One Foot in the Fade, page 36
“I know, George, but it’s a special occasion. I promise.”
He stared at me, and I thought he was about to say something else. Something more serious than to remind me that alcohol and I weren’t the best of friends.
“Join us, Georgio!” said Khay. He waved her away with a polite but uncomfortable bow.
“Thank you, but I need to keep working. Please enjoy.”
He left the bottle on the table, and we all emptied our water glasses and filled them with wine.
I started the story off, describing the walk in the woods, our time learning about the forest from Theodor, and finding the Fae bodies, before we were ambushed by the woodsmen. Eileen shed tears when I described Theodor’s kidnapping, and I told her about all the things that our hired hunter had taught me: archery and hunting and how to become one with the woods.
We told her about the Constructs. The way the Wizards were mining crystals directly from the source and putting them into bodies, both flesh and clay.
“If Thurston hears about this, he’ll pounce on it immediately,” I warned.
“I won’t say anything to anyone,” she assured me. “I swear.”
“We might have slowed down their operation for a while,” added Khay, a glint in her eye, “but if this way of using the river gets out, it will change everything. We have to make our move first. As soon as possible.”
“Of course,” said Eileen, not picking up on Khay’s subtle suggestion that they should reach over the table and hold hands right now. “But what about the Minotaur?”
When I described the battle with the beast, I got caught up in the tale – perhaps it was the wine – and practically went through the whole fight blow by blow, even getting up from my chair to demonstrate some of the more exciting moments. Eileen and Khay cheered me on and raised their glasses as I brandished the wine bottle like a sword and delivered a final blow to the invisible monster.
My story fizzled out when I saw Georgio, sitting on his stool behind the register, his usually joyous face in a tired frown. Without his smile, he was almost unrecognizable. I ignored him, and assumed that he was just tired.
Khay told Eileen about Theodor – making a point to accentuate the way she’d brought him back from the brink of death, rather than focus on what he became and the way he left us – and quickly moved on to being captured by The Bridge and making our escape.
“I want you to know that I had no idea,” Eileen assured us. “Larry just told me that he wanted to stay in Mira to see if he could get another car and use it to go find you. He insisted I head home as soon as possible.”
“Such a little weasel,” snarled Khay.
I refilled my glass and leaned back.
“Did he try to kiss you?” I asked.
I could feel the stupid grin on my face. It must have looked identical to the one that Khay was wearing. Eileen blushed.
“No,” she said, with an obvious but hanging in the wings. “But, he did write me a poem.”
Of all the explosions I’ve seen in my life, none of them compared to the eruption of wine that burst from Khay’s nose. Closing the blinds had been useless; you could have heard our laughter halfway to the Mayor’s house. We cackled like wild dogs. I was short on breath, with tears in my eyes.
“What did you do?” I asked, when I had enough air in my lungs to speak.
“I thanked him for his kind words but told him that I was partial to more feminine partners.”
“Is that true?” enquired Khay.
“Not exclusively – it was mostly to get him off my back – but most of the time.”
“Good to know,” said Khay. “I hope this…” she gestured to her purple-stained lips and bloodshot eyes, “… is the kind of grace and femininity you’re looking for.”
Another trickle of wine dripped down her nose, sending us back into fits of giggles.
“Thanks for the offer,” said Eileen, “but I like kissing someone who won’t fry my lips off in the process.”
The laughter died.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m drunk. I didn’t mean that.”
Khay waved the comment away. Though I could tell that it hurt her feelings, it also gave her the opening she needed to make her request.
“That’s all right,” she said. “It’s true. At least, it was true. But we have the crown now. I saved Theodor’s life, and he was torn to pieces before I tried it. If you’re ready, we think it’s time to claim the prize we all went searching for.” She held out her ungloved hand across the table. “What do you say, Ms Tide? Ready to spin some spells again?”
Eileen was in shock. She looked at Khay’s hand and recoiled.
“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’s what I was here for.”
“Oh, no, you’re not,” I said. “We just thought we’d offer. Thought maybe you wanted to be the first. Just an idea.”
Shit got awkward. I felt like we were some free-and-easy couple on holiday inviting Eileen back to our room. Khay kept her hand out.
“Thank you,” said Eileen. “But it’s just a little too risky for me. I’m… I’m quite healthy, actually. Happy. I’m lucky enough to have too much to lose, you know? But I’ll help you find someone. Someone who wants it. I’m sure you’ll have them lined up around the block in no time.”
Khay withdrew her hand.
“We should talk to Portemus too,” I suggested, trying to reclaim some of the excitement that had so quickly dissipated. “He helped with Mora, right?”
Khay nodded. “But that was a special case. It doesn’t mean I need him all the time.”
“Of course. But we want to give ourselves every possible chance to make this first one count. We can’t afford any more… well, you know… we want to make sure we do this right.”
There was an awkward pause, and Eileen used it to excuse herself.
“I need some time to think,” she said. “About who might be suitable. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Of course.” I was being overly warm, to make up for Khay’s silence. “Thanks for coming out, Eileen.”
