A Dame to Die For

by Jamie Sedgwick

  Hank,

  Words can’t begin to describe how ashamed I feel about what I have done to you. I can’t explain, and I know you could never understand, but still I must try to apologize. You will never know what I have sacrificed for you, or why, but that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you will live. The world needs you Hank; needs you more now than ever. I expect you will come to understand that shortly.

  I’m leaving a few necessities to help you through your adjustment period. I’m afraid it won’t be easy. If you can, try to take advantage of this second chance. Use it to make the most of your life. Be happy. And remember that you’re mortal now. If you die again, you will never come back, so please be careful.

  Most of all, don’t come looking for me... There are things you should never know Hank, things I could never explain... Please, just let me go.

  Your Forsaken Love,

  Siva

  I didn’t know what to think as I read those words. Siva’s note did little to temper my anger and nothing to dispel my questions. After all that had happened, she had the audacity to tell me to forget her. Forget her! Forget the woman who had sold me out to my worst enemy? Impossible. Words couldn’t even begin to describe my anger about the things that had happened, about the state of the city and the suffering of the people. And to think she had led me right into that trap. It was only by a stroke of luck that Gallan had died along with me. And I wasn’t the only one who’d made the ultimate sacrifice. What about Apophis? What about Gallan’s other victims?

  Yet, even through the lens of my anger, I knew there was something wrong with this train of thought. First of all, I wasn’t dead. Not anymore. Somehow I was alive, and somehow Siva had known I would be. That was most curious indeed. In fact, the very words of her letter implied that this had been part of her plan all along. But how could she possibly have known? How had she done it? Part of me wanted to think that there had been some sort of spell involved; that she had pulled me outside of time and space to rematerialize again in the future... but that theory didn’t make much sense. After all, I’m an ogre. Magic doesn’t work on me.

  I set the letter aside and reached into the trunk. A smile came to my face as I unfolded the item on top and held it up. It was a wool trench coat. It looked exactly like the one I had always worn; the one I had inherited from my adopted father. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was in fact the exact same brand, and it even bore the same date on the tag. Had Siva somehow restored my coat? Had she magically recreated it? Either way, I could have kissed her for that.

  That’s the problem with a woman like Siva. You never know whether you should kiss her, or kill her. She has a mystifying way of making you want to do both at the exact same time...

  Further examination of the trunk revealed my fedora, a full set of clothes with shiny new wingtips, and a wallet full of cash. Unlike the trench coat and hat, these latter items were all new, and of a much higher quality than anything I’d originally owned. Especially the wallet. Never in my life had I possessed a wallet with that much cash.

  I was naturally skeptical about that money. I had no way of knowing whether it was legitimate or stolen, or even created magically. Such things are possible, but technically not much different from stealing. Everything a mage summons has to come from somewhere. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, it simply changes forms. When a mage summons a fireball, chances are that it came from another fire somewhere else. In the case of money, someone somewhere is trying to pay for a Pumpkin Spice latte with an empty wallet. Naturally, I was reluctant to take the money. I immediately determined not to touch it unless absolutely necessary.

  I was very aware of myself as I dressed. The feeling of the fabric against my skin, the smell of my supple leather shoes, the weight of the trench coat on my shoulders -all of these things were familiar and yet somehow new, as if I were doing them for the first time. Part of this sensation, I realized, was because my body was different from before. I was thinner around the waist, for one thing, and my muscles were rock solid. I looked more like I’d spent that last five years in a gym rather than comatose in the earth. I could feel the difference when I moved. I felt energized; invigorated. Younger.

  After getting dressed, I took a few minutes to get my head together and decide what to do next. Things outside that tunnel were different now. Even though the memories of what I had been dreaming weren’t clear, I knew that much was true. I wasn’t quite sure what I might find out there.

  Still, I had a job to do and there was more to it than just finding Siva and throttling her. Before killing me, Gallan had framed me for two murders. First, Miley Grohn, the centaur at the Windmill Trailer Park. Second, the unknown kindred who ended up dead in the hotel where I’d spent the night with Siva. I suddenly wondered if there was a connection between these two. I had assumed they were just random killings at first; murders orchestrated for no greater purpose than to make me look like guilty, but maybe there was more.

  Looking back, I could see the pieces clearly now in a way that I hadn’t before. Gallan hadn’t just killed Miley and the kindred man, he’d also empowered the serial-killing hobgoblin who had been terrorizing the entire city. Who else would have taught a hobgoblin to perform extractions on fairy folk before cannibalizing them? It had to be Gallan. But what was the connection? What was the reason Gallan had chosen those people, specifically? There had to be something. It wasn’t like Gallan to make such decisions at random. There must have been a reason he wanted those people dead.

  Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. Before I could find Siva, before I could make any sense out of all that had happened, I had to find out who those people were and how we were all connected. I had to solve my own murder...

  Chapter 3

  The tunnels outside the jail were bare and primitive. Originally, they had been paved with cobblestones and carved like real passageways with doorways and arches, all lit by fluorescent lights and decorated with tapestries and artwork. Now, they were more like the burrows and tunnels of a wild animal than the work of civilized fae folk.

