by Luke Arnold
He left, and I decided right then and there that, despite his warnings, my time in Sunder was through. I’d had enough. I’d done enough. A war was about to be fought here and I had no interest in seeing either side come out on top.
Some mistakes you can’t make twice. I could never hand over information about Hendricks to a man like Thurston Niles. No matter what the stakes were. Eliah was yoked with a similar history himself. When I was just a child, he’d protected a monster that went on to kill my family. When he heard stories about me, years later, he’d sought me out. He took care of me and taught me. Then I went wild. I turned against him. I became his new monster. But he let me go, and that mistake was even bigger than the first one.
Sunder was his monster now: a wild, self-serving beast, the likes of which the world had never seen. Of course he had to stop it. History had showed him what happens if he lets creatures like us go free.
And why would I stand in his way? I was done with Sunder. Without Amari, what was the point? If the cops ever let me out, I’d go home, grab my meager possessions and leave town. Hendricks could flatten it to the ground or Thurston could turn it into his fortress, it wasn’t my fight. Not anymore. I closed my eyes on all of it.
The next morning, the explosions started.
75
The first one went off around sunrise, then there were two others throughout the day. Voices came and went, talking excitedly in the next room. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but cops all speak at the same pitch when they’re scared: trying to hide their panic by deepening their voices and raising the volume.
I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the fact that it was no longer any of my business.
“Thurston was expecting you to call by now. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or pissed that you haven’t.”
Simms was standing outside my cell.
“So, you’re in his pocket now too, Detective. It must be getting crowded in there.”
“No. I’m really not.” Simms stepped right up the bars. “I don’t like what he’s doing to this city but I know how to pick my battles. Tippity and Rosemary are wreaking havoc: sabotage, arson, theft. We need to stop them. Now. I’ll worry about Thurston later.”
“Nice try, Simms, but I know how this works. You convince me to blab to you, then you blab to Thurston, right? Is he out there right now, listening in?”
“No.” She took a key out of her pocket, put it in the lock, and turned it. “I know you well enough to know that you won’t tell me anything, so I’m not asking.”
She handed me my coat: the fur-lined Opus uniform that I hadn’t seen in weeks. It felt good to have it back over my shoulders.
“You came all the way down here to set me free?”
“I was coming down here to recruit the guards on duty, but I found it in my heart to let you out at the same time. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Recruit them for what?”
“The battle. Cops are dying out there, Fetch. We need every officer working together. Any help we can get. I don’t know what to do and I don’t know who I can trust.”
I’d never seen her like this. She actually looked scared. What could be happening that would make her so terrified?
Another huge explosion went off in the distance. I could smell smoke. People were shouting.
“Simms, what the hell is happening?”
76
We came out onto the street and the burning smell got stronger. Black towers of smoke spiraled up to the clouds. Simms, Bath and I were the only ones outside. The Detective barked her orders to the Corporal.
“Take the eastern route to the station and grab any officers on Grove, Tar and near the Piazza. I’m swinging west. We meet in half an hour.”
Bath nodded and obediently jogged away.
“Somehow Tippity got more of that Fae stuff,” said Simms. “They’ve got themselves a whole arsenal of elemental spells.”
Hendricks had used Amari’s power to free Tippity because, at the time, it was all he’d had. One Fae soul and one glass orb. But he’d used them to free the man who would be able to make more. Tippity must have taken Hendricks back to the church. Maybe Linda too. All of them together, harvesting the power of every Fae body they could find.
It was freezing outside the jail. I put my hands in my pockets, then pulled them out fast. One of my fingers was bleeding. I reached back in and carefully pulled out the leather package that contained the shattered pieces of Unicorn horn.
“It all kicked off a couple of hours ago,” Simms continued. “Those Mages have become Deamar’s soldiers, but they’re not the only ones. More followers have joined his cause. We don’t know how many of them are out there or what they’re planning but they’re targeting any place where the Niles Company does business.”
I walked up the street, away from Simms. Away from it all.
“Come on, Fetch! Help us! You shouldn’t be out here on your own!”
I didn’t look back. It wasn’t my battle. It wasn’t my city. Not anymore.
There was just one last errand I needed to do first.
I turned off Eleventh Street on Parro Avenue and saw that the whole area was deserted. The playground was always packed with kids from afternoon to sundown, but everyone was hidden away inside. Then, two figures stumbled out from behind a hedge. It was a couple of teenagers. A boy and a girl. They had debris in their hair and dirt all over their clothes. She was crying. He looked more lost than anyone I’d ever seen.
They must have been bystanders caught too close to one of Tippity’s spells. The young man looked at me like he wanted my help but I had nothing to offer them. Not even any good advice. I was about to walk on when a door opened across the street and two pale faces peered out.
“Get in here!”
It looked like a mother and daughter. Satyrs, I think.
