A Name in the Dark

by G S Fortis

  It’s agonizing—not only because my whole body is still tender but because she is my new mortal enemy.

  “Actually,” David says, peeling her off, “she’s a bit sore right now after tonight.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry,” Grace says. “Do you need to go to the hospital? I can get an EMT here right away.” She peers into my cowl. “Oh!” she says, recoiling from the damage.

  “She’s fine,” David says.

  “She doesn’t look—”

  “Like her usual self,” he interrupts. “But she’s fine. She’s already been seen by a doctor.” He looks at me. “She’s a tough girl.”

  Not right now, I’m not.

  “Are you sure?” she asks me.

  I wave her off. “I’m fine. Nothing a good facial won’t fix.”

  She digs into her pocket and pulls out a business card. “If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  I look down at her card. Grace Zhang, Assistant District Attorney, City of Los Angeles.

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “Thank you,” she says, “for saving David.”

  I don’t say anything—no You’re welcome or My pleasure or snarky comment. I don’t know what to say. The uncomfortable silence lingers.

  She looks between David and me then says, “I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to it.”

  Then she hugs him again. I can sense her relief in knowing he’s safe. I can sense her reluctance to let go. They kiss.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Paige watching this exchange from a distance. The expression on her face is one of disheartened sadness. She looks how I feel.

  The kiss finally ends, and Grace walks away. David turns to me. Part of me wants to ask about his fiancée. Why didn’t he tell me about her? Why didn’t he tell her about me? Am I that insignificant? Or is it something else—something worth hiding?

  He coughs, using it as a transition. “You were going to tell me what happened in there?”

  I shake my head. “Not tonight, David.”

  He nods, seeming to understand. “Right. Okay. Are you going to be all right getting home?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods again. There’s not much else he can do. “Well, I think I’ve got everything covered here. I’ve got your statement. I’ve told the captain everything… well, almost everything. Most this I can’t even begin to explain.” He chuckles knowingly. I say nothing. “So… I don’t need you… to stick around if you don’t want to.”

  Ouch. “Okay,” I say.

  “Okay.” He starts to walk away then turns back. He takes a couple of steps toward me, words trying to come out.

  Please, say something. Apologize for not mentioning Grace. Tell me you feel something between us. Tell me you’re torn. Tell me that’s why you never mentioned me to her or her to me. Tell me you’re afraid, and I’ll tell you I’m afraid. Tell me literally anything.

  He shakes his head, turns, and walks away. Why are men such idiots?

  I watch as the first person he returns to is Grace. She latches onto his arm, and they head back to the church grounds.

  Paige comes walking up slowly. “Are you okay?”

  “Can we go home, now?” I ask.

  She nods. “I’ll drive.”

  I gingerly get into the passenger seat of my Mini. Paige gets in and turns the ignition. The car rolls away, and the police open a path for us. I look through the window, watching David and Grace disappear into the crowd. I see Father Ramon waving as if this would comfort me. It doesn’t.

  Chapter 39

  ____◊____

  A WEEK LATER, THE incident at Our Lady of the Angels is still in the news. I’m in bed, watching yet another newscast of what purportedly happened there. They don’t have all the details, but they do have the gist of it.

  Detective David Resnick—once again a hero in the city—solved the case of the murders of a dozen police officers. Wrong. There’s no mention of me, but that’s probably for the best. I don’t need the attention right now. But you know, it’d be nice for business.

  Carmen Viramontes, a suspected drug lord, was working with another suspect to murder multiple police officers. The coconspirator, Hugo Escalante, was murdered earlier in a shootout. Viramontes was hiding at the Cathedral of Our Lady of Angels under surveillance by the LAPD. Mostly true.

  When Detective Resnick confronted Ms. Viramontes about her involvement in the murders, they engaged in an altercation, and she attacked Detective Resnick with violent force. Detective Resnick took appropriate actions to protect himself, and Ms. Viramontes sustained injuries in the conflict and was taken to an area hospital, where she later died. Mostly wrong.

