An incline of the head. “Him.”
“And do what?” asked Molly.
“Kill him.”
“I am fine. It is just a broken nose. I do not need to be in bed.”
Cody ignored him. Folded back the comforter.
“I must reach Washington.”
She stripped him out of the blood-covered coat.
“I must locate Blaise.”
She unbuttoned his shirt.
“Make up your mind,” Cody said. “Blaise or Washington.”
Tach considered. “Washington.”
“Fine. You’ll fly tonight. Dita’s already rescheduled your tickets.”
“Damn it,” he raged. “Don’t manage my life.”
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders. “Somebody has to.” She pointed at his pants. “Finish. I’ll get you some water so you can wash down these pain pills.”
It’s useless arguing with a shut door. Meekly Tach stripped off his pants and shorts and crawled beneath the sheets.
Cody returned with the glass and an ice pack. Tach obediently swallowed the pills.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Now what are you apologizing for?”
“Mind-controlling you. I know how fiercely independent you are, but I could not effectively protect—”
“I know why you did it. Let’s just drop it, okay?”
“Nonetheless, your reaction shamed me. Cody, please understand and do not reject me. My defense of you is not meant to demean you.”
“I know.”
“Perhaps it manifests as somewhat proprietary, but that is because I am still hoping—”
“Tachyon, would you just shut the fuck up.”
“But I do not want you angry—”
“You know what your problem is? You talk too goddamn much!”
Black, oily. The water looked really disgusting. And the smell …
Blaise swallowed hard. Wished his elbow didn’t hurt so bad. Out in the bay a police patrol boat droned past, spotlights sweeping across the choppy waters.
Blackhead—Blaise had discovered his name was Kent—set down the bags of groceries on the end of the pier. Molly knelt and lit a kerosene lantern.
“One if by land?” asked Blaise sarcastically.
Molly didn’t reply, for there was rippling in the dark water and a thing rose up from the water.
“Shit!”
“No, Charon.”
Kent thrust the bags of groceries through the semitransparent body wall. Blaise’s initial disgust was passing. It was just another version of Baby, Tachyon’s living spaceship. Blaise took a step toward Charon. Molly held him off with a hand to the chest.
“How bad do you want it?” asked Molly sternly.
Blaise remembered. Shrill screams. The wailing of sirens forming a frantic counterpoint. The small redheaded man pinned against the wall of the cleaners. Vomiting his blood across the hood of the big Caddy.
“Enough to do anything to get it.”
“Then ya gotta trust us. You gotta be one with us.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You can’t make us give you the power,” the blond girl said. “You can only scare us so much.”
Blaise slid his eyes toward her. “And do I scare you?”
“Yes.”
Startling in its simplicity and honesty. Blaise took another look at her. Fine-boned. A few pimples on her chin, but otherwise unflawed. Fawn’s eyes, but smoky gray with a dark circle surrounding the iris. The pale hair hung below her hips; it stirred softly in the breeze off the river.
“What do I have to do?” Blaise asked, turning back to Molly.
“Die.”
“Huh?”
“Symbolically speaking,” Kent explained.
“This is bullshit.”
“No,” said Molly. “This is real.” She lifted a long chain with shackles attached to the end. “You walk behind Charon. We’ve got the end of this.” She shook the chain. “Eventually we pull you in.”
“Eventually.” Blaise turned the word over and over in his mouth.
“You have to trust us to pull you in before it’s too late,” said the blonde.
“What’s your name?” Blaise asked abruptly.
She was surprised and replied without thinking. “Kelly.”
“Stop farting around,” interrupted Molly. “Have you got the guts for it or are you a jerk off and a coward?”
“Try saying something like that after all this bullshit is over,” warned Blaise. “And just what is the point of this bullshit?”
“You have to die to live with us,” a boy called out.
“Great,” muttered Blaise. “This is so stupid.”
“In or out, Blaisy Daisy,” crooned Molly.
