by Mia Strange
“It’s fine,” I said. “Genius even.” And it was.
Liking the compliment, Eli smiled, and turned back to work, steering The Madison.
As clean water lapped over Annabel, the ripples kept pace with the steam power motion of the railcar. The tiny waves caressed her body. She was practically submerged, her uneven, tangled hair floated around her head like a tattered red fan.
I silently crawled over to her, sat back down and crossed my legs. Propping my chin in my hands, I studied the thin, ragged girl. She wore two silver rings piercing opposite ends of her bottom lip. A white crescent-shaped scar ran from her temple to her cheekbone. I winced at the sight. I wanted to kill the person who had done this to her.
Annabel had pierced her cheek where a dimple might have been. The little silver ball winked under the water. A straight bar ran through one eyebrow. It was the wrong kind of metal. The telltale signs of corrosion had started. I frowned. That would have to come out.
She wore little brass safety pins for earrings and had fashioned a necklace out of beer caps. I read brands like Kingfisher Premium, Dogfish Head Brewery, Land Shark Lager, and one that made me laugh outright, Arrogant Bastard Ale. I instantly thought of Darius.
Twisted aluminum pop tabs adorned her middle finger on her left hand. She had made a ring. The thin petals of the flower-like top looked sharp and made me think clever Annabel had made a weapon.
A crude prison quality tattoo of Poseidon’s trident was inked on her forearm. A much better tattoo of an orca whale was inked on the other. Orcas, the largest in the dolphin family, swam in all the oceans of the world. It made perfect sense that Annabel wore the symbol. But what came as a surprise was this was a native design, the same Northwest Coast intricate art that the ravens had been carved in on the Alaskan totem pole.
I knew instantly there was magic in the tat. Words like Killer Whale and Sea Wolf came to mind. I scooted a few inches back.
“How’s she doing?” Eli asked.
“She’s sleeping.” I watched the slight up and down movement of her chest. Eli had dropped the moonstone in the water with her, and the blue light shimmered and danced in the little waves caused by The Madison’s vibrations.
The railcar jolted, groaning in protest as a wheel caught in a rut or crack or some-damn-thing. The Madison tipped, and I flew forward, catching myself on the rim of the tub. Annabel slid completely underwater. The movement in her chest stopped. Her arms floated out to her sides. Bathed in blue by the light of the moonstone, she looked otherworldly. Ghostly. Dead.
She did not move. Or breathe.
“Eli,” I yelled as I reached for her, soaking my sweatshirt up to my armpits. I yanked her out from under the water. Damn it. She wasn’t breathing. Not one shallow breath.
Standing, I pulled her up, propping her back against the cold porcelain. I now had one leg in the tub. I would get her out, give her mouth to mouth, pound the life back into her chest.
I would make her live.
She must live. I didn’t know what it was about this kid, how she crawled under my skin and crept into my heart, but I would not let her die. I simply would not.
“Skye,” Eli’s arms wrapped around me from behind. He placed his hands over mine, and gently but firmly, pulled me away. Annabel slipped once again underneath the blue-tinged water.
“What are you doing?” I fought him and tried to pull away. Wrapping his arms around me and pinning my arms to my side, Eli held on with a python hug, lifting me from the tub like I weighed no more than a dandelion turned to seed. Amazed at his strength, at the vice-like grip that held me, I shouted at him.
“She’s drowning, she’s–”
“Fine,” he said in my ear. “Here, kneel with me.”
Kneel? What? He wanted us to pray? Now? For the second time in so many hours, I questioned his sanity.
“Trust me.”
Okay. He got me there. I did. I always would.
I gave him a sharp nod. Eli released me, and together we knelt next to the bathtub, side by side.
“Watch,” he said.
Reaching into the water, he lifted a thick strand of Annabel’s hair out of the way. Just behind her ear, I counted three tiny slits in her flesh that opened and closed in a uniform rhythm.
“Gills,” I whispered.
“You see the water contains dissolved oxygen. Gills have a system of small blood vessels and the blood circulation within the gill-”
“Eli! Just tell me she breathes. That she’s okay.”
