Unknotted

The Core and a Button

Georgie

The Core was a fickle thing. Never able to decide if it wanted to flood the two halves of this broken planet with its magical tides or hold that power for itself. Dull as the planet was without magic, I was rooting for the tide to ebb. Remote detonator in hand, this handywoman had work to do, and the Core and its magic were in my way. What else was new?

I glared at the ball of white light that hovered between Tredema’s morning horizon and the sky’s apex. Egotistical as the Core was, it had to one-up the moon not only by shining brighter and having magical tides, but also by spouting portals. Pearly ribbons, laced with rainbows, spiraled from the Core, creating portals for hopping across the Between. In a matter of minutes, the Core could rocket me from one hemisphere to the other. All right, that little trick was kind of awesome. So long as the Core didn’t pull the ole’ switcheroo while I was in the middle of jumping. Strained as my relationship was with that ball of energy, I wouldn’t put it past the cranky hen to do just that.

Obstinate as ever, the Core dragged out the tide, as if it knew the success of my mission relied on the magic being out. Waiting on it to change its blasted mind was the worst part of my job. Bored, I tapped my tongue against one of my fangs and shifted my weight on the metal toolbox bolted into Bruce’s bed.

Bruce, my sexy, charcoal gray truck, was parked on a busy downtown street, out of view of dozens of cameras that surrounded the Broshot factory down the street. The Broshots, Tredema’s wealthiest and therefore ruling family, boasted that their factories operated on clean energy. Which was technically true. Environmentally, at least. The steam billowing from half a dozen smokestacks was nothing but water vapor. What the Broshots didn’t put in their commercials was how their success was founded on moral corruption.

“Are the tides about to change?” Peth’s voice, deep like a late-night radio host, echoed through the near invisible two-way radio tucked into my ear, though she sat not far away on Bruce’s tailgate, her long legs swinging. The book in her lap was propped open by the weight of her phone. The arms of her coveralls were tied about her waist like a belt, revealing a crop top for a pop concert she had dragged me to last summer. Tight braids on one side of her head displayed an array of dangling earrings on her pointed ears. The rest of her vibrant purple locks fell across her pale green shoulder in voluminous waves that would make any rock star jealous.

With the unpredictable tide in, magic infused the air, making it light and sweet. Magic vibrated in my bones and granted me the heightened senses and abilities of the beasts form I was born with. Smells were more distinct. My vision sharper. Sounds crisper. Everything felt clearer, more vibrant, and more alive when magic permeated the land.

I shot the Core an irritated scowl. For most, they couldn’t sense the changing of the tide until it happened. For whatever reason, I had an extra sense that granted me a few minutes warning. There were likely others with the same sense; I just hadn’t found them yet. “I don’t feel the shift coming yet. Blasted Core knows I’m waiting on it.”

“All the better for us. Because Jik is taking his sweet time.”

“I heard that, muffin.” Jik’s voice slid through the earpiece like warm honey. “I’m on my way back now.”

Peth’s muscular shoulders bunched. “Don’t call me muffin.”

“But, like a muffin, you’re sweet and fluffy and—”

“Fluffy?” Peth, who was nothing close to fluffy with her troll physique and regular gym time, seethed. “You did not—”

“Hurry back, Jik.” I fiddled with the detonator, itching to push the big red button. “Eventually the Core will cooperate.”

As if he could see my thumb hovering over the detonator, Jik snapped, “Don’t touch that button.”

I smirked. “But it’s my turn to push it.”

“Georgie.” His voice, back to the stinging tone he used with everyone but Peth, carried a warning.

“Better hurry, Jik,” I teased in a singsong voice.

“Tides,” he swore, his breathing increasing.

Peth plucked out her earpiece, grumbling, “Vermin,” then turned back to her book. It was another R.F. Letcher novel. The prolific author wrote hybrid romances that always ended up with the main couple tied up in knots. Magical knots—not any of that kinky stuff.

“Give him a break,” I said, tapping the earpiece off so Jik wouldn’t hear us. “All men can’t be like those in your books.”

Peth smiled, her lower lip pulling tight against the short tusks protruding from her jaw. She lifted her book. “When I’m done you can borrow it.”

“That’s all right.” I held up my hands as if she had offered to buff Bruce’s paint with sandpaper. “I’ve read enough of Letcher’s books.”

“You’ve only read two.” Peth pouted. “Who will I talk to about it if you don’t read it?”

“Fine. I will when you’re done.” I stood and stretched, anxious to start moving. I had hoped to jump hemispheres using the Core’s portals before Cenzia’s daily eclipsing of the sun at noonday. My “day job” was waiting after all. But with the Core being obstinate, it didn’t appear that was going to happen. “Take your time though.”

Peth’s eyes lit up. “I’ll be done tonight. You’re going to love it. If I could find a man like Dontello…” She purred. “A hybrid like that could dominate me anytime.”

I cringed. “Don’t say it like that.” There was nothing sexy, as far as I was concerned, about my race’s natural instinct to rule through domination and suppression. “Count yourself lucky the dominance pyramid doesn’t affect you.”

Peth frowned, and I instantly regretted my words. I knew that she felt like an outsider on both Cenzia and Tredema, as most trolls did. Being largely immune to magic, save for the potions they brewed, only further distanced trolls from dynamists and hybrids. While I saw that as a bonus—sign me up to be a troll any day—Peth and many of her kind struggled to not feel…insufficient. Peth’s way of coping was trying to experience hybrid life vicariously through her books and, unfortunately, through me. All that led to her obsession with hybrid culture, especially the concept of our magical knots. Much to my dear friend’s disappointment, I would rather avoid knots—magical or otherwise.

“Don’t you ever miss it?” Peth pointed skyward to the hybrids’ hemisphere.

Cenzia, the other half of this planet, lingered behind the Core and was starting to block out the sun as it did every day. Years ago, as in thousands of years ago—history wasn’t my strong suite—Tredema and Cenzia had been connected. Then one day, the Core decided hybrids and the dynamists needed separate rooms, sliced the planet from pole to pole, and sent the hemispheres spinning in opposite directions. Now Tredema and Cenzia revolved, of course, around the Core. Because the Core was self-centered like that.

Peth continued, “You spend more time with dynamists and trolls than with your own kind.”

I didn’t have an answer, at least not one Peth would understand or accept.

(Chapter continues in part 2...)