Chương 9: Domestication

The morning after the ceremony, Shrike is awoken by the sound of the doorbell's jingle. Her ears perk a little, waiting to hear Martin coming down the stairs as always. She waits, until the doorbell rings again. She mulls it over. She lives here, and is a resident. Not answering the door is rude. There is no social rule preventing her from answering it, as far as she knows. As such, this falls to her. She uncurls from the mound of blankets, dressed in a nightshirt, sweats, and two pairs of socks.

She walks to the door, rubbing her eyes briefly. The Jeep is notably still in the driveway. She pulls open the wooden door to see a man standing politely on the porch. He's older, maybe 60 in human years? 80? Green sweater, round glasses, slightly hunched. Shrike doesn't recognize him. He speaks, his voice soft and respectful.

"Hello there, honey."

"I have no idea who you are," she says flatly, waiting for an explanation.

"Oh, sorry. I'm Gary, your neighbor, to the left." He points a pruned finger to his right to illustrate.

"Is your husband home?"

"I am unmarried, however I understand you mean Martin. I believe he is currently either asleep or attempting to be asleep. Was there something I could assist you with in his stead?" He doesn't quite make eye contact with her.

"If you don't mind, could I please borrow your lawnmower? Mine's finally tapped out, and my knees won't let me do it with a pair of scissors." He taps his knees. Shrike smiles at the joke.

"If you would prefer, I can trim your grass significantly more efficiently than you can."

"Oh! Would you mind, honey? I don't want to be a bother."

"Barring any objection, I will do so now." Shrike steps outside, putting on her sunglasses while remaining in her sleep clothes as she steps across the cool morning dew on the lawn in her socks. The man struggles to follow her pace.

"Forgetting the mower, miss?" He says, with a hint of playful irony.

"No." She lifts her glasses again for a moment.

"Turn off the porch light."

"The porch light?" Gary glances at the dim light, barely visible in the morning sun.

"The porch light. That is the term, correct?"

"Well, yes. I can do that, I suppose..." He goes inside in his house, and soon the light shuts off. Shrike takes off her glasses, and bends down. Not too tall. Very flat. She asks the voice in her phone how high to cut grass today, and it replies with around three inches. She estimates to approximately that size, and makes sure no one is on the lawn. With a sharp plane of light, she shears the lawn cleanly in a single swipe.

She starts walking to the back lawn to repeat the process, until she is stopped by Gary who shuffles quickly out of his house.

"M-miss, I didn't know you were a magician... I don't want to bother you, really, you don't have to do this on my account."

"It is more efficient for me to do so."

"Yes, yes, but really, don't worry. I'm old, I have time."

"I am approximately 13, 000 years old, judging by my memories and modern carbon dating of Clovis culture." She chastises herself, remembering Martin's advice to avoid revealing too much about herself. Her neighbor isn't a threat, though, right? He seems friendly and harmless. Gary watches her as she lines up the back lawn, repeating the process she used on the front. She stands up, and looks over at her neighbor.

"That completes the task. If you require anything else, I am frequently available due to my open schedule."

"Are... are you one of the three Nephites?"

"I am a kynde. What is a Nephite?"

"... what's a kynde?" The two of them look at each other in mutual confusion for a moment, before Shrike breaks the tension by going back inside her home, as she lays back down by the fire. What a strange man, she thinks. When Gary enters his own house, he checks his carbon monoxide detector. Just in case. The next morning, Shrike wakes up to the doorbell for a second time. She grumbles, answering it while holding a couple blankets over her shoulders like a cloak.

It's Gary again, and a man of around 30 or 50, by her estimation. She looks between them, waiting for them to speak. After a few seconds of silence, she begins to slowly close the door in their faces.

"Wait, sorry, I... This is my father, Gary. I'm Joseph. He said you cut his grass yesterday without a mower?" He stammers out, feeling a little silly for bothering the neighbor.

"Yes, using magic."

"... oh. Uhh... This might be out of your wheelhouse, but do you think you could help us with something else? I could pay you."

