Dead To Me sc-1

by Anton Strout

  I nodded.

  “I’m sure Greater and Lesser Arcana would like to get their hands on some of these books,” Connor continued. “They’ll probably want to get one of their agents in here to run the store until the Enchancellors figure out exactly what to do with Tome, Sweet Tome.”

  I looked down at the pile of near lifeless users on the floor. They were our first priority. Catching Cyrus would have to wait.

  23

  As expected, the Inspectre was disturbed by our find at Tome, Sweet Tome, but both he and Director Wesker seemed quite pleased to add the Black Stacks to their list of departmental acquisitions. Representatives from every division showed up, especially a large contingent of archivists from the Gauntlet. I spied one of their rank-and-file members, Godfrey Candella, grinning from ear to ear, despite the abominations that had happened there. He and several other agents chased a few eager-to-escape books around, scooping them into fishing nets.

  At that point, there wasn’t much for me to do. Using my psychic ability over and over to track Cyrus had exhausted me, and I no longer felt of any use. I’d offered to try to use my power on one of the clay pots once it came back, but Connor’s face had gone white. “I would not recommend that, kid,” he said, stricken. “You might not come back.” Since there was no update from Shadower on Cyrus’s whereabouts and I had little expertise in dealing with a roomful of ectoplasmic nose-candy junkies, I quietly dismissed myself from the store and let those better equipped to do so work the scene.

  I made my way back to the Lovecraft, but stopped by my desk only long enough to grab Jane’s journal. I didn’t want to do this, but the stakes were getting higher and higher. Maybe the journal would give me some insight into the Sectarian involvement in all this. I walked out to the coffee shop after deciding to forgo the office environment entirely for the comfort of an enormous puffy chair. The steaming hiss of the espresso machine did little to relax me while I waited for a coffee. I stared at the unopened book. Its cover was gilded with astrological signs. Tension mounted thick across my shoulders.

  Hadn’t this exact sinister act, reading someone else’s journal, been the very thing Tamara had accused me of? The guilt was consuming. Was I really going to learn enough about Jane from what she might have written to help the investigation? Was I in a state of mind to deal with what I read? And why was I reading it here? Was I hiding away from the office environment as well as avoiding my apartment now?

  I knew why I brought Jane’s notebook to the office, though. If Irene suddenly reappeared in my apartment, I feared how she would react to seeing me nose deep in another woman’s personal thoughts in her newly unstable state. I told myself I was doing the heroic thing.

  I took a tentative sip of my newly arrived drink, and opened the book. I flipped through it, starting at the back and watching the blank pages slip on by until I caught the first sign of words, and I sought out her entry from last night.

  Dear Diary,

  Subject: Simon Canderous-Surveillance

  Next time, definitely no thong on a stakeout. Stakeouts require prolonged periods of squatting. Had Faisal not sent me out in such haste, I totally would have worn something more sensible…or at least something that didn’t feel like it was trying to cut me in half lengthwise!

  It is a lonely dance I do here among the secrecy of the rooftops.

  Manhattan is simply breathtaking at night, the sparkle of a million light flicking on and off across the cityscape like the fireflies back home.

  Fireflies? Did I just compare Manhattan to fireflies??? Geesh. A bit of the smalltown girl coming through, I suppose. Up here, I can see the individual lives carrying on around me. Here are all the stories of the city, tucked snugly into skyscraper-shaped containers. Through one window I can see a man playing joyfully with a child who can’t be any more than three years old. I can’t make out if it is a boy or a girl, just that the child seemed to be giggling madly as the father bounces him or her up and down…

  Incoming call vibrating away. BRB, Dear Diary!!

  Faisal AGAIN! I’m a little tired of his grumpiness. I hope that I didn’t come off sounding too eager to please. I’ve been working on my professional tone lately, aiming for what the Sectarians call “sinister amiability.” Don’t think I’ve got it down yet. Practice, practice, practice!

