Hot Lead, Cold Iron

by Ari Marmell

  “Precious few are that, fata. And they too are martyrs, even as is Celia. God will welcome them to Him! Their sacrifice will save so many more, as did the firstborn of Egypt.”

  “Save…?”

  “Yes! When bastards like Giovaniello and Scola learn the consequences of their actions, that there are greater things to fear than their enemies—”

  “What a crock of shit!” Keep her talking, Mick; keep her talking, think of something, of anything… “This ain’t about saving anyone! This is about giving the world a bloody nose for what it’s done to you.”

  “I’ve suffered! I have the right—!”

  “You’re a good Catholic, Orsola. Remind me. Vengeance is whose again, sayeth the Lord?”

  She screamed something then, something incoherent through the winds—and probably even without ’em. She raised the dagger and took a slow step forward, and still there was nothing at all I could do…

  “Thank you, Mr. Oberon.” The voice came from just over my shoulder, carried on a waft of fishy breath—soft, sorrowful, sincere. “Thank you for trying. But I can’t live as a monster. God understands.”

  “Oh, no. Adalina, no!”

  But she was already running. With every step, her skirts flapped around tight, papery skin—skin not nearly as human as the soul inside it. I heard a despairing wail carried on the winds, and couldn’t even look away to see if it had been Bianca or Fino.

  Adalina reached the barrier, the deadly wall I hadn’t dared cross, and dived through it.

  Skin simply disappeared, flayed from flesh; and then flesh from muscle, even, in a few spots, muscle from bone. I can’t begin to tell you how horrifying it was, not only to watch but to see bits of Adalina that I could recognize whipping around in the whirlwind with the rest of the detritus. Still I couldn’t look away—and still she didn’t fall! In what had to be agony that even I’d never known, couldn’t possibly imagine, sixteen-year-old Adalina wouldn’t die. Not yet.

  Stumbling, staggering, maybe blind, she reached out and fell upon the woman she’d known as Nonna, wrapping her arms tight and carrying her away from the girl whose life she’d stolen, however unknowingly. They toppled backward, slamming to the earth and rolling away from the teetering cross. I heard Orsola grunt, and then scream. The dagger rose and fell, again and again. And when she rose, Adalina finally lay silent.

  I dunno if there’s a Heaven, not the way you folk imagine it. And if there is, I dunno if the Fae are welcome. But I swore right then that if I ever got there, and found that Adalina hadn’t, I’d challenge God Himself.

  Orsola stood, statue-still, and for the first time I thought that maybe, just maybe, I saw doubt on her face. For a long moment she gazed down at the ravaged body by her feet, and I can only hope she was wondering what kinda soulless, evil creature would do such a thing.

  But the winds didn’t fail, and when she spun back toward Celia, the dagger remained in her hand.

  And I was outta choices.

  The pain went away, washed clean in my fury over Adalina’s murder. She hadn’t died for nothing; I wouldn’t let her have died for nothing! With everything I had left, I rolled over and aimed my wand, not at Orsola, not through the curtain, but at Fino. I threw my will at him harder’n any bullet, yanked at the strings of his mind.

  Did I make him act, there at the end? Or was he moving anyway, a devoted son finally choosing his daughter—his daughters—over everyone else? I dunno, not for sure; but I’d like to think I saw his hands coming up even before I pushed him.

  But whether it was him, or me, or us, Fino Ottati raised the Tommy gun in hands as white as Adalina had been, and fired.

  A couple dozen slugs flew before the drum clicked empty, and at this range, even through the winds, that kinda barrage couldn’t possibly miss.

  Blood spattered; the whirlwind vanished, the broken bits and garbage falling from the air, impossibly and directly down. Orsola still stood, her jaw hanging loose. Her whole face bewildered, she examined the gaping, red-stained holes in her snowy habit, even going so far as to poke a finger in one of ’em.

  “Fino?” she asked softly.

  The dagger clattered to the earth. Donna Orsola Maldera followed.

  From her, and from the ritual ingredients scattered around her, another burst of ghostly shadow erupted. It wasn’t quite so dark as the one that’d knocked me for a loop in my office, and I could only hope it wouldn’t anything too nasty before it passed over me, through me, and I was out.