"The applications of my ability are limited, but I will help if I am able. What is it you require?" Gary and Joseph turn off every light in the house, as requested, letting Shrike walk through the door. Gary's house is a very traditionally decorated space, soft greens and browns on the furniture that match with the botanical illustrations decorating the walls. She is led into the unfinished basement, as she summons a bright light above her head to appraise the situation. Gary clears his throat.

"So... there's a rat problem. I don't know how-""Three." Shrike points at an innocuous patch of drywall.

"I assume you do not want the wall damaged?"

"Well... I do have spackle, if you have to." She takes it to mean she is free to do whatever is most efficient. The rats are clustered together, according to her sense of heat. Like the Nemean Lion, a single spike that will propagate itself and produce multiple spikes to kill all three with only slight damage to the structure. She closes her eyes to focus only on the heat sources. Pierce, pierce, pierce. She removes her hand from the wall, a hole roughly the size of a penny left behind.

"I will cut a section of the wall to remove the animal corpses." Gary and Joseph exchange a nervous look. Shrike carefully slices the wall around the small hole in a triangle with a sharp blade of light emanating from two fingers. She pulls out the section of drywall, revealing the now-dead rats in a nest of food wrappers and a phone charger.

"I will dispose of the the corpses in a trash bag, if you can provide one, otherwise I can cremate-""I'll get the bag!" Joseph blurts out, jogging off to find it. On his way down with it a few seconds later, Joseph flicks the light on by habit. Shrike closes her eyes tightly, and covers them with a hand.

"Light!" she hisses, annoyance in her voice. At hearing the click of the light switch again, she opens her eyes, rapidly blinking to chase the afterimage away, still a little disoriented. She didn't intend to sound angry.

"I apologize, Joseph, I used a harsher tone than intended."

"I'm the sorry one, I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, what can I do to fix it?" Joseph spews out the words like a faucet. He sounds like she has a gun to his head. How is she supposed to reassure him when saying 'I am not going to harm you' is taken as a threat? Redirect, she thinks. Conversation is typically linear.

"The situation was resolved. Do you have the spackle as well? The task remains incomplete."

"Do... do you have some kind of magic wall fixing power?" Is he making a joke? It's hard to tell with him.

"No, but it needs to be done." She takes the plastic bag from Joseph, grabbing the rats and dropping them in with her bare hands.

"Afterwards, I can perhaps make a meal now that I possess ingredients." She shakes the bag, and waits a moment.

"That was a joke." At least their poor grasp of humor is mutual, she thinks. As Shrike spreads the paste over the wall, Joseph sits down beside her, quiet but fidgety. An unpleasant silence is marked only by the scrape of her applicator running down the drywall. Shrike decides to break it, taking a guess as to why Joseph is being quiet.

"You may proceed with your questions. I recognize the human tendency to refrain from asking them." Joseph runs his hand through his hair uncomfortably.

"Right... you aren't human?"

"I am not. I am a magical beast. A kynde."

"You don't seem like a... a beast."

"The word carries a negative connotation, but I have little other terminology to describe myself."

"You live with someone, yeah?" His eyes follow her hand as she continues to try and fix the wall.

"Yes. My partner, in the business sense. We are magical beast hunters. I will answer before you ask, I see no issue with the practice. Falcons hunt sparrows, sharks hunt mackerel, lions hunt gazelle." She starts on the hole in the center of the triangle.

"That makes sense... Can I ask why you're helping my dad with all this stuff?"

"In truth, I share the same question. Shearing grass is a task that I can complete with ease that would be significantly more difficult for someone else, and taking little time from my day. That is the 'neighborly' action to take, to maintain cohesion and potentially share resources. As for why I am attempting to repair drywall when I am as ill-suited as any other, I do not know."

"Maybe you're just a good... Kidney?"

"Kynde. I assume you are a good... humane." She gives a sly smile as she finishes the repair. Martin hears the door opening, and then closing, followed by the familiar sound of a log being thrown into the fireplace. Shrike's back. He leaves the kitchen to check, and sees her gazing into the fire as it burns. Not an unusual sight, but it's something she does when lost in thought.

