Ink and Shadows

by Rhys Ford

  Ari’s face blurred back into a familiar bad focus, a wavering blond curtain filled with a tan balloon. His vision watering his surroundings, Mal snorted, delirious under the pain’s influence. Min said something to him, the words barely out of her mouth when the loud sound of the bullet hitting something hard pinged in Mal’s left ear. Ari slid his hand free of the gash in Mal’s chest, his fingers covered in blood. Although still out of focus, Ari’s smile was clear to the youngest, Ari’s face pressing in tight.

  “She’s got it, brat.” Ari’s contagious jubilance nearly deafened Mal, his eardrum ringing. “There you go.”

  Min patted Mal’s stomach, a hard blow on his abdomen, her hearty slap nearly rocking the air from his body. “How do you feel, Mal?”

  “Like shit.” Mal groaned, his chest aching. “But much better. Thanks.”

  “Not a problem, Pest.” Ari patted Mal’s shoulders with both hands. “Just remember, I could have had your heart in my hand, and I left it right there.”

  “You know something.” Mal coughed, his body closing the incision swiftly. The excruciating pain of his nerves stitching together brought the ache back to his teeth. “The next time you tell me that something isn’t going to hurt me, it might take me a few centuries to do it, but I am going to kick your ass.”

  “You keep thinking that, Cooties.” Ari laughed. “Finish patching him up, Kay. I’m going to tell Death our Pestilence is okay.”

  DEATH LISTENED to the still world around him. The morning was far from breaking, and the sounds of traffic had slowed down from the main street. The aroma of cooking oil and heavy spices from the restaurant they sat behind prodded a rumble from Kismet’s empty belly. The boy’s lean frame worried Death. Seeing the immortal look his way, Kismet gave Death an unapologetic shrug when his stomach growled again.

  Except for a brief bout of Min’s swearing, they’d heard nothing from the shop for a few minutes.

  Death knew if Mal had taken a turn for the worse, Ari would have insisted he join them, defying the woman’s demand that Death remain outside. The eldest Horseman wouldn’t abandon Mal in his pain. Only the promise of much-needed help kept him out, a vow he would easily break to be at Mal’s side.

  “Is what happened to me normal?” Glancing at the man’s emotionless face, Kismet broke their silence, chewing on his lower lip. “How often does this stuff happen?”

  Death had almost forgotten about the boy sitting next to him, a stone-quiet sentinel. The ground around them was thick with shadows, wraiths drawn in by Kismet’s apparent newness to the Veil. To the larger slithering creatures, the boy would appear to be a weak, tasty meal, an easy piece of pretty meat they could chew off in small bits. Death’s steady strength had kept them a few feet away, but with his focus on the shop, the wraiths crawled in tight.

  As the Horseman watched, a stray pseudopod sometimes craned into the clearing, hoping to snag the tiniest shred of Kismet’s blood or flesh. Pushing against the Veil, Death forced the shadows back. Unwilling to attach itself to a greater predator, the wraith pulled in, slinking back into the darkness.

  Sighing, Death resigned himself to handling Kismet like the Courts guarded their young, keeping the children safe until they grew strong enough to peel back the outer layer of the Veil themselves.

  “No,” Death replied, wondering if the boy realized he’d been stalked by the minute shadows. “Do you have any idea?”

  “Not really,” Kismet said. “It wasn’t like there was a cake sitting on the table saying Eat Me.”

  “You know Alice in Wonderland but not the Bible?” Death contemplated the gaps in Kismet’s knowledge. “Society has changed. There was a time when people only knew religious texts. It’s funny how things turn over.”

  “Alice in Wonderland was much more interesting.” The young man shrugged. “Try reading the Bible stoned. All you do is fall asleep, then dream about snakes and animals marching onto a boat. And remember, public schools. No mixing God and school.”

  “You never went to church?”

  Kismet’s laugher bounced against the walls around them. “Dude, church is where you go to find soup, not God.”

  “Well, I’m guessing someone did this to you. I don’t think this is something that you did to yourself,” Death surmised. “Mortals don’t become Veiled. Even people who dabble in the Veil don’t ever fully cross over. They’re anchored to the world they’re born into. It’s troubling, but we’ll have to learn how to deal with it.”

