by Alex Rivers
“I was not!” Blood rushed to my face.
“Uh-huh.” She stood back up, and shook her head despairingly at Harutaka’s latest attempt at the basic salsa steps.
I got up and sidled over to Kane. My heart beat fast, and I told myself it was because of the sugar rush from the ice cream.
His eyes had a sad glint in them, as if his mind was somewhere far away. I thought of his tales about his sister, playing her viola. He had the same look now as he’d had then, when he’d told me about her.
“Would you mind giving me a drag of that?” I motioned to his cigarette.
He handed me the cigarette, our fingers brushing. “You said you didn’t smoke.”
“I don’t.” I put the cigarette between my lips, tasting the tobacco, knowing his lips had touched the same cigarette. I took a quick drag and returned it to him, keeping the smoke in my mouth, imagining that I tasted Kane and not just tobacco and smoke. “But I used to. And occasionally I get an urge.” The smoke made my voice heavy, raspy.
“I hope this won’t be the cigarette to make you fall off the wagon.” He smiled at me. “These things can kill you.”
“What do you think?” I gestured at the Boston cityscape. “Beats every other city, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” He took one last drag of the cigarette and dropped it in his almost empty plastic cup. “I prefer New York.”
“Were you born in New York?”
“Born and raised.”
“And your sister? Is she still there?”
He tensed. “Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“She’s… in a coma.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How did it happen?”
His jaw tensed. “That’s not something I want to talk about.”
“With me?”
“With anyone.”
I touched his arm gently. “If you ever change your mind—”
“Thanks, I won’t.”
We stared outside in silence. The city was a myriad of lights—radiating from windows and streetlights, the moon glowing from above. The plethora of lights reflected in the river below, a blurry second city, its skyscrapers pointed downward, the rippling shape of the moon below it.
“My parents died when I was eight,” I said. “In a fire.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You probably think it’s ironic. A girl whose hands regularly burst into flames lost her parents in a fire.”
“I didn’t think that, Lou.”
“I was in school. And a teacher… I don’t even know her name… she came into my classroom and escorted me out. She took me to the principal’s office. It’s probably hard to believe, knowing me now, but I was a good girl back then. I’d never been in the principal’s office before. The principal sat with the woman from social services… I didn’t know it back then, of course. She was a stranger, but the way she looked at me—as if she knew more about me than I knew myself… It chilled my blood. And they told me. That our house burned down, and my parents died.”
Kane offered me his cigarette pack. I shook my head. He seemed about to take one for himself, but then changed his mind, sliding it back into his pocket.
“We had no living relatives, and my parents had no will. Not a lot of money, either. Many years later, I found out they had left me something”—a book, with alchemical recipes. The Tenebris Scientiam—“but back then I thought I had nothing left. You’d think I’d focus on the fact that I’d lost my parents, that they were gone forever, but I distinctly remember that there was a dress I had gotten for Christmas a few months before. And I kept asking about that dress. I was really upset about losing that dress. My mother loved it when I wore that dress.”
I blinked a tear away, the memory as fresh and searing hot in my mind as the day it had happened.
“They put me in foster care. The first couple were fine, I guess, but I was still in shock, didn’t talk to anyone. After a while, they moved me around and I ended up in the second house, where my foster father slapped me the first night for not answering a question he asked.”
Kane’s eyes sparked in anger, and I saw his reflex to lash out at the past, to find that man and make him pay, to shelter that scared, nine-year-old girl.
“After that… well. It wasn’t the worst place I ended up in.” I suddenly didn’t feel like talking anymore.
“That sounds rough.” Now it was his turn to touch my arm, his grip strengthening me.
“I guess it was.” I cleared my throat, trying to banish the past. This was a night for celebrating, after all. I wiped my eyes. “So… what will you do now with your precious dragon scale?”
“I’ll take it back to New York,” he said. “I know someone who might be interested in it.”
“Oh.” I tried to ignore the wave of disappointment. “You’re not staying here?”
“I don’t think so. I have unfinished business in New York.”
“Right.”
“It was a pleasure to work with you, Lou Vitalis.”
I was about to tell him I felt the same when he suddenly bent forward, tilting his head, his lips meeting mine. A small peck and he drew back, looking at me, gauging my reaction. I licked my lips, breathing heavily, and then leaned toward him, pulling him closer. Our lips met again, and my tongue darted, feeling for his.
He tasted of tobacco, and smoke, and man.
Chapter Thirty-Two
A paw scratched at my cheek, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of a canine with a full bladder. He had already tried several of his favorite methods—the nose licking, the incessant ear-barking, the back-and-forth bed-tromping. He was clearly getting desperate. And somewhere in my alcohol-marinated brain, I knew if I didn’t wake up soon, I would have a puddle of pee in my bedroom.
I groaned, and pushed myself to a more-or-less sitting position. The events of last night were muddled in my brain. There had been more drinking after the kiss, and then some more kissing, and possible thigh-stroking, though that part could have been a dream. Then, disappointingly, Kane had turned out to be a gentleman and helped me into a cab.
I was pretty sure the thigh-stroking wasn’t a dream.
