We picked up our loaded trays and the coordinator pushed open one of the swinging doors and held it back with his body.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the Savage Spectacle!” he called out as we entered the room. “Where your most exotic desire is our pleasure to provide!”
I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into my menagerie cage and cry, and the truth of that thought killed something fragile deep inside me.
Rommily
The oracle sat on the floor of a bright, cold room, with her spine pressed into the corner. She didn’t like this room full of cold tile and steel cots. She didn’t like white coats and rubber gloves.
She didn’t like men with guns, or the collar around her neck, which sent pain throughout her body, like being shocked with a cattle prod from the inside.
“It’s definitely broken,” the man in the white coat said, as he pressed on the sides of Mirela’s swollen nose. Mirela flinched, and tears filled her eyes, but she made no complaint. “You’re not going to be able to use her for a couple of weeks, at least.”
“Wonderful.” The woman in pressed pink pants touched something on her tablet, and the light it reflected on her face changed. “Less than a week off the truck, and she’s out of commission.”
Rommily traced the grout between the white tiles with her finger, wishing it were dirt. Wishing it were grass, wet with dew, shining in the sunlight. She missed the sunlight. She missed the wind and the smell of fresh hay and wandering barefoot through the sawdust.
She missed Eryx, with his silent strength and comfort.
“They’re both oracles? What’s wrong with that one, Dr. Hill?” the woman in pink said, and when Rommily looked up, she found herself pinned to the corner where she sat by the woman’s cold gaze.
“Physically, nothing that I can see,” the doctor in the white coat said. “Not that I can get close enough to examine her.”
“She doesn’t like to be touched.” Mirela’s voice sounded oddly nasal as she pressed a tissue to her bloody nose. As if she’d been crying.
“Well, that’s too bad. This is not a hands-off facility.” The woman in pink clacked closer in heels that reminded Rommily of carnival clowns on stilts. Her thin nose wrinkled. “Why does she smell?”
“She won’t shower,” the doctor said. “That’s evidently what caused this mess.”
Rommily tugged on the loose thread hanging from the hem of her torn shirt. She didn’t like these clothes. These drab pants that were all one color. If gray could be called a color.
“Is she dangerous?” the woman asked.
“No.” The doctor swiveled on his stool to face Rommily. “But there’s something wrong with her. If she were human, I’d call her a head case.”
“And since she’s not human, what would you call her?”
The doctor shrugged. “Useless.”
“Fury reaps its own reward.” Rommily’s words ran together like watercolors as she closed her eyes. An image formed, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open again, but the image was still there. Still every bit as real as the cold tile room and the pink-clad woman staring down at her.
“What did she say?” the woman demanded, as the doctor walked his stool closer. “And what the hell is wrong with her eyes?”
“She’s having a vision,” Mirela said. “Just leave her alone, and it’ll be over in a minute.”
The woman in pink knelt in front of Rommily in her clown heels, clutching her tablet to her chest. “Well, she’s certainly useless as long as she smells like that. Let’s get her up and hose her down, if we have to.” The lady in pink stood. “Help me with her?”
The stool groaned as the doctor stood and rolled it back. “I’ll take her right arm. You take her left.”
“I wouldn’t do that...” Mirela said from the padded table, but they weren’t listening.
The woman in pink grabbed Rommily’s left hand while the doctor took her right arm. Rommily sucked in a sharp breath as they pulled her to her feet. “Scalpel born. Belly full of blood.”
“What the hell did she say?” The lady in pink tried to let go of Rommily, but the oracle had her hand in a grip of steel.
She laughed, as if her white-blind eyes saw straight into the woman’s soul. “Fate’s bastard is coming for you.”
Delilah