“It’s not safe!” said the eldest. The couple held each other’s hands as they ran for cover, thankful, at the very least, for someone to tell them what to do.
They went inside, but the youngest kept looking at me.
“Come on!”
She waved her hand, beckoning me in.
“Izzy,” chided the mother, under her breath. She was obviously a better judge of character than her daughter. But Izzy gave her one of those looks that only bold little girls can give and the mother reluctantly kept the door open.
“Are you coming?” she asked me.
I just stood there. For a moment, I thought that snow was falling again, but it was ash. Drifting in from some fire a few streets away.
“No,” I said. “But thank you.”
I kept on walking.
77
Warren had given me his home address months ago and I still had it in my wallet. It was a cute little terrace house on the north-east side of the city, a couple of blocks away from Sir William Kingsley Drive. I knocked on the door and a Gnomish woman answered.
“Sorry to disturb you. Is Warren around?”
She was a pudgy little thing. A brown apron was wrapped around her waist and she made one of those expressions that you can only pull off when you have cheeks like ripe tomatoes: neither a smile nor a frown, just a way of pulling your entire face into itself.
“No, he is not,” she said. “I am afraid he has passed away.”
What?
You ever suddenly, shockingly, find yourself in the present moment? Drop right in to right now? And all it does is highlight the fact that you spend every other moment somewhere else.
There I was. Standing on a porch outside of a red-brick terrace house that I’d been invited to many times. I’d never been there before. Not once. There was a woman in front of me. She was dressed in black. This was Warren’s wife. He’d mentioned his wife to me. Many times. I’d never met her. Never even asked about her. And here she was.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I turned and walked back down the steps.
“Are you Fetch?”
She had a warm voice. You know ho
w, when you’re a kid, in every group of friends there’s one Mum who’s the best? Well, this woman would always be that Mum.
“Yes.”
I looked back and she made another one of those expressions, right on the midpoint between a smile and a cry.
“I have been trying to call you,” she said.
“Oh. Sorry.” Afternoon sunlight was hitting the roof and melting the snow. Water dripped down between us like a beaded curtain. “Why?”
“Because we wanted you at the funeral. With all his other friends. I am so sorry you missed it.”
I tried to think of something to say but it all sounded so obvious. That I was sorry? Of course I was sorry. That I would have been there? Of course I would have been there.
Wouldn’t I?
“Do you want to come inside?” she asked.
“Yes. Yes please.”
It was cozy. There weren’t many rooms in the house but they were all dressed with an attention to detail. I was sitting in a green, doily-draped armchair that cuddled me like a drunk aunt. My host’s name was Hildra and she sat on a gnarled wooden chair that didn’t match any other furniture in the room. We were surrounded by handmade picture frames filled with paintings of babies, and little porcelain figures in the shapes of cats and cottages.
You could have sculpted Hildra out of apples: all cheeks, eyes, chins, chest and tummy. The black scarf of mourning wrapped around her head only accentuated the roundness of her face. Even her frown was a kind of smile.
We were each holding a little crystal glass of her homemade brandy and she was staring at me in a way that made me uncomfortable.
“When did he… when did it happen?”
“Last week. It was his heart, in the end. Working too hard to keep his body going. You know Warren, he was never one to slow down.” Did I know Warren? I guess so. A little. “I tried calling your office but you never picked up. I sent you a telegram too.”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been home in a while. Got myself into some trouble.”
“Warren said that about you. Always up to mischief. He said that the first time he saw you, you were being slapped around by a Cyclops and it only got worse after that.”
She was right. The next time I was shot by a crossbow. The time after that, Warren found me tied up in a chair in my office.
“Warren saved my skin a few times,” I said.
“Well then, you had best be more careful from now on.” I took a sip of my brandy. Hildra threw hers back and grabbed the bottle. “Don’t bother savoring this stuff. I make it in the backyard, for heaven’s sake. Drink up.”
I took the shot and she filled our glasses.
“Have you heard about what the Niles Company is doing?” I asked. “How they’re opening up a new power plant?”
“Oh, I have heard the rumors. I will believe it when I see it.”
“I’ve already seen it. Looks like we’ll have fires again. Enough energy to get that ceramic factory working, I bet. Do you still own it?”
She nodded.
“Someone from that company came to his funeral and tried to buy up all his businesses. I will not insult you by repeating what I said to him.”
“Good. Hold onto it.”
“You really think they will do what they are saying?”
“They’ve got a better shot than I ever would’ve imagined.”
The only problem was Hendricks. And Linda and Tippity and those Mages and whoever else they’d talked into joining their side. Would they be any kind of match for Thurston’s pistols? I didn’t want to be around to find out, and I didn’t want Hildra to be around either.
“You should get out of town for a while. There are some folks who hate the Niles Company even more than you do, and they’re kicking up a fuss. The whole city is in danger. Lay low for a while and come back when it’s over.”
She gave me another one of those unreadable smile/frowns.
