"Come along, Jasmine," beckoned Ms. Worthe, my Lady's Maid and caretaker since I was born.
She was a tall woman, taller than any men I knew besides for Mr. Stote, who was the Butler for the Sordy House. Serene in company and unfettered in private, Ms. Worthe was a beacon of charity and direction in my life. I once (in an awful childish fit) asked her why such a knowledgeable woman would stick around to take care of a brat like me, after which she smiled kindly and said she did it because she knew who I'd become--a woman twice as beautiful and capable as she. She wouldn't tell me more, but I came to trust her with my life and my trivial secrets.
Because she was the only one staying strong at my father's funeral.
I took my silk napkin and patted my eyes before taking a breath and Ms. Worthe's side by the open casket. I reached for her hand, which she gave and held mine tight as I looked down at Father's face. He looked like he could get up and tell me it was okay at any moment.
Such a stupid way to die, I thought. Such strength shouldn't fall victim to mere statistics. Just two days ago he rocked me to sleep by the fireplace. Stupid alcohol, stupid driver, stupid people, stupid world, stupid, stupid, stupid--
I couldn't hold it any longer and sobbed into Ms. Worthe's black funeral gown.
*****
A few days passed since Father's burial and the Sordy House was back on its feet, getting everything ready for its new Master. Although I am the sole inheritor of Father's estate, I was a girl just shy of marriageable age, so it was decided my uncle would take care of Father's affairs until I could do so myself.
Despite being the heiress of the Sordy House, I knew little about the Sordy family. My mother died during childbirth, so her kin detached and never visited. Father's parents died before I could know them, and his one younger brother was only mentioned in a dim light.
Apparently, Uncle Jack Sordy was the kind of man who would forever remain a bachelor for his unbridled boyishness and sleazy business practices. Whenever Lords and Ladies aired his scandals and rumors ran him out of work, he'd hop to another town, change his name, and find a new gullible House to roost in. As for his schemes, I gleaned from maidservant gossip that Uncle Sordy pretended to be a gemologist who appraised jewelry. Once invited into an honorable house for work, he'd take advantage of their hospitality (especially their womenfolk) and undervalue their goods, some of which he'd offer to buy or trade so he could score a profit.
But, as much of a scoundrel his reputation made him out to be, he was never accused of being a thief; And this smidgeon of dignity, along with his Sordy name, was enough to temporarily grant him the title of Master in the Sordy House.
Ms. Worthe made sure I was fully prepped and prettied for the occasion of his arrival, which was today. Mr. Stote, Ms. Worthe, and I stood in front of the grand marble steps as Jack Sordy's Executive Class Dragonfly landed in the driveway. A prominent and boastful machine it was, but it lacked reserve and was telling of a juvenile man who came across money by dumb luck. Father's flying car, a custom vehicle he lovingly called "Mittens" (which was still undergoing repairs), by comparison exuded omnipotence and a well balanced density only found in large jungle cats.
Once the machine went silent, Mr. Stote walked around and opened the door for my uncle, who got out and took stock of his new domain before approaching us ladies.
With a wave, the butler called over the groom, an old mechanic who kept to himself and had little to do with me, to fly the vehicle around back where the shop garage was.
When Jack Sordy stood before me, I offered my hand. He took it, bowed, and kissed it gently. Ms. Worthe only greeted him with a nod, which he returned.
"M'Lady," he addressed me, "I apologize profusely for not attending your father's funeral, but be certain I mourned along with you. It is a tragedy for him to pass so young."
"I accept, Mr. Sordy," I said with the tone of authority Ms. Worthe taught me to use.
Uncomfortable with my unimpressed stare, Uncle averted his eyes to the Lady's Maid for a formal introduction.
I reinforced my authority by giving him instructions myself: "Follow me, Mr. Sordy. I will familiarize you with the estate and father's studies so you can learn what being Master of this house entails."
The man gulped.
Just to further hurt the swindler's ego, I didn't care to mention the odd step in front of the arched portal in hopes he would trip on it like most guests. However, despite his anxious appearance, he stepped over it without looking.
*****
Over the coming weeks, Uncle Jack acclimated to Father's responsibilities like a fish to water, which irked me.
Father was not adverse to letting me lurk around his private study as he worked, and often would invite me to his desk so he could demonstrate the complexities of his occupation. Patiently and kindly, he would explain everything from taxes and business arrangements to politics and current news in terms I could understand. My father was an advisor to the Crown, especially in the realm of interplanetary commerce. This prestigious position was a discrete one, far removed from decorum, quotas, and stipulations, because it was not Father's responsibility to provide correct answers, nor was it to establish alliances with his colleagues. Nay, the only contribution he was compensated for was finding faults in proposed and current legislation--a kind of Devil's advocate that elucidated paradoxes and unintended consequences inherent to the Crown's "divine" declarations.
