Bargaining

Beakman showed up at dawn.

He didn’t knock or call out for
Else. He just stood there at her door, silently waiting for her to notice him
staring at her through the glass.

He was an oddity. Else wasn’t sure
what kind.

The only form she’d ever seen him
take was of a man’s body with a bird’s black beak and eyes. He reminded her of
a heron, maybe a giant heron in a penguin suit. It wasn’t just his inhuman
freakishness that unsettled her. The guy was an arrogant creep; from his beady
little eyes right down to his sharp little toes.

He barged into her kitchen and took
a seat at the table when she opened the door. He regarded Else expectantly,
waiting while she grabbed the kettle and started filling it at the sink.

When she set the kettle down on the
stove, Beakman leaned forward. “So, let me see it.”

Else sighed. She gripped the edges
of her tee shirt, pulled it over her shoulders. She sat straddling one of the
chairs at the table, so that Beakman could examine her back.

The pattern there looked like a
tattoo, a very colorful glyph of a scarab spanning the breath of her torso. Its
strangeness was apparent only because she knew what to look for. The pattern
was slightly raised under the skin, giving the design a slightly
three-dimensional feel. It was hot to the touch. The veiny color patterns kept
changing. Clearly, the thing was very much alive.

“So, you met a scarab,” Beakman
mused. “When?”

“Yesterday morning, I think.” Else
tried not to cringe when his icy fingers poked at the flesh there. “It was on
the ground, upside down. All I did was help it along a little.”

She pulled the ends of her shirt
back down when he drew away. He took the lemon grass tea she offered. His
spindly fingers coiled around the glass. She watched him dip his beak in. A
thin, pink tongue came down, lapping at the warm liquid.

“A scarab in this climate is
ludicrous, you know?”

“Everybody makes mistakes,” Else
grumbled.

“Never met anyone who makes quite
as many as you.” Beakman snorted. “There’s supposed to be something inside your
brain that says: ‘one of these things is not like the others’ and you’re
supposed to walk away.”

Whatever that certain thing inside
the brain was, Else seemed to be in short supply. It was common sense, she knew
that, dammit. At the same time, she wanted to grab her shady guest by the beak
and snap it in half, for being obnoxious enough to keep pointing it out.

“What made you think something like
that needed saving, anyhow?”

“It was belly up, Beakman.” She
frowned over at him. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“I have a real name, you know?” He
was staring at Else intently. It made her skin crawl. “Why don’t you use it?”

“Who the hell is that stupid? No
thanks.” She shuddered. “Are you gonna help me get this bug off my back or
not?”

“There’s a price.”

“Isn’t there always?” She
countered.

She’d first met him when she was
twelve years old. Beakman had noticed her and her penchant for attracting strange
things, thereby needing to be rescued from them.

“What’ll it be this time?”

“I don’t know,” he smiled coldly.
“Maybe an arm and a leg?”

“What?” Else set her cup down with
a clatter. “Isn’t that more than your usual–”

“The price can only go up for the girl
with the thick head.” Beakman pointed at her accusingly. “What have I told you
about picking up strange things? At this rate you’ll probably go and become
something else’s prey.”

She snorted and took another sip of
tea. The fact was Beakman never denied being one of those strange things that
were always out to get her, just for knowing they were there.

He’d apparently decided that she
was more interesting to watch than whatever he could have planned for her,
though. Presumably, he didn’t have any intention of collecting on this
ridiculous debt anytime soon.

For the time being, at least, she
could trust that Beakman would be content with just biding his time.

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