The Night Dahlia

by R. S. Belcher

  “Hey kid, take a hike,” I said to Garland. The kid grinned again and shook a fist at me. Vigil put his hand on Garland’s shoulder. Caern’s charmed bracelet, now a necklace, was visible for a second beneath the Marvel’s Black Panther T-shirt Garland was wearing.

  “Come on, little lord,” Vigil said. “Let’s go find some shells for your dad and Ballard.” After they had wandered down the beach out of earshot, Joey and I took a walk among the rocks.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “He misses her,” Joey said. “He’s sleeping better, now. He talks to a therapist a few times a week.”

  “How about you?”

  Joey paused when I asked.

  “Breathing,” he said. “Thankful as hell for him. It’s hard, but it will be okay. It has to be, right? For his sake.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it has to be, for him. You’re all he’s got now.” I paused. I wanted to say it again, but Joey shook his head.

  “He’d be dead without you, so would I,” he said. “Let it go.”

  “Have you?”

  “No,” he said. “Most days I want to bash your skull in, usually when things are really bad for him. I can’t say I hate you—he thinks so much of you—you’re his hero and you didn’t have to come back for us, you didn’t have to do a damn bit of what you did at the end. You could have gone on your way, and said to hell with Garland and me, but you didn’t. That counts for something.”

  I didn’t answer. We walked a little farther. Behind us, Vigil and Garland were playing. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Joey finally asked. I nodded. “You got that look about you. Caern had it for a long time too. She just got antsy at the thought of staying put. After Garland, it passed. Where you going?”

  “Away,” I said. “I’m not really sure where. I seldom am. A guy I know in Canada with the RCMP emailed me about some wendigos wandering around Yellowknife in an old VW microbus. He asked for help. I may wander that way eventually. You guys good on money?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “He’s rich now, thanks to the money you got off Theo, set for the rest of his life.” Joey looked back toward Garland, who was showing Vigil a shell. “He’s going to miss you a lot, y’know? You remind him of her.”

  “No, he won’t,” I said. “I’ll make sure of that. I’ll be around if he needs me. Vigil, or Anna, or Dragon can reach me. He’s a hell of a kid and he’s got a bright future ahead of him.”

  “It would have been a damn sight brighter if he’d never met you,” Joey said. The waves crashed and neither of us spoke. Finally, Joey found his voice again. “I’m sorry,” he added. “It’s … it’s just hard.”

  “I understand,” I said, “and you’re right. Either of you need anything, anything, call and I’m here.”

  We walked back toward Garland and Vigil. They came up to meet us and Garland handed me a little shell. “For you!” he said proudly.

  “Thanks, man,” I said and examined the shell. “I’ll hang on to it.”

  “Me ‘n’ Vigil picked it out special for you,” he said. I looked at Burris. The knight shrugged.

  “Well, you guys got a good eye,” I said.

  “Vigil said you got to go help some other people, like you helped us. This will give you good luck ’til you’re back,” Garland said seriously. “You hang on to it and be good, Ballard. Come back soon. You promise?”

  “I promise,” I said. “What are you and Pop up to today?”

  “Library for story time,” he said, “and then we’re gonna visit Mamma at the cemetery, and then McDonald’s.”

  “Sounds like a fine day,” I said and nodded to Joey.

  “You want to come with us, Ballard?” Garland asked. I smiled and shook my head.

  “Thanks, buddy, but I got to get back.” I knelt down. “Would you say hey to your mamma for me?”

  “I will,” he said, hugging me tight. “I always do.”

  * * *

  Vigil and I were quiet on the drive back to L.A. The radio in the car was playing “Lost Cause” by Beck on some alt satellite station. Finally, Vigil spoke. “You know you could stay.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know. Why are you staying?”

  “Mostly for Garland,” he said. “He’s the heir to House Ankou now. A lot of long ears are not going to like that when he reveals himself. He’ll need training and counsel if he decides to take up that fight. I still feel … an obligation.”

  I shook my head.

  “You can take the man out of the house, but you can’t take the house out of the man … Sir Vigil.”

  “No longer,” he said. “Just a humble member of the Nightwise now.”

  “Those ass clowns are lucky to have you,” I said. “So’s the kid.”

  “He could use a powerful wizard in his corner too,” he said, carefully keeping his eyes on the highway.

  “He’ll have that, if and when he ever needs me,” I said. “So now, I’m a mighty wizard, huh? See, I knew I’d grow on you.”