"Shrike?" She turns her head to him, eyes narrower than usual.

"Martin."

"May I ask where you were?" he says, keeping a casual tone.

"Gary's home. He is our neighbor. I cleared his grass yesterday, and today he and his offspring requested my assistance in eliminating a rat infestation. After completion, I further repaired the hole in the wall I created." That's far from the answer Martin was expecting, though he wasn't sure what to expect in the first place.

"I didn't know you knew them."

"I did not until yesterday. Their intrusion does not bother me. I have an abundance of leisure time, and can handle these tasks efficiently." Martin smiles with a bit of pride.

"Is that what you told them?"

"Yes. It is an accurate summation."

"Not fully. You did it because you like helping people, I think." Shrike looks back to the fire. She doesn't enjoy it. If Martin hadn't seemed so adamant to the contrary, she would have dismissed the idea outright. Why did she do it? Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Martin hears the doorbell ring the next morning. He slips on a pair of pants and goes downstairs to see Shrike also getting up, draped in a few blankets.

Outside, there are four people in a line. He checks the time on his phone. 9: 00am exactly. That was polite of them, he thinks, going back to bed. It's good to see Shrike making friends outside of work.

"Okay... okay... stop!" Shrike lazily sits on the porch of a woman named Kimberly who lives two blocks away. Shrike aligns a blade of light to do her yard's edging, half-listening to Kimberly's instructions as she brings the blade down again. Kimberly nods in approval.

"Great work, magician!"

"My name is Shrike. You know my name is Shrike, and additionally you know I am not a magician." She doesn't bother trying to hide her annoyance.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting your name. And you do magic, so you're a magician." She raises an eyebrow like she's explaining words to a toddler.

"Almost done. Just need you to bag the parts you trimmed." Shrike checks the time. 2: 01pm.

"Unfortunately, I have another appointment." She is not interested in bagging anything, and has no obligation to do so, so a polite lie is excusable.

"Frick, you should have told me that before you started. I could have rescheduled... I'll just get my husband to do it when he gets home." She shrugs, hopping up the steps into her house, the screen door slowly swinging shut as Shrike watches from the sidewalk. Shrike starts her own trek back to home, more irritated than exhausted as she walks up the gentle slope of the sidewalk. It's been a week of these tasks. As she approaches the porch, a familiar pair of people are waiting at the door.

Levi and Irene, the pair with four kids with names she can't remember from the house behind her's. She takes a deep breath. Levi and Irene wave as they see her walking over. Shrike reminds herself to be patient. Patience. That's one of the kids, she remembers. Levi smiles as she comes close.

"Miss Shrike! How're'ya?"

"Irritated. I have already explained I know nothing of plumbing and cannot assist with it."

"No, we're not here for that. We're here because we'd like to invite you and Martin to have dinner with us!"

"I have no knowledge of cooking either. Please relocate yourselves, you are blocking my entrance."

"Come on, you goof. We're offering to make dinner for you two. You know that." An offer instead of a request? Return on her investment, unexpected but welcome.

"I did not... This is not something that has been offered before. Is this a lead-up to a request?" She leans in slightly, hoping they say no.

"No request, no nothing." Levi says, looking a little hurt.

"We're just being neighborly, so if you don't want to, that's fine." Shrike thinks for a moment, pleased. Down to specifics.

"When?"

"Tonight, if you'd like!"

"Let me check with Martin."

"Already did, he said he'd go if you did."

"I do not tolerate artificial light." Irene laughs.

"We have candles. All LDS folks have candles." They're persistent, and willing to accommodate her.

"Very well. I accept the proposition." The novelty of the idea is appealing. A pleasant change of pace to have someone do something nice for her. Or is that a selfish thing? No, she doesn't see most people who ask for help as selfish.

"Then we'll see you at six!"

"You look fine. You look the same as you do literally every day." Martin shakes his head as she stands behind Shrike with a hairbrush. Shrike frowns into the mirror.