Tachyon vomiting blood. Cody, eyes wide with terror and desire. Her body fiery hot beneath his. Bloody froth on her lips as his fingers sank deep into her neck.
Blaise thrust out his hands. The shackles closed around his wrists. Blaise eyed Charon. The two small eyes regarded his thoughtfully, closed in a slow blink. Blaise laughed as a white-hot surge of lust and anticipation shot through him.
This was going to be fun.
They had clipped a heavy diver’s belt about his waist, replaced his tennis shoes with lead-soled boots. Charon had slid beneath the water, Blaise plummeting like a stone behind him.
Blaise concentrated on the thousands of wriggling cilia that propelled Charon across the muddy bottom. How long could he last? How long until the last stale bits of air exploded from his aching lungs and the filthy waters of the river rushed in?
Charon’s body cast a greenish glow into the dark waters. Occasionally a fish brushed against Blaise’s body, fluttered hysterically away. His feet tangled, and Blaise fell to his knees. Almost … almost he gasped. His foot had caught in the rotting rib cage of a body. There was a jerk of the chain, the shackles biting into his wrists. Awkwardly Blaise staggered to his feet. Hurried to catch up with Charon.
There was a roaring in his ears, and his lungs were laced with fire. His eyes focused desperately on the chain. Noted how the vaguely defined bands of muscle in Charon’s body closed lovingly about the metal links. Blaise fought the urge to reach out and seize control of Molly.
No! He’d fucking die before he’d break.
And that was beginning to seem very likely. Blaise lifted his hands and pressed them against his nose and mouth. Suddenly the slack was taken up on the chain, and he was being reeled toward Charon’s glistening body. He struck and began flailing desperately at the rubbery wall. It stretched reluctantly open. Water and Blaise poured into the slimy interior.
Kelly was yanking him up out of the water, which washed sluggishly across the floor of the joker’s body. Air. Gulp it down, taste it, revel in the cool rush that filled his starved and aching lungs. Molly unlocked the shackles. They were cheering, laughing, suddenly he was captured in their embrace. A ten-headed animal with twenty arms holding and caressing him. Blaise realized he was crying and he couldn’t figure out why. But it must have been okay because several other jumpers were crying, too.
Blaise became aware of a mental barrier. It whispered of terror, death, loss, loneliness. He blocked it. The jumpers were shifting nervously. Molly soothed them with a constant soft murmur.
“Just a little more. Almost there.”
“What the fuck is that?” asked Blaise.
“Bloat,” came the terse reply.
Kent suddenly jumped to his feet. He was whispering as he shuffled toward one moist gelatinous wall. Blaise grabbed his wrist, forced him down next to him.
“Sit down! You can take it. It’s just a stupid mind power. And a pretty wimpy one at that.”
The jumpers were regarding him with awe. All except Molly. She looked pissed.
“No wonder the Prime wanted you,” breathed Kelly.
“Who’s the Prime?”
Bolt tersely replied, “You’ll find out. Someday. Maybe.”
&nbs
p; Charon gave a little lurch as if all the thousands of cilia had pushed against the muddy bed of the river. They were rising. Water cascaded off Charon’s back. They had arrived.
Once on shore, Blaise folded his arms across his chest and gazed across Ellis Island. The trees covered it like spikes on a dinosaur’s back, and above the shadowy foliage loomed massive buildings topped with turrets and fanciful cupolas. It reminded Blaise of the Takisian fairy tales Tachyon used to tell. Lost kingdoms that existed only in the clouds and mist. Elaborate palaces that lured a man to explore their treasuries and ballrooms only to fall to his death with the sunrise.
But it wasn’t a palace. It wasn’t even livable. At least Blaise didn’t think so. They had led him through the darkness to the main immigration center, and now they stood in one of the side rooms. There were a couple of cots, and twenty or thirty sleeping bags. Some were rolled like somnolent caterpillars against the walls, others were spread out on the stained and buckled tile floor. Candy wrappers, crumpled snack-chip sacks, empty Vienna sausage cans littered the room and formed junk drifts in the corners.
