They say that the Vulture Queen can grant wishes. They say she travels the world in hundreds of small steps, tattered cloak swaying, never staying in the same place. She can only be seen by those who sacrifice themselves entirely for a chance to talk to her. They say it’s worth spilling every single drop of blood in one’s veins, because she works real magic. She grants wishes.
Marie Tharp has been searching for her for 217 years.
Oh, that’s really not a lot in the grand scheme of things.
She had overheated her cortex chip for the first time sooner than most. Later than some. They hadn’t yet known what that would lead to, the buildup and accumulation of a hundred little semi-conductive burnt particles in the channels that let the neurotransmitters filter properly. Oh, it still worked. But she used to remember things properly, in glass. She remembered understanding it, and remembered someone else understanding it. Now she was alone. She left that doctor’s office weeks ago. Months ago. Decades ago.
All sorts of unknown effects, the doctor had told her, and she could remember the way the hair had curled over his eye, the exact fold of the coat he wore, but she couldn’t remember how she felt. Probably frightened, which she just couldn’t remember, because for the past month or so she seemed to be interpreting fear as hunger. She just had a horrible empty feeling inside her, like she could feel her intestines worming their way around each other, around and around and around in a fleshy, bloody, visceral ouroboros.
A few weeks later in the garage she had put her right hand under a vise press and watched as the bones crunched and creaked and the flesh split beneath it. She was sure this was a memory she made up, because the doctor had told her that she might begin to hallucinate things. And her hand was still fine.
She found that someone was grabbing her shoulder, and she whirled around in surprise.
“I’m looking for the Vulture Queen.” she said.
The man sighed.
“Another one of those, huh? Damn, and here I was hoping you had just moved in. I know the sighting here was the most recent one in memory, but Christ on a cracker it’s been fifty years. She’s not goddamn here. Scuff off.”
The man turned away and she was alone.
Marie was still fervently, deliriously glad she had put the cortex chip in. She still sometimes couldn’t believe the joy it gave her to cheat death like this. Oh, sure, the machine of her mind was spraying out sparks now and then, but she never expected perfection. It was enough just to be able to walk and talk and breathe in the dirty air. She could laugh, and laugh, and laugh until she started crying hysterically. She had been worried about ennui and gray days and losing the value of her own time on earth. But no, the cortex chip in her was still magic, it still burned deliciously, that little ember that told her that she won. She got to live forever. She sometimes wondered if other people could see the sparking and spitting halo around her head. She knew they couldn’t hear the glorious blood rushing in her arteries. That was for her alone.
She practiced what she would say to the Vulture Queen, and walked on and on.
Hillsboro, the sign says, and that must be where she is. She has no idea which state is in, but it’s a normal looking town. Clearly built in the past 500 years, since every single piece of the town glows in her eyes, telling her that she can access the information by cortex chip. It’s like an angel has personally kissed every brick in the town. She squints a little, and goes to look for the diner. Towns always have diners. Diners always have towns. Sometimes she even goes into the diners instead of just pressing her face to the glass.
It’s a small town diner. Listless but in a pleasant way, until she steps in and breaks some glass. And then it’s a hubbub. She’s gripping in her hand one of the frames of one of the photos on the wall. It’s a little handwritten map, and it has the roads to all the known haints and haunts in the area.The hide-behind is there, and so is the great three-eyed owl, but most importantly the Vulture Queen is marked there, just off one of the rural roads.The glass has already cut her hand and she’s bleeding messy disgusting blood all over the floor but most importantly she has the map. Marie hopes the mop up after she leaves isn’t terrible e but she doesn’t stay to see. She can feel the disapproval and fear, the murmurs that stay behind, wondering how long it will be until they too are breaking photos in unknown diners with dead eyes. Marie gives them 20 years. More people’s chips fry every day. One day they’ll all outnumber that other species, the one’s whose chips didn’t buzz and click and whisper and the world will stop being so fucking bright all the time. So bright.
And she starts down the road the map tells her, just her and her two legs and her dry mouth. She has now been searching for the Vulture Queen for 221 years, her hippocampus cheerfully reminds her. This path is lovely, Marie thinks. She wishes she remembered how to whistle. Or, she thinks that she might have known once. It’s possible she saw someone whistling in a movie who looked like her, once, long ago. She wished she remembered.
And up ahead, resting against the fence is a figure. The stranger has on plain black clothes, and they’re looking down, kicking their legs. Enjoying the weather.
“I’m looking for the Vulture Queen,” she said.
“That’s me.” the stranger said.
“Sorry to bother you, then.” she said.
They stood together in silence for a few moments.
“Are you real?” Marie said.
“Real as a stone.” the Vulture Queen said. “Now what do you want from me? What wish can I grant you? I have moved mountains, summoned riches beyond measure, and even healed the people from beyond death.”
The Vulture Queen doesn’t look at her. She has on a thin silver bracelet that catches the light, and she’s fiddling with that. She’s bored. This has happened a million times before.
Marie took a deep breath.
“I want to apologize to you. Can you forgive me, Laura? I still love you. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, and I never got to tell you that until now. I just wanted to tell you. I’m sorry, and I love you. I came looking for you to tell you that.”
The Vulture Queen was silent- when Marie finally looked up her face was like a polished mirror it was so cold and still. But she was looking at her
“I’m looking for the Vulture Queen,” she said.
“That’s me.” the stranger said.
“Sorry to bother you, then.” she said.
And she walked away, still dripping blood.
THE STORY HAS NOW ENDED. Would you like to go back home?