It made sense, not that Laura wanted to admit it. She stuck behind them as the pair circled to the next stall. Okane looked frazzled, but thankfully his magic hadn’t started acting up. He gave Laura an expression of hopelessness.
“I don’t like it,” he told them all flatly.
“You don’t have to handle them all the time, just know how to use them in a pinch,” said Juliana. “How about you try our gun?”
Laura handed over her gun and took Okane’s instead. The Amicae model was a subtly different shape; while it still felt foreign, it felt a little more right. She held it up to get a better look at the pictographs, and was startled when a hand rested on hers and guided it right back down.
“Rule one of gun safety,” Lester said sharply. “Always consider the gun loaded, and always keep it pointed somewhere safe.”
Laura jumped at his tone. “Right. Sorry.”
Lester sighed and forced himself to relax. “I’ve seen accidents happen, both on and off the shooting range. Let’s not add you to the list of injuries.”
She backed off while the MacDanels concentrated on Okane’s form. In the corner the doll slumped entirely and a buzzer sounded for the end of the session. The teenagers laughed as they toted their rented guns back to the front. Another man stepped in as they left. He looked up and down the range before walking straight to Laura’s stall.
“Excuse me,” she said, annoyed. “That one’s taken.”
He looked at her. There were no words, no scowl, but Laura felt suddenly rooted to the spot. He didn’t look like much—tall, reedy, with unkempt red hair, a gaunt face, and eyes with dark bags under them but bright as if he’d gone days without sleep on sheer mania. He looked like a breeze could blow him over, but those eyes held something deep and dark as pitch. He watched her a moment before smiling, and this was worse than the menacing blankness.
“I can’t say I’ve seen a Sweeper here before. What’s the occasion?”
“Practice,” she forced out.
His eyes dragged from her face to the gun in her hand. “Practicing for Sinclair’s memory, I see.”
Her curiosity piqued. Hesitant, she asked, “Did you know Clae?”
“Know him? My dear, we hated each other. Of course I knew him.” The man pulled out his gun, fit in a dummy round. “It’s a shame he passed. We would’ve made spectacular coworkers, but he never knew when to say yes.”
Now prepared, he raised his weapon. The gun was distinct. She’d seen the model in a hundred mob films, knew its white enamel handle better than she knew Gustave’s Moon. Worse, there was a tattoo on his hand: a savage red dog scrambling from wrist to knuckles, jaw open in a snarl. A Mad Dog.
“I think I see why Clae didn’t like you,” she said evenly.
He pulled the trigger and the paper target tore, directly in the middle of the silhouette’s head. The noise made Laura’s hair stand on end, and as much as she willed herself to calm she couldn’t.
“Guns aren’t so satisfying,” the mobster sighed. “Give me a grenade any day.”
“What do you want?” said Laura.
The mobster looked at her again, grin widening. “How blunt. What makes you think I want something from you?”
“You’re the ones raving about me in the Dead Ringer,” she scoffed. “You don’t really think you can play this off as a coincidence, do you?”
He laughed. “Of course not. But don’t worry, I’m not here to interview you. I just thought I’d check up on a few things. Investigate some rumors.”
He looked to her right, and Laura glanced back. Lester had leaned around the divide to investigate the noise, and the blood drained fast from his face.
“What do you think?” said the mobster. “So much glory in the Sun’s pages, how about you and your sister set up an appointment for our own little highlight? The public would rave over it.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are or what you want,” said Lester.
“And yet you’re scared.” The mobster looked amused. “What deep, dark secrets are you hiding, MacDanel? The public has a right to know.”
Laura had no idea what was going on or why the Mad Dogs would develop an interest in Lester of all people, but this was her department. Maybe she didn’t have the boss title anymore, but she was fully willing to throw her weight around regardless.
“The MacDanels just got here,” Laura snapped. “They’ve got nothing to do with your mob wars or any of your articles. Leave them alone.”
The mobster’s smile looked positively manic. “If they wanted to stay neutral, they should’ve watched their step for the past few years. Oh, yes, MacDanel, we heard about that.”
