Chapter 1
For the Enemy
Life in Canada’s prisons isn’t too harsh if you’ve had a life like Lola Cabello’s. Anyone with half a brain takes federal centres over provincial because there’s no need for the ridiculous jumpsuits. Regardless, being behind bars wears the psyche down. Even the most wilful crumble.
Sorry Mom, is the thought that loops Lola’s mind day after day in her cell.
Correction, jail is rough, and Lola isn’t managing. She reminds herself she isn’t in the orange suit. If she had money like some of the other gals in the Women’s Correctional Centre, she could bring in her own TV. Canada prisons differ from their southern neighbours. It doesn’t match the United States in a lot of ways.
Goddamn ash, is the second phrase that enters Lola’s mind while rising from her bed. Her arm begs for a scratch even after two years.
A guard unlocks her cell. She waves at Lola with crusted fingers and guides her down the white hall, passing the other deep blue cell doors under each fluorescent light. Like a wise inmate, she doesn’t dare look into any of the open doors. It’s rude. You will start a fight. Keep your eyes forward. Spend enough time here and the unwritten rules become ingrained in your mind. Beyond the bars, freedom is a limitless expanse. In Lola’s view, no one is exempt from being restrained by covert systems and concealed intentions. Sinister motives run the system.
The guard escorts her into a spacious room flooded with sunlight that illuminates the flint plastic chairs and tables. It’s been ages since she last laid eyes on this place. Good little inmates have close interactions with people in the open visitation department, under the watchful eye of supervision. Most civilians have closed visits, separated from their dearests by a barrier of glass. Others must use the wretched video screen centres converting loved ones into digital ghosts. Why? Hell if Lola knows. That was a wise move, Canada.
The space has seven other inmates sitting at tables. One woman holds her wife’s hands with a grip that says, “We’ll be okay.” Another young girl has her frowning parents. A middle-aged lady and a moustached man face each other. Tears and frowns leave their relation undetermined.
The guard stops by the door and closes it with a clang, chewing her gum with a loud smack. Lola walks into the area, spotting her guest. At the far corner of the room is a man in a deep blue suit. His cupped hands cover a folder. Brown eyes watch her through circular glasses.
“There’s my gal,” says the man with a thick Polish brogue. “You’re a minimal risk offender, keeping that inmate score nice and low.” He smiles, emphasizing the wrinkles across his aging face.
Lola raises her palms while sitting down. “Look at me.” It took rotting for two goddamn years , she thinks. Lola would love to relapse on the simmering anger that lives below her behaviour. Hate is the fuel that keeps her fire burning inside. She can control it.
“Oscar, why are you here?” Lola asks. “I haven’t seen you in what, over a year? The last time you tried to get me out was pointless.”
“No. Your case is closed nice and tight. The evidence points to you. We could plead temporary insanity, if you’d prefer.”
Lola’s hands clench, the fingernails digging into her palms. “No way. I’ve told you, I didn’t do it.”
“Stay calm. We’re not here to go over the past. I don’t care. The chances of getting you out of here any time soon are next to none.”
“Which is why I’m keeping low. Maybe I can get a parole officer, be put in a community. I don’t know.”
“Unlikely. The public wants your head for Ashley Amber,” Oscar says. “Imagine if Canada had a death penalty? Wowzers.”
Right, Lola thinks, recalling the precious goddess that she, apparently, stripped from this world. Her wrath consumes her mind as she rests her chin on her palm, losing interest in her lawyer. If she stays in her cell, she can finish her sentence. She’ll walk free. Oscar is wasting her time. “We lost a genuine hero,” she says. Her kind words don’t reflect her cynical flat tone, reflecting on the late pop star Ashley Amber’s rise to fame. Music, movies, and gossip kept people hooked. Then, Lola took that away.
Oscar squints. “No need for sarcasm. I brought you a far more interesting gift.” He slides the file folder to Lola. “Go on, take a look.”
Lola flips the binder open and sees a mug shot of a young girl, early twenties, a good five years younger than Lola. The gal has short, spiked hair with buzzed sides and defined cheekbones. She hasn’t seen an official police document of a criminal profile. This validates what she’d presume. To the right of the photo is a two-column format: age, birth date, address, offence, and name. Sierra Palacio.
“You see her before?” Oscar asks.
“Yes, she showed up here a month ago. What of her?”
Oscar leans in closer, his voice lowering into a whisper with coffee breath pushing from under his moustache. “She has flown too close to the light, scathing her wings.”
Lola’s hands turn to ice. Her throat closes thinking the word,Moth. She speaks through her teeth. “I knew you fucking worked for them.”
A grin spreads from cheekbone to cheekbone on Oscar’s face. His top teeth extend by a half a centimetre into pointed fangs. “Oh no, sweetheart. Oscar was a solid lawyer for you. Yes? Played by the rules with a few bends here and there.” The man’s brown eyes swirl, saturating the colours. The sclera dye’s black fading the irises with a glimmer of deep rubies.
“God damnit,” is what Lola can say, leaning on her palm. She hasn’t seen an old world being since confinement. It’s why prison isn’t so bad. That tormented Alice in Wonderland part of her existence was severed, along with the rest of her life, when those cuffs went on. The isolation was another nice perk of Canadian prison. It felt like a vacation. This Moth’s words are encoded and clear to her: murder.
Oscar pushes Sierra’s documents closer to Lola. “We need you to do what you do best.” His eyes and teeth blip to normal in a single blink and he leans back. “In return, we will reward you.”
“A shape shifter?” Lola asks. Curiosity is getting the better of her and she jumps to the conclusion.
“That’s stating the obvious,” the alleged Oscar says. “Ever meet one on your adventures?”
