As & When: The E Apocrypha, #2

Alex Andre

Copyright © 2021, 2023 by Alex Andre

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover art by Christian Bentulan

Disclaimer

All characters and events appearing in this work are fictional.

Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or yet to be born, is purely coincidental.

To L—for putting up with my obsessions, celebrating my highs, and carrying me through my lows.

Contents

Maps

Part 1

1.Locksville, Eight Years Ago

2.Corning

3.Locksville

4.The Station

5.Vineland

6.Grimsby

7.New Kowloon

Part 2

8.Locksville, Five Years Ago

9.Locksville

10.New Kowloon

11.New Kowloon

12.New Kowloon

13.New Kowloon

14.New Kowloon

15.New Kowloon

16.Outside New Kowloon

17.Somewhere

Part 3

18.West Sauga, Four Years Ago

19.New Kowloon

20.The Station

21.Locksville

22.Locksville

23.Buffalo

24.Buffalo

25.Rochester

Part 4

26.Watkins Glen

27.Watkins Glen

28.Watkins Glen

29.Watkins Glen

30.Watkins Glen

31.Watkins Glen

Afterword

Also By

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Map by Oscar Paludi Exoniensis

Part 1

Chapter 1

Locksville, Eight Years Ago

September 14, 34 PE

Fog. A blessing and a curse. A friend and a foe. Foe-g. Concealing. Deceiving. Unreliable.

As if they had a mind of their own, the bands and tatters of the milky vapors drifted through the grove, across the clearing ahead, and into the orchard.

Bo dug his boots’ toes into the fir-needle covered ground. Again. As good a time as any. Go! No, wait…

He should have sprung from his hideout and dashed forward ten minutes ago. Or fifteen. Fog, the damn trickster, kept teasing him. One moment, a thick cloud enveloped the entire world. The next, exposed Bo and the tree he was crouching behind, making him feel naked, without as much as a light breeze to touch the hair on the back of his head.

A crack of a branch sent shivers down Bo’s neck. He pressed himself tighter into the tree. Merge. Blend. Become a part of the scenery. Fog, you bastard! Dampening the sounds, fooling his sense of direction. Someone was out there. An animal? A bird? Birds don’t break branches.

A blow between his shoulder blades ripped Bo from his tree and sent him three feet forward onto the wet grass. A deafening heartbeat or two later, before he could climb onto his feet, a heavy weight on his back pressed him into the ground.

Why were you following us?! A ferocious whisper in his ear.

I wasn’t! Bo’s vigorous objection turned into a mumble, with grass and mud filling his mouth. He wriggled, flailing his arms, but his attacker did not yield.

Get off him, Marc, you’re hurting him! Another voice, thinner but insistent.

The weight on Bo’s ribs lingered for another moment, then retreated, allowing him to lift his head, spit out the grass, and take a gasping breath.

I— He forgot what he was about to say. The most heavenly face floated before him, framed by the fog. Not beautiful, but… It wasn’t scowling or angry. It didn’t show disdain or pity. Nothing of the sort Bo had grown used to. It was compassionate. And yes, cute too. Enormous eyes the color of evening sky, dirty blond hair in two thick braids, and a mouth open with curiosity.

Who are you? the girl asked, crouching. You here to steal apples too?

Bo. I’m Bo.

"Bo? Her lips formed a comical ring, blowing a strand of her hair aside. What kind of name is Bo?"

He frowned. "My kind. And I don’t steal. I take. Who in the Seven Hells are you?"

None of your business! The invisible attacker cuffed him on the nape.

Bo growled and sent an elbow back and upward without looking. It connected. He rolled onto his back and found a howling, cursing boy above him. A few years older, bigger, nurturing his jaw, and promising revenge with a cold-steel stare. In one word, trouble. Bo was about to get his ass kicked.

Stop it! Both of you! The girl’s agitated whisper gave Bo a pause. Someone will hear! Is that what you want?

Bo and the other boy looked at her, then at each other.

"Now who’s the adult here?" Her crooked grin made her companion’s cheeks redden. An echo of a previous argument, obviously.

She stepped closer to Bo and offered a hand. I’m Aileen. Bo used her hand to pull himself up… She stood half a head taller than him. Her laughing eyes helped him swallow the awkward lump in his throat.