Was he talking about Eliza’s death?
“If something happened to them in Puer, that’s none of your business, is it?” said Laura.
“Isn’t it?” said the mobster.
Lester stepped close to him. The Mad Dog stood his ground, expression darkening as if he was ready for a fight. That expression smoothed out as Lester pressed a wad of bills into his hand.
“Please, leave my sister alone.”
“Oh? Is this protection money?” the Mad Dog snickered, flipping through the cash. “Usually there has to be an incident before people think of paying us.”
Oh, hell no. Laura made to step forward, to argue because this was the absolute worst idea she’d ever seen carried out in front of her, but Lester held out an arm to stop her.
“Please,” he said again.
The Mad Dog paused halfway through counting. His eyes remained fixed on the money, but one brow rose. “I knew you were an odd one, MacDanel, but you’re even surprising me.”
“What’s going on?”
Juliana stepped around the divide now too. Her brow furrowed at their expressions, but smoothed out again as she faced the mobster.
“Hello,” she said brightly. “I hope we haven’t disturbed you. I’m the head Sweeper, Juliana MacDanel.”
She held out a hand. For a moment they all stared at her. She wanted to shake his hand? Him, an obvious mobster reeking of danger? Eventually the mobster settled into amusement. He pocketed the money and shook her hand, ignoring Lester’s tenseness.
“A pleasure, Miss MacDanel. I’ve heard of you already.”
“We’ll be making great strides in protecting the city,” said Juliana. “I daresay we won’t even need your mob Sweepers in a year’s time.”
“Hubris,” the mobster chuckled. “Do what you will. We’ll carry your slack as long as we care to.”
“I appreciate your frankness.”
Juliana went on smiling as he put his gun away, and to Laura’s amazement he actually went to leave. He paused in the doorway, looked over his shoulder, and said, “Oh, Head Sweeper? Just a fair warning. Mob factions are at war in this city. Once you pick a side, there’s no switching over. We’re monogamous in that sense.” With that he was gone.
“You just chased off a Mad Dog,” Laura whispered.
Juliana’s cheer buckled, and only worry remained. “He didn’t threaten you at all, did he?”
“No,” said Lester, and he shot Laura a look that pleaded for her to agree.
“No,” she said slowly. “Those parting words were definitely the most foreboding.”
They were on edge afterward, and while Laura finally managed to hit the target, she felt little excitement. To her relief, the buzzers finally rang over their stalls.
“That wasn’t so bad,” said Juliana, seemingly determined to stay positive. “I think you’ve picked up some valuable lessons for the future.”
“Thanks for bringing us here,” said Laura, and Juliana beamed.
They paused in the entryway as Lester conferred with the clerk, and Juliana launched into her training plans. Apparently Puer had entire buildings dedicated to Sweeper training equipment, and she’d been scouting out locations to mimic the exercises. Laura found herself wondering how any Sweeper could possibly keep up with the numerous exercises Juliana listed o
ff and do their job. But Puer had many Sweepers; they probably had a system rotating teams into the field, with others training in the meantime. Amicae barely had enough for one team. There was no way it would work.
“Juliana,” said Lester, and she broke off from her explanation of tumbling lessons. “Someone’s on the phone for you.”
The clerk offered the earpiece. Juliana circled the desk and took it.
“Hello, this is Juliana.” A moment later she brightened. “Oh, yes, the police chief! How can I help you?”
Her brow furrowed deeper as the other person—it had to be Albright—explained the issue. She waved her hand at one point, and Lester pulled a pen and scrap of paper from his pockets. She scribbled something down and promised to be there shortly. Once finished, she hooked up the earpiece and announced, “We have an infestation. Do either of you know where to find Sundown Hill?”
