by Kim Fielding
Thomas wanted to embrace Birdie, but he was unable to stand. He laid his hands on the desk, but they shook so violently that a cigarette or another glass of rum was out of the question.
“Influenza,” Birdie said. “A bullet. A blade. Choking on a bite of mutton. Getting run over by a streetcar. It’s only death, Tommy, so don’t be so angry at it. It’s the fairest thing of all.” He flickered again, but not so brightly, and for a second or two Birdie’s face almost completely obscured Abe’s, like one magic lantern slide set atop another.
Then he collapsed bonelessly to the floor.
14
“I need more.”
The bottle of Bacardi was empty on the floor, and Abe sat slumped against the wall where Thomas had propped him. The salty iron taste of blood remained on his tongue.
Thomas looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week. “That’s all I have here.”
“Take me to my house.”
Thomas nearly had to carry him down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk, and Abe would have fallen if there hadn’t been a lamppost to lean on. The taxi driver was unwilling to let Abe into the car until Thomas offered him an extra five dollars. “He pukes or dies, you’re cleaning it up, pal.”
Abe would have laughed if he’d been able.
He grayed out for the ride to the Richmond District and barely noticed when Thomas dragged him up the front stairs and fumbled in Abe’s pocket for the house keys. An endless journey up the stairs, and then Abe was flat on his own mattress, Thomas tugging off his shoes. Abe’s overcoat, suit coat, and hat had already disappeared, but he couldn’t remember when. “Magic,” he rasped.
“You’re burning up.”
The fever—he hated that part. It hadn’t happened when he’d allowed himself to be possessed by a dybbuk; that time he’d been so icy that it took days for him to thaw. An ibbur, though, was all about fire. “Booze. Please.”
While Thomas was downstairs fetching liquor, Abe managed to get the rest of his clothing off, although he ripped his shirt in the process. He lay naked and senseless on the mattress until Thomas returned, propped him up, and held a glass to his mouth.
“You ought to go to hospital,” Thomas said as he trickled in the slivovitz.
Abe shuddered despite the heat. “No.” He wouldn’t be able to resist the resident spirits in this condition. Besides, there was nothing doctors could do for him.
Thomas administered more slivovitz and at some point got Abe under the blankets, head supported by pillows. He brought toast, but Abe refused. He couldn’t stomach anything but alcohol right now.
Eventually Abe fell into a restless doze. Every time he opened his eyes he expected to be alone, but Thomas was always there, sitting by the window and smoking. When he saw Abe stir, he’d hold the glass for him again. It was a sweet comfort, although Abe knew not to get used to it.
He awoke to find himself wrapped tightly in Thomas’s arms. He was going to pretend he still slept, but Thomas huffed at him. “Nightmares.”
“Yeah?”
“You were saying things I couldn’t understand. Yiddish and Hungarian, I expect. You seemed angry. You got out of bed and fell flat on your face. I had to hold you to keep you here.”
“Oh.” Abe wasn’t prone to episodes like that, but then, he also wasn’t accustomed to letting spirits use him to control other people.
They remained quietly wrapped together for a time. Abe could feel Thomas’s heartbeat, steady and strong, and the soft fabric of his undershirt and underwear felt nice on Abe’s skin. Faint city sounds wafted in through the window: the rattle of streetcars, children calling, a car honking its horn. It was a cloudy day but not foggy, and pale light illuminated the room, making it seem fuzzy and dreamlike.
“I didn’t realize it would be that hard on you,” Thomas said.
“But it worked.”
“Yes.”
Two neighbors began arguing loudly in German. Abe could have caught a word here and there if he’d tried, but he let the sound wash over him. “It’s not always this bad,” he admitted.
“You said Birdie was a good man—a good spirit. You said—”
“He is. It’s not his fault. The more time a spirit spends in a living body, the more power it uses, the harder it is for it to leave.”
“You could get stuck with it permanently?”
Abe shut his eyes. “Yes. Like that Irish woman.” He paused before asking a question. “Would it make you happy if Birdie possessed me for good?”
