That was an awful lot of ifs.
Criminy glanced over his shoulder with his mouth quirked up. “You thinking about changing your mind, love?” he said. “Now’s the time. Run away with the caravan, get bludded, have an easy life with a handsome rogue?”
“There’s more than my future riding on that locket now. And easy things aren’t worth much,” I said.
He laughed. “Then the hard things had better be,” he said.
When we were almost close enough to Manchester’s wall to attract notice, Criminy ducked behind a screen of wild hedges and boulders. He set down the huge stag’s head, squatted on the grass, and beckoned to me. I joined him, careful to keep my skirts clear of the oozing trophy.
“It’ll have to be magic, love,” he said. “They’re looking for us. So you’re going to be invisible, and I’m going to be in disguise. I’m throwing a harder spell this time, one that won’t take so much of my energy to sustain. You’ll be invisible until I break the spell, but you’ll still be corporeal. You’ll have to stay right next to me so we don’t get separated, and you’ll have to be absolutely silent. And you’ll have to accept that if you get hurt, you’re on your own. Can you do it?”
“I can do anything,” I said.
He plucked a fallen hair from my shoulder and said, “That was easier than usual. Didn’t even get to make you squeal.”
He removed his glove, laid the hair over his black-scaled hand, and set it on fire with a word. As it burned, he sang things in an odd, musical language until it was ash. Then he kissed me swiftly and sprinkled the ashes over my head.
Even though it was impossible, I felt them land in my hair and melt like snowflakes. Criminy smiled as I faded from view. It was my third time being invisible, and it was just as disconcerting as ever. But this time, I couldn’t see myself, not even a little bit, not even like glass or water. I was one hundred percent not there, my clothes and Uro with me.
“Now it’s my turn,” he said. He nipped his finger and drew lines across his face with the blood, murmuring another song. It was his same blood that had brought me here, bursting from the locket and leaving pockmarks on my bathroom counter and permanent stains on my hand. And it was inside me now, too. It had to be very powerful stuff.
He bent down to put his glove back on, and when he looked up, I gasped.
He was now an elderly man with light brown skin and small tufts of white hair behind his ears. His chocolate-brown eyes grinned at me with mischief, and his quirked smile still held the same pointy teeth.
“How do you feel about older men, little pet?” he said with a raspy voice.
“You look like Antonin’s grandfather,” I said.
He laughed and rose from the ground with an exaggerated stoop. As he shouldered the stag’s head and started limping toward the city, I followed in his wake, the grasses parting for my invisible dress.
Right before we got within hailing distance of the gates, I whispered, “Stop to lace your boot, would you?”
He obeyed, dropping the stag’s head and kneeling with exaggerated stiffness to fiddle with the high laces of his boot. I knelt next to him, took his face in mine, and kissed him hard. He raised his arms to pull me closer, then remembered where we were and what we were doing. He scratched his head instead, all the while kissing me back fiercely.
“Whatever happens, I think I love you,” I whispered in his ear as I pulled away.
The features he wore weren’t his own, but the expression of relief and triumph was.
“I knew you’d come around, pet. Whatever happens, I love you, too,” he whispered back. “I always have.”
Then he rose from the ground a different man in more ways than one. He shuffled to the guard’s post, holding the stag’s head on his shoulder and fumbling in his waistcoat for the documents we’d forged that morning, before we knew Goodwill’s ultimate plan.
“Papers,” came the flat voice.
The old man put the papers in the box and waited as the guard examined them.
“Rafael Fester of Nag’s Head,” the guard barked. “State your business.”
“Good evening, sir,” the old man said, his voice a mixture of sunshine and subservience. “Heard Magistrate Goodwill collected curiosities and thought he might accept a humble token of esteem from the people of Nag’s Head. This monster devoured eight Pinky children at a picnic afore my son kilt it and died in the bargain.”
“You have papers for Viviel Fester,” the guard said. “Where is she?”