"I regret accepting the invitation. I have learned that feigning illness is a socially acceptable method of avoiding prior obligations."

"You agreed three and a half hours ago. Sorry, you're going." He tries to loosen a tangle in her hair. She should really just cut it shorter if she's going to neglect it. Shrike watches the six year old Spencer give the prayer. Does he know what he is saying? Does he care? Does it even matter? The other children are there as well, seven year old Patience, four year old Aaron, and two year old Orson. She waits for it to end, nervously shaking her foot.

The food looks and smells good, as it did the last time she went to an LDS household to eat. There's hopefully no correlation in behavior between Martin's parents and Spencer's. When the prayer is finished, the food is passed around, Shrike watching the quick exchanges of bowls and Tupperware as she tries to find a rhythm in which to take her own turn. The intricate and inconsistent pattern is understood intuitively by all except her. Martin, thankfully, offers every container to her directly after serving himself.

"So!" Levi says to Martin.

"Your friend is quite the industrious helper!" Industrious is likely a strong compliment. Utah's state symbol is a beehive, representing industry. She feels as though she is the only bee in the hive this last week. Perhaps the others are hibernating. She smiles at her own unspoken joke, and at her mind wandering. Martin grunts.

"Yeah. She's getting taken advantage of out there though. It's like, if you're 28, spread your own damn grass seed."

"Please watch your language around the children..." Irene corrects.

"Sorry. Habit." Irene pats Shrike's hand.

"Don't worry though, Shrike, you'll find your reward in heaven for all your hard work." Shrike sighs.

"That seems... improbable."

"Oh? Are you not a member?" Irene leans in with a concerned expression.

"I am not human, let alone a religious one." Shrike rubs her tired eyes. When she pulls her hand away, five pairs of eyes are tunneling into her. Martin and the two-year-old being the only exceptions. Irene laughs nervously.

"Oh, like you're busy as a bee, or something?"

"No, I am a kynde. A non-human. It is why I cannot tolerate artificial light and require constant heat." Shrike watches Irene shrink back in her chair. Martin winks at his partner, helping Shrike relax before speaking again.

"I apologize for my tone. It has been a difficult week." Levi and Irene continue to look at her nervously. Aaron, the four year old, doesn't seem bothered.

"Are you an alien?" he asks. Shrike smiles tersely.

"No, I am from this planet. I am magic in origin." Aaron accepts the explanation, even if he doesn't know the word 'origin'.

"Do you like dinosaurs?"

"What are dinosaurs?" she asks. She knows, but it appears as good a segue as any to change the topic. Lying has been very helpful lately, a veritable multitool for interaction with others. Aaron starts talking about dinosaurs, as Levi and Irene quickly excuse themselves to the kitchen. Faint, hushed conversation is barely audible through the child talking about stegosauruses. Martin leans over to Shrike.

"Say the word. What can I do?" Shrike catches herself from reflexively saying 'nothing'. It has been explained to her that she is welcome to communicate requests, as the partnership is not about extracting value from the other, but supporting the other to create a stronger single unit. Sensible, comfortable.

"Would you be willing to speak to them on my behalf?" Martin pats her on the shoulder.

"No problem. I'll be right back." He gets up, and assertively moves to the kitchen. Shrike listens to Aaron talk more about the stegosaurus, and agrees with him that spinosaurus is the coolest dinosaur. When Martin comes back and sits down, Irene and Levi look embarrassed. They both try to talk at the same time, with Levi deferring to his wife.

"We're sorry for how we acted. It was just unexpected. You seem so human," Irene explains apologetically, trying to hide how unsettled by Shrike she is. Shrike scratches at her scarred palm. The mark has mostly faded, though remains slightly wrinkled and shiny.

"Yes. I am told this often."

"Oh heck," Levi says, "I don't care what you are, you're as much God's child as any of us. Don't think we forgot about you digging the hole for our flagpole outside." Shrike quietly eats, her interpersonal thought process yet again raising unanswerable questions. Is performing tasks a prerequisite to being accepted as part of their circle? Is it universal? She did not have to do anything with Ferret, Moth, Martin, or Possum, though they are all work associates. Is she accepted by others, or is it a front?