Eileen’s awkwardness was unsettling but, after she left, Georgio’s silence was as potent as the stink off a sulfur mine. When I thanked him, and offered to help him pack up, he just shook his head.
“He all right?” asked Khay, as we went through the revolving door.
“Yeah, he must just be tired.”
Upstairs, I lifted the receiver but there was no dial tone.
“Shit. They’ve cut off my phone while we were away. I won’t be able to reconnect it till morning.”
“Oh.”
“It’s all right. You stay here. I’ll go and see Portemus in person.”
“I’ll come too.”
It’s hard to say what it was that made me nervous. Khay had always had a hard stare, an excitement about her, and a ready energy at all times of the day or night. She’d always been determined. I’d liked that. We wouldn’t have got anywhere without it. But I knew that I needed to see Portemus on my own. Maybe it was the fact there was still blood under my fingernails and in my hair. Maybe it was because all the things we’d done on the road didn’t seem to fit back into the gritty streets of this city. Maybe it was how she absently rubbed her hands together, interlocking and stretching her fingers, sliding her palms back and forth, like she was aching to get them onto someone’s skin. I had my whole mind on this case, but she had it filling up her body, and I needed some space to get my head straight.
“Best you stay here. I’ll go talk to Portemus, bring him here, and we’ll find someone for you to save as soon as we can.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I showed her where the shower was, told her I’d be right back, and went downstairs. The light to the café was still on, and I was craving a coffee, so I ducked inside.
Georgio came out from the back room holding a screwdriver.
“Sorry to keep you up, Georgio, I—”
He disappeared out the side door without saying a word. Strange. Our dishes were still on the table, so I put the dirty glasses in the sink. Georgio came in, walked right up to me, and dropped something heavy onto the table.
Fetch Phillips: Man for Hire
Bringing the magic back!
Enquire at Georgio’s café
The plaque from my building. I looked at it, confused, then at Georgio, who had his eyes focused on the floor.
“Georgio, what is this?”
“I don’t want to work with you anymore.”
You’d think with all the crazy things that had happened in the past few weeks, I’d be beyond the point of surprise, but I was more stunned than when I’d first laid eyes on the Minotaur.
“What… what do you…? Why?”
“I agreed to help you help people. That’s what you said you wanted to do. Some good, remember? This is not good.”
I felt small. Flashbacks to being a kid with scraped knees and rips in my new school uniform, or a hungover teenager returning my adopted father’s broken bike; the same shame, and the same panicked desperation to make things right.
“Georgio, this is what we were working towards. Khay can help people now. Really help them.” He kept his eyes down, shaking his head. “We went out there to make things better.”
“You went to WAR!” He was shaking. I’d never seen him this angry. Hell, I’d barely seen him frustrated. “You left your home to go and murder,” he continued, his voice hushed to a chillingly measured tone. “You left your home to steal. You lost a good man and you killed a creature, the likes of which we may never see again.”
“I know… I know, but if this works then it will be worth—”
“Nothing is worth this! Nothing. It will only bring more death. This started with death, don’t you remember? Your friend.” The image of Benjamin’s smiling face forced its way into my mind. “There is so much death already, and you only want to make more. I will not help you do that.”
My chest burned. I felt like I was about to cry, but I smothered it. If the first sob escaped my lips, a tidal wave would follow. I choked it down. Squashed it. Spoke clear.
“I’m doing what needs to be done, Georgio. I can’t just sit back and let the world die. You might enjoy making people breakfast while the world burns, but I’m actually trying to make a difference. I’m sorry you don’t want to be a part of that.”
It was my cue to storm out, but I missed it. I guess I wanted him to say something else. To start shouting again. To smack some sense into me. Anything but to let me leave.
But he just said: “Go.”
And I did.
63
I buzzed the buzzer and waited for Mora or Portemus to answer.
“Hello?”
“Porty, it’s Fetch. Sorry it’s so late. Can we talk?”
A pause, then a tired, “Of course.”
The gate opened and I went into the always cool and creepy lair.
“Portemus! We did it!”
He looked much the same as the last time I’d seen him: disheveled, underdressed and exhausted. He even had a beard coming in.
“Did what?”
“We found the crown! Khay’s wearing it right now. Where’s Mora? I can’t wait to tell her.”
There was that fucking look again. How many times had I been given it, or given it to someone else?
“Come with me.”
We stepped through the morgue, between the slabs, and I heard music coming from the back room: a kind of sentimental tune with a sultry voice over strings and piano. It got louder as I went through the door and into what appeared to be a shrine. The room was full of scented candles. There was art on the walls. Photographs of far-off lands. Piles of books, on tables and the floor, all lying open. A crooning gramophone beside an impressive collection of records, and a bench covered in decadent treats: liquor, exotic fruits, candies, cakes and tea. There was a pipe resting on an ashtray, beside a dubious-looking bag full of some black substance. That might have shocked me, if the centerpiece of the room wasn’t far more arresting.
Mora was reclining in a large leather chair, her body supported by cushions and covered by an expensive-looking quilt. Her good eye was closed. The other was still empty. What I could see of the rest of her made my eyes water.