I had an invisible Oh, shit! moment. We had both forgotten about our original, two-visible-people plan—the one we’d made up before the spring showed us the truth of things.
But Criminy was clever and quick as ever. The old man’s face was pained, and he softly said, “My wife passed last year, sir. I keep her papers with mine out of habit. Lived together two hundred years, we did.” A few red tears rolled down his face.
The guard crumpled the extra set of papers and tossed them onto the ground in his booth, the bastard. No wonder everyone hated Coppers.
“Toll has gone up,” the guard barked. “Eight coppers or two vials.”
The old man set down the stag head and hunted through his pockets, gathering change. He counted out eight copper pennies and set them in the box. It flicked in, then back out with his papers.
The guard cleared his throat. “It is decreed that all Bludmen register for a badge at the House of Holofernes in Darkside upon entering the city. Bludmen without badges will be subject to inquisition and possible draining. Have you seen either of these people before?” He held up inked drawings of Criminy and me. The word WANTED slithered across the top of each image in elegant calligraphy. The drawing of Criminy was spot-on, but the one of me was more than a little imaginative.
I looked like an evil seductress, some sort of vampy witch-queen.
I liked it.
I wanted a copy for my wagon.
“Never seen the devils, sir, but never been out of Nag’s Head till this week, neither. I’ll be on the lookout, though. And how can I get to see Magistrate Goodwill, sir?”
In answer, the guard pulled his lever, and the giant door squealed open.
Scratching his head and looking up at the huge doors, Criminy was having a marvelous time acting like a country rube. He picked up the stag’s head and wandered through the door. I was close on his heels.
After the door slammed shut behind us, he whispered, “You there, pet?”
In answer, I stroked his back softly, right where I had once clawed him.
“Yeah, you’re there,” he muttered. “Try to keep up.”
Keeping up his country-mouse act, Rafael Fester goggled at the shops and the people and generally got in everyone’s way, accidentally smacking a grand Pinky dame with his bloody trophy at one point. He asked random people for directions to Darkside, then took pains to go the wrong way.
Still, I knew that he knew exactly where he was going, and I stayed as close to him as possible, trying to remember not to bump into anyone myself. I saw a filthy urchin sidling close to pick his pocket at one point and almost intervened, but Criminy spun around quickly and pegged the kid with an antler, shouting, “What, who said that?” like deaf old men everywhere. The urchin slunk back into the shadows, rubbing a lump on his forehead.
Finally, I could see one of the shadowy entrances to Darkside, although I didn’t recognize anything from our earlier venture to Antonin’s house. We were in a part of the city that I hadn’t seen before. Rafael relaxed a little among his own people and straightened his back before asking a passing chimney sweep for directions to the House of Holofernes.
“It’s two blocks up, but you don’t want to go there,” the Bludman said in a hushed whisper. “The Coppers know everything that happens in that inn, friend. What goes in your mouth and what comes out of it as well.”
“But the guard at the gate said I had to get a badge,” Rafael said, acting confused. “What happens if I don’t go there?”
“Don’t be a fool, old man,” the chimney sweep hissed. “Get a fake badge underground. Go see—”
He stepped back as a Copper rounded the corner and made a beeline for them. Picking up his bucket and brush, he said, just a little too loudly, “Glad she’s doing well, and give her my best, will you?”
The chimney sweep turned to go, but the Copper swung his billy club in a significant sort of way and said, “I don’t see your badge, Bluddy. Yorick must have been giving you directions to the House of Holofernes. How kind. I’ll take it over from here.”
The chimney sweep hurried away as the Copper pointed the billy club to steer Rafael down the darkening street. Of course, he didn’t come anywhere close to touching the dangerous Bludman, however old and frail.
“Wouldn’t want you to get lost,” the Copper said. “Something bad might happen to you.”
“I’m grateful for your help, sir,” Rafael said. It was almost believable.