How old are you, Bo?

Lie? What for? Ten.

Awesome! I’m ten, too! And this is Marc, he’s fourteen. Very serious, but not very smart. She snickered.

Marc, said the boy, unnecessarily, rolling his eyes. This little brat’s brother. So, you weren’t following us?

"Didn’t even know you were around. You shouldn’t be here. This is my orchard."

"Your orchard? Aileen’s brows crept up. You mean, your family’s? Then why were you skulking?"

Huh? Did you fall on your head? The words slipped from Bo’s tongue.

Hey, talk nice! Marc shifted, raising his fists.

If only Bo had someone as protective of him… Everybody knows One-eyed Jeev’s land is mine by the Deal! He clamped his jaws and braced himself for the bigger boy’s asskicking.

The Deal? The uncertainty of Marc’s tone ruined his aggressive posture.

Duh. Wait, you don’t know the Deal?

Aileen shook her head. Marc avoided Bo’s eyes.

Bo gawked. Where are you from?

Here, said Aileen. We’re from here.

Locksville? How come Bo had never seen them before?

Locksville! Marc jutted his chin and pushed his chest out.

But you don’t live in the streets.

We— Marc’s voice faltered. We do now, he finished firmly.

Huge beads of tears welled in Aileen’s eyes. She shuddered and buried her face in her brother’s jacket. Our parents died last week. Her words were barely audible.

Marc pulled her into a hug. Our house burned down, he hissed through his clenched teeth, over Aileen’s head. They didn’t make it. We’re on our own now. He paused. His features hardened, sharp cheekbones bulging out. Tell me about the Deal.

Bo’s mind was already slipping away. The fire. Charred bodies. Blackness swept into the world, reducing it to two swiftly narrowing circles… Until everything was gone.

Bo opened his eyes. Bright blue sky far, far above. Treetops, glowing in the oblique morning sunlight. No fog. He was on the ground.

Two faces leaning over him, one worried, another frowning. Ah, right. Aileen and… Mack? No, Marc. The Deal-breakers.

Something lifted off Bo’s lips. What was Marc’s hand doing there?

You won’t scream anymore? asked the older boy.

Anymore? Bo’s parched throat protested against speaking. Shit. Not again.

You were screeching like a cat when somebody stepped on its tail. Aileen’s wide eyes sparkled in the sun.

How would you know? Bo rasped. You step on cats’ tails often?

A faint smile touched her lips. Will you be okay? What happened?

My parents… The blackness once more crept into his vision. Bo violently shook his head, slapped himself on the ear so hard it rang, and focused on that smile. They died too. Two years ago.

Aileen’s lips began quivering.

No! Bo’s cry was too loud, but he couldn’t care less. Please, keep smiling! I… I feel better when you do.

She exchanged uncertain glances with her brother. Marc nodded. The forced grimace she produced was so awkward Bo couldn’t help but laugh. Marc joined in. The wrinkles in the corners of Aileen’s eyes straightened out, and her smile turned genuine.

Bo sighed. "Sorry. This happens to me, sometimes. When I talk about… that. Or some other things."

The Deal? Marc changed the subject.

Good. No more inconvenient questions from his sister. "Ah. Yes. Last year, all of us living in the streets, we had a con-ven-shun." The word had refused to settle in Bo’s head. Each time, he had to dig into his memory to rebuild it. The first part, con, made sense. But the rest… Oh, well. Divided the zones, so we don’t hit one place too often. I got Jeev’s orchard.

A-ha. Marc scratched his temple. "How do we get a zone?"

Bo met his eyes. You don’t. Didn’t you hear what I said? It’s all divided already. He sat up.

Marc ground his teeth. And if we go and take what we want?

Then you’re stupid. Bo didn’t say that out loud. Then Uncle will send Streeters to beat the shit out of you. And after that, you won’t be allowed to set foot in Locksville ever again.

So… what can we do? What do we eat? Aileen’s horror was written plainly on her face.

Bo dropped his eyes. I’ll share my zone with you, he blurted before thinking it through. Stupid. But this girl… Why couldn’t he resist her?