Thomas answered at once. “No. He’s dead. It wouldn’t be the same.”
“No.”
Abe didn’t go back to sleep after that. It was pleasant to simply lie in Thomas’s arms, drifting. It brought back vague memories of the ship his family had taken to America. They’d been lucky to have a smooth passage, and every night the gentle waves had rocked Abe to sleep.
Then he recalled something he’d long ago put out of mind: there had been a spirit on that ship. A young woman had died on a voyage and spent many years sailing back and forth, unable or unwilling to move on. At age six, Abe already knew not to talk about the spirits; his parents would only tell him he was making up stories. He’d enjoyed the spirit’s company, and he wondered what had happened to the ship and whether the spirit had gone ashore or finally disappeared beyond the veil.
Eventually Thomas’s stomach grumbled, making Abe realize that he was hungry too. They got dressed and went downstairs for sandwiches and canned soup. Thomas waited until the food was gone before returning to business. “Do you know anything about Townsend’s missing amulet?”
“I’ve never heard of it.” Abe rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know much about amulets at all, actually.”
“They’re… magic? Real magic, I mean.”
“Some people say so. My bubbe—my grandmother—kept a hamsa amulet in her kitchen and wore one around her neck, but she was a superstitious woman in general.” He smiled as he remembered her putting salt in the corners of rooms and pretending to spit three times after particularly good or bad news. She’d say kein eina hara to ward off the evil eye.
Thomas looked troubled, however. “Does real magic exist?”
“Yes,” Abe answered with conviction. “I told you before—the world is full of wonders if you look hard enough.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“Ah, there’s that public school education showing through.” Abe shook his head. “Ghosts. You know what a mess they made for Hamlet.” He got up and cleared the dishes, and Thomas joined him at the sink to help wash up.
“Do you do real magic?” Thomas dried the soup pot.
“No, I don’t have the knack. And anyway, it’s far too valuable to waste on entertainments. But I’ve seen it.”
“If we knew the purpose of the missing amulet, we might have a clue about who wanted it so badly. Do you think it was Gage’s idea to steal it?”
Abe put the pot into the cupboard. “He didn’t know anything about magic. If it looked valuable, though, he might have taken it on that account, hoping to sell it to someone.”
“But the killer…. I’ve known people who’d murder over a few dollars, but I think this was more than that. I have a hunch that the killer knew exactly what the amulet was.”
A hunch could be wrong, but this one made sense to Abe. He finished the dishes and wiped his hands on a towel. Thomas was rolling a cigarette, his hands almost steady. He didn’t look at all like a man who’d nurse someone through the aftereffects of possession.
“I know someone who might be able to help,” Abe offered.
“Who is this fellow?” Thomas asked as the streetcar rattled up California.
“I told you. His name’s Emil Magnus and he was my mentor.”
“He does stage shows? Séances?”
“He used to.” The streetcar stopped and Abe moved closer to Thomas so a group of students could squeeze in. “He was famous back
in the nineties, and he made a lot of money. So by the time I moved to San Francisco, I guess you’d say he’d retired.”
Thomas fixed his sharp gaze on Abe. “And he took you under his wing out of the kindness of his heart?”
Abe ducked his head. “His heart wasn’t the body part that was concerned with me.” In the face of Thomas’s continued scrutiny, he sighed. “I was in bad shape when I arrived. Losing Ben’s friendship, the thing with the dybbuks…. My father had just died; my mother barely spoke to me. I knew very little about how to put on a show, so I mostly survived by cheating at cards. Then I saw Emil at a bar and recognized him from his posters.”
“And you persuaded him to teach you.”
“I can be very persuasive.” Abe grinned. He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, although some might have called him a whore. Letting Emil fuck him had bothered his conscience far less than what he’d done in New York. With Emil, nobody had been harmed. An aging man got a pupil and some company, and Abe got a valuable education.