I drifted in their wake, as silent as a ghost. It was twilight, with indigo clouds boiling overhead. Shadows loomed as orange gaslights hissed into life. I waited for the first fat, wet drops of smoggy rain to fall, but the sky was holding its breath.
Stores began opening their doors to Bludmen who had spent all day working as the servants of their prey, the warm light making cheerful rectangles across the shining cobblestones. Bludmen of all ages drifted into the streets, the women walking arm in arm, chatting in groups, or going through the open doors to do business. It was shocking, the difference between the relaxed Bludwomen in their showy, open gowns and the cramped, nervous Pinkies so tightly laced and tightly wound. The Copper’s constant sneer made his disgust for Darkside all too obvious, and I couldn’t help tripping him once. “Damn Bluddies need to clean up after themselves,” he muttered to no one in particular as he straightened his coat.
Finally stopping under an awning, the Copper muttered, “Have fun in there,” and stood a little away, watching. Making sure that Rafael didn’t bolt.
The sign had a stylized flame topped by the calligraphed House of Holofernes Inn. I shivered as Criminy grasped the knob. Something wasn’t right here.
Before he could open the door, I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Something smells funny around here,” Rafael said, sniffing the air. “Smells fishy.” Then he shrugged and went inside. I followed, glad that he had picked up on it, too.
“Good evening, sir,” said a deep, sonorous voice.
Behind the counter was a very tall, very thin old Bludman with a nose like an eagle’s beak. I doubted he had ever smiled in his entire life. I disliked him immediately.
“Good evening, Master Holofernes,” said Rafael. “The guard at the gate told me I had to register, so here I am. I’ve never been in the city before. Do you have a room available?”
“Sign here,” intoned the old man, and he slid a new-looking guest register across the counter. Rafael shrugged and picked up the quill, signing Rafael Fester, Nag’s Head in shaky cursive. Then he looked up expectantly.
“Papers,” said Mr. Holofernes, and Rafael handed them over. Mr. Holofernes gave the aged, worn paper a thorough investigation and even tasted a corner with the tip of his tongue before silently returning them. Then he handed Rafael a little brass badge with an ornate B on it and pointed to one on his own lapels to indicate proper placement.
After he rang a crystal bell, Mr. Holofernes glared at Rafael, and the men stood in mutual awkward silence.
Right before Rafael got bored enough to say something that might have been foolhardy, a dark-haired Bludwoman rushed down the stairs and began chattering at him like a demented parakeet, filling the odd silence. Master Holofernes disappeared.
“Well, hello there, now, sir. How do you do, sir? You’ll be wanting a room, won’t you, sir? And you’ve just missed the rain, isn’t that lucky? And what a loverly stag you’ve got there. Did you kill it yourself? That’ll fetch a pretty penny, that one, such a loverly rack on it. Now, where are your bags, sir?”
Rafael looked completely flummoxed, and I almost tittered.
“I’ve got no bags, miss, other than this little sack,” he finally said. “Didn’t plan on staying the night. Just wanted to bring this token to Master Jonah Goodwill from the good people of Nag’s Head, thank him for keeping our city safe. But the guard sent me here, so here I am.”
“Well, now, a room’ll cost you ten coppers or three vials, sir, and that’s Pinky blood, if you don’t know. And that includes a half vial at dinner, which is quite the affair. Oh, everyone in the inn gathers together in the salon at elevenses for a loverly party, sir.”
“That sounds awfully fancy,” Rafael said, digging in his waistcoat for coins. “Wasn’t expecting it to be so expensive, though. It’s my first night in a big city.”
“Oh, now, sir, if that’s too dear for you, we’ve got a half room for five coppers, but it’s just got a cot and a ewer. The regular rooms have a nice, spacious bed, city views, and running water, you know. Ever so loverly, I assure you.”