  “Shit, I can’t even deal with living in the world I knew,” Kismet scoffed. “How the hell am I supposed to live between it?”

  “I don’t know,” the Horseman admitted. “I’ve looked for a calling in you. There’s nothing there….”

  “I don’t know what that is. A calling, I mean.” Kismet shrugged. “Is that what Mal was talking about when he said you got pulled into doing things? Or is my mind just cracked?”

  Death leaned back, resting his hands on the curb. The cement was cold on his bare skin, the graveled grit harsh against his hands. A short, ironic laugh broke through his contemplation. He’d never had to explain who he was before. He was Death. His calling always came with a shudder of fear from other immortals, and any human who could see beyond the Veil fled long before he could approach.

  “No, your mind isn’t playing tricks on you. Something happened to bring your body over to where your mind could see,” Death replied. “There are humans who can naturally see past the Veil and into the shadows. A lot of times, these people are insane, or at least right on the very lip of sanity. Some of them are what we call Seers, people who can manipulate the shadows around them or see the creatures who live behind the Veil.”

  “Like ghosts?” Kismet turned his head, pulling his knees up. “I keep seeing ghosts. Well, I call them ghosts. People that I never knew, but then, well, Chase.”

  “The little boy that follows you? Is that Chase?” Death grunted at Kismet’s astonished nod. “I’ve seen him behind you. Don’t look so surprised.

  “Ghosts are souls that are trapped inside of the Veil. It’s like a curtain that we can peel back so we can be seen, but it’s usually always there,” Death said. “When the dead resist leaving, they can get tangled in between the real world and the Veil, trapping themselves here.”

  “Does he know he’s dead? Chase, I mean.”

  “A lot of the time, they don’t know they are dead, or they walk over a familiar path over and over, just reliving that echo of their lives. Or sometimes, a soul attaches to a single person,” Death continued. “I’m gathering he’s attached to you. Does he follow you where you go?”

  “He’s my brother. Was my brother.” Kismet swallowed.

  He could still taste the juice their mother made that night, ordering them to drink it all. It had been cloying, a familiar heavy taste that always meant she would have company that evening. He’d refused to drain the glass, letting his younger brother drink the remainder of the too sweet concoction.

  “My mother… I was six or seven… and she liked to have men over but didn’t want us to be awake for it. I think she used to give us something to make us sleep, but one night, Chase didn’t wake up. And then, all that was left of him was that shadow.”

  Kismet’s heart clenched. He could still smell the sour odor of his brother’s cold form lying on the bed’s blood-soaked covers. Coughing, he’d turned over onto his stomach, crying from the pain and shaking Chase awake. His brother’s eyes were open, a dull staring blue rolling around scarlet-yellowed whites. When he slept, Kismet dreamed the spider webbing of red vessels along Chase’s eyes, the mattress soaked through with bodily fluids.

  “Ah, classic tragedy of infanticide.” The immortal caught the odd look Kismet gave him. “What is it?”

  “Most people, when they hear about something sad, say I’m sorry or something.” He smirked.

  “I’m not people.”

  “True.” Kismet said. “It’s kind of ironic I’m sitting here talking about shit
that bothers me with Death. So my brother’s a ghost?”

  “Yes.” Death wondered how long it would take the other three to come out. “And yes again, it’s ironic.”

  He’d never been good at talking to humans. He usually left such things to Ari. The boy’s questions took his mind off Mal’s pain, but Death’s mind whispered hot thoughts. He should have protected their youngest member more or given him better skills to defend himself. If Mal survived this, Death promised himself to take better care of Mal.

  “Is he ever going to go away?” the young man asked. With Chase gone, Kismet could stand the other shadows that reached out for him. His guilt at wishing his brother would leave closed up Kismet’s throat, tightening it with unshed tears and unspoken emotion. “Chase. Not Mal.”

  “No. Maybe not.” Continuing gently, Death tried to break the artist’s heart carefully. “He has to find his own way out.”

  “Is that what’s going to happen to Mal if he dies?” Kismet’s eyes watered at the thought of the amiable blond Mal becoming a shadow.