  However, the part that gets me is that Carmen Viramontes is dead. The last time I saw her, she was very much alive. I wonder what happened to her after those ambulance doors closed. I wonder what Percival was able to do.

  There is no information about Elizabeth on the news. For better or worse, the LAPD has left me alone since that night. No follow-up interviews or interrogations. No calls. No updates either. Elizabeth’s current situation is a complete mystery to me.

  The only contact attempted by the LAPD has been from David—three text messages, two phone calls, and one voicemail asking if I’m okay. I’ve chosen to ignore them, deciding distance is the thing I need right now. I do wonder what is going to happen to Elizabeth. I wonder if she’s okay and if Santa Muerte is gone from her life forever. I hope so.

  A knock on the door pulls my attention from my laptop. Paige is not home, which means I’m going to have to get up and scare some unfortunate courier. After a week, my face still hasn’t fully healed. Granted, it’s better, but my complexion is still reddened, and the blisters have been replaced by a shedding of dead skin like the world’s worst sunburn.

  I get up, covering my head with the hood from my sweatshirt. When I open the door, I find Ammon standing in the hallway. He wears the same suit I saw him in before and holds a red gift box with gold ribbon.

  “Hello, Darcy,” he says coolly.

  “Ammon?” I’m a bit shocked to see him, and though I try to match his casual tone, my uptalk reveals my surprise.

  “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “Just watching the news.” I nod at the box. “Is that for me?”

  “If you might consider inviting me in.”

  “What are you, a vampire?”

  “No,” he says matter-of-factly. It’s as if I asked if he were hungry or wanted a diet soda.

  “Uh, sure. Come on in.”

  Ammon steps inside and looks around my apartment. “You have a lovely home. It’s very…” He searches for the right word. “Youthful.”

  I look around, trying to figure out if that’s a compliment or a criticism. “Thanks.” I usher him to our couch and offer him something to drink, which he politely declines. “I guess you’re not afraid to be in the same room as me anymore?”

  He smiles. “Our last encounter was less than ideal. I hope we can both move past our mutual first impressions.”

  I point at the box. “Is the gift for me?”

  “From Fiona. She said she wanted to apologize for the way she left things with you after…”

  “After I burned down her home and everything she owned?”

  He smiles then tugs on the golden ribbon and lifts the lid. The four sides of the box collapse outward, revealing a small chocolate cake inside. Beside it is a single gold fork. The metal of the handle winds itself into a Celtic knot at the end.

  “A cake?”

  “It’s a dacquoise,” he corrects me.

  “That sounds like Fiona.”

  “Yes,” he admits, looking at the dessert. “When she found out what you had done and what you had gone through, she decided to make you something special. It has certain properties.” He looks at me, his eyes dancing across my face. I hope the hood keeps me well enough in the dark to hide the worst of my com
plexion. Probably not. “Certain healing properties.”

  As I reach for the fork, Ammon interrupts. “Perhaps I might persuade you to retrieve the items you have on loan before you enjoy your cake?”

  Of course, he’s here for his magical objects. I retrieve the two boxes containing the pendulum and the veil from my bedroom and hand them to Ammon. Then I dig into the cake. It’s only a couple of bites. Well, a couple of Darcy-sized bites.

  He sits there, watching me chew. I raise my eyebrows. It’s pretty good.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t learn the demon’s name,” he says, pointing at his own eyes as an indication that he can see that mine are the same yellow color as always.

  “I think it’ll be okay.”

  He appraises me. “You seem different. It’s still inside you, but… something has changed.”

  Part of me is surprised he noticed. Then again, Ammon is a… whatever he is. I nod. “Ever since my last episode, I’ve had more control. Not just over my body but over its powers as well.”

  Ammon looks intrigued. “How so?”