  * * *

  But not for long. I blinked the dirt outta my peepers and rolled over, not nearly as disoriented as last time. Quick gander at the moon and stars said it’d only been a few minutes, and I could hear Fino stirring close by.

  And weeping not far beyond.

  Bianca’d been out even less time than we were—probably ’cause she was farther away—and had already made it to the eye of what’d been the storm. Tattered rope and Orsola’s own dagger lay at her feet. She and Celia were holding each other, sobbing, over Adalina. Fino staggered to his feet and tottered up beside, looking down at all three—and then, only briefly, at his mother’s bullet-riddled corpse as well. Then he was also on his knees, arms wrapped around the two women—one he knew so well, one he didn’t know at all—he loved most.

  I limped over myself, ready to rush ’em along—that much gunfire, someone might well have heard something even over the winds—except…

  Oh, God…

  They’d never have noticed, couldn’t have. Not through their cries, not through their grief, not with human senses. None of ’em would.

  But I did.

  I dropped to my knees across from the Ottatis, and held my fingers above Adalina’s mouth. And slowly, oh so slowly, I saw them begin to understand.

  It was Bianca who reached out first, sliding her trembling hand under mine. I thought, for a moment, she would faint, that it’d all finally prove too much—but Mrs. Ottati was one tough skirt. With her other hand she reached out, gently pulling Fino forward so he could place his fingers alongside hers.

  So they could both feel the breath, so terribly faint, that incredibly, impossibly, wafted from between Adalina’s skinless lips.

  “It’s a miracle,” Bianca whispered. Over her shoulder, Fino—Fino—was praying.

  I was too busy struggling to pump the last of my magics into Adalina, trying to help her heal as best I could, to answer that. But I gotta admit, I wasn’t so sure.

  A miracle? Was it? I’ve been in more wars in my time than you ever heard of, and I’d never seen one of the Fae take that kinda hurt and survive. It wasn’t, couldn’t be possible! I still couldn’t say what she was, not really, but I didn’t think even the strongest of us could come back from what she’d just gone through. Even on the off chance she survived, she might never recover.

  And who would she be, then? Adalina had wanted to die, there at the end. If even that was taken from her, what were the odds she’d ever learn to live with—well, with living?

  “Oberon?” Celia asked softly.

  “I dunno,” I said, rocking back from Adalina and shaking my head. “She could die before morning, or wake up in a couple days, or never wake up. I just don’t—”

  “She won’t die,” Bianca told us firmly. “God wouldn’t let her, not after this. He wouldn’t do that to her—to us.”

  Was that the certainty of faith, I wondered, or the begging of desperate hope? Either way, I nodded, ’cause what’d be the point of arguing? “C’mon,” I said instead. “I’ll help you move ’em.” So very gently, we carried Adalina to the flivver, laid her out carefully in the back seat. Then Fino and I went back for Orsola. They’d have to come up with some kinda story, sure, but having the old broad found here wouldn’t help. The dead soldiers could stay: the cops’d just chalk it up to another gang killing.

  “It’s too much.”

  I glanced over at “the Shark,” who was just leaning over his mother’s body. “I don’t…” he continued, swallowin
g hard. “I don’t know how… Oberon, I don’t know how to take care of her. Of either of ’em. Not like this.”

  “Same way you always have, Fino. Best as you can.” Yeah, it was meaningless; just a stupid platitude. I wish I’d had more to tell him.

  Well, maybe I did. “I can’t make you any promises,” I said, wondering why I was speaking even as the words tumbled out. “I ain’t too popular back home. But I’ll nose around a little. If I can learn anything to help Adalina, I’ll tell you.”

  He nodded, pathetically grateful, and then tenderly lifted the body of his murdered mother from the dirt.

  “They might come for her again,” I warned him as we plodded back toward the cars. I wanted to keep my mouth shut, keep from heaping anything more on this family, but he hadda know. “The Unfit—uh, Unseelie—tried to take her once already. They probably won’t again, now that I tumbled what they were planning—” and now that she may never wake up, I added silently “—but you never know.”

  “Fuck.” He didn’t even have the strength to yell; it was barely more’n a complaint. Then, “I got most of Mama’s books, I can try and duplicate her wards, but…”

  “But you ain’t at all the witch she was,” I finished for him. “Yeah. Maybe I can give you a hand with ’em.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Oberon.”

