Chapter Fourteen

If I sound conflicted in my rage, that's because I am. I am trapped between the soft glow of tomorrow and the gritty ashes of yesterday. I want to move. I want to dream. I want to be. Nobody warned me that the light that warmed my soul would also burn.

--from one of Pearl's failed novels

Pearl's head throbbed with pain. Her eyes fluttered open, but she saw nothing but faintly blurred colors and shapes. Beige spheres of light-- the occasional pale flashes making her shudder. Several hushed voices crawled in and out of her ears. She lifted her head, glancing from side to side. She felt too much like Gulliver tied by Lilliputians doing that, so she sat up. The room was filled with tatami mats, and a cooking show murmured softly on the small television. The Takayasus' Inn! How could I forget? Goosebumps prickled at her skin, and she hugged her knees to her chin. Why am I cold? she thought, It shouldn't be cold this time of year....

She rubbed her eyes. Two short, thick figures walked in-- Hajime and Grandma Bathilde. Or, rather, Hajime was helping Bathilde walk. She looked exhausted, with deep black shadows under her eyes. Her lips cracked, with blood dribbling down her chin, but the redness looked even more stark against puffy, paper-white skin. The worst part were her eyes. Bathilde's big, brown eyes-- the sweet, soulful ones that brightened at flowers little Pearl picked, or crude drawings Pearl made with crayon-- became as glassy, stiff, and dreamless as a doll's.

"Grandma!" Pearl gasped, "Oh my God, Hajime, is she...?"

"She's still alive," grunted the old man, though a tear dripped down his cheek, "She just...she hasn't got much left in her."

"I know...I know she...." Pearl's lip quivered.

"This disease only affects elderly half-elves," Hajime explained, his voice as tight and worried as hers, "Blood-Drying, it's called. It can hang on a while, but...honestly, I'm amazed she's made it this far."

"I-Is she going to...?"

Hajime shook his head.

"I can't have her die on me.There's too much death here-- first the Princess, and now the love of my life...!"

"Wait? The Princess died? Princess Achara?"

"Oh? You must have been passed out then. She drank some poisoned tea before bed and...." Hajime sniffled. "I really should destroy the Perma-Golem and comfort them myself, but Bathilde! Oh, it's too much! My God, what are we going to do?!"

Pearl froze. She'd never seen Hajime so frantic before. He was shaking and sweating, darting wildly around the room for blankets and herbs. He grabbed his Book of Shadows, searching for a recipe. She leaned forward and propped Grandma up with a pillow, still processing the news. Grandma sick? The Princess Achara, our Olympia, dead? Nausea twinged in her stomach. Something doesn't sit right....

"Oh...there must be a remedy. There must be."

"There might not be. At least, not in human diseases."

Hajime scowled, swelling like a toad. The words shot from his mouth like hummingbirds.

"If you told me eating shit would cure her, I would do it! I love her too much to see her rot!"

"What does she need now?"

"Well, she did want to transfer some of her power to me, but now, that's just not possible....I'd say she needs rest, and then an herb solution." He adjusted his rectangular glasses. "Wait! Reverse that."

As Hajime dug for the herbs, Pearl pressed a hand to his shoulder. He froze and locked eyes with her. She looked sad, but her mouth was firm.

"I'll give you the power to heal her."

"What?! B-But Bathilde has enough power for us both!"

"But I don't need it," Pearl said, "Not with what I do, or what I like to do. Your magic is practical; mine more wistful and dreamy. It'll be better with you, Hajime."

The old wizard rubbed two fingers into his forehead.

"But you're young! You need to grow and expand your power!"

"As do you."

"Yes, well...but mine is...."

"Not that different. Here, let me find the spell."

"If you try to give it to me, it'll take too much time. And time isn't exactly ideal, now."

Pearl eyed her ailing grandmother. Bathilde's breath came in hard, jagged rasps that shook her entire body. Pearl felt a gritty lump rise in her throat.

"Then I'll use it."

She walked over to Bathilde, crouching to her knees. Let's see, the Power of Retrieval.... Pearl took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few moments. I'm not an elderly half-elf...maybe I could retrieve the illness!

With no Blood-Drying remedy spell in any Book of Shadows, Pearl had no choice but to press her palms into Grandma Bathilde's shoulders and chant:

"Great Mother of elves and witches,

Let my light heal your senses!

Though the battle is long and tough,

May our strength be enough."

As Pearl let go, Bathilde's breathing slowed into a regular pace. Her chest rose and fell as if she was asleep. No more blood ran, and Pearl wiped her grandmother's mouth with handkerchief,

"N-Now what?" she asked Hajime, heart pounding.

"Hope. It's what she would want."

Pearl smiled at her sleeping grandmother. She bent forward and kissed her forehead-- crackling the icy cold with fiery warmth. Grandma Bathilde shivered, before whispering something sweet. Pearl wanted to think she was dreaming.