I always struggled to follow Father's trains of thought because of their conspiratorial nature, and rarely did I formulate an idea Father found enlightening. Ms. Worthe was no help either, as she refused to entertain my regurgitated theories whenever I tried to think like Father. She would just say she hadn't the mind to critique them.
Because of how proficient Uncle Jack became, proven by the incoming letters of praise, I wondered if maybe I hadn't the mind either. By virtue of my sex, perhaps the intricacies of world affairs were inaccessible to me.
You're just too young and immature, I scolded myself in the large mirror.
"How tall were you when you were my age?" I asked Ms. Worthe, who was brushing my hair with her usual care, awake and lively unlike my tired grumpy self.
I had asked her to get me ready before the sun rose so I could conduct some surveillance on an unwitting Master Sordy.
"This again?" she smiled with the womanly charm I envied.
"I'm almost fourteen!" I blurted. "And this body of mine still refuses to develop. Am I to be a child forever?"
"Jasmine, you know not what you ask for," the Lady's Maid shook her head. "You ought be grateful to ripen so late. A flower picked too early struggles to take root again. These things have phases, and in each is a lesson to be learned. Be patient and observe the shores, because you will never be able to reverse the current to see their significance again."
Stubbornly, I pouted, "I'll be unmarriable if this persists. The men don't respect me like they respect you."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jazz!" the woman laughed. "You know as well as I do the distinction between a wanting gaze and a subservient one."
"They go hand in hand," I muttered. "Nothing men won't do for a beautiful lady. Nothing men will do for an insolent child."
Finished with my hair and annoyed by my naivety, the tall maternal figure stood in front of me with folded arms.
My eyelids braced for her reprimands.
"Well," she huffed, "when your womb raptures with pain and you soil yourself, when the mongrels come sniffing for you in the safety of your own home, and when Prince Charming turns out to be the worst of them all, don't come running to me for advice about how to handle your damned womanhood!"
I always felt shameful when I disappointed her, and knew this time I had gone too far.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Worthe," I squeaked out.
"That won't do," she rejected me sternly.
I bowed my head and conceded in earnest. "I apologize, Ms. Worthe. I couldn't be without you and am grateful for your kind wisdom and patience. Please forgive me for my insult."
She lifted my chin with a long finger and met my eyes with maternal compassion.
"I accept," she said. "Your time is coming, child. Now go, dawn is just over the horizon."
*****
Father's study doubled as his personal library, which was the primary reason for me lounging around the place like some domesticated cat. Of all the comfy windowsills, armchairs, and expensive fur rugs, my favorite perch was behind the railing of the loft, where I hoarded pillows to nest in. From this vantage point, I was nigh invisible and could look down upon the study as I read book after book. Even when Father had important company that required discretion, he would never shoo me away as long as I didn't make myself known.
But where Father knew to look for my presence, Uncle Jack did not.
He entered the study after the sun had flooded it with ambient light and took a seat behind the desk. After a sip of hot coffee and the lighting of a cigarette, Master Sordy took a paper envelope off the top of his to-do stack and sliced it open.
Between Father's antiquated preferences and the Crown's sensitive information, no computerized technology could be found in the study. Father once told me his reluctance to adopt modernity had nothing to do with the efficiency of his methods but with the proficiency of them. He felt keyboards, instant communications, and filterable databases made his mind race with distractions. To him, there was no joy in his work unless he controlled and was reflected in every aspect of it, from his impeccable handwriting to the rare source material on his shelves.
Long story short, I was indeed shocked when I first discovered everybody else in the solar system did not live on grassy estates full of big trees, maidservants, frilly dresses, and paper books. Even royalty and their ilk had lost appetite for such conveniences and luxury, corroborated by their quizzical looks whenever they were guests. Some would even (after interrogating the staff and myself to determine if we were slaves) attempt to deny the prestigious titles we gave them, but their self-given titles always lined up with ours once defined anyways.
There wasn't any difference we could find between a "Senator" and a "Lord," or a "Secretary" and a "Maidservant," or a "Bodyguard" and a "Butler."
Uncle Jack adopted the lifestyle completely and was audacious enough to have Father's clothes retailored to fit him, which I wanted to light him on fire for, but Ms. Worthe calmed me by saying they would have been sold otherwise.
So, I restrained my animosity and spied on him from my nest, eventually picking up a book so I wouldn't fall asleep.
Once the pile of letters were all responded to and put in his outbox, he leaned back in the chair and celebrated his day with a puff of tasty cigar. Then he got up to walk out, causing me to feel frustrated for wasting an entire day for something so uneventful.
But then he turned to an old antique globe, which he spun in a series of motions.
A bookshelf behind him clicked and creaked open.
Utterly surprised, I held my breath so I wouldn't alert him.
Then, he fully opened the hidden door and descended into the darkness.
Betrayal, joy, and intrigue flooded my system as one of Father's greatest secrets invited me to enter--but was it something he'd want me to see?
