My heart is beating fast enough to burst out of my chest. If I am going to reassure this creature that I am not worth killing, I need to calm down. Forcing myself to breathe, I keep my eyes on the chimera as deep breaths move in and out of my lungs like waves on a turbulent sea.
I put my hands out, extending my palms so the beast can smell me if it so chooses. When I take a step forward, it bares its teeth. A low snarl rips from its mouth, so I cease all movements. With elegant grace that only an animal such as this can achieve, it slinks over to my feet.
Then, my mind flashes back to a book belonging to the mysterious Henry. That book with a philosophical tone, authored by a human. Some of the notes in that book's margins shine before my eyes like the neon lights of the Gates of Hell.
What is the measure of a man? Why, it is his actions that define him coupled with the intentions behind those. If the gods cannot equally weigh both in their hands, then they are not gods worth worshiping.
For some reason, these words spike an idea. Instead of focusing on my death at the hands of this chimera, I think about my fear of dying at my father's hands.
I let my betrayal pour out of my skin like ink from an octopus. I see the chimera pause and let out a deep breath. It soaks up all of the pain, fear, and anger. Behind all of that… there is no ill intent, only a scared inner Merling. I think of my father, of Hallie, of Erik. For a few wretched moments, I give life to the pain that has haunted the deep recesses of my soul.
The creature pads over to me. I have no way of knowing whether or not this will work. It might still judge me as worthy of being its lunch.
I hold my breath while the silky black fur touches my ankle. I inhale, and the chimera nuzzles my leg. Instantly, I want to cry. It takes a moment to realize that the stuttering sound isn’t a growl. It's… what's the word?It’s purring.
Without hesitation, I reach down and scratch the fur on its head. I’m hesitant to touch the feathers because I don’t have enough experience with such creatures to know whether or not they would like it.
Sea creatures don’t like being scratched at all.
The purring continues as the mid-sized chimera rubs against my legs. A sense of calm washes over me, and I realize the incredible creature is a telepathic empath—meaning it can also return emotions.
Surprising, salty tears stream down my face as the pain ebbs away and is replaced with a sense of peace and protection. I allow myself to lean into the illusion for a few moments before I move again, only to be interrupted by a new image that flashes in my mind. I gasp. The mental picture is of a silver bag with a chimera printed on the front nestled on the top shelf of a cabinet.
My head swings down to look at the beast, and it licks its lips. I run my hands through my hair desperately and look around. I have no idea where this food is supposed to be, much less how to get there.
Upon sensing my confusion, the chimera breaks away from my legs and trots to a door on the other side of the house.
I pray to every god in the pantheon that the amorous couple above won’t descend in the coming moments. When I push against the door, it swings open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a spacious kitchen with black tile and chrome appliances. The sight would’ve brought Jean Luc to his knees. I spot the cabinet I had seen in my mind. When I open it, I instantly locate the bag.
One glance at my new friend tells me that this is the one. I grab it and find that my fingers barely brush the bottom of the metallic bag. Locating a stool, I place it in front of the cabinet and carefully step up. When I wobble, I grasp onto the cabinet handles in front of me. They hold firm, thank the gods.
I grab the pouch and set it on the ground. The cabinet is wide open, just like the bag. Then I think of clothes. As the chimera munches, it flashes me back an image of a hallway leading to its owner's closet.
Such a traitorous creature to help a stranger over its own family.
I love it.
I give the chimera another scratch, which elicits a purr, and head out of the room.
With the mental map from my new friend, I locate the closet in less than a minute. I freeze when I walk in. Clothes line the racks from ceiling to floor. Garment bags hang in pristine condition, nicely zipped up, and puffed out with the promise of luxury fabrics inside.
My hand trails along the rainbow of colors and textures, and I feel like I might die.This is much better than any department store.
Magazines long lost to decay under the sea swim through my memories. My brain hurts from so much mental communication and rigorous memory recall. Then, I find precisely what I am looking for: The Princess of the Angels. She is wearing a white cashmere suit. It has structured shoulders and wide-leg pants.
Biting my lip, I look for something that might match that description. The sound of zippers accompanies my anxious breaths. Each passing second grinds against my nerves. It’s enough to make me crumble inside of myself and ignore the sweating of my palms.
If these people have anyone check these rooms after I leave, my scent will be everywhere.
Come on, I beg in my mind. The chimera appears at the closet door. It sends me an image of a DaePolice car at the base of the six-story building.
My hands grow clammy, and I desperately tear through the clothes.
At last, I unzip one of the cream-colored garment bags and find a pale pink suit. Instinctively, I know that’s the one. When I slide it on, the style doesn’t exactly match what I pictured, but it fits me well enough. I grab a pair of sunglasses from the accessory shelf and two white stilettos. I’m sliding them on when the chimera growls.
Shit. I clamor as I straighten the clothes and hurry outside. I am a mess in these heels, but they look like something a princess would wear.
As long as I don’t break an ankle. I’m hurrying to the door just as a knock sounds. My blood chills to the exact temperature of the Ice Sea.