XXX

On average, full-blooded elves have higher libidos than humans.Once female asexual reproduction fell out of favor, they took to the "human way" like a horse to hay. Though full-blooded elves were usually naked, they began dressing (as humans do) to keep their coital and non-coital times separate. Interbreeding became more common around this time. Over the years, their bodies and energy levels evolved with their needs. The more human blood in a part-elf, the less likely they are to crave sex as much as an elf.

In addition to this, the females in both full and half-blooded elves masturbate more regularly than the males. This is because-- due to their sensitive genetics, matriarchal leanings, two clitorises, and smaller systems-- they orgasm easier and can experience several at one time. (The males have a unique "double organ", according to researchers.) Thus they find it more satisfying. Though the connection remains unclear, orgasms are thought to increase magical power. Yet, it must be done repeatedly, in order for such evolution to be complete.

....

In ancient times, humans were unable to see elves. The Ko'Trin Island Elf Heritage Association refers to this as passil, which roughly translates to "looking over". Though the first elf sighting was not recorded until the early 14th century, one wonders if this "looking over" meant humans didn't want to admit reality-- that they were not alone in this world.

--Tadashi's notes from an Internet scholarly article, from the search: elfhumanrelationsfiletype.pdf

Amma wrote and sang a lot of songs in her day. However, only one "oldie" became semi-famous. "Come On Tiger (Make This Kitten Purr)", still played on the local radio station. Sometimes when she walked through town, people would whisper, "That's the kitten lady-- Emma Lamb!" And Amma would smile, tuck some hair behind her pointed ear, and continue walking-- but the compliments made her slump just a bit lower. But why? she thought. Elves were more open about "those sort of things", and those of the partial raspberry-smelling blood were not exempt. In fact, she wrote it first in the seductive, elfin Kringmy dialect before translating it to English.

The song-- a campy romance scattered with double entendres --had been scrawled on a napkin, in a wine-induced state about a certain Professor Cap Solstice. Though he'd be flattered (and what man wouldn't?), something about the song made her die a little inside. What would Maman think? Or even worse...Pearl? My own daughter...!

She found herself thinking of Pearl more often these days. Maybe because Pearl inherited her way with words, but these thoughts felt gritty with ice. Something happened in Japan. Nothing that screamed in bold black headlines or was spoken from the robotic cherry-red lips of a newscaster, but...well, what was it? Trouble. Man trouble, Pearl would call it. Yes, Pearl was having man trouble in Japan; that had to be it. Pearl always had man trouble, though she never had a man. She liked strong, smart men-- something that was apparently difficult to find. She would shuffle home after a bad wooing attempt, tears gleaming in her pink-rimmed eyes. Her mascara would smear into slick black streaks, and her breath would come in sharp, sudden gasps. Amma would hold tissues as Pearl blew her nose— no matter how hot or gross the mucus was. Then they would distract themselves with anything they could think of. Shopping. Cake-baking. Crystal-gathering. But reality always crept in; a man on TV would look like him or the pizza guy would have the same name and Pearl would erupt into tears again. Even Rudy would squawk: "Man trouble, man trouble!" Amma shook her head. I hope Pearl gets what she wants...but also stops wanting the wrong men.

Amma looked down, feeling her cheeks blush red. She didn't expect that song to be playing-- along with her high-pitched, breathy inflections --at the mall, of all places. But today it was so crowded, nobody noticed or said anything. Maybe Pearl feels the same way, she thought, About things she's written....

"How do I look?"

Professor Solstice strode out of the dressing-room wearing a pineapple-patterned turquoise shirt, cargo shorts, Birkenstock sandals, and magenta bucket hat with aviator sunglasses. He spun around, clearly proud of his summer outfit. In stark contrast, Amma wore a tight midnight-blue dress that strained at her belly and breasts.

"Honey, I think Pearl would die if she saw you in that."

"C'mon! Loosen up. Swing, baby!"

He looped his arm around hers, twirling her around until she collapsed into a nearby clothing rack. She rose enough to catch herself on the side. As she rose, she knit her brow.

"Swing? Who do you think you are?"

"Wait. Are you still thinking about Pearl?"

Amma nodded and sat in a nearby armchair. She dug a tissue out of her pocket-- one so ragged it looked comical between her tapered scarlet nails.

"Zell hasn't called or texted," she sniffled, "He said he would, once he found her. And I guess he hasn't found her."

"We could go to Japan."

"What?"

"Oh, yes! It would be perfect to go somewhere we've never been, expand our horizons a bit!"

"I don't know. A lot's happened recently; the Princess Achara has died."

The Professor inhaled deeply and removed his hat, clutching it somberly in both hands. He looked down with red-rimmed eyes, as if the Princess lay before him.

"Oh, yes, I heard the news. She was so young and talented!"

Amma sighed and shook her head.

