thing. You wanted this to hap- pen, so I would wake up and be forced to help you.

Nita was being tested. She didn’t know what the conse- quences of failure were, but she knew they weren’t good.

You shouldn’t have talked to Fabricio and then lied about it to her. Nita had been stupid. She should have known better. Clenching her jaw, she put the syringe down. “I don’t see how it’ll be any easier to sedate him than it would be to just get the rest of the ear off.” She showed her mother her scalpel.

“There’s only a strip of flesh left. It won’t take much to finish the job.”

Her mother’s smile widened until it seemed to consume her face. “If you think so, I’m happy to try.”

“Nita.” Fabricio spoke for the first time. “Nita, por favor.” Nita’s mother laughed. “Oh, it figured out your name.” Nita clenched the scalpel in her sweaty palm and focused

on the ear, ignoring Fabricio’s crying and continued whispers of her name like a prayer.

Just get this over with. Then she could figure out where to go from there. But if she failed this, bad things would happen. She didn’t want a repeat of the dact incident with parts of Fabricio in her bed each morning.

She tried not to look at his face as she pushed the scalpel through the cage bars, but she couldn’t escape his sobs and cries. Her hand was shaking, and her palm was so sweaty that when Fabricio shook the cage again, the scalpel was knocked right out of Nita’s fingers, leaving a deep, bloody gash across her palm along the way.

Nita yanked her hand back, swearing as the blood dripped down her arm.

Her mother gave her a tired look. “Well, heal it already, and we’ll try again.”

Nita turned away so her mother wouldn’t see the flash of anger in her expression. Then she let out a breath and focused her body. She increased blood clotting factor in the affected area to speed up the scabbing process. She didn’t want to do too much repairing until she had some disinfectant, though— while she could stimulate her body’s natural defenses against the microbes, it was just easier to wash the wound in soap.

Nita wasn’t sure how old she’d been when she discovered that other people couldn’t control their bodies the same way she could. Her mother did it all the time — enhanced her own muscles so she could run faster, hit harder, heal quicker.

The more Nita understood about her body, the more she could control it. But it was dangerous — there was a reason for swelling, and if you took away the symptom without dealing with the underlying cause, it could make things worse. She’d discovered that the hard way when she was seven  and  her father had to take her to a hospital because she’d accidentally paralyzed herself trying to make her bicycle-butt bruise go away. Only after the x-rays and scans, and the doctor’s detailed explanation of the precise issue, had Nita been able to fix it.

After that, she’d been very cautious about how she altered herself.

“Are you done yet?” Her mother’s voice was cold.

Nita nodded and turned back to her mother. “For now. But it’ll take time to fully heal. I severed a tendon — I don’t think I’ll be able to hold a scalpel for a day or so.”

Her mother scowled, clearly displeased. Nita made no comment and kept her face blank. It wouldn’t do for her mother to see how relieved this injury made Nita feel, or for her mother to realize she was stalling and could, if she wanted, finish healing the wound much sooner than tomorrow. Now she had at least a day where she didn’t personally have to do the slicing. That was something.

“Fine.” Her mother picked up the bloody scalpel, gave it a quick rinse in the sink, and then, before either Nita or Fabricio had a chance to react, spun with near superhuman speed and threw it. It neatly sliced through the last piece of cartilage connecting Fabricio’s ear to his body, and he screamed as the sev-ered piece of flesh tumbled to the ground. He tried to clap his hands over his ear, but they were still chained to the bottom of the cage, and he couldn’t reach. Instead, he wept as blood coated the side of his face.

Her mother scooped up the scalpel and speared the ear like a piece of steak. She showed it to Nita with a grin. “You know, I think my aim could have been better.”

Nita resisted the urge to throw up.

 ***

Want to keep reading? Pre-order NOT EVEN BONES today at any of the links below!

Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-a-Million IndieBound Powell’s

[alivingfire]

For the fic title thing: "The way you got me under your spell" (I stole this from Touch by Little Mix, don't sue me pls)

[this is part of a series of fic synopses i would write based on the fic titles i’m sent, here is my tag for all of them :)]

okay, so, obviously, a magic au. but we’re gonna mix it up: this time, it’s louis who is the secret witch who has to hide his magic (and his giant crush) from harry. 

so louis obviously isn’t going to be a typical witch. he’s not big on the kitschy mason jars and cutesy labels for things; he keeps his herbs for his potions in tupperware containers right next to his weed. he brews his potions in an old teapot he’s repurposed into a cauldron, and he stores his mixtures in old whiskey bottles. he draws sigils on his shoes and his denim jackets with sharpie, tattoos protection spells on his forearms amidst his other doodled ink. 

so he meets harry when he moves in next door, and he immediately knows this isn’t going to end well. witches fall hard, and they fall fast, and from the first moment harry dimples at louis he knows he’s a goner. 

but, surely if harry knew what he was, he’d think louis was crazy and run away screaming, right? so he doesn’t tell him, and just throws up some hasty glamours when harry comes over to visit, trying to cover up the sigils burned into the walls or the ancient spellbooks on his desk. one time, harry notices his stacks of containers full of rosemary and cinnamon and sage, and louis has to scramble for a reason to have all that, finally settling on, “i’m a bit of a chef in my spare time.” 