An elaborate ploy, or worse, a joke she does not understand? No, Martin would understand those nuances. The rest of the dinner is cordial and friendly, if a bit stiff. Shrike offers to help clean dishes, but Irene shuts down the offer immediately. Because Irene is being polite? Because she knows Shrike is overworked? Because Irene doesn't want a non-human touching them? It isn't worth the effort to think about. Martin and Shrike leave the family's home after a short goodbye, and begin the short walk home.

Martin kicks a rock down the sidewalk.

"You okay?" Shrike kicks a rock herself, watching it roll along until it sinks into the side of the road.

"In general, I am well. In this moment, however, I am frustrated by my difficulty with humans. I still fail to understand so many of the codes and subtextual inferences that come naturally to you. It is unfortunate when it leads to miscommunication."

"I wish I could do more to help."

"You are already a great boon. I doubtless would create disturbances with many people were you not there to assist. It is exhausting, needing to preface every conversation with an explanation of who I am." It seems everyone she talks to requires effort to speak to, and her suggestion of a pamphlet to hand out was rejected by Martin.

"I know, Shrike. I know. Take some time for yourself. We're in line to be called off to deal with some kind of fearsome critter soon. You need rest."

"Yes. Thank you. An additional thank you for speaking to Levi and Irene." He pats her on the shoulder again, just like at dinner.

"I've learned to be pretty good at resolving dinnertime awkwardness." After taking a few more steps, Martin stops walking. Shrike follows suit instantly, immediately alert for danger. She hones in on Martin's voice as he speaks.

"I'm really proud of you, you know that?" Immediately, Shrike is more alert, more tense.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I know it sucked, like everything else you've been doing for people. Yet you're doing it anyway." He sees Shrike look away, and start walking slightly faster towards the house, as he speeds up to follow.

"Your pride is misplaced. I am doing so for my own benefit." The benefit of other's approval, she thinks. But why does she care about that? She would just as readily insult every person on this block at Martin's command, and feel no remorse for the action given a reasonable explanation. His connection is worth significantly more than anyone else's. But why care about anyone other than Martin and her other friends?

From Martin, heat and shelter and food are all provided for, but the people she has been helping take vastly more than they provide. Is it really just kindness on her part? Trying to appeal to Martin more by faking humanity? The logic that brought her to this conclusion is unknown. Its a new experience for her. She wonders if she always was the way she is now, or if it is a new development in this waking cycle. Had she always had this level of sentimentality?

Much like whether or not she's cursed, she decides it doesn't matter. At this time and place, this may be who she is. A massive crunching and shattering sound is heard outside as Martin and Shrike eat lunch together, followed by screams. Shrike is first to react, immediately leaving the chair and running to open the door. Martin isn't far behind, keeping pace with her. An accident, a few houses down, two cars colliding head on.

They both had to have been pushing 30 for that much damage, Martin thinks, immediately calling 911. Shrike jogs up to the cars. She prioritizes the one that had already burst into flames. First, though, she slides off her heated shirt and tosses it far behind her, revealing a white t-shirt beneath. Wool is flammable, she thinks, and she doesn't want to damage it. She actively moves from her general thought process to her combat-oriented one. Observant and responsive.

Four occupants, driver's seat, passenger's seat, two children in back seats. Passenger seat is unresponsive. Driver's seat occupant is banging on the door, children are getting out on their own. Shrike yanks on the driver's side door, which barely opens an inch. It must be too damaged to open properly. With a concentrated, brilliant blade of light, she cleaves through the car door's hinges, causing it to fall off and allowing the driver to escape, coughing.

She enters the car herself, just as the flames spread to the cabin through the vents. She ignores the fire, allowing it to lick against her as she cuts through the passenger's seatbelt, and with effort, pulls her from the flaming vehicle. The second of the two vehicles remains. Not yet burning, may explode soon. Three occupants, all adult, two of which had already evacuated from the car. She opens the door, pulling the unconscious driver from the car, laying her on the grass. She isn't breathing. Unfortunate.