"The poor woman was disrespected, I think, being forced to marry someone she didn't know— a pawn in their game." She shook her head. "And I dreamt that, as they carried her coffin upstairs, into the Palace— one step at a time —one tripped and everyone else fell, and her coffin split open! But there was no body— only a doll's, all smeared in hideous, greasy white paint! Honey, what if that was…was…Pearl?!"

She sniffled, prompting her husband to rub her shoulder.

"Amma, that was a dream," he soothed, "Besides, if I remember correctly, she'll be cremated."

"And do you think Pearl is…hurting, too?"

"Definitely. You know how obsessed she is with royalty— if anything, we'll learn if she ever got an interview with Her Highness."

"But what about Rudy?"

"We can bring him! It'll be good for his enrichment-- he'll learn all kinds of words. A new language-- think of that!"

Amma swung one thick, shapely leg over the other-- a move the Professor couldn't resist.

"Well...I am curious about Japan, darling. It's been such a long time since we've been out of the country. And no, I'm not including America-- or Mexico, for that matter."

"Very well, then," The Professor said, nodding, "Another thing about Zell-- his marriage is on the rocks."

"Oh, I know. I thought they were already divorced."

"They aren't. Separated-- apparently her gambling is a bit...much."

"Oh! Oh! I had no idea. I hope he's not too distracted during his trip."

"Another reason we should go. Find Pearl and your Maman, but also make some memories of our own." He slid into the comfy armchair beside her, rubbing his hand against hers. "You know, like making your kitten purr."

He chuckled. Amma recoiled, her eyes bulging in horror.

"Oh my God," she gasped, "You knew that song was...."

The Professor smiled slowly, his dark eyes glinting in the fluorescent light.

"About me. Of course."

"Ah...I...well, at least my song resonated."

"As it should!" He heaved himself upright. Amma smiled at his outfit. It reminded her of when they used to dress up for Halloween together, in matching costumes. Especially that one fun year, she had made one curvy 1920s gangster, and he one large flapper....

"You can buy that, dear," she said, dabbing her eyes one last time, "But maybe a more fashionable shirt; we don't want to look like typical tourists."

Professor Solstice frowned down at his big Hawaiian shirt.

"True. You never know when you might get robbed, or worse, chopped up in a suitcase somewhere. Some killers are cannibals. Do you think I would taste good? I have a lot of meat on my bones."

"Oh, honey," Amma laughed, "You've got to stop watching those true crime shows."

"I can't help it. Most of history is true crime anyway. That's what I tell my students."

"I remember that. You keep things fresh."

"Yes, but that's only so I don't forget them."

"Well, you forget I'm a witch." Amma tapped her finger to the sleeve of his shirt. "Let's see...how did that spell go, the one I wrote...." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Figures in fabric so harsh a light, warm my days and brighten my nights!"

Professor Solstice blinked as the pineapples shifted in a stiff, geometric, Southwestern pattern. The gold against the turquoise caught a lot of attention. One saleswoman's jaw dropped, as a customer rubbed his eyes in shock. Amma smirked, pretending not to notice.

"There. Much better."

"Oh, Amma...." The Professor marveled at his shirt in the oval, full-length mirror. "This is amazing!"

"Thank you," Amma replied blushing, "Now, we can either fly by plane or broomstick....."

"Airplane," grunted Professor Solstice, "Brooms are a bit painful on the derriere."

Amma turned, seeing something skitter from the corner of her eye. A tiny fire-elf, with bright red skin, black hair, and ragged gold clothes. Forgetting where she was, she bent forward and tapped the small creature on the shoulder.

"Tsi la ti," she greeted, digging out a small stick from her purse.

The elf took it into his hand and grinned, revealing long needle-like teeth.

"Maum yem," he said in a high, coarse voice, "This will help me power the building."

The fire-elf skittered away. Professor Solstice blinked, confused. Humans see elves, of course, but nobody else seemed to notice or care. Quiet day, he thought, Or maybe we're more used to the supernatural than we were before....

"Uh, honey," he asked, "What were you saying again?"

"I have to agree. But if that's what...." She froze. Her cell phone rang-- playing a Baroque oboe concerto that attracted some looks. She grinned nervously. "Excuse me. I have to check this." She pressed a button. "Hello?"

Professor Solstice's heart pounded. The more Amma talked, the more her features shifted downward. Deep lines dug into her forehead, her dark eyes darted side to side, and her mouth quivered. When she ended the call, her chin wobbled so much, it was a miracle she could speak.

"I-I-It's Hajime. He says Maman isn't doing well. She has the...Blood-Drying Disease."

"Oh, that's terrible! Is that the one that only affects…?"

"Half-elves," Amma whispered, trying not to attract attention, "They're usually in good health— until time catches up with them."

"Is Pearl with her?"

"She was, but I hope she's back soon."

"Don't worry. She always comes back."

"Ah, that girl! She has a big heart for trouble."

Amma chuckled, but her heart crumbled.