Body Swappers 4
Maya has a "wine down" with a friend.
Maya rang the doorbell, the bottle of rosé she held chilling her fingers in the already nippy air. It wasn’t quite evening yet, but this late in the year it didn’t matter. The sun couldn’t make much headway against the cold of the lengthening nights.
The little house before her was in reasonably good repair, considering the state of some of the neighbors. It was definitely a step up compared to where Camille had been last, in a grungy little poorly-run apartment complex. Maya’s house was about the same size as this one, but then Maya lived further up the hill, where there were no rusty cars on any of the neighbor’s lawns.
The deadbolt slid back and the door opened. Maya looked down at Camille with a conspiratorial grin, tipping the bottle in her hand. “Could you use a drink? Because I sure could.”
“Come on in,” Camille said, winking at Maya.
Maya left Camille to lock the door again behind her, heading straight for the kitchen. She pulled the bottle opener off its hook below the sign that read “Time to Wine Down,” and uncorked the rosé. She filled two wine glasses almost to the brim and carried them out to the living room, where Camille was just tucking her legs up under her in one of the two tufted velvet chairs. Camille smoothed her high-waisted, knee-length skirt over her lap and accepted her glass from Maya with a quirk of her lip. “So what happened this time?”
Maya settled into the loveseat across from the chairs and sighed. “I stopped a guy from pummeling his wife.”
Camille’s nose wrinkled in a mirror imitation of Maya’s disgust. “I don’t understand why she signed up with your agency rather than leaving him.”
“That makes two of us.”
They sipped in silence for some moments, each lost in her own thoughts. They were both abuse survivors. Had met at a support group for survivors. While her background was a large part of why Maya did what she did, Camille had gone the other way. She was a Medical Laboratory Technician, her career having nothing to do with what she’d been through. Sometimes Maya thought it was a bit cowardly, doing something so clinical. Not helping those like them, when there were so many who needed help. Sometimes, though, Maya wondered if it was a smarter way forward than constantly putting herself right back into it.
“That was the day before yesterday,” she said, pulling herself out of her reverie and refocusing on the woman in front of her. “Yesterday, at the 24 hour checkup, I found out someone had murdered him.”
Camille froze, her face going pale. “What?”
“I know, right? It’s kind of insane that less than a day after I kept this guy from hurting, possibly killing, his wife, he’s the one dead. Who knows what he did to provoke it.”
Camille nodded, staring at her wine glass. “Who knows? He was probably rude to a lot of people. If one of them was unstable…”
They both sipped again in the silence.
“Yeah,” Maya said, feeling a flush in her belly that, if not comfortable, was pleasant anyway. “He deserved it. I said as much to Mother Ruth, and she got onto me.”
Camille snorted, but didn’t say anything.
Maya looked down. “Jeff says I’m too hard on her. Do you think so?”
Camille leaned forward and squeezed Maya’s free hand in hers. “No. You’re just willing to call things like they are. From what you’ve said, Ruth is all softness, no substance. Like cotton candy. It takes people like you to actually change things.”
Maya squeezed back. “Thanks. Most of the time I really love Jeff, but sometimes he’s a bit condescending.”
Camille released her and leaned back in her seat. “Sounds like it.” She took another sip of her wine. “So what happens now with this guy who’s dead?”
Maya shrugged. “His wife hired us to protect her from him. I did that already. Him dying means he can’t hurt her anymore, so there’ll be wrap-up paperwork, but that’s essentially it.”
“Could you get subpoenaed, when there’s a trial?”
“No. Magic still doesn’t officially exist, according to the legal system. Though maybe that’ll change in a few weeks. Besides, all I could say is I don’t think his wife did it, but they already know that. She was at work.”
Camille nodded. “How do you think that bill will change things, if it goes through?”
Maya shrugged. “Who knows? I guess it depends on how seriously magic is taken. Maybe banks will hire us to swap into their tellers as part of their silent alarm security measures, so we can identify or disarm robbers. Maybe more beaten partners sign up with us; not to give their significant others another shot, but to get witness testimony of the abuse. I think that could be huge. So much is he-said she-said if there’s no hospital visit.”
In a small voice, Camille said, “I know.” Instantly Maya regretted her thoughtless commentary. Camille had been a victim of emotional and sexual abuse, her life dictated by a twisted man, but he’d been careful not to hit her no matter how angry he got. When Camille had finally left him, she’d reported everything to the police. Nothing had come of it.
It was Maya’s turn to reach across the space between them and squeeze Camille’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Camille set down her glass and wiped at her eyes. “You shouldn’t have to guard what you say around me. I’ll be okay.”
Maya cast about for something to take her friend’s mind off her trauma. “Oh. Guess who texted me yesterday?”
“Who?”
“My mom.”
Camille rolled her eyes. “Was she apologizing for asking you to forgive your abuser?”
“No. Actually, quite the opposite.” Maya drained her glass. “She asked me to have dinner with him. But I had drinks with a friend instead.”
Camille stared at her with brows raised and mouth open for a few breaths. “Drinks and dinner, right? Let’s order in.” She stood, shaking her skirt loose around her, then picked up the glasses. “I’ll refill these.”