  He sounded agitated, especially when I told him I just got here. What can I say? I got a little lost! Up here, everything looks the same without storefronts or street numbers. Thanks to resourceful me, Dear Diary, I used the lit-up spire of the Empire State Building as a guide to get back on track. Yay me!

  I am now settled in across from Simon Canderous’s place to write to you, my Dearest Diary.

  The curtains are drawn but I can see in through the cracks here and there. It’s two stories down and only allows for a partial view into Simon’s apartment. I looked over the edge just now, and a slight bout of vertigo hit me. Ick! A sudden gust of wind and I could imagine myself going over. Bad news, Dear Diary!

  OMG! From what little I can see, Simon’s place is absolutely GORGEOUS. It looks totally swank and fabulous in an old-world way. It sure beats my tiny Chelsea place. Does the Department of Extraordinary Affairs pay their underlings well enough to live like this? Maybe I need to trade up!

  Diary, what am I to make of this Simon fellow? He was a defensive meanie the other night over the departmental dinner we had.

  I know I mustn’t rush to judgment on assessing him or this situation, even though Faisal and the Sectarians have convinced me how dangerous these D.E.A. members are. But how can someone that cute be dangerous? I can make up my own mind. I’m a City Girl now. Girl Power!

  I hope first impressions don’t mean anything. When we first met, I think I came off as a bitch, but he was the one brandishing a bat at me! Back to work…BRB, Dear Diary!

  I checked the safety on my gun just now and released it. Push aside the feelings, Janey. Don’t think. That’s not what the Sectarians pay you for. Just obedience.

  I sure hope I don’t have to shoot anyone. I’d feel bad about that. Just like I feel bad about you-my truest of friends-that I’m already going to have to edit you down for Faisal’s report. Sorry!

  Dear Diary, damn this thong! Something this invasive usually buys me a drink first!

  Be right back…

  I closed the book. I knew what happened next, of course. Director Wesker would answer for cutting her lifeline.

  This was not the journal of someone committed to evil and the dark arts. A wave of optimism washed over me. This was the journal of a smalltown girl transported to the Big City, a girl who seemed to be crushing on me. She could be turned to our side, a hot, perky version of Darth Vader.

  I felt more ashamed than ever for having read the diary, but at least I hadn’t taken off my gloves and “read” it. I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to do that-and thatmeant something. Maybe I didn’t want to know Jane on a psychometric level because…she was someone I was actually interested in, and I didn’t want to fuck things up preemptively.

  I didn’t recall my walk home from the Lovecraft Cafй that night. I was far too wrapped up in what I had read to think of much else. But why was that old nervous feeling at the pit of my stomach working its way to the top again?

  24

  When I got home, there was no sign of Irene. It seemed odd not to have her there, but I couldn’t imagine where to look. Connor hadn’t given me any ideas either. I hit the White Room to center myself and it seemed to do the trick. I thought about calling Jane at her hotel to see how she was doing, but decided against it. I could be under surveillance if Jason Charles was really out to get me. Just after midnight I had decided that my only possible course of action was sleep when my cell went off. It was Connor.

  “You awake?”

  “Does it really matter?” I muttered sleepily.

  “Good point,” Connor conceded. “Can you get out to Williamsburg?”

  “No
w?” The other night, when Connor called me to help him with that feral spirit in the alley, I had been looking for a distraction, but tonight I was exhausted.

  “Trust me, kid, you’ll wanna be here. I’ve tracked Cyrus down.”

  I sat up and started dressing immediately, sliding on jeans and a tee. “What? How?”

  “Well, interrogating those junkies was no use. They’re all still totally out of it. But you know how there have been more and more of those disoriented spirits showing up? I did a few therapy sessions with some of them. One of them knew of Cyrus, even had an address where he said Cyrus hangs out a lot. Make sure you bring your bat. He’s got a lot to account for. Plus, it’s payback for making us look like assholes in the paranormal community.”