  “You remember that when you get my highly inflated bill, Ottati.”

  It got a reluctant chuckle out of him, and that was something, anyway.

  Between the two of us, we managed to manhandle Orsola into the trunk with enough dignity to satisfy Fino’s sense of propriety. Bianca was in the back seat, trying to dab at the worst of Adalina’s wounds with a wet cloth, and having trouble finding ’em amid the bloody, glistening wreck. Celia stood at the open door, watching ’em both and trembling.

  I deliberately scuffed my feet so I wouldn’t startle her, then put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be hard. Very hard. We both know that. But give ’em a chance before you think about taking off again, okay? Your dad honestly thought he was doing the right thing for you.”

  “I don’t know what to believe, Mr. Oberon. I don’t know if he’s ever going to be my ‘dad.’ But I need…” I heard her knuckles pop, so tightly did she clench her tiny fists. “I’m not going anywhere. She did this for me. I have to help, if I can.”

  Bianca offered her a faint smile from inside, and Celia nodded dumbly in reply.

  And this time, I kept my mouth shut. Yeah, maybe it was a lie. Maybe you think I shoulda told ’em that Adalina did what she did, at least partly, ’cause she didn’t wanna live with what she was becoming.

  I’ll tell you what. You look the Ottatis up and tell ’em. Because I’ll be damned if I ever will.

  * * *

  So I watched ’em drive off into the Chicago night: Fino and Bianca and Celia, and the bodies of two loved ones—one dead, one damn near—who weren’t either of ’em what anyone thought. Yeah, they owed me the other half of my fee, to say nothing of the repairs to my office and my coat, but I could wait a few days to collect. I ain’t heartless.

  Course, I was still facing a long ride on the L to get home, a ride I wasn’t sure I could stand on top of the pain from my arm and my other wounds. I still had to start arranging to get my place fixed up, and my furniture replaced. I still had to figure out how much of this to tell Pete.

  Yeah, I’d found the girl. I’d done everything I was hired to do. And what had it cost? Maybe Adalina’s life, and almost certainly her health. I’d made me two fresh enemies in the Seelie Court—one of whom was lurking somewhere in the mortal world wearing who-knew-what face, and might make a play to take Celia back—and put myself in debt to the Unfit, who were probably seriously steamed at me for gumming up their little scheme.

  I was in for some really unpleasant days ahead.

  Nevertheless, I found myself sighing in relief as I slowly trudged my way toward the nearest station, envisioning some long hours of shuteye on what was left of my mattress. ’cause no matter how rough things were about to get, no matter what lay ahead, my coming jobs couldn’t possibly be any stranger or any uglier than this one’d been.

  Right?

  FAE PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  aes sidhe [eys shee]

  bean nighe [ban nee-yeh]

  bean sidhe [ban shee]

  boggart [boh-gahrt]

  brounie [brooh-nee]

  clurichaun [kloor-uh-kawn]

  coblynau [kawb-lee-naw]

  Credne [kred-naw]

  cu sidhe [koo shee]

  dullahan [dool-uh-han]

  dvergar [dver-gahr]

  Elphame [elf-eym]

  Eudeagh [ee-yood-uh]

  Firbolg [fir-bohlg]

  gancanagh [gan-kan-aw]

  ghillie dhu [ghil-lee doo]

  glaistig [gley-shtig]

  Goswythe [gawz-weeth]

  haltija [hawl-tee-yah]

  Hesperides [he-sper-i-deez]

  huldra [hool-druh]

  Ielveith [ahy-el-veyth]

  kobold [koh-bold]

  Laurelline [Lor-el-leen]

  leanan sidhe [le-an-uhn shee]

  ljósálfar [lyohs-ahl-fahr]

  Luchtaine [lookh1-teyn]

  mari-morgan [mar-ee mor-gan]

  Oberon [oh-ber-ron]

  phouka [poo-kuh]

  Rycine [rahy-see-ne]

  Seelie [see-lee]

  Sien Bheara [shahyn beer-uh]

  Slachaun [slah-shawn]

  sluagh [sloo-ah]

  spriggan [sprig-uhn]

  Tír na nÓg [teer na nog]

  Tuatha Dé Danann [too-awt2-huh de3 dan3-uhn]

  tylwyth teg [tel-oh-ith teyg]

  Unseelie [uhn-see-lee]

  Ylleuwyn [eel-yoo-win]

  1 This sound falls between “ch” and “k,” as in the word “loch.”

  2 This “t” is almost silent, and is separate from the following “h,” rather than forming a single sound as “th” normally does in English.