  I reach into the gift box and remove one of the paper dessert doilies. Pinching it between two fingers, I raise it up for him to see. I concentrate on my right arm, trying to recall the sensation I felt at the cathedral.

  My arteries start to glow. Once again, vibrant orange blood flows through my arm. My whole hand radiates with a burning heat. The paper doily flashes into a flame then disappears in a wisp of smoke.

  When I relax, my hand dims, and the molten blood fades until it returns to normal. This is a trick I’ve been working on for the past week. I can summon just enough of Dudley’s strength but still keep him at bay. Some powers don’t require any effort. I’m stronger than I was before—stronger even than Paige. She doesn’t like that.

  Ammon watches, seeming amused. “You have it under control. I guess we don’t have to worry about… what’s his name, Dudley?”

  “I was watching the news,” I say, changing the subject, “and saw reports about Carmen Viramontes. You know, she was the witch who cursed the girl I was looking for. It wasn’t Melchora.”

  “Yes,” he says, “I am aware.”

  “The reports are that she’s dead.”

  “Yes.” Again, he is stoic.

  “Did you kill her?”

  Ammon doesn’t even hesitate. “Do you really want to know?” His manner is too calm and casual. It’s a warning against asking questions to which I don’t actually want the answers.

  “I want to know if you’re someone I can trust.”

  “You, of all people, shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Yeah, that’s a warning. “I need to know who I’m dealing with. What I’m dealing with.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  I release a gasp. This was not the answer I was expecting—it’s worse. Carmen Viramontes is still loose. “She’s dangerous. A murderer! She could come back and—”

  “You won’t want to worry about her. Carmen Viramontes is alive but not free. Obviously, we could not allow her to remain in police custody. That would be too dangerous. But neither could we pass sentence on someone who was merely practicing magic, dark though it may be.”

  My eyes narrow. “Who’s ‘we’? The Mancery?”

  He chuckles, the first unchecked response he’s offered so far. “Dear, no. Nothing as sectarian as that. Just a few of us like-minded individuals.”

  “Fiona?”

  He nods.

  “Where is Carmen now?” I ask.

  “She’s… contained.”

  He carefully takes hold of his boxes and stands. This marks the end of this conversation. “I’m sorry these did not help you find the answers for which you were searching,” he says, gesturing to the boxes. “Perhaps there is a reason. Some grand plan.”

  I can’t help but wonder if he’s already planning how to use this extended affliction to his benefit. He already has my blood. What’s next?

  With his free hand, he pulls the hood off my head. I stiffen as he looks over my face as if he’s appraising me. He raises his hand to my cheek, and I close my eyes, anticipating his gentle touch. It never happens. When I close my eyes, I can see him pull away. Only then do I remember the last time we touched and how the brief contact burned my hand.

  He smiles. “It has worked wonders. You’re back to your beautiful self.”

  I blush.

  “We should thank Fiona when next we see her.” Ammon opens the door to leave.

  We are both surprised to find David pacing in front of my door, his fingers digging into his hair. He turns to us, just as surprised. “Oh, hey.”

  Ammon says, “Good day, Darcy. I hope to see you soon.” He steps past David and nods to him. “Detective.” Then he strolls down the hall without looking back.

  David watches Ammon walk away. “Who is that guy? And how did he know I was a detective?”

  “He’s a friend.” I emphasize the word friend. “And he probably saw you on the news.”

  David nods, apparently buying the explanation. We wait an awkward moment. Then I finally decide to let David in.

  As he walks past me. he takes notice of my face. “Wow. You look… much better. Except”—he points at his teeth—“you’ve got some…”

  I panic and look in a mirror near the door. As Ammon said, I’m noticeably better. I’m back to my old self. I bare my teeth. Yep. Chocolate all over the place. Thanks, Ammon, for telling me.

  I rub my teeth and dig as much out as I can. “So, what brings you by?”

  David takes a seat on the couch. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah. That.”