Eli laughed. “Sorry. She is. Fine that is. What? Too, technical?” He had jokingly used Jin’s air quotes, and suddenly I missed the little gum-snapping, paint spraying twerp. I briefly wondered if she and Annabel would be friends.
“Sometimes Eli? Less is more.”
He gently let Annabel’s hair drop as she slid deeper under the water. He put his now dripping wet arm around me. “She really is fine. Or will be soon. We were in time. It’s hard to see, but she improves, minute by minute. And if what I’ve read is accurate, you’ll be amazed-”
“Look,” I interrupted. I submerged my arm once more and traced a line around the low band of Annabel’s tail that trailed just below her navel. Tiny, iridescent sparkles winked at us from her exposed skin. It was faint, hard to see, but they were there…beautiful, petite scales, identical to the ones I had found in the Underground.
Eli smiled. “She heals.”
“Wow.” I was now officially in complete and utter awe. “A real mermaid. I’ve never seen one before.”
“That makes two of us,” Eli said shaking his head with wonder. “That makes two of us.”
11
Like a final curtain call, darkness had fallen when we were only halfway to The Neptune Theater. The Seattle streets, silent and black, met us with no working gas lamps to greet us along the way. The route had been painstakingly slow. This was the price we paid for traveling off-map.
But with Annabel in tow, her skin looking more and more iridescent, while her hair glowed an impossible, magical red, we couldn’t risk the direct route. A route often laden with the occasional Gov roadblock. Search and seize and maim and kill tactics were common. Plus, there was more than the occasional band of marauding from the deadly Ignored.
As it was, The Madison pulled into The Neptune Theater parking area a mere hour before Showtime. On this night all the lights, sounds and smells, surrounding the theater had kept the inky darkness we had grown accustomed to, at bay.
The night was alive with color.
Lanterns of every size and hue had been strung around The Neptune Theater for what seemed like miles. Some stretched all the way up to the dirigibles floating above us. Glass jars of all sizes and shapes, filled with aether were carried by nearly everyone. The distinct green hue it gave off lifted shadows and lit the way through the crowds. It killed Eli that we didn’t own and operate the aether booth, there was a small fortune to be made there. But where it came to aether, The Academy was seemingly always broke.
And to keep Pilot safe, we had to keep it that way.
Hundreds of steel barrels, burning with debris and a few illegal zombies, lined the walkway into the theater. Poles, some rising twenty feet or more and bearing flags and pennants of every self-important vendor, were planted between the barrels. Welcome to advertising in the post-apocalyptic age.
For now, what was left of the massive theater doors that remained solidly locked. And they would stay that way until Dr. Dark opened them. Those were Dr. Dark’s rules, and they had never been broken. A magically sealed door is damn hard to open.
This night truly had taken on a life of its own. And it was growing louder and larger and more dangerous by the minute.
As The Madison rolled her way through the impossibly thick crowd, people pounded the railcar with fists. Some smashed empty bottles of absinthe into the iron, others pelted us with rocks. Still, others beat against the iron car with sticks, playing us like a drum. Inside, it sounded like a continuous stre
am of thunder all around us. Unfortunately, all this sounded normal.
Most of the Academy members who played in the Troupe had made an entrance like this before.
“Seems the party started without us,” Eli said, watching through the periscope.
“It’s always the same party.” I sighed. “We need way better clientele.”
“So true.”
“I can’t believe she can get any rest through this.” I looked down at Annabel who hadn’t stirred. She was still sound asleep. Underwater.
“The porcelain acts as a kind of sound barrier,” Eli said. “Plus, the water shields her.”
“Well then,” I smiled. “I’m tempted to climb in with her.”
“Understood.”
The noise tapered off, as the crowd lost interest in The Madison. Finally, we were left alone to make our way around the back entrance. Turk would be waiting, he always was, and soon The Madison would be ushered into the safety of the theater walls.
“Think they’ll go after an airship next?” I asked.