“Mr Phillips, this is my home. This is our home. Even if I wanted to leave, I am older than my husband. My body is just as sick as his was. I will be in this city till the end.”
I took the bundle of leather out of my pocket and put it on the table next to the bottle of brandy.
“I came here because I wanted to bring this to your husband. I’m sorry I was too late.”
“What is it?”
She unwrapped the package, revealing the dull purple shards of glass.
“Unicorn horn. I know it seems ridiculous and I don’t know if it will do you any good, but it was Warren’s idea, not mine. Apparently Rick Tippity thought he could make it into some kind of healing potion. Give it a go, if you want. I hope it helps.”
Hildra sat back. She looked shocked for the first time. So quiet. Not even smiling. Her little Cupid’s bow of a mouth was hanging open.
I prepared myself for the onslaught. Waited for her to scream. To ask me why I hadn’t brought it to her weeks ago when there was still time to save her husband. To give him a chance. I was ready to be berated. I deserved it.
Then, she started laughing. Not just laughing. Howling. Whooping and wheezing, with tears streaming down her cheeks. Pointing at me and slapping her fat thighs with her hands. I just sat there, pale-faced, wondering where I’d missed the joke.
“He knew it! He KNEW IT!” Laughter shook her body like a carriage on a rocky road. “Warren said it all along. You ARE looking for magic.” She pointed a chubby finger right in my face. “Look how serious you’re trying to be. You are just like he said you were. So grim. Always frowning. But really,” she prodded me in the chest, “you are a dreamer.” Her laugh turned into a cough and she had to wash it down with more brandy.
“Look, Hildra, I just knew he was looking for it. I’m not saying that I think it’ll do anything but—”
She snorted, and I thought brandy was about to come out of her nose.
“You are so grumpy! Why does it make you angry if I think that you are looking for magic?”
“Because I’m not looking for magic.”
“WELL, WHY NOT?” The laughter stopped. The porcelain figures rattled on the shelves “What else are you going to do, Mr Fetch Phillips? Keep half-assing your way around town, pretending to try to make things better?”
“Look, I don’t know what Warren told you about me.”
“He told me enough. You think you want to die? My husband did not have a choice. But right till the end, he never stopped working to make my life better. His friends’ lives better. And he was sick. You are not.”
“That means I’m supposed to try to do something ridiculous?”
“You think it is ridiculous to fight for something better? You don’t know how ridiculous you look right now. Walking around all long-faced, like the world is on your back, and all that time you’ve been carrying a miracle in your pocket.” She took a small shard from the pile and put it on the table, then she wrapped up the rest in the leather bundle. “Maybe this is nothing but glass. Maybe the magic is gone and everybody in the world will soon be dead. But what if there is a way to change it and you don’t try because you are worried about looking stupid?”
“There are better men then me to try and do that.”
“Of course there are. Perhaps you can help them. Or maybe you try and you fail and it does not make any difference to anyone. So what?” She held out the leather-wrapped bundle. “I am going to take my piece of this and see what can be done for me. You keep the rest. Warren would not have wasted it if he was alive. Tell me you won’t waste it either.”
I put the bundle back in my pocket.
“I won’t.”
I reached out for my brandy but Hildra pulled it away.
“Did you not just tell me to leave town because something bad is going to happen?”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
“Can you do something about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you try?”
“Well… yes.”
“Then why the hell wouldn’t y
ou?”
Fifteen minutes later, I was back in the Gilded Cemetery. I crossed the grounds, entered the crypt and pushed back the lid of the coffin.
It was still there. My machine. With one last canister of dust waiting to be fired.
I put the pistol in its holster and marched off to war.
78
The day disappeared and another winter night rolled in and smothered the city. The air was full of smoke that carried panicked voices from one street to the next. Eyes peered out from behind curtains wondering whether it was safest to stay inside or be out in the elements where they could get answers about what was going on.
The police station was surrounded: timid-looking street cops, status-loving detectives and one ham-faced captain crumbling under the pressure. I climbed the steps, catching snippets of conversation. Business owners were demanding protection. Community leaders were gathering information to take back to their neighborhoods. It was nothing compared to the chaos inside.
I came through the doors just ahead of an errand boy who had returned with a report. A bunch of senior officers gathered around him to get an update on the state of things around the city. None of the news sounded good: a broken building here, an out-of-control fire there. Small teams were dispatched to assist civilians or to gather more precise information. There seemed to be no real understanding of what was happening and no idea of how to get things under control.
I wasn’t the only one who thought so. One of the charcoal suits was screaming at Simms, demanding that police be sent to protect a particularly valuable Niles Company asset. I was trying to get her attention when a heavy hand grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.
“You bastard!”
I tried to back away. Usually, when people grabbed me and called me a bastard, a fist was soon to follow. But the arms went around my back and pulled me in close, giving me a full inhalation of Sergeant Richie Kites’s famous bad breath.