Gray-green paint peeled like a bad sunburn from the wooden walls. High overhead, filthy windows barely indicated the presence of a waxing moon. Some were broken, the shattered glass like jagged fangs embedded in petrified jaws.
“Pick a place,” said Molly with a broad, gracious sweep of the arm.
“Do I get a sleeping bag?” asked Blaise.
“You can share mine,” offered Kelly as she sidled up next to him. “Until we can get one for you,” she hastened to add, wilting a bit under his cold stare.
“Better rest, Blaisy Daisy,” said Molly. “You’re gonna need it.”
Blaise pivoted slowly to face her. “Don’t … ever … call me that … again.”
Arms militantly akimbo, Molly sneered in a singsong tone, “Or what?”
“I’ll kill you.”
The matter-of-fact tone left the girl gaping. She suddenly recalled herself. The watching jumpers, eyes bright like a hunting rat pack, eagerly waiting for the fight. Molly tossed her head and laughed.
“You can try, Blai—” The word cut off and she whirled and exited.
“She’s a quick learner. I like that in a slit.”
The boys laughed. The girls shifted uncomfortably and exchanged glances.
Yes, Blaise decided. This was fun.
The lights made interesting effects on her face. At times it seemed as still as a white marble effigy. At others it was soft and vulnerable.
Tach hugged his briefcase to his chest. Winced as a bus released its air brakes with a sound like a dying pig.
“This was not necessary. Riggs could have driven me.”
“I wanted to,” said Cody.
She drove as smoothly as she did everything else. No wasted movement, hands lightly gripping the wheel, the tiniest wrist movements as she wove through the beltway traffic.
“I wanted to make sure you got on that plane,” she continued, and Tach forced himself back from a rapt contemplation of her hands.
“I’m not going to collapse from a broken nose.”
“It’s not your health that concerns me.”
“Thank you.” A little ironic and she caught it. She cocked her head to get a better look at him out of her one eye. “Should you be driving?” Tachyon suddenly asked.
“Little late to worry now. And as for the plane. I was afraid you’d take it into your head to go looking for Blaise, and frankly, funding the clinic is a hell of a lot more important.”
“You can be very cold.”
“No, I just know when to cut my losses.”
The cars up ahead suddenly braked and the red flare of their taillights punctuated and underscored Tach’s sharp reply. “I don’t think he’s a loss!”
“Then you’re a delusional fool.”
Tachyon dropped his head briefly into his hand. “All right, I don’t want to think that.”
Cody spun the wheel and they shot up the ramp and under a sign marked DEPARTING PASSENGERS.
“Better. God damn it, Tachyon, in maybe twenty or thirty years I’ll have you past the guilt, out of the wallow of self-pity, and you’ll have figured out when to shut up.”
“Thank heaven I’m a big enough man to listen to this catalog of my flaws.”
Cody’s eye raked his diminutive form. “Well, your ego is big enough to handle it.”
“I’m also highly encouraged.”
“By what?”
“That you are willing to devote your life to the reclamation of my mind, body, and spirit.”
The seat belt nearly cut Tach in half as Cody slammed on the brakes in front of the terminal.
“I don’t think my original statement went quite that far.”
“It was implicit.”
Tach closed the prosthetic hand around the handle and pushed open the door. Cody moved to the trunk and pulled out his two big suitcases.
“How long are you going to be gone?” she asked.
“Three days.”
“You’ve got enough here for a round-the-world cruise.”
“But, my dear, one must dress.”
He was smiling bravely up at her, but inside he suddenly felt like he was filled with broken glass. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he muttered a curse.
Cody laid her hands on his shoulders. “What is it? You look stricken.”
“I don’t know. Nothing.” Tach shook his head. “I am suddenly just so very, very unhappy.”
For a long moment she looked at him, then bending down, she placed a soft feather-light kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tachyon stared at her in amazement.
“Smile for me, kid,” she said, a crooked smile curving her own lips.
Tachyon burst out, “Cody, come with me to Washington.”