“really?” harry smiles, eyes twinkling. “you should cook me dinner sometime.” 

that would be a terrible idea. louis can’t cook anything more complicated than cereal. so he opens his mouth to say no, and - 

“sure,” he agrees. 

“it’s a date!” harry beams. 

niall laughs himself silly when he hears louis’ predicament, but he agrees to help him put together a relatively easy meal. “you’re going to cover all this up before he gets here, right?” he calls from the living room, gesturing at the skulls on the bookshelves and the half-melted candles on every surface, as louis stirs his pot of pasta. 

“yeah, yeah,” louis says. “now come help me with the sauce.” 

it’s a bit of a disaster but they finally put together a decent-enough meal just in time, and then when harry knocks on the door niall claps louis on the shoulder and twists on the spot, disappearing into thin air. louis answers the door and finds harry there, holding out a bouquet of flowers – roses, carnations, and baby’s breath, those’d make an interesting potion – and blushing prettily. 

he and louis grin at their plates through the whole dinner, catching each other’s eyes and brushing their feet together under the table. louis’ magic is twitchy with excitement, making the lamp in the corner flicker when harry brushes his hair off his face, making a book fall off the shelf when harry laughs at his joke. 

“can i…?” harry asks as they take their bottle of after-dinner wine to the windowsill, inching closer and closer under the stars as the night goes on. his lips are so close to louis’, and louis’ heart is beating so fast. he should say no. 

“okay,” he whispers. 

when their lips press together, louis’ magic goes haywire. all the lights in the surrounding city block flash on and off, but they don’t notice. books and candles topple off the shelves behind them, but they don’t notice that either. a lightning bolt strikes the tree outside louis’ window, sending the whole thing up in flames. 

that they notice. 

“shit!” louis gasps, jumping to his feet. his mind is blank with panic so he runs to the desk, grabbing his spellbook. harry’s scrambling for his phone, probably to call emergency services, but louis stutters, “no, no, don’t! i- i can-” he slams the heavy tome down, flicking through the pages marked with neon sticky notes until he finds the right spell. “et disperdam te, ignis, aqua!” he cries. 

a cloud forms suddenly right over the still-burning tree, and there’s a clap of thunder before buckets of rain dump down onto the flames, quenching them. louis takes a deep breath of relief, but then remembers why that happened in the first place. 

“um,” harry says. 

“right,” louis says weakly. “that. that was. an illusion! yeah, i do- i do illusions, magic tricks-” 

“louis,” harry interrupts. 

“no, right, that’s stupid. um. it was a prank! haha, got you, you should see your face-” 

“louis.” 

“fine, fine,” louis sighs. he holds up his palms, which are glowing brightly. “i’m a witch.” 

“oh,” harry says. then, “okay.” 

“okay?” louis asks incredulously. 

“well, i figured,” harry shrugged. “what with all the skulls-” 

louis flushes. “i… usually hide those when i have company.” 

“-and the notebook you lent me last week that was full of latin-” 

“oh, um. yeah, i’ve been looking for that, actually.” 

“-and, well. that,” harry says, pointing upwards. louis looks up and is confronted with the sight of the giant pentagram he’d painted on the ceiling when he’d first moved in, and that he’d completely forgotten about until this very moment. 

the absurdity of the situation hits him and he doubles over, hysterical laughter hitting him hard. harry joins him a moment later, loud, squawky laugh like a balm to louis’ ears. 

“right. well. let’s try again,” louis says. “hi, i’m louis, and i’m a witch. i have a familiar named clifford, and i learned every spell for how to set things on fire but never learned one for how to put them out.” 

he holds out his hand, and harry takes it. louis’ magic reacts again, his happiness bubbling over and making the pages of the spellbooks rustle like a wind has swept through, a few of his candles sputtering to life. harry grins delightedly. 

“i’m harry,” he says. his palm is very warm, and louis is very happy. “and i think you should show me what you can do.” 

a month later, harry has cancelled his lease and completely moved in with louis. his cat, marlene, immensely enjoys being a menace to clifford, who loves her back fiercely even if she does bite him while he’s sleeping. harry’s diptique candles join louis’ magic ones on every surface, and he’s organized louis’ herbs so that he can find one he wants immediately instead of having to dig through tupperware boxes for twenty minutes every time. 

louis is at the stove, stirring a new potion in his teapot-turned-cauldron with his wooden spoon when harry gets home from work. louis hears him greet the animals playing in the bedroom, then turns to see him stepping gingerly over the line of protective salt in the doorway to the kitchen. he wraps his arms around louis’ waist and nuzzles against louis’ cheek. 

“hello, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss under louis’ ear. 

and, even after a month of kisses and whispers and i love yous, louis’ magic still reacts, making the potion boil and a few of the bottles in the fridge rattle together. 

it still makes harry grin, though, so he supposes it’s alright.