  3 Strictly speaking, these “d”s fall somewhere between the “d” and a hard “th”—such as in “though”—but a simple “d” represents the closest sound in English.

  MOBSTERS OF CHICAGO

  While none of the characters who appear in this book are historical figures, a great many of those referenced are. If you’re at all interested in learning more about them, this ought to be enough to get you started.

  * * *

  BATTAGLIA, SAM: A typical (but successful) Chicago gangster, Battaglia joined Torrio and Capone in the Outfit in the mid-1920s. After Capone’s era ended, Battaglia remained a member in good standing of the Outfit, and went on to hold substantial power in the organization.

  CAPONE, ALPHONSE GABRIEL “AL” (also “SCARFACE”): Perhaps the most infamous gangster in American history, Capone rose from being a smalltime hood to a lieutenant of John Torrio’s, and eventually succeeded Torrio. A member of the Outfit, Capone was actually never “in charge” of the entire city, as many people believe, but as the man behind what was arguably Chicago’s largest—and certainly most violent—gang, he might as well have been. Capone was eventually imprisoned in 1931 for charges stemming from failure to pay taxes on his criminal profits.

  MORAN, GEORGE CLARENCE “BUGS”: One of the biggest Irish gangsters of Chicago, Bugs Moran ran the Northside Gang from 1927 to (roughly) 1935. Violent and hot-tempered, Moran himself was one of the main causes for the constant conflict between the Northside Gang and the Outfit.

  MUDGETT, HERMAN: Also known as H. H. Holmes, Mudgett wasn’t actually a gangster, but was in fact one of America’s earliest serial killers. From 1888 to 1894, Mudgett murdered an estimated 200 or more victims. Many of these were killed in his “Murder Castle,” a hotel with secret rooms where victims could be suffocated, asphyxiated with gas, or tortured to death, before their bodies were disposed of in the sub-basements through careful dissection or submersion in lime pits.

  NITTI, FRANK “THE ENFORCER”: One
of Capone’s lieutenants, Frank Nitti went on to serve an important role in the Outfit after Al’s arrest: specifically, that of a figurehead. While he did have some voice in the running of the organization, he was primarily a mouthpiece for the “Board of Directors.” Although often portrayed in fiction as a chopper-toting psycho, Nitti was actually a bookish, white-collar criminal who rarely, if ever, got his hands dirty with violence. His nickname came from citing and enforcing Outfit rules at various meetings and sit-downs.

  NORTHSIDE GANG, THE: A largely Irish gang based in Chicago’s north side (obviously), this group was often at war with the Outfit over territories, routes, and the like. Capone’s infamous Valentine’s Day Massacre was targeted at Northsiders.

  OUTFIT, THE: The hub of organized crime in Chicago, the Outfit was the organization/syndicate to which Capone (among many others) belonged. After Capone’s time, the Outfit’s leadership took on a very corporate form, with a Board of Directors and no single person in charge. The Outfit frequently cooperated with the Commission (a similar organization, based out of New York) and other Mafia organizations.

  POPE, FRANK: A member of Capone’s organization, he eventually went on to manage many of the Outfit’s gambling interests on behalf of the Board of Directors.

  TORRIO, JOHN: A powerful gangster during the rise of organized crime in Chicago, Torrio pioneered many of the bootlegging tactics and routes that would be used throughout Prohibition. It was Torrio who brought Capone into the fold, and eventually turned over power to ol’ “Scarface.”

  VOLPE, ANTHONY: Volpe was one of the Outfit’s gangsters who eventually rose to a position of some prominence, handling the group’s gambling interests alongside Frank Pope.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It’s true that none of my books would be as good as they are without the input, advice, and critiques of various folk, but it’s especially true here. Without my wife, George, and my sister, Naomi, this novel would absolutely have turned out very different—and not nearly as worthwhile.

  Heartfelt gratitude to Laura Resnick, for providing the Italian translations I needed for the Ottatis’ dialogue. If you’ve enjoyed reading about Mick, you could do a lot worse than look into Laura’s own Esther Diamond series (DAW).