“What? You’re crazy. I’ve got no ticket, I don’t have any luggage, what about my kid—” She paused for breath. “And who’s going to run the clinic?”
People were shouldering past them as the couple blocked the automatic doors into the terminal.
“Please, I am frightened for you.”
“I’ll holler if I need you.”
“It will be too far to come.”
“You’re hysterical. It’s the pain pills talking.”
“Cody, he means to harm us.”
“Do you or don’t you want me to call the police and have them search for Blaise?”
“No.” Tach stared seriously up at her. “For if he’s found, I shall surely have to kill him.”
When you’re stark naked and dressed only in a scarlet robe that had obviously been ripped off from some local Episcopalian church choir, you can feel like a real dork.
Add to that the fact that nerves were giving Blaise the most amazing hard-on it had ever been his pleasure to experience. Or maybe he just got off on big black candles and a droning tape of Tibetan monastery chants, he thought ironically as Molly led him into the dark, echoing room.
Molly glanced down at his penis thrusting aggressively from between the folds of his gown, and grinned. “You’re gonna do just fine,” she muttered as if to herself, but intending for Blaise to hear.
He didn’t respond. This and anything that followed could be endured. The ultimate prize was too great to blow it with a fit of temper now.
Jumpers lined the walls. Blaise did a quick head count. Forty-two. But many of those weren’t jumpers. You couldn’t jump until you’d been initiated. Most, like Kelly, were still waiting. Blaise noted that two-thirds were boys. Why? Did it—whatever it was—affect males more strongly than females? How did one make a jumper?
A lurid green pentagram had been painted on the stained tile floor. On the walls were painted other occult symbols. The swastika, a leering goat’s head, 666. The enormous room was lit by a score of black candles, but they did little more than chase the shadows into the corners of the roof where they hung like brooding bats.
In the center of the pentagram was a low table. It was an odd
height if it was meant to serve as an altar. And the three red satin pillows tossed on its polished black surface really ruined any hope of suggesting blood sacrifices.
Molly closed her fingers around Blaise’s left wrist and led him three times around the pentagram. At the eastern point they stepped into the figure, and the jumpers let out a weird, undulating cry. Blaise had to bite back a laugh.
Then from the darkness a man’s voice asked, “Who comes to be made?”
“Only one, Prime,” called Molly.
“Is he worthy?”
“He is brave. He is trustful.”
“Will he serve?”
Molly nudged Blaise.
“I’ll serve,” the boy replied. Apparently it was the right answer.
Molly signaled and Kent hurried forward to pull off the choir robe. They were all staring at him. Kelly especially. Blaise ran a hand across his chest. Noticed that he was starting to grow hair. He had become a man. He could pinpoint the moment. He had gone into that morgue a child. Emerged a man.
“Lie down on the table,” whispered Molly. “With your stomach on the pillows.”
For a moment he bridled at the undignified position—his bare ass thrust aggressively skyward.
Patience. Patience.
Tachyon vomiting his life out across the hood of his limo. No, even better across Cody’s lap.
Paper-dry hands cupped his rump, and Blaise almost lost it.
Didn’t take a genius to figure out what was coming.
Parted his buttocks.
Oh, I’m gonna get you for this, Grandpa!
Tearing pain as the man thrust deep within him.
A lifetime later and it was over. Blaise rose stiffly from the table. There was blood on his ass and legs.
The man gestured a broad sweeping motion that set the hanging sleeve of his gown to swaying. “Reach out. Seize one of them. Trade with them. For you it should be child’s play.”
Yeah, snarled Blaise internally, and he reached out for the man.
Nothing happened. Behind the mask the man’s eyes glittered. The mouth twisted stiffly into a smile.
“You beautiful bastard,” the Prime said. “You would try to fuck with me. Forget it, I can’t be jumped.”
“Can you be killed?” Blaise asked sweetly. From behind him he heard Molly gasp.
Wild Cards VIII: One-Eyed Jacks Page 38