The Curse and the Camazotz (2.1)

My name’s Tixayo Lake, and I’m cursed.

Not like that. I don’t believe in magic, no matter how nice it’d be to delude myself into thinking my Mexica ancestors had wizard powers and I’m their one true heir. Nah. It’s worse. You nocebo yourself into thinking you’ve wronged some ghost, you can fix that with therapy. What’s laid on me isn’t going away. I have to live with it, and living’s hard enough already when you’re sixteen and trans and all your friends are lunatics.

One of those friends is staring right at me with that manic look in his eyes he only gets when he wins at something. New personal best at track, that kind of thing. Whatever’s coming is good. I better congratulate him.

“Cell’s over the moon. Get this. O’Hagan stopped investigating the Vampire. He’s on to something else in the city, some big deal.” Jet says.

Shit! I can’t congratulate him on that! I start looking at him like he’s an idiot, and his expression shifts in subtle ways. Disappointment. Alarm. The need for me to explain, to help. Trust, in me. Yeah, I can see all of it written right there on his face, just like I can feel every molecule of air washing over my hands, and watch a spider crawl along the wall for hours because as long as it’s moving I can’t study, and hear everything except what I’m trying to listen to.

Cursed. The Curse of Shay. I’d rather have Moctezuma’s revenge.

“What’s up?” Jet says.

A normal person would realize something’s wrong, that they’ve flubbed the whole social engagement somehow, right when he says it. I recognized that an eternity ago. I’ve spent the intervening time thinking of what to say.

I sigh. I have to. He’s my friend, and we’re in this together, so he needs a little slap in the face to teach him to think things through.

“Jet, O’Hagan was never going to find the vampire. What—who—do you think he’s gonna find now, huh? Fionn ‘I don’t need a warrant’ O’Hagan? Fionn ‘state monopoly on violence’ O’Hagan? Your good news is that we have a new chore to do, dude.”

Jet looks over at me from across my couch, chip dust on his T-shirt, controller in hand, and mutters “Fuck.”

“Yeah, no shit fuck. Do you know what he’s doing!?”

“Uh, gimme a second, I’ll text Cell.”

I lean back and shut my eyes. Look, it’s not like I wasn’t looking forward to the investigation being over, but I assumed he’d pack up and leave the city, not get right on top of some other supernatural nonsense in our neighbourhood. Maybe if he’d left my friends would all shut up about this Outliar shit and go back to being normal dysfunctional teens. That would be great. I’m used to that. But this? I never signed up to be a superhero, and when you notice the shit I do and people listen to you the way I can make them listen, when people need that from you, that’s what you get to be. Just without the salary. Oh, and if you get caught, you get sliced and diced by Dr. Malpractice up at wherever those JASPER creeps got reassigned to.

I mean, I assume that’s what would happen to me. I slipped past the tests—thank god—but what I can do can’t be normal, right? Everyone calls it ADHD, but that’s bullshit; anyone who got inside my head could see that. The only reason nobody ever has is because I’m smart enough not to tell anyone about my powers, Jet.

Idiot. At least he’s cute. And kind. And brave. And… shut up, Shay, you creep.

“Uh, yeah, Cell says that he just announced it’s over on the morning news, and that his official assessment is that the vampire left town, and that he’s sticking around for administrative purposes. Which is bullshit.”

We both nod sagely. Bullshit detection is the one part of emotional intelligence I know for sure my friends have covered.

“So there’s something here. Big enough that he’s not booking it North to kill some troll on a reservation. And we have to figure it out, because… we’re… vigilantes, now?” I ask pointedly.

Jet rolls his eyes.

“Dude, we went over this.”

I’m not a dude, but he’s gonna correct himself as soon as he’s done being mad, so I don’t say anything. I can see it at the corner of his mouth. Regret. Diplomacy.

“If someone gets hurt because we could do something and we didn’t, we’re just as bad as any of those government types just for letting it happen. Nobody suspects us, and we can make a difference, and you know what, you believe in it too, okay? It’s the city. He’s investigating a person. Like us.”

He means every word. It’s not like when Sylvia says it. She thinks she’s clever, but I can see right through her. She doesn’t hate this, like Jet and I do. She loves it. That’s why she’s here.

And Jet does hate it. It’s weighing down every word. It’s the right thing to do, and he knows it, and yeah, so do I. Yeah, I believe in it too. I fucking wish I didn’t.

“Sorry for calling you dude. Reflex. Y-you say it all the time.” he says, right on cue.

I smile. “It’s whatever. Thanks, though.”

He sighs.

“So, you in?”

“I just wanted to make sure we weren’t doing his job for him. He can chase monsters on his own time all he wants. If this turns out to be some giant bug, and not a kid with cat ears or something, will you promise me we don’t have to take it to the Humane Society? Give it walks and shit? We can just let him kill it?” I say.

Jet laughs. All’s right in the world. He just needed some humour to reassure him I wasn’t upset, to remind him he’s still safe.

It’s hard for him. It was hard when Cell became more of a responsibility than a friend, and it was hard being part of the whole vampire mess in the first place, and it’s hard stepping up as a leader. Every day, every conversation we have, he’s under so much pressure it’s like he’ll explode. If I’m not his friend, I’m another chore to handle, and he can’t have that right now.

I can see all that, every moment of every day, on everyone’s face. Every detail, every feeling. I can be a saint. A psychic. And god, do I hate it.

But… suck it up, medicine kid. Life can be simple or it can be worth living. Your friends need you.

Like I said—cursed.