  I paused in the tunnel outside the jail, looking at the spot where the elevator used to be. It was just dirt now. It would be years before the tree’s weight and mass moved that far down into the earth. It would be even more years before they could think about building another elevator. But why would anyone bother? How could anyone even think of replacing it without Apophis there to operate the system? I sighed, and moved on.

  I passed O’Flannigan’s pub, which was the first business I came across after leaving the jail. There had been other empty caves along the way -spaces that used to be restaurants or coffee shops or touristy little gift stores with ceramic mockups of the Mother tree and T-shirts with slogans like “I saw the Tree!”- but those were all gone now. O’Flannigan’s was all that remained. Even the pub was dark and empty. I felt more alone at that moment than I had the entire time I was bound up in the earth.

  “Please!” I heard a woman’s voice cry out up ahead, near the end of the tunnel. “Please, I had no choice!”

  I heard low voices and chuckling, and the hairs rose on the back of my neck. It sounded like I was a approaching the scene of a mugging. I quickened my pace, hurrying down the last hundred feet of tunnel to where the passage opened by the tram station. As I exited the tunnel, I heard the voices again. I followed the sound to a group of people off to my right.

  I saw a timid-looking elf woman in a shabby overcoat, and her young child, a little boy of a year or so, hanging onto the hem of her coat. Three men in black uniforms -two goblins and a wood-elf- surrounded them. They wore armbands emblazoned with “PK” in big red letters. They were armed with batons and tasers, but I didn’t see firearms. They hadn’t seen me yet, so I lowered the brim of my hat over my eyes and walked quietly in their direction, staying in the shadows as much as possible.

  “You know the rules,” one of the goblins said in a raspy voice. “Curfew’s midnight to six.”

  �
��I know,” the woman said in a pleading voice, “but my husband is sick and I’m going to be late for work, and since the trams aren’t running, I have to-”

  “Ain’t our problem, lady,” said the other goblin, tapping his baton across his palm.

  “But I’ll lose my job!”

  “Would you rather lose your freedom?” That was the wood-elf. He, of all of them, took me by surprise. What would make a wood-elf ally himself with a couple of lowlife goblins? And to harass this poor woman on her way to work? It made my teeth grind just to see it.

  She took a step back, but the first goblin caught her by the purse straps. “Hang on there,” he said, yanking on it. “Whatcha got in here?”

  She struggled to pull it away, but he gave the straps a good jerk and they broke. The child screamed, and his mother started sobbing. I’d seen enough.

  I was about ten feet away when I stepped out of the shadows. The thugs didn’t see me coming because they were too busy dumping the contents of her purse all over the ground. The wood elf looked up first, and the grin vanished from his face. His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but I was on him in a flash. I caught him by the throat and lifted him the air.

  The other two jumped back in surprise. The elf kicked and punched at me, but he lacked the reach to do any damage. A few seconds of direct contact with the skin of his throat was all it took to put him out.

  I heard a whack! and felt a stinging sensation across the back of my thigh. I dropped the elf and spun around just in time to see a goblin taking another swing at me. I caught his baton in my left hand and held it for a moment while he stood there like a deer in the headlights. He licked his lips uncertainly. I yanked the club out of his hand and smacked him upside the skull with it. Not too hard, of course. I didn’t want to brain the little sucker, just knock some sense into him.

  He staggered back with both hands going to his temples. His companion squeezed the trigger on his taser, unloading two probes into my coat. They barely made it through the wool; didn’t even come close to my skin. I chuckled as I took a step in his direction. He looked me up and down and then broke into a run in the other direction. The second goblin went running after him, hands still pressed to his head.

  “You’re finished, pal,” said a voice behind me. It was the elf. He was still on the ground, but he had regained consciousness. I turned to face him.

  “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” the elf said.

  “That so?”

  “Yeah. The Governor is going to skin you alive!”

  “Governor?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “It’s been a while.” I took my hat off so he could get a good look at me. The elf’s eyes bulged as I shot him a smirk.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said in a half-whisper.

  “You thought wrong.” I glanced at the woman standing a few feet back, huddled up with her child. “You all right, ma’am?”

  She nodded fearfully. I drew my gaze back to the elf. I took a few steps in his direction and loomed over him as he raised his arms to defend himself.

  “Get up,” I snarled.

  He did, moving slowly and carefully, his eyes fixed on me the entire time. He was expecting a beating. He deserved one, but I had something else in mind. “Pick up her purse,” I said.

  He did a double take, glancing at the purse and its spilled contents, and then back at me. “Do it!” I shouted, my voice coming out in a roar. He shook as the sound waves washed over him. Realizing I was serious, he got down on his hands and knees and started piling the contents back into the purse. When he was finished, he rose up and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” the woman said to me. I nodded.

  “Is that all?” he said.

  “No, empty your pockets.”

  “What?”

  I straightened up, squaring my shoulders. “Don’t make me do it for you, son.”

  He jammed his fists into his pockets and started pulling everything out. He produced a pocketknife, a wallet, and a set of keys. I took the keys out of his hand and said, “Give her the wallet.”