Rafael’s smile quirked in a familiar way, and he said, “That’s kind of you to mention, but I guess I’ll indulge and give myself room to spread out and enjoy it. You only live once, eh?”
They laughed together. Must have been an inside joke for Bludmen. She handed him a key and gave him directions to his room, all but ordering him to freshen up before the mandatory party.
I followed Rafael up two flights of stairs, careful to step at the same time he did, lest anyone wonder why an old man was making twice the normal amount of footsteps. He opened the door to the room and tossed the stag’s head onto the floor, where it landed with a splat. I followed him inside, and he kicked the door closed and caught me in his arms, whispering, “I can’t see you, but I can still smell you, my love.”
I tried to wriggle away, but he held tight and nuzzled until he found my face.
“There you are,” he breathed, and his lips found mine. I shifted my angle and startled when my eyes caught motion across the room. I glanced up at a floor-length oval mirror, in which an elderly man was passionately making out with the air. He pulled away as I shook with laughter and pointed at the mirror.
Oh, wait. He couldn’t see me.
“I was just watching you make love to nothing in that mirror,” I whispered. “It was quite a show.”
Rafael chuckled, then sat on the bed and started unlacing his boots.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“I’m going to freshen up, like a good little Bludman,” he said. “Right after I do something that requires freshening. I seek to commune with the naughty little ghost of Viviel Fester.”
He grinned at me, the wolfish grin. My insides melted a little.
Giving myself a moment, I moved to the window and peeped through the curtains. A heavy, greasy rain was splattering across the cobblestones, coating them like slug slime in the orange gaslights. I shut the curtains. Things were much more interesting inside.
“You can’t even see me,” I said coyly. “And we already did something freshening-worthy this afternoon. And you’re an old man. And you still have to go to a party.”
“I don’t need to see you,” he reasoned. “It’ll be dark soon, and I can still feel you and taste you. This afternoon is the ancient past. And we’re both going to that party, because I need you to get information.”
“Even if all that’s true, you’re still assuming I want to get unfreshened with a silly old man,” I countered.
“In the dark, you won’t know the difference,” he said.
“Maybe you’ll have old-man breath.”
“Maybe not,” he said in his regular voice, low and husky.
He stepped out of his boots and stood, shrugging out of his coat. He was looking right at me, even though he couldn’t see me. He walked to me and brought his arms in until they were right on my shoulders. Then he breathed on me, and I inhaled that wonderful scent of his and sighed.
“Maybe not,” I
echoed.
“Besides,” he said, tracing down my shoulder to my hand and leading me to the bed, “I don’t think you’ve made your decision about the locket yet. This could be my last night with you. One of us could die tomorrow. Or you might leave me forever. I want every bit of happiness I can get.” He tried to keep his tone playful and light, but I could hear a farewell in his words, and I couldn’t have turned him down if I had wanted to.
The curtains were already closed. He switched off the lights. We were both invisible in the darkness. It was Criminy’s face I felt, his soft, smooth hair running through my fingers. I traced his eyebrows and cheekbones, sharp features I would have recognized anywhere.
“I just don’t know,” I whispered.
“I don’t want to know, either, not tonight,” he answered, and then our lips met and our bodies melded together, neither of us what we seemed.
Our first time together had been exploratory and playful. Our time in the woods had been fierce and raw. But this time, we were slow and pensive, every touch and kiss filled with longing and a strange, vulnerable finality. We took our time.
It was fun, being invisible.
31
Afterward, we turned on a light, and I watched him stretch, fascinated by his darker, sagging skin.
“Is that what you’ll look like one day?” I asked. “Or will you ever get old?”
“It’ll be a long time until I’m old by your standards, love. You were right—this is what Antonin’s grandfather looked like. It’s just a simple glamour,” he said, his hand moving right through the curly white hair. “Only works on the eyes. I’ll have to dab on some cologne before we go down there, in case I see anyone I know. The other Bludmen will think I’m a simple country rube with no taste.”
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