I recalled stumbling home and struggling with my boots. The task of removing them before going to sleep seemed difficult and annoying. I seemed to have given up halfway, the left boot discarded on the floor, the right still on my foot. Pathetic.
“Mommy is disgusting,” I told Magnus.
He barked excitedly, and wagged his tail, probably already thinking of all the fire hydrants he would defile this morning.
I dragged myself to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, Magnus barking at me from below, trying to explain that I was confused, the front door was the other way. Then I returned to the bedroom, and put on my left boot. I’d remove them both and confront my socks after Magnus had his walk.
I grabbed the leash and tried to tie Magnus, but he began spinning like a deranged dreidel, excited beyond belief at the prospect of a morning walk, and leashing him became impossible in my hungover state.
“Please stand still,” I muttered with zero authority.
He stood still. A miracle. I clipped the leash on him and was about to leave, but then hesitated.
To Magnus’ chagrin, I went to my lab. There, on the counter, stood the black box and the dragon scale. Last night I couldn’t get the safe open to put them inside. Now I berated myself in anger. What if someone had broken in? I grabbed them both, went to the safe, and unlocked it, then put them in and shut it. Breadknife would come later, and I would give him the box and clarify that this was it. My debt was paid, and we were finally done.
Somewhere in my mind, the voice of a jaded, clear-headed Lou whispered that we weren’t done, not so long as he could threaten to expose my identity to my daughter and her adoptive parents. But I ignored that voice. Breadknife would leave me alone. He had promised.
Endless questions about the job popped into my mind. Who was Breadknife’s client, and what di
d he want with the crystal? Could it be the real Yliaster crystal? Did it hold a soul? Was that what he was after?
I reopened the safe, and took out the box. Yesterday it had seemed as if something was inside the crystal. But we had been giddy with excitement, feeling magic in the air. I wanted to look at the crystal in the morning light.
I turned the key in the lock. Opened the lid.
My heart sank.
The box was empty.
I pried the velvet out, thinking that maybe the crystal was somehow wedged underneath, but it wasn’t. Underneath, all I could see was the dark surface of the box. I looked around the lab’s floor, searching inanely, knowing I was ridiculous. The box was locked. There was no possible way it could have fallen out.
Only one explanation was possible, and it made me sick to consider. Someone had taken it last night. And the list of suspects was awfully short.
A sudden angry knock rapped on the shop’s door. I jumped in fright, my mind whirring. It was too early for a customer, and the knock was too violent to be a welcome face. This was Breadknife and his goons, coming for the crystal they knew was here. What would he do when I told him it was missing? Burn the shop? Torture me to find out its location? Tell my daughter about me?
All three, perhaps?
My recently purchased backpack was in the corner of the room. I grabbed it and quickly threw the box inside. I grabbed some of the potions in reach, not knowing if I would be able to return here anytime soon.
Then I opened the lab door. Magnus stood outside, his head tilted quizzically. Miraculously, he wasn’t barking at the door. I grabbed his leash, and walked him to the bedroom. Silently, I unlocked the window and pried it open. It squeaked noisily and I winced. It was raining outside, and I hoped the steady pattering of raindrops would mask the shrill sound.
Another knock on the door, and Breadknife’s voice hollered, “Lou, open up!”
I took Magnus in my hands, and he tried to twist away.
“Stand still, boy,” I whispered. “We’re going for a walk.”
Going for a walk were words he definitely understood. He wagged his tail once and stopped twisting. I eased him out the window, and then crawled out as well. The bedroom window led to a small alley, around the corner from the front door.
Not daring to even try and get a glimpse of Breadknife and his goons, I ran silently in the other direction. Magnus trotted after me, pausing to pee and yelping when I pulled him onward before he was able to finish his business.
Three blocks away, I took out my phone and called Sinead.
“Wha?” she answered.
“Are you home?” I asked. “I need to see you, now.”
“I’m still at HHT. I slept on the table. I feel awful.”
“I’m on my way.” I hung up and began running again, with Magnus in tow.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Auntie Rosa is scared.
The words blossomed in my mind as I hurried down the streets of Boston, backpack on my shoulder, dragging Magnus after me. The rain pattered on my head, my shoulder, my face.
When I was six, my aunt was hospitalized. When I went with my mother to see her, she seemed strange. As if she were sleeping, but awake. She could hear us, occasionally nodded or glanced our way as Mom talked, but other than that, there was nothing. My aunt had always been a loud woman, quick to laugh. This dormant, dead-eyed thing frightened me, and I asked my mom what was wrong with her.
She had been medicated, my mom explained, to calm her down.
“Why?” I asked. As a child, why is the strongest word in your vocabulary. It can open doors, torrents of explanations, of ideas, of facts. It’s a word that keeps things going. A perpetual motion machine.
“Because she had a nervous breakdown,” my mom said after a long pause.
“What does that mean?”
“Auntie Rosa is scared, Lou.”
And that was the gist of it. Auntie Rosa was so frightened, she had to be medicated. She preferred to be this unresponsive, sleepy thing.
“Scared of what?”
“Of everything.”