She returns to Martin's side, watching the blaze from the porch steps.

"Holy Jesus. Shrike, that was incredible. You jumped into action, just like that... I hope they're all okay." Shrike sighs. She assumes this means lunch's conclusion will be postponed. An ambulance's distant wail starts to sound. Shrike takes the moment to check herself. A few minor burns, nothing particularly painful, though the t-shirt is a total loss. Later in the day, Martin gets a call from one of the neighbors. He hangs up, solemnly calling for Shrike to meet him on the couch. This could be a large blow.

Shrike sits down on Martin's left, observing him closely.

"Shrike... Everyone from the burning car made it. The driver of the second car didn't. Glenda Moore, the mother of the adult child who managed to escape."

"Yes, I had helped spread mulch in a flowerbed of her husband's, and I saw him leave the passenger seat. I expected as much. Was there more?" More?

"Shrike... it's okay. You don't have to act strong. I'm upset by this too. I chatted with her every so often." He smiles somberly. Shrike scratches the scar on her hand, a recurring tic she picked up.

"Martin, I would like to reveal a difficult truth of my nature that may be upsetting, with your permission."

"Of course, go ahead." Martin braces himself. She casually mentioned eating someone's heart before, so what counts as a difficult truth? Shrike closes her eyes. She knows what she's going to say is upsetting. She trusts Martin, though. If any human would accept it, it would be him. She stops scratching, resting her hands on her knees.

"I do not carry any grief for a human I have only rarely interacted with. We shared no connection, and as such, this event does not affect me, beyond the loss of the shirt." Martin speaks gently, trying to console her.

"Shrike, is this a coping mechanism? You were staring at the fireplace for longer than usual while we waited for news, so I know this is bothering you."

"No," Shrike replies. Martin feels the finality of the statement, surprised by the assertiveness of it.

"I am bothered only in the context that someone I was intentionally attempting to keep alive perished, and I further only care about it in the context of future scenarios where I am safeguarding people I connected with." Martin takes a moment to digest the information. He chooses his words carefully, trying to communicate with his partner in her own language.

"You're saying... you don't have sympathy for people you don't know well. But that doesn't track with what I know. There are so many people you've gone out of your way to help."

"I enjoy being useful and improving another's life. However, I have no reason to mourn her death if I had done all I reasonably could have to prevent it. She was pleasant, and I have performed simple tasks for her husband, but ultimately she is someone whose passing leaves me unaffected. My grief comes only from the severing of connections, not from an intrinsic value of human life. I believe this to be a human trait, although with humans it is less drastic.

No tears are shed for the millions who die across the oceans by either of us." Shrike's eyes are wider than usual, trying to take in all of Martin's reaction.

"My lack of natural mourning is itself upsetting to me, and in regards to how others perceive me. I am certain I appear heartless." He closes his eyes. He knows that her fundamentally different thought processes can color her perception of the world. Shrike is not human, despite appearances. He sees it every day in the subtlest ways. In how she talks to people. In her wide golden eyes. Her completely unshakable trust in him. Martin knows that Shrike is not human. She is herself.

Someone who is worthy of respect and care regardless. He rubs his hand along his jaw.

"I know you wouldn't upset people without a reason, so I know you won't be honest around her husband or son."

"Correct. I will feign sorrow, and conduct myself appropriately."

"Then you're not doing anything wrong. You shouldn't stress yourself for not feeling something. It happens with humans, too. You're mindful of others, despite the effort it takes." He compassionately smiles, taking her hand in his.

"What more do you want from yourself, in regard to this?" Shrike knows the 'correct' answer is to say humanity. She also knows the truth, and that is what she allows herself to say.

"Nothing. I am comfortable where I am. Thank you, Martin, my conflicted emotions on the subject of the woman's death have been resolved in full." If it were anyone else, he'd assume that was sarcasm.