Eli shrugged. “It’s happened before. We’re here.” He cranked the periscope down in half the time it would take me to do it. “The doors are opening.” The Madison moved forward, and I could tell by the muffled sounds, that we were safely in.
The Neptune Theater was mostly an outdoor venue now. Along with so many of our historic buildings, The Neptune had not stood well against the ravages of an apocalyptic world. But the perimeters were solid. And with a little help from Dark’s magic and the ferocity of our wolves, no one would get in early.
“Turk never fails to watch out for us,” I said. “Never.” I sighed and wished for the millionth time that we could find our way back to friendship.
“He’s a good guy. You can always depend on him, Skye. Remember that,” he said softly. “At the end of the day,” he paused, “and the night, we are all family.”
I knew he had tacked on ‘the night’ for Traveler Hale.
“But as everyone knows,” I thought about how much Turk disliked me, “you can’t pick your family.” I shook my head.
Eli hugged me. “I can. And I did. I picked you.”
I hardly knew what to say. I hadn’t had my family in so long, I hadn’t thought it possible that I would have one again. It’s why I could never give up on Emma. But now, feeling the protection of Eli’s arms around me, I had hope. And I hadn’t had hope, real hope in years. He released me when there was a series of pounds on the door. An all clear-code. “Okay,” Eli said. “We make our exit from The Madison–”
“Fast,” I finished.
“And no one comes in–”
“Until after the show.”
Satisfied, Eli opened the doors just enough for him to squeeze through. He jumped down and disappeared from my view.
I leaned over Annabel and reaching into the water, I brushed her amazing hair from her face. In slumber, she looked peaceful, innocent, safe.
“Sleep well,” I whispered. “You’re safe. See you soon.” I walked over and touched the ornate urn tracing the engraved shield of Dr. Dark with my fingertips. “Watch over her Maddie, okay?” I blew out the last lantern, and the interior of the railcar was washed in blue.
I squeezed out and jumped down from the sideboard. I knew Eli would no longer be my Eli. With his transformation complete, he would remain, Dr. Dark until we were safely back on the rails.
I watched as, with bent, arthritic fingers, he reached up and touched the iron horseshoe. Sparks flew from his fingertips and I could see the magic spilling out and framing the door.
“There,” he said. “When we close it, the door will remain sealed until I come back. After the show.”
“Got it.” I nodded my approval. Too many things could go wrong tonight. Too many spies would be creeping throughout the theater.
“Let me,” I said as I reached for the heavy iron doors. Grabbing the steel handle, I slid the panel hard. It moved easily, and just an inch before the door latched it picked up momentum. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to, I glanced one last time at Annabel.
Bright azure eyes, the color of an unpolluted, Caribbean sea at sunrise, watched me.
Annabel Lee was awake.
Hundreds of people had gathered around The Neptune Theater. The masses were so thick I could hear the thrum of their collective heartbeats. I could smell the sweat dripping from their bodies. This had to be our biggest crowd yet.
I was both excited and frightened. Excited, in that our revenues would be as Jin loved to say, ‘Off the hook.’ Frightened, because The Traveling Troupe Academy of Dr. Dark, had gone from obscurity to superstardom.
And everyone knew that obscurity was so much safer.
As I fought my way through the crowd, I stumbled upon the amazing venues the Pickers offered. Opportunists, parading as ‘legitimate’ entrepreneurs, the Pickers offered the best in black market retail therapy.
As always, I stopped to check out what they were hawking. Rows of severed doll heads stared up at me, their eyes, blank and unseeing. Creepy. Jade handled Chinese paintbrushes, the bristles made from horsehair, spewed out of a copper pot. Interesting. Ornate crosses with tiny silver Milagros pounded into the wood, hung in each corner. Beautiful.
Piles of pyrite winked in the torchlight. Strings of lapis lazuli and jasper hung from the rafters above. I saw a beautiful tiger eye stone I seriously wanted.
No doubt about it. The Pickers had cool stuff.