Marc clasped his shoulder. Thank you. But I still want to talk to whoever’s in charge of the streets.

You— Okay, fine. I’ll introduce you.

"Great. Now, can we go take some apples?"

Bo scanned the surroundings. No fog. No fog! No! His voice dropped to a whisper. The fog’s all gone. Jeev will see us.

But I’m hungry, Bo. Aileen’s shaky, mewling voice had him wrapped around her finger. Had nothing to eat in a day. I want an apple. Or five.

Bo rolled his eyes, glimpsing Marc’s understanding grin. Apparently, a lot of eye-rolling happened around this girl.

Fine. Bo got his bearings. In bright sunlight, the place looked different from its fogged self. This way.

You, there!

Bo almost jumped out of his boots. Shit! Jeev! Scoot!

He grabbed his half-full bag of apples, clasped Aileen’s wrist with his other hand, and rushed through the orchard, ducking to squeeze between the trees. Marc followed on their heels with a deafening rustle. Everyone and their dog must have heard them already.

I’m gonna fuckin’ shoot you dead, little assholes! Jeev’s words rang closer than Bo had hoped. The sound of a racked shotgun made his skin crawl. Scrawny as he was, he felt a giant bull’s eye painted on his back.

Run! he panted, pulling Aileen so hard her feet barely touched the ground. Faster!

The fence appeared behind the last row of apple trees. Almost there.

Bo launched the bag to the other side, threw his jacket over the barbed wire coils crowning the obstacle, and pushed the girl up. She scuttled like a lizard, clutching at the chain link cells. He interlaced his fingers and bent his knees. Step in! he growled at Marc. Marc didn’t need to be asked twice. Holding the heavy boy’s foot, Bo grunted and heaved him up. Marc grabbed the top of the fence, pulled himself, rolled over Bo’s jacket, and jumped off. Bo climbed up after him…

Ima kill you, thieving piece of shit! sounded right below him.

Bo froze, straddling the fence. This was it. End of the road. At least Aileen and Marc would be safe, taking cover across the clearing. Bo closed his eyes, waiting for a shot.

Instead, a savage blow landed on his right thigh. Searing pain exploded on impact and filled the universe. Bo toppled over. A scream tore his throat apart. His pants caught in the barbed wire and he slammed into the fence, hanging upside down. He was too dazed to react, to protect his face with his hands.

The fence wires cut into his cheek and nose. Behind the splotches in his teary eyes and the square chain link cells, Jeev’s face floated not a foot away. His one good eye studied Bo like an annoying bug. But all Bo could see was the disgusting empty socket where the other eye had been, in an angry shade of red.

What am I gonna do with you? Jeev scratched his gray stubble with his gun’s stock. Wouldn’t be fair to shoot you trussed like this, and with that broken leg, you ain’t gonna be much of a runner. Hm.

The words came from far away, beyond the shrieking of the pain in Bo’s leg, echoing in nauseating waves through his body.

Jeev straightened up. Sorry, kid. There’s still a lesson to be taught here. Nothing personal, eh? He pulled his shotgun back.

The last thing Bo saw was the butt of the gun swung into his face.

Chapter 2

Corning

October 2, 42 PE

Bo pushed away the branches and scanned the approach one last time.

Tick breathed over his shoulder.

They’d watched the perimeter for an hour and still hadn’t seen a single guard. That made sense: why spend precious personnel on guarding something so useless? Yes, the Lords of Watkins took pride—a disproportionate amount of it—in owning such an unusual place. Beyond that, no one gave half a damn about the Museum of Glass. Well, not exactly. Someone gave enough of a damn to commission Locksville Streeters to do the grab and run job. Enough of a damn to attach to the contract a price tag so high that not only had Aileen accepted it, she also persuaded Bo to personally take care of it.

This place is enormous! Tick whispered. Do you know where it is, whatever we’re after?

Bo half-nodded, half-shrugged. Kind of.

‘Kind of’? And that’s—

Shut up, Tick. I don’t want to be here any more than you. You know how I hate travel—

No kidding. Everyone knows how you hate to travel. And, mind you, you talked my ears off about that.