It mattered not, for if anyone was entitled to its wonder, it was me and not the suspicious crook.
I hopped down nimbly from my perch, my socked legs absorbing my fall with grace, which then tiptoed down the cold, dark, spiraling steps. A light from below illuminated the walls with refracted green light, and when I reached the level below and stuck my neck out, it showed me a technological purgatory.
Monitors, control boards, and tangles of wires surrounded an erect cylindrical water tank; And within that tank of green water floated a naked woman with a metallic tube attached to her navel. The worst part about her was her face.
Because she had my face.
After a press of a few keys, Uncle Jack studied the woman and appeared pleased when one of her legs twitched. Then he pressed more keys to provoke more movements, some of which contorted her form in freakish ways like a puppet getting its strings yanked.
Panic stricken, I realized I was hyperventilating too late, because the noise of my breathing startled Jack and he turned to see me.
"Jazz?" he asked.
My body sprang into action and scrambled up the steps--my bones slipping and smacking concrete on the way.
I have to tell Ms. Worthe, was my only thought.
At the top step, my head rammed into somebody's shins, causing me to shriek in terror and flounder backwards.
Before I could fall, Ms. Worthe caught me and held me into her breast with an iron grip.
"Shh... it's okay, child," she hushed me.
"J-Jack... He... He's..." I stuttered, desperately trying to warn her.
"I know," she said, and took a step down.
"W-what?" I asked as my hands clawed at the wall as if to swim up for air.
"Jasmine, stop," she instructed me as she took another step down.
"He's down there!" I pleaded with her.
"I know. Calm down, I'll protect you," my Lady's Maid promised.
With that, I no longer resisted, but kept my face buried so I didn't have to see any of it again. I was certain she would handle Uncle Jack and whatever abominable plan he had in store for us all.
Step by step, the green light grew stronger until I was back in the godforsaken room.
"Is this really the time?" Jack asked calmly.
"She needs to know," Ms. Worthe responded.
They are working together, I realized with a frozen heart.
"Need to know what?!" I cried as I helplessly thrashed against my betrayer.
"Jasmine--" she called me.
"Let me go!" I begged.
"Jazz--" she tried again.
"LET ME GO!!!" I screamed, and was thrusted away.
"We're your parents, Jasmine!" Ms. Worthe snarled at me.
My head reeled as I looked back at them in disbelief.
It's a trick, I convinced myself as righteous anger flared.
"How dare you," I accused my former mentor. "My mother is dead!"
"It's true, Jazz," Jack perpetuated the lie. "Remember our last night together before I left? How I cradled you by the fireplace?"
Was Father in on this? I wondered.
"No," I shook my head with an insane smile, "that's not possible, my father died in a car accident and lies in his grave."
"Michael Sordy is not in that grave, Jasmine," Jack promised. "I wasn't dead when you came to see me. I don't even have a brother. You think any schmuck could just walk in and take over everything I've built?"
Then Ms. Worthe had her turn: "Don't you think it's a little suspicious I was recruited right after you were born? That I've taken such good care of you? In your bones you must know I'm your mother."
"Stop..." I muttered, withdrawing into myself in hopes I could make this dream end. "Just... stop..."
"Alright, enough!" Jack roared and snatched my exposed forearm in his vice grip.
I yelled out in pain as he squeezed hard enough to bruise bone.
Then he let go and demanded I "Look!"
I kept my eyes shut and whimpered with my arm tucked into my chest.
"Look, child!" reiterated Ms. Worthe.
Through watery eyes, I saw an orange glow, and became bewildered as I saw it was emitting from me. The light was inside my arm and silhouetted the veins, arteries, and bones within it.
"What is this?" I sobbed.
Jack showed me his palm and it too was under the same spell.
The way he expresses himself, I noticed, is just like how he did.
"You are like us. You come from us," Father told me.
"And what are we?" I asked him, all preconceptions shattered.
At a loss for words, he looked to Mother for an explanation.
"That's..." she began, "something you're about to find out."
I followed their eyes as they stared at the submerged woman.
Hastily, Father pressed a button and the tank began to drain. Then he took a disposable syringe, attached it to a fork in a random tube, and pulled the plunger until it was full of red liquid.
"Taste it," he proffered.
"What--" I asked.
"Don't ask," Mother interrupted. "Just taste it."
The tank was half empty.
I took the syringe, put its needleless tip to my lips, and pressed the plunger.
It was blood.
Warm, metallic, aqueous, delicious blood.
It warmed my insides and made me glow.
Father punched the glass, shattering it into countless pieces, and yanked out the woman's tether.
"Jennifer, run!" Father shouted Mother's first name.
Then they left me alone, salivating and thirsty.
The woman opened her eyes and saw me.
I instinctively recognized my natural prey.
So, I spent her life to satiate my gluttony.
And as my adolescent body metamorphosed into her adult one, I came to know exactly what I was.
A monster.