I looked at the back wall, where row upon row of toe tags had been tacked up. Pickers came across more than their share of the dead, and this wall served as sort of a public service announcement. If you were searching for a lost loved one, this was the place to start. If you were looking for any valuables they may have been carrying, you were on the shit-out-of-luck list. It was a ‘finders keepers, losers are screwed’ kind of thing.
I studied the tags, looking for Emma’s name. It was a habit I couldn’t break. Probably never would.
“You bastards. That price? Fucking outrageous. You’re all thieves.”
I stepped out of the way as a slight, but well-muscled Picker came out from around the counter. I held my breath. The mouthy Ignored didn’t know what he was in for. Pickers were notorious for their street fighting-skills. They didn’t fight fair. Popular and protected by both The Gov and the populace alike, they didn’t have to.
With a single blow, The Ignored was dropped to his knees, his broken nose dripping blood. His buddy behind me grabbed my arm and tried to push me aside. He shoved a large serving spoon down his pants. It was pure silver.
I immediately thought of the street kids I’d come across in our last city. They’d been dancing around, chanting a rhyme.
A man went down, there was blood on the ground, and the thief ran away with the spoon.
Huh. I didn’t think I’d ever see the rhyme play out in front of me.
I stuck my foot out, tripped the guy and enjoyed watching the face-plant he took in the dirt. A tooth popped out of his bloodied mouth. I met the Picker’s cool gaze and nodded. He nodded back.
The Picker knew what I did. These men were desperate and dangerous and scared away our legitimate customers. They gave our gatherings a bad rep. And then there was that little fact that a group of The Ignored had brutalized me. Stabbed me. Yeah. Hate pretty much covered what I was feeling toward the man pinned under my boot.
I kept the pressure on his back with my foot until the Picker came over. I walked away not bothering to look back. I didn’t wait to see what happened next. The man’s echoing screams told me all I needed to know.
Further down, two more men were trying to shoplift from a Tinker. While one distracted, the other palmed a cog, as big as my hand. The Tinker turned a blind eye. And why not? He had already helped himself to the wallets the men carried. Born in The Rust, a hostile and brutal environment, Tinkers were the best thieves of all. But with their sheets of brass, copper wires, and tidbits of steel and gears and ironworks, they packed in the crowds
. And the crowds, in turn, packed our show. I knew enough not to mess with them.
I continued to push my way around people who came to have their fortunes told, who were trying to score black-market opium, and those obnoxious souls who were drinking themselves stupid, overindulging in the absinthe haze of the green fairy.
And it went on and on and on . . .
Everyone here had their own agenda. Everyone was out for themselves. ‘Love thy neighbor,’ had gone out of style when the dead began to walk, and the quest to control newly discovered magic turned deadly.
The crowd was at its height now, and the words printed on our pitch cards haunted me.
There is more to do, than can be done.
There is more to see, than can be seen.
With one misstep, there are more ways to die than one can count.
That last line? We left off the cards.
I stopped in front of a huge white tent, tethered to the ground with braided steel cables and cinderblocks. I read the crude sign that hung above the entrance.
Shuffle Up And Deal, National Zombie Auction
Will Trade For Brains
Cute. I think I’d fire the sign maker.
The Gov sponsored zombie auction, always a huge favorite, brought buyers from all four corners of our nation. Top railroad officials, or Brass Hats, as they were called, came looking for new, ‘fresher’ crews to work on the rails in the Ash Lands. Closed to the public, only a few hundred of select Brass Hats were allowed in.
Along with us.
Dr. Dark’s performing Academy Members were always allowed in.
Dark made sure we all got a pass. We were the main attraction after all. As the most popular Sideshow up and down the rails, we could make a few demands. And The Gov knew it.
This was one contractual clause that Dark always insisted upon. For entertainment purposes, he said. And for when our own Zombie Phil reached the Dead and Done phase of his useful gray days.
But the truth lay in an Alchemist’s power of observation. This was Dark’s way of monitoring the zombie population, from knowing the difference between an “unnatural” but expected result of our boiling core, from what was just plain old roadkill, to what was fresh, homegrown, and illegal.