  I take a seat on the couch—on the far end and look David over, trying to read his body language to determine what he’s thinking. All I see is his doing the same thing to me. Neither one of us is willing to reveal our emotions. Instead, we sit there, completely still, completely relaxed.

  Knowing this could go on forever, I move on to business. “Why don’t you tell me what’s happening with Elizabeth.”

  He shakes his head. “You need to tell me what happened back at the church.”

  “I will. But since I’m about to bare my soul, I think the least you can do is tell me what’s going to happen to Elizabeth.”

  He sighs. “It’s out of my control, Darcy.” Already, I know this isn’t going to be good. “One, she’s undocumented. Two, she’s the daughter of a drug kingpin.”

  “Queenpin.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Feminism will fix that.”

  “Is feminism really worried about equality in the criminal world?”

  “David,” I say, killing the banter. “What’s going to happen to Elizabeth?”

  He sighs. “She’s getting deported.”

  “It’s not her fault…”

  “It’s not my call. Honestly, maybe it’s better for her if she goes back to Mexico. If she stays, there’s a pretty good chance the feds would seek to prosecute her for even being the daughter of drug trafficker.”

  “She’s just a kid. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  “I asked,” he said. “Grace says the DA is dead set on having her deported.”

  The moment he says “Grace,” I feel the sting. He looks away, and I can tell I didn’t hide the pain very well.

  “What happened in there?” he asks after a long awkward silence. He looks back up at me. “I’ve been trying to understand it all week. I’ve had so many questions.” His speech quickens. “And my report—you have no idea the verbal acrobatics I had to go through to explain my version of the incident. I have three different supervisors on my ass about my report, plus the chief of police, and I have to submit testimony to the police board at the end of the month. And I can’t even begin to describe what I’ve had to do to keep the entire force away from you. I’m doing all this, and I still have no idea w
hat happened!” He takes a breath, calming himself down. “So I’m asking, what was that thing you were fighting in the mausoleum? What… are you?”

  I take a moment. Prepare myself. Then I start. And I tell him… everything. What happened to me in Malbrook. My brother. My search for the demon’s name. Father Ramon. The case to find Elizabeth. Santa Muerte.

  The words spill out like an avalanche, describing the hell that is my life and the evil that dwells inside me. I tell him everything he needs to run away from me and never look back. He doesn’t run. He sits there, taking it all in, listening to every insane word.

  So I keep going, trying to drive him away. I tell him it was my fault Lupe was murdered in the library. I tell him about what I did in the meth house in Harvard Park. I take the blame for Fiona’s house fire.

  When I’m finally done, David has enough ammunition to throw me in jail and forget I ever existed. Instead, he sits there and digests my whole sordid story. I sit at my end of the couch, waiting for him to storm away or pull out the handcuffs. He continues to do nothing. Infuriatingly typical.

  Finally, he slides across the couch and gingerly takes my hand in his. His skin is warm to the touch but still sends shivers up my spine. “I never told you this, but I used to sell drugs when I was a kid.”

  I’m taken aback—this wasn’t the response I was expecting. But he’s talking, finally, so I listen.

  “My parents were both dealers. When I turned twelve, they put me on the streets to start selling. When my little brother turned twelve, he joined me. Adam. My parents would split a g-pack of heroin between us to sell on the streets. Adam was fourteen when he was murdered. The found his body on Hudson, by the power station on the shore. He was stabbed a dozen times. His life was worth five hundred dollars.”

  David pauses, struggling with the memory. “Next day, my parents give me the whole g-pack to sell. ‘Go raise money for his funeral,’ my mother said. Jewish guilt.” He chuckles, more out of discomfort than because he finds his story humorous. “That was it. I was done. Done with them. Done with drugs. Done with New York. I moved here with no money. I was homeless for the first few months, working odd jobs. Couch surfing. Then I joined the academy. You know the rest from there.”