Thomas wore a blank expression, so Abe couldn’t tell whether he was judging. Didn’t matter if he was. There was no way to go back and undo the past, and even if such a thing were possible, Abe would have made the same choices about Emil. Besides, Thomas already knew what kind of man Abe was. Abe had warned him.
Emil lived on Taylor Street, less than two blocks from where Grace Cathedral was under construction. The elegant house was four stories high and two rooms wide, with a fancy entryway, bow windows, and intricate plasterwork. Abe had lived there for a time—until he earned enough money to strike out on his own—but it had always felt more like a museum than a home.
“Magic evidently pays well,” Thomas commented as they ascended the steps to the front door.
“I told you he’d done well for himself.”
Thomas snorted, apparently unimpressed. But he’d grown up wealthy and then walked away from it. Maybe money wasn’t important to him.
Emil’s housekeeper, Mrs. Li, answered the door. She hadn’t worked for Emil when Abe lived there, but she’d seen him often enough over the years. Usually she welcomed him with a friendly smile, but today she was stone-faced even though Emil must have told her that Abe and Thomas would be coming. She didn’t seem to approve of Thomas, but she led them to Emil’s parlor, a ground-floor room with high ceilings, an elaborate oversize fireplace, and expensive but old-fashioned furniture. She motioned them to a pair of gold brocade wingback chairs. “Mr. Magnus will be with you in a moment.” Then she disappeared through the door to the kitchen.
Thomas sat in his chair, his gaze roaming the room and no doubt taking in the crystal chandeliers, thick carpets, and ornate wallpaper. Silver and crystal ornaments graced several recessed shelves, and the walls held paintings of European cities and landscapes, each one a confection of colored dots and smears. Abe had found it all very impressive when he was younger.
Emil swept into the room a few minutes later. He was as tall as Thomas but much more slender, with a thin, foxy face. His hair had already been white when Abe met him, but it was thick—with an impressive swoop—and matched his equally thick mustache. He wore a custom suit and carried a cane with a gold handle. “Abe, my boy!” He kissed Abe’s cheeks in the European manner, even though Emil was America-born, and then he shook Thomas’s hand. “Can I offer you gentlemen a drink?”
They said yes, of course, and Emil opened a wooden cabinet in the corner. He filled three tulip glasses and handed them out. “Cognac,” he said to Thomas. “When Abe first came to me, he’d never had it, but I think it won him over.”
In fact, Abe would have preferred slivovitz or good whisky, but he didn’t say so. Any booze was better than none. It took some effort for him to sip instead of gulp.
“You’ll excuse me if we skip the small talk? I have a dinner engagement tonight.”
“That’s fine,” Thomas said. “We just need some information.”
“I see. For what purpose?”
“I’m a private eye investigating a case.”
Emil’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? How interesting! But how are you involved with this, Abe?”
“Thomas is a friend. He didn’t have the right connections for the questions he has, so I said I’d help him out.”
“A friend. How nice.” Emil’s piercing gaze said he knew exactly what kind of friendship Abe and Thomas were engaged in, but Abe didn’t think he was jealous. He’d never objected to Abe fucking other men, even when Abe lived with him and ended up in his bed periodically, just as Abe had never complained about Emil’s other young conquests. They had a business relationship, not a romantic one.
Thomas showed less emotion than a stone statue, the planes of his face solidly set and his eyes opaque.
“Abe says you know about magic.”
Emil’s laughter rang like church bells. “Yes, you could say that. You most definitely could.”
“What can you tell me about an amulet called the Prince of Gandhara?”
There went Emil’s eyebrows again, like birds trying to take flight. He swung his head toward Abe. “Don’t tell me you’re messing around with that, my boy.”
“I’m not messing around with anything. I’m just helping Mr. Donne.”
Emil clicked his tongue the way he used to when Abe was doing poorly at his training. “Those kinds of enchantments are not your forte. We’ve discussed that more than once. Even the weakest talisman can bring danger to an unskilled user, and the Prince of Gandhara is not weak.”