  He’d tried not to get attached to anyone. Friends were fine to have, but they faded off, mostly without saying good-bye before they drifted away. Relationships were dangerous, an opening up to someone who could reach in and shred his heart with careless abandon. That was a lesson Kismet didn’t want to relearn at this point in his life. Kismet’s mind whispered that with Mal, it would be different. The Horseman was as lonely as he was, maybe more so, but the artist’s heart shrank back in terror, erecting hard barriers before hope could lodge into the chinks.

  “No,” Death said. “When an immortal dies, we simply aren’t here anymore. Our bodies and our souls rejoin the Universe. No one really knows. I can’t even tell you where any souls go. All of that is beyond our knowledge. We have a calling to attend to here, but anything past the death, we can’t see.”

  “So you help everyone die, then?” Kismet rubbed at his forehead, lack of food and the ebbing of heroin in his system giving him a headache. “Wouldn’t that make you like Santa Claus? Everywhere at once?”

  “I don’t have to be there. Just by being, I’m helping people die,” Death said. The boy’s presence was a comfort, a shared worry over Mal. “I’m sure a lot of people don’t see it that way, but it is an assistance.

  “Natural or human disasters kill thousands in a few moments. The souls of violent deaths usually don’t know they’re dead and remain here.” The Horseman contemplated what he did for a brief moment.

  “I have to be at those mass deaths to get them to cross over before they become too entangled in the Veil and are trapped here on this side of it,” Death explained. “If there are too many in one spot, then the Veil breaks, and well, you’ve seen what happens when the Veil breaks. It’s easier for wraiths to cross. It becomes very dangerous for humans then.”

  “Sounds like a shitty job.” His stomach growled again. Kismet couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Worrying over Mal killed his appetite, but the word hadn’t yet gotten to his innards.

  “It’s the shittiest job we have,” Ari said, stepping clear of the doorway.

  Death stood, advancing on the Horseman. Ari caught at his friend’s waist, hugging the lanky man tightly against his body. Death returned the embrace before pulling away, unspoken questions on his tongue.

  “It’s okay. He’ll be fine. Kay’s just letting him heal up a bit and forcing some tea down his throat.”

  “I want to see him,” Death said.

  “Me too.” Kismet started to rise, shoved back down to the cement by Ari’s hand on his shoulder.

  “You stay there, kid. He’ll be out soon, Shi.” Ari glanced down at the shivering young man at his feet. “She’s bathing Mal down with some smelly potions and soap to help with the healing or prevent him from ever being laid. I’m not sure which.

  “Min thinks she can get Mal home. I don’t want you to strain yourself any more than you have to. She’ll be able to do it going home. You know home is the easiest place for us to find.” Ari touched Death’s open mouth with his fingertips, brushing over the man’s lips to hush him. “Don’t argue, Shi. I’ll take the boy with me. I can carry him there.”

  “Kismet. My name’s Kismet,” the young man said, eyes narrowed. “Not boy. Not kid. Kismet.”

  “Yeah, gods save me from Californians who name their children stupid things,” Ari commented.

  “I’m glad Mal is okay.” Death’s relief shone through his fatigue, warming Ari’s belly. “Maybe he brought Mal luck. Luck is more contrary than you are. Who knows?”

  “Maybe I did.” The young man strained to see around the immortal’s legs. “I probably owe him more karma than he owes me.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. There’s nothing predestined. Not about you or anyone else.” Ari shook off Death’s warning hand on his chest. “Let me finish, Shi. I didn’t let Min tear him apart because you asked me to, but I’ve got to admit, she’s right about him being the reason Mal’s in the shape he is in right now.”

  “War.” Death’s soft reproach stopped Ari in midrant. “Kismet isn’t the cause of Mal’s injuries. Whoever did this to him is responsible. The boy’s just a vessel for that.”

  “I’m just saying. There’s no Fate, no Karma… none of that shit. You and I know that, Death. This kid should know it too in case he thinks that being around here is somehow predestined.” Ari hooked his hand under Kismet’s arm and yanked the boy to his feet. “There aren’t three women standing around spinning thread. Drinking coffee and cutting off lives isn’t real. You shouldn’t be here, boy. You’re a mistake. A really bad mistake that we’re stuck with.”