  “But-”

  “Shut your mouth and give her the wallet. If I tell you again, you won’t be able to talk for a month.”

  He obediently handed the woman the wallet. She was reluctant to accept it, so he put it into her hand. She gave me an uncomfortable look and tried handing it back to me. “I can’t take this,” she said. “It’s not right.”

  “Take the money,” I said. “These punks were robbing you when I showed up. That money’s not even his. It belongs to the last person he robbed. Trust me lady, he’s got this coming.” I glared down at him. “And a whole lot more.”

  She was convinced. She took the cash and handed him back his wallet.

  “You said you were on your way to work?” I said to her.

  She nodded. “Downtown.”

  “I’ll give you a lift. Just have to figure out where he parked.”

  “Over there,” she said, pointing up the street, next to the depot. I followed her gaze and saw a big black Hummer sitting there under a street light. I blinked.

  “That’s what they drive?”

  She nodded.

  “Good grief. That thing would barely fit on human roads.”

  “I suppose that’s why the Governor illegalized autos in the undercity.”

  “He did what?”

  “And gyros, too. Only fairies and pixies are allowed to fly now, but that’s just because no one can stop them. Almost nobody drives.”

  I sighed. I could see already that this Governor and I were going to be having a conversation soon. “Let’s get you to work,” I said.

  “You’re gonna pay for this,” the elf snarled next to me. “When the Governor finds out what you did-”

  I backhanded him across the face. He spun around twice before landing flat on his back. He was out cold. I glared down for a second and then smiled politely as I turned my attention to the woman and her son. “Shall we?”

  A low mist hovered over the district and drifted out across the lake as I pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. Here and there, I saw the glimmer of fairy wings and pixie lights flashing through the darkness. If not for that, I might have thought the entire city had been abandoned. The woman offered to pay me for my help, but I just smiled and politely refused. Money had never been that important to me, and it was even less now.

  Ten minutes later, I walked into Moonie McBride’s skeevy little pawnshop. You know the rest of that story: I asked about Siva and the ring I’d found. I even asked politely. He blew me off, and then we had words.

  After threatening to kill Moonie, I slapped him around for a few minutes just to make sure he knew I was serious. I started by slamming the back of his head against the jewelry cabinet, shattering the glass into a million tiny shards. Then I tossed him against the back wall, which resulted in the destruction of the pegboard and an avalanche of power drills, screwdrivers, and small-caliber firearms on top of his head.

  “Stop, please!” Moonie begged as I dragged him out of the pile and picked him up by the collar. “I’ll tell you anything. Just don’t kill me.”

  I set him down on a workbench by the back wall and produced the drawing of the ring again. I held it up under his nose. “Tell me who you sold this to,” I snarled.

  “What are you talking about? What makes you think I sold that piece of junk?”

  “Because it’s got your mark on it right here.” I held it up with the light shining on the tiny little star on the back of the band. “I’ve seen your junk all over town, Moonie. I know for a fact this came from your shop, and judging by the second mark, I’m guessing your brother made this. So start talking, before I start ripping off body parts.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything. Just ‘cause I sold it doesn’t mean I know who bought the thing. Whaddya think I am, the IRS? I got no paperwork!”

  I caught him a
round the throat and started to squeeze. Unfortunately, my temper got the best of me and I held on too long. About four seconds total, and he was snoring like a buzz saw. I lowered him back to the floor and stood there a minute, figuring out what to do next. I was tempted to wait for Moonie to come back around so we could finish our little interrogation, but I had a sneaking suspicion he may have set off an alarm at some point. I didn’t see any evidence of that -no flashing lights or ringing bells- but something told me a little weasel like Moonie would have a backup plan for protection. That meant I could expect either the cops, or his mobster buddies in the next few minutes.

  Knowing I couldn’t wait around long, I decided to take advantage of what time I had by going through his records. Moonie had said he didn’t have any, but I didn’t believe that for a second. There was a pile of receipts in a box behind the counter, and I knew there had to be more.

  I was right. The first drawer I opened contained a ledger. I scanned a few pages. A feeling of vertigo washed over me as I deciphered the scribblings. Moonie’s record system was a nightmare. His bookkeeping skills made my head hurt. The names and dates on the pages seemed completely random, sometimes crossed off or scribbled over with notes that didn’t make any sense at all. He used multiple lines for some entries, and went back later to use up the empty space, filling it with completely unrelated transactions.

  I gave up on that fairly quickly. I tossed it aside and started going through the filing cabinets. In one of the drawers, I hit pay dirt. I found Moonie’s records on all of his jewelry sales. I wasn’t surprised. Jewelry is the most valuable product in a pawnshop, and a thief like Moonie would know exactly how much each item was worth before he even thought about selling it.

  A quick scan of his records confirmed what I had already suspected: Moonie was a scam artist. He was an expert at conning people, telling them the diamond they were selling wasn’t worth a fraction of its original appraised value, then putting it on the market at fifty percent higher than the thing was actually worth. Moonie had raised this con to an art form. He did it with everything, but especially with jewelry.