Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

The session had kept her from thinking about the aloneness, the silence inside her skull, but now her class was over and she couldn’t outrun the rage creature any longer. It slammed against the bars, fighting to get out, to take her over, to grab at what Aden was offering and hoard it greedily close.

“Pony!”

Stilling, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jojo running toward her. The little girl had to have come through the connecting stairs. She was now dressed in purple corduroy overalls over a white sweater. Someone had gathered up her hair into tiny pigtails all over her head and tied them off with different-colored ties. The care evidenced by the act, especially when Jojo could shift at any time and undo the work, fascinated the insane girl inside Zaira.

No one had ever spent such time on her. No one ever spent such time on Arrow children. Zaira didn’t know if she had the patience for it, but if it would create children as happy and as stable as Jojo, children without psychic wounds that led them to become twisted within, she’d learn that patience.

“Pony!” Jojo cried again when Zaira didn’t reply.

“Zaira,” she reminded the cub as things deep inside her stretched and tried to wake. “My name is Zaira.”

Stopping her headlong rush at Zaira’s feet, Jojo looked up with an intent expression on her face, her soft brown eyes unblinking. “Zai,” she said at last and gave a firm nod.

“Zai-ra,” Zaira sounded out, because the child was intelligent enough to understand.

Frowning, Jojo very slowly said, “Zai-ra,” then beamed. “Zai-ra.”

“That’s correct.” Remembering how Remi had interacted with her, she added, “Well done.”

A proud smile that created cracks in the walls that held back the murderous girl she’d been. That part of her wanted to come out, play with this small, trusting child. In front of her, that child pointed at herself. “Jojo.”

“I know.” Distrustful of her crumbling shields, Zaira nodded at Jojo and began to pace again.

The little girl followed, running on small legs beside her. “Zai, walk?”

“Yes.” She slowed her speed slightly; even she knew that hurting a child’s self-confidence was not care. Her parents had told her she was stupid a lot. It hadn’t helped her become a better person—it had just made her rage bigger.

“Why?” Jojo asked, thumbs hooked in the pockets of her overalls. “Why Zai walk?”

“I’m not used to being inside this way.” Walls stifled her; even the windows weren’t helping anymore. The silence inside her head only multiplied the sense of suffocation, threatening to return her to the small room in which she’d gone insane as a child.

“Grr.” Jojo hooked her hands in the air, releasing tiny claws.

“Why are you growling?”

Jojo retracted her claws, reached up to take Zaira’s hand. “Come.” She tugged. “Jojo show.”

Not quite sure what the child was talking about, Zaira decided to follow her for the same reason that she’d lowered her speed. There was no reason to make Jojo feel as if her thoughts and views were without value. It wasn’t as if Zaira had any other pressing engagements.

“Come, Zai.” Jojo walked excitedly, pulling at Zaira until they stepped onto the outside passageway that led to the dining aerie.

“Wait,” Zaira said. “You don’t have a coat.”

“Jojo, cat,” the little girl said. “Zai cold?”

Realizing changelings must have an advantage in regulating their body temperature, Zaira said, “No, I’ll be fine.” She’d left Aden’s jacket in their aerie, but a short trek wouldn’t cause any physical issues—she’d been thrown into freezing rooms as part of her Arrow training, had learned to bear it.

Allowing Jojo to lead her along the walkway, Zaira was aware of other adult and juvenile changelings always nearby—not overtly watchful, but close enough to intervene if necessary. A number nodded hello as they passed, tugging at one of Jojo’s pigtails or brushing the backs of their hands against the little girl’s cheek.

Touch, contact, she noted. Constant and normalized.

Jojo would never feel alone, never feel like a forgotten piece of trash.

The child took her into a connecting walkway, then another, until they scrambled down a rope ladder into a large open area that was nonetheless protected from the elements by clear plas shielding against which the unrelenting rain hit soundlessly. In comparison to the walkways, however, the temperature in the space was comfortable. That wasn’t the only surprise: the area was filled with climbing frames, complex rope ladders, a rock wall, and more.

“See!” Jojo jumped up and down. “Zai play here!”

Zaira looked down at the child who’d managed to make the connection between her need for freedom and a cat’s need for the same. “Thank you, Jojo.” Consciously copying what she’d seen the adult changelings do, she ran her knuckles gently over the delicate softness of Jojo’s cheek.

The little girl leaned into her, unafraid. “Play?”

“I would like to climb the wall over there.” If she was careful, it shouldn’t break open her healing skin.

Jojo nodded and walked with her to the foot of the climbing wall that sloped in a faintly concave shape, making it more difficult to traverse.

“Jojo, too small,” the little girl said. “Jojo play there.” She pointed to a colorful climbing frame that was clearly sized for children, complete with rope bridges and slides to the ground.