Unfit by K Hippolite

hardly stand.
      The assassin falls to the ground and crumples out of his hiding spot. The knot of five people near him make way for him to fall between them at first. But then one man stoops beside the fallen assassin to steal his scimitar. A woman in their group rushes over to shake his boots off his feet.
      Run, the rest of you, or you’ll wind up like him.
      They can’t hear me, of course, but I sense the chronomancers retreating. They leave their fallen companion behind to the mercy of the looters. No amount of gold is worth this mark. I’m certain they won’t return.
      “Utterly amazing,” says Tiller, staring at me.
      “Now we can get you back downtown.”
      Tiller shakes his head in disagreement. “This is a good parting spot. I can make it on my own now. And it won’t do to march you two into the Coalition-side of town.”
      “Are you sure?” I ask.
      “Yes. I bid you farewell.”
      Tiller sets his hands on my hips and leans into my space. I stiffen a little, ready to pull back and break away. But he stops short of brushing lips with me, instead opting for a peck on the cheek.
      “Thank you, Kwan. Here let me help you up.”
      He stops to kiss the back of Hattie’s hand and then walks west, in the direction of the Coalition fortress. I watch him as I endeavour to get my foot into a stirrup.
      “He sure is handsome,” says Hattie. “I wonder if he’s married.”
      “Come up, Hattie?”
      “I’m good from here, Miss Kwan. Two’s not comfortable up there. And I guess you’re a telepath, so...”
      She doesn’t want to admit it, but her public mind tells me. She doesn’t want to impose rapport on me. She must have studied telepathy in school.
      “Well, let’s get you home.”
      The sounds of the riot follow us faintly in the background, but by the time we reach my parents street, where Hattie lives, the only visual sign of the riot is the unnatural orange glow over the houses. The mood of the rioters reaches me even after they’re no longer in sight. It’s been jubilant ever since Pertran died.
      Poor Pertran. In death you’ve brought happiness.
      My street has power, since it runs off of a different electrical station. It is with relief that we see working streetlights there. Hattie’s house is across the street, and two doors down from my parents. I spot a woman sitting on her front porch stairs.
      The woman has short brown curls and wears a loose fitting shirt and leggings. She rests her head on her hands as we approach.
      “Thank you, Miss Kwan, for seeing me home,” says Hattie. She makes to go home.
      The woman stands up, as Hattie trots up the path. I notice now the unnatural pallor of her skin. A deep, jagged wound crosses her neck. A sword or knife attack? The blood no longer spurts from the open wound, but has seeped down the woman’s chest and matted to become a sticky-looking viscous red stain.
      “Hattie, wait! Come back.”
      Hattie stops and turns a hand-span from running into the woman. I dismount, intending to rush up and grab Hattie’s arm to pull her away.
      Before I can get there, the woman has looped her arms around Hattie’s shoulders. I can hardly croak out a sound to warn her away. Hattie takes no notice of it.
      “Yes, Mis Kwan? Did you need something?”
      The woman hugs Hattie from behind, nestling her head against Hattie’s cheek. Strength leaves my knees. I drop to the sidewalk, staring.
      Hattie comes back to me. The woman releases her and observes us.
      “Are you okay, Miss Kwan? Why are you suddenly so pale?”
      “Tell me about your mother, Hattie.”
      “Oh, they took her away when I was wee small. She was a telepath, y’see. But she never declared. I dunno how she got found out.”
      “What did she look like?”
      “She looked just like me, actually. There’s still pictures in the house. But when they carried her off, that’s when my Dad started drinking. I think his soul’s