“What… what happened?”
As if I didn’t know the answer. I knew it the moment I walked into the morgue. Portemus was a Necromancer. He’d raised the dead. Befriended them. He still spent most waking hours with his hands in corpses, and it never stopped him smiling. Until now.
“It didn’t work,” he said. “Or maybe it worked too well. The undead side of Mora has overtaken the rest. It’s sucking the life out of her. There are only the undead pieces of her left – still pulsing, beating, blinking – but the rest is empty.”
When I’d last seen Mora, the undead parts of her body had looked like unfortunate afflictions on an otherwise healthy young woman. Now, they looked positively vibrant compared to the rest of her. Her skin was pale and yellow and stuck to her bones like wet cloth, the lines of her empty veins and arteries visible beneath. Most of her hair was gone. Her fingernails too. There was a white line of dried spit on her blue lips, and her body was so emaciated that with the quilt laid flat upon her, there appeared to be nothing of substance underneath.
I knelt beside her.
“Mora, I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh,” she said. “I love this part.”
The music reached a crescendo, then the piano and the drums paused, leaving space for the woodwinds to take center stage. They celebrated for a few bars on their own before the singer joined in. Her voice was as rough as a shingle waterslide, but Mora’s – when she joined in – was even rougher. More breath than voice, really, but she must have used every last one of her working muscles to smile that wide.
We stayed silent until the end of the song.
“Porty,” she said, when the song was over, “can you open my eye for me?”
“Of course.”
Portemus used a little glass circle to pry apart her eyelids. Those muscles must have lost their strength, but the eye inside was clear, and her expression was just as wry as ever.
“How are you, Mora?” I asked.
“All the better for seeing you, Mr Phillips.”
“I’m sorry. Sorry it didn’t work. But Khay has the crown now. She has more power. I can bring her over here and we can have another try. I—”
With effort that must have equaled anyone else hoisting a car over their head, Mora put her arm on mine.
“I’m good,” she said, slow but sure. “I risked it once. I don’t regret it, but I don’t want to risk my last days again.”
The look on my face must have divulged what I was thinking. That surely she had nothing left to lose. That if anyone should be willing to risk it, it was her.
She squeezed my arm.
“I want to enjoy whatever time I have left,” she said. “My last hours. Minutes.” She took a deep breath, and I could see it move through her body, from her one good lung into her shaking throat and the caverns of her face. “It’s nice to be alive, Mr Phillips. I’ll take it while I can.”
When Portemus let me out, I knew not to ask for his help. He had a job to do. A noble cause. A duty far more important than whatever I’d been doing since the Coda happened. I tried to tell him that before he closed the door.
“You’ve done something really special, Portemus. She’s lucky to have you.”
He gave me a half-hearted nod and closed the door in my face.
I never thought I’d see the day when Portemus had had his fill of death.
64
We were running out of time to test Khay’s powers, and I had no real idea where to go first. Who could we choose? What would we say to them? Hey, can my friend put her hands on you and try to fill you with magic? It’s only killed or deformed every other person we’ve tried it on, but maybe it’ll be different for you because she has a new headpiece.
The retirement home seemed obvious, but too risky. If they were already that close to death, then the shock of the spell might push them over the edge. One more failed attempt and this would all be over. I couldn’t justify trying it again and again, hoping for the one rare result that would make it all worth it. So, we needed someone healthy enough to live through the experience, but desperate enough to give it a try. We’d have to be honest with them. No lies. No sweetening the truth.
Shit. Why was it suddenly so complicated?
“Don’t move.”
I ignored the order and turned around. I was in an alley between Angel Avenue and Keating Street, with a kid standing behind me. He looked about fifteen: skinny, and in a scrappy suit. He had a knife in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, genuinely confused.
I’d crossed through this alley a hundred times. I practically lived on the streets. I’d seen kids like him on every corner – gangs of them – and they’d never dared stop me. Nobody did. I was more puzzled than afraid, and the kid didn’t like it.
“Money. Weapons. Drop them on the ground. Now.”
I laughed. This hadn’t happened since my first year in Sunder, before I learned how the city worked.
Oh shit, I thought, when I realized what was going on.
My shoulders were hunched and my posture was relaxed. I’d been walking like I was still in the woods: careful footfall, meandering gait, head down and body soft. I looked like an easy mark. Poor kid. I straightened my shoulders, jumped back, and reached into my jacket.
But the pistol wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. Linda had lifted it from me and never given it back. The kid lashed out with the knife. I tried to block it with my arm – a stupid move – and it cut through the sleeve of my jacket all the way through to the skin.
I stepped back again and tripped over a trash can. He span the knife around in his fingers and stabbed.
It went in. Somewhere in my guts. Bad. Real bad.
He punched me to make sure I stayed down, but I didn’t feel like fighting. He rifled through my pockets, took the brass knuckles, my wallet, keys, whatever else was in there. I didn’t care. I couldn’t. I was down a long tunnel, far away, watching my life like it was projected on a distant wall.