“No. What does a Crystal Moth shape shifter want?”
“Ah, the prize will be of great interest. Yes.”
Lola leans back, folding her arms. “What did you do with the real Oscar?”
“There’s no need for that. Unlike Sierra Palacio here, he was innocent.” His sausage ring finger taps the document.
“What is that?” Lola asks.
“It’s amazing that you don’t recognize her,” Oscar says.
“You know these open visitation hours are limited?”
“She was there the day you discovered ash and an original street dealer who distributed the first shipment.”
The fateful day was long ago. Another memory eroded into the sand in her mind. Her world spun around, twice, ever since she chased that damn drug. Lola stares at the man, or whatever he is, knowing what he is going to request.
Oscar continues, “Remember Chen, that original ash dealer? We need you to do what you do best.”
“I didn’t kill Chen,” Lola hisses as her face scrunches.
“Indirectly killed him?” Oscar raises a bushy brow.
“All I did was turn him in to the police. You people have corrupted the law.”
“You knew that. Therefore, an accomplice.”
“I gave solid evidence to real cops. They’re out there.”
“I’m familiar with your history, Lola Cabello. The law is evil. The Crystal Moths are the big baddies who ruined your cute life of being a reporter. The media is in on the game too. It’s one big conspiracy that is working against the poor little goth girl who’s too foolish to realize that she is solely responsible for destroying herself. Yes? Murdering celebrities, innocent workers, and even guilty Moths won’t give you saviour status.”
Lola will get nowhere with this thing. Her best interest is to stay calm, not argue, and learn what it wants.
Oscar says, “Don’t forget there’s a clever cryptic key tattooed on your hip.”
Lola straightens her posture.
“These real cops, as you say, would love to have that evidence.” He taps the table. “Besides the point, Sierra must go. She has shared too much with the do-gooders in the law and the people. The Crystal Moths have deemed her a target to silence.”
“Permanently?” Lola asks.
“Bingo.” Oscar takes the open folder from Lola and turns the page. “In return, we’ll give you one of these.” He points to a photograph of a charcoal diamond-shaped scale.
Lola snorts. “Really?” Under the table, her leg bounces. Seeing the photo of an ash diamond is enough to rattle the brewing addiction that rumbles below the simmering flame of vengeance.
Oscar presses his lips together and nods. He lifts the page’s corner, showcasing a small transparent bag containing charcoal powder taped to the back of the folder.
Take it, take it, take it, dumb bitch, are the words slithering through Lola’s mind. They are not her own. She recognizes it as the drug. With each passing moment, the ice bites harder at her fingers, causing her face to flush red and her heart rate to skyrocket. It’s right there, within arm’s reach. The power.
Oscar closes the folder and places it on his lap. “You’re an interesting specimen, Lola. You’re tuned into the old world. How? We’d like to know, yes? Before, the Crystal Moths wrote you off as a fly. Now here we are, working together.”
“Took you idiots long enough,” Lola says.
“No other ash-dasher can withstand the continual temptation of that poison. Hell, they would have jumped at first sight of it. Not you though. You discovered the old world. This intrigues Mastema.”
The name makes Lola shiver. She hasn’t met the drug lord or seen his face. Words have a potent effect on the mind. “No,” Lola says.Do it, Lola presumes she thinks. It’s hard to tell as the addiction distorts her consciousness.
“Let’s make it easier for you,” Oscar leans on the table, whispering. “How about we take care of your brother and father the way we did your mother?”
Lola’s nostrils flare, getting nose-to-nose with him. “Touch them and I’ll break you.”
“I’d love to see you try. You know that’s not possible. Work for us, and we will reward you. Your relatives stay safe.”
“I need to get out of here,” Lola says.
“We could squeeze that into the arrangement. You can become an official family member of the Moths.”
“I’d rather rot in prison.”
Oscar shrugs. “Suit yourself. Yes? You must perform this task for us.” A pointed object pokes Lola’s leg. It isn’t visible unless Lola makes a scene. It’s far too sharp to be the tip of a shoe, more like a needle or a knife.
It jabs her.
Oscar’s eyes point to the motion.
Lola slides in her chair, careful so the guard doesn’t see. Her hands explore under the table, grazing against a warm and smooth tentacle shaped object akin to skin. Another poke tells her she reached too far. Her hand moves back, reaching the end of this appendage to a metal handle. This is not a limb. It’s a tail.
Great,Lola thinks. Her hand follows the coiled tip to a sharp, thin, cool item. Oscar is offering her a knife.
“Lift,” Oscar mutters.
Lola gets the message. She lifts her tank top with one hand, below the table, for the shape shifter to slide the knife under. The tail tucks the blade nice and close against the elastic of her sweats. The cold metal tingles against her skin. Lola doesn’t dare look down, keeping her eyes on Oscar to avoid suspicion. The tail slides from her torso and she drops the fabric. Oscar buttons his blazer while standing and cupping the folder, no tail in sight. He nods at the guard at the far end of the room.
“Ponder it, and act quickly. Yes?” He taps the table with four fingers and leaves Lola and her simmering anger. The guard’s keys jingle from behind her.
Lola cannot escape the Moths. She opened Pandora’s Box, ignoring warnings. The Crystal Moths are persistent and unforgiving. She has limited choices. The last thing she wants to do is become their assassin slave. Then again, she can work with the enemy and strike from within.
That ash would be a perk to get her brain firing.
She squeezes her arms. It’s not the stress of living behind bars, or the threat to family that makes her want to kill Sierra. Her hungering vengeance ties Sierra, a Crystal Moth, to her. Each gangster needs to pay. Lola’s scheming is masterful. Or, the drug addiction is talking, whispering sinister ideas into the doomed ash-dasher’s soul.