  Connor gave me the address and I took a car service over the Williamsburg Bridge to River Street and North Sixth. River Street, aptly named for its location by the East River, had a spectacular nighttime view of the New York skyline. I stood marveling at it when I stepped out of the car until Connorpsst ed at me from the shadows nearby. I walked across the deserted stretch of Sixth and joined him. He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed to an old wooden industrial warehouse at the water’s edge.

  “You think maybe we should have brought a task force or something?” I whispered.

  Connor shook his head. “The Department already blew their budget using emergency funds just to get all those people out of Cyrus’s bookstore and take it over. Besides, I think the two of us can easily exact a little vengeance on a book nerd, even an occult one. Hope you brought your lock picks.”

  I nodded. We crossed the street in silence, headed for the building. When we got to the door, there were three locks to work my way through. My biggest concern was busting one of the thin metal slides I was using, but after ten minutes I had successfully opened all the locks. Connor gave me a silent golf clap and I felt a swell of pride. It was disgraceful how much I craved his approval at times.

  “The place has been dark for hours,” Connor whispered, “so either Cyrus goes to bed superearly or else he’s not here.”

  After I gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the low light pouring in from the city skyline, Connor and I headed up a flight of stairs set straight across from the front door. The upper floor opened up to a large loft space with floor-to-ceiling windows and the same spectacular view. The room itself was a mishmash of boxes, crates, and stands, all with one common theme-there were fish everywhere.

  “One fish, two fish, evil fish, good fish,” I said with a low whistle. Every square inch of space was occupied by fish statues or artwork relating to fish. Most of them had been carelessly thrown around, but some of the pieces were hung on the wall with care. It looked like Cyrus was either a collector or else he had been searching in vain for a while for a very specific fish…the one from Irene’s apartment, I would bet.

  I would never have guessed that there were so many potential forms of fish art out there. The most striking piece was a large silvery metallic fish that hung on display as a clear centerpiece for the room. “Ooh, shiny,” I said and headed for it. I pulled off one of my gloves to read it. Clearly something that ornate had a story to tell.

  “Simon, don’t,” Connor said, when he spied where I was heading, but it was too late. I attempted to trigger my power, but instead felt a swell of magical energy building from the fish and knocking me back. Instantly the shiny fish started glowing and arcane runes I didn’t recognize traced themselves out in fiery lines along its body, and then out along the warehouse’s floor and walls. Glowing lines began to crawl across the wall from one mounted fish to the next, until the flame patterns actually ignited the wood of the old warehouse. A building as old as this was built to burn, and already the heat was intense.

  “Everything in here’s been warded,” Connor said, looking around. “It’s a trap.”

  “Gah!” I shouted, disappointed in myself. “Can’t believe I fell for the old shiny object ploy. We deserve to be incinerated.”

  “Speak for yourself, kid,” Connor said and ran back toward the stairs. As he tried to head down them, he slammed into an invisible barrier at the top of the stairs and bounced back. “It’s impassable. I bet this place is riddled with magic meant to mess with us.”

  Smoke rapidly filled the room and I breathed in a big lungful of it. I looked to see if Connor was okay, but…inexplicably…he had turned into a zombie-skin gray, flesh hanging in messy strips from his face, dead sunken eye sockets, and a slack jaw that seemed to be hanging on his face by a thread. His clothes were in ruins also, his Bogey trench torn, tattered, and covered in blood.

  “Meant to mess with us,” I repeated. I was sincerely hoping that Connor’s sudden transformation was simply a glamour caused by the nefarious, hallucinogenic smoke.Oh God, unless he’d been bitten the other night during the zombie extermination. “You don’t say?”

  Zombie Connor tilted his head at me, his slack jaw falling off onto the floor. “You okay, kid?” it said, slowly shambling toward me. “Did you breathe in some of that smoke? You know you gotta avoid that stuff. Breathe through your shirt.”

  I nodded, but pulled my retractable bat out just in case. If I had stopped, dropped, and rolled in the first place, maybe I wouldn’t be wondering if I might have to take a bat to my mentor. But he was a zombie now. I choked the bat up like I was in the World Series.