Abe finished his cognac. “I’m not using it or any others, and I don’t intend to, so don’t worry about it.”
“Why is this amulet so dangerous?” Thomas asked.
Emil stood, cradling his glass in one palm, and began to pace. Abe hadn’t seen his mentor in full lecture mode for a long time, and it made him feel nostalgic. He used to wonder how many miles Emil walked during a lesson.
“All magical amulets are dangerous,” he said in his most schoolmasterly tone. “It’s their nature. Magic is a volatile element, and when you place it inside a physical object, it’s like stuffing a tiger in a tiny cage. The tiger won’t enjoy it much. But of course that tiger is very powerful, which explains why people insist on using amulets in the first place. Employed with great caution, an amulet can grant its handler extraordinary capacities. And it can do so more expediently than incantations, summonings, or other means of invoking the mystical realms.”
Thomas had taken only a single sip of his cognac before setting the glass on the small table between the two wingback chairs. Abe was very tempted to grab Thomas’s glass and finish it off, especially now that Thomas was leaning slightly forward, his attention fully on Emil. “What capacities?”
“That depends on the amulet. It might be wealth, beauty, intelligence, charm, strength. Military success. Good luck or artistic talent. It might be good health. It might be love, although I have to say that amulets bring a shallow form of affection, one that is never as satisfying as the natural sort.”
Abe didn’t know whether Emil was speaking from experience. Emil had been married when he was young, to a pretty woman whose portrait still hung over his bed like a sentinel. She and their baby had died in childbirth, but Emil used to speak fondly of her, especially when he grew fatigued.
“What does the Prince of Gandhara do?”
“What the name suggests. It brings authority, the ability to make others eager for your command.”
“Ah,” said Thomas, as if that explained a great deal. “How does it work? You just wave the thing around?”
“Only if you want to ensure self-destruction. Tiger in a cage, Mr. Donne. The user charms the amulet with the correct recitations and appeases it with appropriate sacrifices. It rewards him with the powers he seeks.”
“Sacrifices?” Thomas’s face had taken on a grim cast.
“It’s old magic and very dark. It will demand blood.”
Abe stopped resisting and drank Thomas’s cognac. Although Thomas shot
him an annoyed glare, he didn’t protest. Instead, he stretched his lips thin. “Are you saying that in order to use this amulet, a fellow needs to kill someone?”
“Perhaps.”
Thomas sat back in his chair. His fingers didn’t so much twitch as dance, as if he were thinking about playing a piano. More likely he was wanting to roll a cigarette. Abe lit one of his own and passed it over, pretending not to notice Emil’s scornful reaction.
“All right,” Thomas said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “If the amulet’s used properly, somebody’s got to die. If it’s used improperly—”
“Someone will also die.”
“What does it look like?”
“I’ve read only vague descriptions, so I’m not sure. I believe it’s a gold disk with writing in Sanskrit and the image of a lion. Affixed with some small jewels.” Emil pulled out his pocket watch and gave a quick shake of the head. “I’m sorry. I must get ready for dinner.”
Thomas and Abe both stood. “Thanks for your help,” Thomas said.
“I’m delighted to assist.” Emil turned to smile at Abe. “Don’t be a stranger, my boy. Come pay a longer visit soon.”
“Sure.”
Emil walked them to the door and ushered them out.
“You fucked him?” Thomas demanded as they walked down the hill.
“So?”
“Didn’t think that was your type.”
Abe blew an amused huff of air. “You mean he’s not as manly as you?”
“I mean he used you.”
“So? I used him.”
Fog began to settle around them as they descended from Nob Hill. They hadn’t discussed a destination, but Thomas was leading them down toward Union Square rather than to the nearby streetcar stop. A middle-aged couple walked a tiny dog who barked frantically at Abe as they passed by. Most animals disliked him now that he dabbled with spirits. That was a source of some sadness for him, and he sometimes wished he could have a dog or cat to keep him company.
“Where are we going?” he asked when they got to the next street.