Bo winced. That was true. You brought me here. Thank you for that. Bring me back, and I’ll thank you again. Right now, let me do my job, okay?

Sure, boss. Whatever you say.

Tick was making fun of him. As usual.

Bo studied the oddly shaped building. Why on Earth would anyone desire those useless trinkets this much? Who might that be? Aileen had mentioned a middleman… He grunted. Whoever the client, the job wasn’t going to do itself. Bo rose from the bushes and hobbled toward the curving wall.

The upper floor overhang provided relative privacy. Bo attached a suction cup to the window, held his breath, and pulled the glass cutter’s arm, drawing a perfect circle. The scraping of the diamond on the glass was quiet, must have been, had always been… But the silence of the windless night made it earsplitting, giving him goosebumps. Bo flattened himself against the glass wall and slowly exhaled. Seconds passed. No one came running or raised an alarm.

Bo lowered the round cut out into the grass.

Hopping over the windowsill with style would’ve been nice. Instead, Bo pulled himself through the newly made two-foot hole, as elegantly—or not—as his damn lame leg allowed. Inside, he fetched the hand-drawn map from his pocket and squinted to discern the scribbles in the faint moonlight. The building’s irregular shape made it easy to orient oneself. A-ha. That way.

At first, Bo tiptoed through the halls, clearing each corner. After a while of not encountering a single living soul, he grew bold. He strolled on, periodically stopping to marvel at one intricate showpiece or another. Vases with swirly frozen smoke. Miniature bottles, red and green, painted with golden patterns. Jewelry, and jewelry boxes—all looking so expensive he could probably buy half the City of Locksville and have spare change left. If he could find a buyer insane enough to pay real coin for pointless trinkets. The possibilities were endless, but… Concentrate. He wasn’t there to ransack the place. He had a very particular order to fulfill.

Bo continued past immense compositions of irregular shapes suspended from the ceiling in a circle wider than his arm span. As if someone had spilled molten glass and it solidified in the air, never reaching the floor. The full moon’s pale light seeping through the tall windows rendered the exhibits otherworldly. Human hands produced that? No way. Impossible, even before the E.

The last turn, and… Seven bloody Hells! The colorful marine creatures on display were striking in their lifelike precision. Creepy. Unreal. Bo’s boot squeaked against the floor as he stopped dead in his tracks. He took a cautious breath to ensure he was still surrounded by air—and not water.

He shook himself out of the reverie, opened his duffle bag, and laid out the packaging material. Lots of it. Baby blankets, woolen rags, small down-filled pillows.

Bo tentatively reached for a bizarre many-legged beast—or not legs? Did underwater crawlers have legs? Whatever those were. His hand jerked back. The figurine was cool and smooth, and too gentle to withstand a human touch, for sure. Or was it? Some amazing artist had made it, once upon a time. Someone else had put it on display here. Which meant it could be handled.

Bo gingerly picked up the creature with the tips of two fingers, turned to place it on a wad of rags, and… Crack. The sound echoed between the display cabinets. The millipede—if it was that—snapped in two, leaving the head in Bo’s hand. He reacted fast enough to catch the body in mid-air, breaking off a few of the maybe-legs. Oh, no. His throat tightened, and tears swelled in his eyes. The irreversibility of the loss overwhelmed him. His carelessness had deprived the world of something unique that would never come to be again. Shit. Shit-shit-shit.

Bo stared at the forever ruined creature. Sorry, buddy. He placed it aside, to be packed separately. No sense in leaving it there. He’d have a sad souvenir of this day. Symbolic, in a way; broken like he was. Must be more careful with the next ones, or Aileen would snap his head off.

Mindfully, rethinking every movement, Bo proceeded to pack other exhibits. He’d got so immersed in the process, he lost all track of time. When the last, twelfth piece, wrapped in countless layers of padding, found a new cozy home in the bowels of Bo’s duffel bag, murky pre-dawn had already painted the skies behind the windows in light gray. Damn. It wasn’t supposed to take that long. They’d planned to leave the Museum behind under the cover of darkness. Bo consulted the map one last time, confirming his path out. Retracing his steps all the way to the cut window was going to take another twenty minutes. Tick was guaranteed to be less than thrilled. Bo sighed. Caution called to take the long route, but with no one around, he might as well leave the building like a normal, decent human being he’d never been.