As they were already in the trashier entertainment section of the Fourth Quarter, it wasn’t far to reach Sundown Hill. The “hill” of its name came from the location, set snug around one of the less-frequented ramps from Fourth to Third Quarter with the outer wall of the ramp painted all up the slope like a massive mosaic sun. Fiery paint and broken glass made a luminous halo around the bold red lettering declaring its name, races held, and festivals of general tomfoolery. In the sun’s shadow stretched racetracks, most meant for bicycles or automobiles, but a special one set aside for horses. Wooden stands encircled them, and around these were the Sundown parlors, gambling dens held by the mobs. As a holdover from the MARU incidents, it was owned by the Silver Kings but ran on a strange schedule, rotating to “Blackwater Night” or “Mad Dogs Night,” and each time they gave the namesake mob the lion’s share of the night’s winnings. Mobsters always tried to lure in customers on their particular nights, but somehow it remained peaceful, its business booming. It was one of the few places rival mobsters could meet without bloodshed, and the Silver Kings upheld a strict no-violence policy. Never before had Laura heard of it being swarmed with police, but today it was.
Albright waited for them near the entrance.
“It was a mob hit,” she told them, as soon as they were in earshot.
“How?” said Laura. “This is mob-held territory! Why would they attack themselves?”
“Inter-mob war,” said Albright. “They’ve moved on from focusing entirely on police to menacing each other.”
“What’s the point? And of all places, Sundown Hill?”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Juliana.
“This is a no-fighting zone,” Laura told her. “Even if two mobs are at odds in other parts of the city, they never bring it here.”
“Does this have anything to do with the attack at our headquarters?” said Juliana.
Albright nodded grimly. “Now that Sinclair Sweepers have stepped into the spotlight, you’ve become a topic in mob politics, and a hotly debated one at that. From what we hear, the two largest voices talking about you are the Silver Kings and Mad Dogs, and they’re forcing all the other mobs to take sides. Silver Kings wants you to be left alone and do your job, but Mad Dogs? We don’t know what they want. Today’s attack is probably meant as a warning to other mobs that there’s no neutrality in this subject.”
“Did the Mad Dogs attack this place, or was it a smaller mob?” said Laura. “Mad Dogs are dramatic, but would they go this far?”
“We don’t know. All they left here are circles,” said Albright.
“Circles?” Juliana echoed.
“Targets,” said Okane. “A fear tactic.”
“The MARU was brought down by circles,” said Albright. “Whatever you do, keep them off your backs.”
“What’s the situation with the monster?” said Juliana.
“It’s in the middle building, the nightclub. The infestation was sighted in the bar area, but we haven’t located its root amulet.”
“Any casualties yet?”
“Yes, but there’s no telling who or how many. The people who’d been there scattered as soon as we showed up, and the few we caught are keeping their mouths shut.”
An impossible headcount.
“Was there anything special about it that we should keep in mind?” said Laura.
“At this point, no. All we know is that the infestation is there. The bartender described it as ‘watery.’”
“Then we’ll get started if you have the perimeter,” said Juliana. She turned to the other Sweepers. “Do we all have the equipment? Guns?”
“Check,” said Lester.
“I, um—Check?” said Okane.
“No?” said Laura.
“This soon after learning how to use one, it’s not a good idea anyway,” said Juliana. “How about Eggs?”
“Check,” Laura said quickly.
“Check,” said Okane.
“Check,” said Lester.
They went through every single item. On the one hand Laura could appreciate being prepared, but she’d checked herself over en route to this place; she knew she had everything she’d ever needed on previous infestations, along with a little blue capsule she simultaneously hoped and dreaded to use. She glanced at the building, hoping the creature inside wasn’t doing too much damage while they were standing around.
“We could stand to have a little more equipment next time, but that’s okay.” Juliana clapped her hands and regained Laura’s attention. “We have enough material and four people. Even if it’s a close fight, we’ll come out on top.”
“Then let’s get started,” said Lester.
Immediately they shifted stance, from tall and easy to crouched and prowling. Strange to show such dedication in broad daylight, but Laura followed their lead.
The building they approached had walls of yellow stucco, patterned just like the outer walls of the Quarters to match the overarching sun. The heavy door opened easily under their touch. Lester peered in, eyes roving around the hallway before nodding his head. At this signal they moved in.