  Death caught at Ari’s shoulder, turning the blond Horseman toward him. “Leave off. It’s not his fault.”

  “I just want things to be clear between all of us,” Ari replied, meeting Death’s gaze. “Something like this happens again, then I’m not going to be as forgiving. We could have lost Mal because of this little piece of shit.”

  “Yeah, you were right,” Kismet said, yanking his arm free. “He is an arrogant fucker.”

  Mal gingerly made his way down the short steps, Min’s hands hovering near his waist in case he fell. Kismet approached cautiously, unsure of what to make of the young Horseman’s broad smile.

  Mal caught Kismet in a hug, crushing the artist to him.

  Squeaking with surprise, Kismet took a moment, then returned the embrace, glad to see a friendly face in the shadowy world he’d been thrust into. Min glowered at the human, Kismet ignoring her as he made over Mal’s healed wound, peering under the oversized Year of the Rat T-shirt Auntie Kay gave Mal to wear.

  “Great. Mal’s got a crush on the asshole.” Ari heaved a disgusted sigh. “That’s all we need.”

  “Mal?” Death said with a shake of his head. “You think Mal…? No.”

  “Trust me, I know that look on Mal’s face. I see it on mine all the time.” Ari crossed his arms over his chest, the day’s events sneaking up on him. With their youngest healed, he wanted to crawl into his own bed and sleep. “Let’s get home, and we can deal with this in the morning. With any luck, the kid will escape again and get hit by a ghost garbage truck. It’ll solve all of our worries.”

  “And our problems are never solved that easily,” Death reminded him, reaching out for the jubilant Mal heading toward him.

  “Can’t blame a guy for wishing,” Ari muttered at his friend’s back. He allowed himself to be jostled by Min’s enthusiastic pounding on his shoulder, the diminutive Horseman’s hard fists bruising the meat on his bones. Grabbing at Kismet’s arm, Ari wrestled with the boy until Mal reassured the human they would just be heading back home where it would be safe. Reluctantly, Kismet let himself be pulled along as Ari gathered what little energy he had to pull himself and the young human along the Veil.

  “I’ll see you at home, War.” Death’s face softened, the icy porcelain mask he normally wore outside of their home set aside for the moment.

  �
��You owe me, Death. Big time.” Ari grinned broadly. “Tell you what, you sleep with me when we get home, and we’ll call it even.”

  “We can share a bed, but just for sleeping, War. Thank you for keeping me company, Kismet. You helped me worry less.” Death slid into the folds of the Veil, drawing on the strength of their home to guide him along. The whisper of his parting words worked into Ari’s gut before the shadows claimed the eldest Horseman. “I’m tired, Ari. Let’s go home.”

  “You know, kid, I think I might hate your guts.” Ari glanced down at the human right before he yanked them both through the shadowy curtain. “But if you put him in that good of a mood all the time, I probably won’t kill you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE DARKFAE came along in the middle of the night, sliding out from under the cover of the Veil and onto Beckett’s stoop. They dragged the shadows with them, streamers of gray mist clinging to their broad shoulders. When Charity opened the door to let the first one in, Beckett exhaled sharply.

  Stepping into the main room, the creature loomed over him, wide bodied and menacing. He moved gracefully, unhindered by his enormous girth. Tusks sprouted on either side of his flat mouth, his jaw jutting forward to make room for the bony spikes. The hair on the darkfae’s head stuck up along his skull in tails, pulled tight from his forehead down to the base of his neck, the root of each tuft caught together with brass bands. A light blue tint marbled his face and arms, darker splotches appearing along the folds of his skin. Seeing the patterns in living flesh, the magus understood why some of the insane swore they saw gargoyles moving about a city’s streets.

  Over the years, Beckett had collected artifacts of the Veiled, but those were dead, lifeless things that he reluctantly carved into bits and slivers to use in his spells. Standing before him was a wealth of power, shade-infused flesh that would allow him to raise armies of wraiths, servants to his will. That thought died nearly as soon as it surfaced, seared from his brain when the darkfae pinned Beckett in place with his milky red gaze.