Bo headed for the main entrance and, quietly whistling a lighthearted tune, crossed the narrow pedestrian bridge. The two men stepping out of the trees appeared as surprised as him.

October 3, 42 PE

Howdy, gents! Bo waved a hand at the newcomers and greeted them with his best toothless smile. Not the time for self-conscious, tight-lipped grins. Let the missing teeth he’d lost to that shotgun stock as a kid charm the locals. Or show them his harmlessness, whichever worked. How’re you this nice early morning?

The men—members of some kind of military force, or just highwaymen?—exchanged puzzled glances.

Who are you? And what are you doin’ here? asked the older, heavier-built, more senior-looking one. His hand slid to the handle of the pistol on his belt. Metal plates sewn onto his jacket clanked. So, guards. Robbers wouldn’t have cared about Bo’s business at the Museum. They would’ve just killed him and taken his loot.

Me? Bo snorted, suggesting the very question was utterly ridiculous. He continued walking at a tangent from the guards.

Yes, you.

What, nobody told you? Bo’s legs kept carrying him on. If only they’d allowed him to walk without a limp… People with physical disabilities always raised suspicions.

Told us what? I said, stop!

The steps behind Bo accelerated. With no chance of outrunning anyone but a drunken turtle, he obeyed. Bullshitting his way out was the only card left to play.

The Lord of Watkins won’t be happy to hear about this! Bo jutted his chin out, channeling his most lofty arrogance. No, he won’t be happy at all!

Thin ice. Should’ve at least found out their damn Lord’s name.

The guards stopped a few steps away. The younger, carrying a saber instead of a gun, examined Bo with a suspicious squint. The older man’s face stretched in a carnivorous grin.

Uh-oh.

"Won’t be happy at all, drawled the senior guard. Bo’s own words, ominous when thrown back at him, made the hairs on his neck stand on their ends. Countess Anna will not be amused to hear someone thinks she’s a he."

Shit. Things were going further south, fast. How could he be so stupidly careless? Should have known better. Should have remembered: bad stuff happens when you travel.

A heavy hand clasped Bo’s shoulder. He flinched.

Is he giving you trouble, soldiers? The guards straightened. The younger one twitched to salute, reconsidering at the last moment. Tick’s authoritative voice and chiseled face tended to produce such an effect. Let me handle this petty thief. I’ll make sure everything he took returns to its rightful place.

Tick dragged Bo back toward the Museum’s entrance. Bo, quick on his feet—figuratively, if not literally—played along. Sir, no, please don’t!

The older guard cleared his throat. Um, excuse me?

Tick stopped, turned, and considered the man benevolently. Yes, soldier?

Bo pulled his head into his shoulders and twisted his face into a whiny grimace. He aimed to look like a cat held by its scruff, having been caught peeing in its master’s boot.

The guard stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. I’m sorry, who are you?

Someone who’s here to ensure Countess Anna’s treasures stay hers! Tick shot back. "Who are you?"

Sarge Beaverton. Another step. And your name is…?

Follow me, sarge. Tick conspiratorially lowered his voice and pulled Bo to the Museum doors again. I’ll tell you inside.

Shouldn’t they be escaping into the forest instead? With bitter yearning, Bo tracked the dark tree line over his shoulder until the doors closed behind him. He opened his mouth, but Tick’s hand shoved him aside.

Bo’s teeth clattered as he sprawled on the dusty floor, protecting the precious bag from impact. Behind his back, hacking, yelping, and dull impact sounds announced the one thing Bo hated more than travel: violence. He lay, waiting it out, careful not to look. Tick didn’t need his help. They both were better off if Bo didn’t interfere.

Boss, Tick said high above him a minute later. Not even out of breath.

Bo sat. Both guards stirred on the floor, dazed, bound, and gagged. Damn, Tick was good! Even with the edge provided by the closed quarters, tackling two armed, strong, and likely trained opponents like that must’ve been challenging. And he’d ensured this happened out of sight, in case these two weren’t alone. Smart—for muscle!

Tick did not pause to bask in well-deserved pride. Fists on his hips, he stared Bo down.