The hallway they strode through was bright with electric lights and spaced all the way down with framed photographs of famous patrons. Laura spotted a few Council members and even Amicae’s famous actor Barnaby Gilda, frozen in black-and-white. She tore her eyes away from Gilda’s smile to look at Okane. Okane was quiet and slow, which she took to be a good thing. There wasn’t nearly enough white showing in his eyes for there to be an incoming monster.
“Thoughts?” she whispered.
Okane opened his mouth to answer but Juliana spoke first: “None yet. With no sound or visuals there’s no way to get a good prediction of its age or strength.”
Okane shrugged. What she said.
Near the end of the hall Lester paused again. It opened into a wide room scattered with tables, with a large stage on the far side. Music stands and instruments had been abandoned in the rush to get out. Food remained on tables, and chairs lay overturned.
“I guess it’s a good thing the infestation chose now to appear,” Juliana murmured. “Lunch at a nightclub is a scant affair, as far as I know.”
“The gambling parlors go all day,” said Laura. “There’s no way it was empty.”
But this room did appear to be vacant of all life, so they passed through it. Another branching hallway led to a second seating area, this one with a grand stone fireplace.
“Are you sensing anything?” Laura whispered to Okane.
“It’s close, but not focused,” he replied. “At least not on us.”
“Maybe we can sneak up on it.”
“Doubtful.”
Juliana shushed them, and Laura snapped her mouth shut. Since they didn’t see a bar in here, they went to the dance room. Nothing big or fancy—few things in this Quarter were—but it looked well-frequented. The scuffed hardwood floor must’ve been there for decades. A few tables ringed the edge of the dance floor, but the most prominent feature was the long wooden bar stretched across one end of the room, polished to perfection. Lester groaned at the sight of
it.
“Of all things to sacrifice to an infestation, it has to be a work of art.”
“Better the art than us,” said Juliana. “Any eyes on the infestation?”
None, as far as Laura could see. She looked up just in case, but no telltale trail of black marred the ceiling. In their sudden silence, they heard a crash. A long, drawn-out pause, and it happened again.
“Storage room?” Laura guessed.
“Check around the bar,” said Juliana.
They circled in. Laura pulled out an Egg, hoping the weight in her hand would calm her nerves. All of the Eggs she carried were the Puer variety, with no Clae or Anselm added into the mix. She’d been happy with it before, but now she felt oddly alone, the kin’s color foreign. She felt more like she’d carted around containers of lemonade than weaponized magic.
That’s fine, she told herself. We’ve got two more experienced Sweepers here, and this kin mix is the pride of Terual. We’ll be fine.
Okane reached the edge of the bar. He peeked over the side, studying the taps and glasses, before reaching over. A flick, and one of the glasses fell. The shattering sound split the quiet like a crack of thunder, but worse followed. Thudding and crashing and tearing, and suddenly a portion of the wall broke away as a hidden door smashed off its hinges. More glass shattered in the aftermath, hardly audible as blackness seethed from the door.
It came in a wave, with a sickly pseudo-splashing sound. It cascaded onto the floor, roiled up as it hit the bar, and spattered outward in a poisonous spray.
“Get down!” Juliana shouted.
Laura and Okane lurched out of the way, and the MacDanels opened fire. A single bullet burst in the spray and sent green energy zigzagging amid the droplets, zapping them from existence before hailing down on the beast itself. The infestation swept up again, surged over the top of the bar, and rolled down the other side, heaving all the bar’s contents with it. Bottles, glasses, rags, and a pencil clattered on its back like a turtle’s shell. It flattened to the floor and spread outward. Laura jumped onto one of the tables. The blackness seeped underneath, causing the structure to lurch, and an ugly noise rose from below. Laura slapped her amulet, ordered weightlessness, and jumped. She caught one of the low chandeliers in one hand and swung herself to a further table; the previous one quickly sank, then overturned so the legs bristled like spikes.
The Monstrous Citadel Page 6