  “You having any strange cravings?” I asked, backing away.

  “What?!” the zombie said, shuffling closer. “Like chocolate?”

  “Or brains,” I suggested. “Or chocolate-covered brains…whatever.”

  Zombie Connor looked at the bat nervously. “Why don’t you put that down?”

  It was hard to see through the smoke, and I stumbled back as I tried to think of a plan. Nothing came to mind other than beating Zombie Connor down, but I was reluctant to do that. I stopped when I backed into the wall of windows. I glanced over my shoulder in an effort to find one of the handles, but when my hand found one, the handle bit me. Luckily it was my one gloved hand, but it still hurt. I screamed in pain and Zombie Connor rushed me.

  “Give me the bat,” the rotting corpse said, and started prying it from me.

  “No!” I shouted. “I’m too young to have my brains eaten!”

  “Just give me the bat!”

  I held on as tight as I could, but it was no use. Connor’s two hands were stronger than my single one that held the bat. He was strong for a zombie. He tore it away from me and raised it over his head to strike me. Of all the ways I had imagined my death, getting beaten by my zombified mentor while trapped by a cannibalistic window handle wasn’t one of them.

  Zombie Connor’s blow never came. He swung the bat down in a fluid arc, but he went wide and smashed through a section of the window. The tiny metal fangs I felt biting into my glove let go, and I pulled my hand away, nursing it while the zombie went to town on the rest of the window. When the one section of the frame was clear of glass, he tossed me my bat, his hand still attached to it as it flew through the air at me.

  Zombie Connor looked out the window, then back at me before his eyes melted away.

  “Hope you can swim, kid,” he said. He ran for the gaping hole in the window and leapt out. Seconds later, I heard a splash. I could burn to death up here or I could take my chances leaping into zombie-infested waters. I opted for the water when the sleeve of my coat started to smolder. I took one last look at the warehouse full of burning fish and leapt out the window, hoping I could at least use the rotting zombie as a flotation device.

  25

  Once I hit the water, whatever glamour was being caused by the traps in Cyrus’s warehouse flew away. Connor was already swimming for the shore and I was relieved to see that his flesh wasn’t rotting and his hand was still attached. I could only imagine the amount of paperwork I would have had to fill out if I’d clubbed my partner to death.

  Not finding Cyrus here meant that he was still at large, which made me increasingly nerv
ous-especially for Jane. He and whoever he was working with had trapped me so easily. I realized that I really needed to step up my game of Jane and Go Seek before he or the Sectarians found her.

  The next morning, Connor and I had the Inspectre send Greater amp; Lesser Arcana to check out the remains of the warehouse while the two of us filled out mountains of forms regarding the incident. When the investigators returned, the best they had come up with were a few burned pieces that might have been vaguely fish shaped, but could just as easily have been vaguely blob shaped, too. With no leads on that front, I snuck out of the office and headed out to deal with Jane.

  I made sure I wasn’t followed to the Upper East Side. When Jane opened the door to her hotel room, I was glad to see she had used the chain across the door as a precautionary measure. It meant she was starting to be cautious, rather than being the slightly naпve girl I had dined with at Davidson’s insistence. When Jane saw it was me, she looked relieved and let me in.

  “Why do you smell like smoke?”

  “Long story,” I said. “Let’s just get you moved again. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  We quickly packed her things and rode silently in a cab to a new hotel, far west in Chelsea, finally giving me the opportunity to slip her journal into the bottom of one of her bags as I helped her unpack. The relief of giving up that guilty burden was tangible, and despite my near death last night, and the danger of Jane’s current situation, I found that helping her was actually a small oasis of fun. Once we were done unpacking, I sat down and told her about my brush with death at the hands of Cyrus’s fire trap.

  “My God,” she said with genuine concern. The look on her face was far more sincere that I’d expected from a recently exiled cultist. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, then remembered all the fish art that had been on display at the warehouse, not to mention the stolen fish from Irene’s that we had chased all the way back to Jane’s old employers.