Page 27 of Outfoxed

Brent heaved a sigh and went to work helping the kitchen hands prepare drinks and food for the patrons who’d line our pockets with cash in what they perceived as a safe place. I knew better. Mother Nature would show up. When? That I didn’t know. I washed my hands, put on an apron, contained my hair in a tail, and covered my ears with a bandana to keep extra unwanted attention off me. By the end of my shift, my entire head would hurt, but it beat the trouble being a hybrid would bring when people created trouble after a rough night.

We worked in silence for a few minutes, sending several of the waitresses out with full trays before he said, “The mayor has issued a few decrees, and they’re bad ones. First, all future-attuned scryers are to report for mandatory duty. I don’t know if you’re registered as anything, but they mean business this time.”

“I’m not registered.” I gestured to my covered ears. “Anymore than this, that is.”

“I figured. You hybrids typically dodge registration. Nobody believes you can be more than one thing. Foolish, if you ask me. If you do have any tricks up your sleeve, keep them there, and don’t you go letting anyone know differently. The mayor is offering bounties for tips on any scryers they might have missed or who are trying to skip their duty. Word on the grape vine has it all scryers will be included in the next batch, not just those who can see into the future.”

“That’s got to have upset people.”

“And that’s only the start of it. It gets worse. Asylum isn’t developed enough to handle the entire population of Tulsa, people are scared, and to keep people from panicking, five hundred people will be welcomed into Asylum along with their families. It won’t be great housing, but it’s the capacity it can handle right now. You should apply. Pretty foxes are in demand, and you’d be a shoo-in with your coloration and youth. I don’t know how you’ll manage down there, but it’s better than fending on your own. I’m going to be applying, and I’ll try to bring as many of my staff as possible, but it’s a long shot.”

Everything in Tulsa was a long shot, but I wouldn’t burst Brent’s bubble, not in the face of so much destruction. In reality, I would continue to test my luck and turn my cellar into my personal paradise, sneaking into Asylum when my supplies ran dry—or scavenging through the wreckage to earn money. Hell, testing my luck with Sandro appealed more than becoming the plaything for some rich bastard in Asylum.

“I’ll think about it,” I lied, hoping to put the man at ease.

“If you need references, I’ll make sure you have them. With so many people vying for the spots, you’ll need every advantage you can get. You having the deed from your landlord, may he rest in peace, will factor in your favor. I can have the reference form for you by the end of your shift, and I think you should take it, just because I don’t think we’ve hit the worst of this mess yet. They’re saying thousands are dead, and we might hit up to tens of thousands dead by the time the week is out. You take care getting to your cellar today, you hear me? The storms are starting earlier, and they’re starting off strong and lethal.”

Brent’s concern worried me enough I nodded. I could take the papers without finishing the application—or I could apply and hope the rules of Asylum would counter the bounty out for me.

Then again, I doubted men like Sandro would let something like Asylum stop him from bagging a fortune.

I liked challenges, except when the challenges could lose me everything. What was life without freedom? What would happen to me if I returned to the East?

I didn’t want to find out.

Sunday, May 3, 2043.

Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The Alley.

After a busy morning at McCoy’s, the thought of a stint at Rising Sun Martial Arts Center tired me. The fear of the tornadoes having taken out the old Mongolian drove me across the outskirts at a jog. Jogging would likely keep the bounty hunters at bay, too. Sandro might give me some competition, but I hoped my luck would hold for a while longer.

My jog matched the run of most, and I could outlast even long-legged men with something to prove.

It was good to be a fox some days.

While Mother Nature had it out for Tulsa, she’d left the martial arts center alone, and I counted students through the window before stepping in through the door to get changed into the plain linens Batbayar provided everyone so we all stood equal on the mat.

Twenty-six students meant six new kids had joined the fray, and I couldn’t tell if he’d lost anyone in the latest swarm.

When we lost a student, our lessons took on a ceremonial tone, one of honor and memorial and grief.

I always left those sessions with a weary heart, teary eyes, and a desire to take on Mother Nature myself so she’d stop stealing from us when we’d done nothing to earn her hate. Changing into the linen robes offered a sense of normality, something that seemed odd at the end of a day filled with upheaval and death.

When I stepped into the studio, Batbayar lifted his hand, signaling that everyone should settle down and prepare for the lesson. Rather than move straight into his usual lesson-lecture partnered with exercises, we started with stretches partnered with meditation, something the Mongolian had stolen from the Chinese, adopting numerous techniques from taijiquan and a few from qichong to create something new. I’d asked him about his taijiquan and qichong once, but with a single shake of his head, I’d understood.

His past, much like mine, delved into dark waters. When he wanted to teach me those secrets, he would—or he wouldn’t.

Batbayar enjoyed his secrets.

“Today, I will teach your minds and your bodies, but more your minds than your bodies. Grief has touched us all this day. Some of you have lost friends. Some of you have lost family. Some of you have lost your homes. Today, we’re going to learn a method of coping with grief, one that goes beyond the rituals of remembrance to the physical. You will begin walking the path of the sword. You may have heard from the older students that lessons were beginning for them. They begin for you, too. Jade will be my partner today, and I will teach you all you need through her.”

While spars with Batbayar with the older kids counted as dangerous enough, with a room full of younger ones, he’d beat me black and blue and demand—and receive—perfection. The first steps of a child’s development as a martial artist required perfection. Everything they learned now would become a foundation for their future.

Understanding struck me, a blow as physical as the ones Batbayar would deal to me soon enough.

He gave them reason and purpose when the children were in dire need of both.