It seemed so strange at the time, to think Rosa found the world such a scary place that she had to be sedated.
A few years later, the concept was not so alien. My second foster father had taught me that the world could be a scary place indeed.
And for a while, it was. Then, slowly, I began to take control of my life. I built something around me. I had a job, a store, some friends, a dog. A daughter I could catch a glimpse of every day.
Walking like a zombie, the sound of morning traffic loud in my ears, my head throbbing, I began to feel the fear crawling back. My phone rang, and I glanced at the display: ABC. Anthony Breadknife Cisternino. I didn’t answer the phone. I had left the window open after my escape. They would break into the shop, and see that the dog was gone, that the window was open. Would they realize I’d fled?
Of course they would. This was Breadknife.
Auntie Rosa is scared, Lou.
I was good at keeping fear at bay. Fear, used correctly, is a drive, propelling you forward. If you fear something, you do what you can to stay away from it, or to fight it. But what if you fear more than one thing?
Scared of what?
Of everything.
It was probably the lack of sleep. The hangover. The aftereffects of the potion I’d drunk the night before. But terror was taking root.
I had angered a dragon, and he had a vampire working for him. A criminal warlord was searching for me. He knew where I lived, where I worked, who my friends were, who my daughter was.
And speaking of friends, one of them had betrayed me. Had taken the crystal from the box. How could I trust anyone?
My phone rang again. Breadknife.
Auntie Rosa is scared.
Suddenly, the faces of the passersby in the street seemed hostile, suspicious. Breadknife had dozens, maybe hundreds of informants. Ddraig Goch could have realized the waitress the night before had disappeared just before the burglary. Maybe there were records, an image of my face somewhere. A police car went by, and reflexively, I hid my face, sudden tears of fear in my eyes.
My palms were hot, smoke rising from them. I tried to think of Tammi, of my parents, of anything, but my mind was a jumble, I couldn’t concentrate. A flame flickered on my skin, then sizzled and died, the rain putting it out. I tried to breathe, looked around me. Did anyone notice? It didn’t seem that way. But what if someone had? What if he was calling the police right now, telling them he’d seen a girl with smoke rising from her hands?
I let the rain drench my palms and crouched by a puddle, submerging my hands in it. The water grew warm with the heat. I got up, walked away, ignoring the stares of a couple standing under a shared umbrella.
I was walking to meet Sinead, but what if Sinead was the one who had stolen the crystal?
Sinead would never do that. I trusted her with my life.
But someone had, hadn’t they? Could I really, honestly trust anyone?
When everything scares you, when nowhere is safe, the fear doesn’t propel you forward. Instead, you try to draw into your shell, like a snail, waiting for the danger to pass. For the dragon and vampire and criminal warlord to lose interest and walk away.
My phone rang a third time. It was a number I didn’t know, but I could guess who it was. Breadknife, using a phone belonging to one of his goons, trying to trick me into answering him.
My heart beat wildly in my chest, my breathing was short and quick, my vision narrowed to a small circle. Where was I going? What was I doing here? A tall building stood in front of me. I hazily recalled I needed to be here. On the thirteenth floor.
I stumbled into the elevator, picking up Magnus in my hands, trembling as the elevator rose. My phone blipped—a new text message. It’s unhealthy to use the phone in an elevator because of cancer. But I took a look anyway.
A message from Breadknife. You don’t want to run from me, Lou.
I lost a bit of time, my thoughts becoming a fractured thing. There was a glass door, on which there were letters. I tried to read them, but they swam in front of me, not making sense. The longest was Hippopotamus, which couldn’t be right.
And then the glass door opened and Sinead was holding me in her arms and talking, asking me what was wrong while Magnus jumped around us, yipping. I tried to summarize the morning adventures, but I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk, tears were streaming down my cheeks, and flames flickered around my fingers.
Scared of what?
Of everything.
“How are you feeling?”
I sipped from the mug of ginger tea. I let it swirl around my tongue, considering my response, wondering if I would break into tears again if I spoke.
“Better,” I finally said.
We were in Sinead’s office. I vaguely remembered refusing to enter the meeting room. I wanted a small place. A shell I could retreat to. She had hugged me while I cried, shaking, trying to speak, to explain.
“Who the hell is Auntie Rosa?” Sinead now asked.
Clearly I hadn’t done a very good job of explaining. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone took the crystal. And Breadknife wants it now.”
“Why didn’t you tell him what had happened?”
“What do you think he’d have done if I’d told him I lost the crystal?”
She didn’t answer. We both knew how ruthless and cold Breadknife could be. How dangerous when angry. And though he wasn’t particularly sadistic, the people who worked for him often were.
“So now what?”
“I need to get the crystal back, and get it to him,” I said. “That’s all he really cares about.”
“And who took the crystal?”
“Kane did.”
It was funny how I knew it without really thinking. The knowledge had been hiding in my brain the entire time. Waiting for someone to ask the question.
“He was really interested in the Yliaster crystal,” I said. “He asked about it several times. And there’s something he wasn’t telling me. About his sister. She’s in a coma, and he might think he could use the crystal to heal her.”