  “Like mold,” Vigil said. We drove again with only the wind and music for a long time.

  “Are we … good, you and I?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You were doing what you thought was your duty. I was trying to save my skin. You fucked up, I fucked up.”

  “We fucked up,” Vigil said.

  “Sounds square to me. Just look after the kid, okay?”

  “You have my word, if that still means anything to you.”

  “Better than gold,” I said.

  We drove again for a while. Seafret’s “Oceans” filled in the silence. “Did you even consider the Maven’s offer?” Vigil asked. “She wants you back with the order. You proved yourself to her, to all of them.”

  I looked out at the countryside streaking past us. “I’m … not much at sticking around. Besides”—I glanced over to him—“they couldn’t afford me.” We laughed for what it was worth. The city grew up around us. In time it grew quiet again.

  “If … you ever…” he began and then stalled. Some things there really are no words for. We locked eyes for a moment. He nodded and I returned the nod.

  “Yeah, man,” I said, “you too.”

  * * *

  I stood at the door to Grinner’s hospital room. He was asleep in the bed, his hands still heavily bandaged and a full beard covering his face. Christine, his tiny bird of a wife, was asleep next to him in one of those shitty recliners every hospital room had. She wore a Scooby-Doo T-shirt and had earbuds in. I could hear her phone playing music lightly. Little Turing, their baby son, was in a traveling crib near the windows. The lights were off and the TV was showing an old Star Trek with Captain Kirk fighting some jack-off in a giant lizard costume. I walked in and stood at the foot of the bed. I felt lead in my stomach. I looked at the crib, at Christine. I carefully laid a manila envelope on Grinner’s lap and then walked back to the door.

  “Hey asshole,” Grinner rumbled. “’Bout fucking time you showed up. This caper have a happy ending?”

  I turned.

  “Better than my average, I have to say,” I said quietly.

  “Yeah, you wake up Turing, Christine will have your ass.” He nodded toward the envelope. “What’s that?”

  “The rest of your payment,” I said. “Bearer bonds, about twenty-five million in paper. Go out and buy yourself a new razor.”

  He picked up the envelope and I saw a little frustration that he couldn’t open it. He set it down. “Okay,” he said. “You’re paid up ’til next job.”

  “No next job,” I said. “No more. We’re quits, you and I.”

  “Bullshit, what the fuck you talking about?” he said, still trying to keep it down to keep from waking Christine or the baby.

  “Look at you,” I said. “You’re damaged fucking goods. What the fuck do you think I need with a hacker with no fucking hands? I got no more use for you.” I turned and headed out the door.

  “Hey,” he said. I stopped, turned again. “It’s not your fault. No one put a fuck
ing gun to my head to come out here, no one made me tell the guy with the gardening shears to go fuck himself. You and me, we’re solid, okay?”

  “What about them?” I said. “What if fucking Ankou had come after them to get to me? What if you were sitting next to a crib looking at stumps where your baby’s hands should be? We solid then?”

  Grinner shook his head. “You know, it’s a good thing the universe gave you all that power, because you are one dumb son of a bitch.” I frowned. “You still don’t get it, do you, asshole? You’re family. We’re family. We look out for each other, we keep each other safe best we can, and we don’t bail on one another. Shitty as this world can be, you take what you can get, y’know.” I stood there and I did feel pretty dumb.

  “Would you guys stop arguing and kiss already,” Christine whispered in her sweet, lilting voice, “before you wake up the baby and I have to fucking kill both of you.”

  “Besides,” Grinner said, picking up the envelope again, “this feels a little light.” We stood there for a second; neither us knew how to say it. Finally Grinner said, “Get the fuck out. You still owe me, hillbilly, don’t forget that.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I guess I do.” I walked over and kissed Christine on the forehead. She didn’t open her eyes, just made kissy lips at me. I walked back out the door. “Good luck jerking off,” I said. “See you around.”

  “Count on it, asshole,” Grinner said.

  * * *

  I took a cab to LAX. The radio played “Under the Bridge” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The city was beautiful at night, black glass and white light. If you didn’t look into the darkness too hard, you wouldn’t see the cracks. We drove by a porn theater, its sidewalk hustlers washed out in the buttery light of the marquee. I thought I saw Bambi for just a second, in her cheerleader costume. She blew me a kiss.

  * * *

  In the terminal I stuffed my canvas working bag in one of my storage lockers, one of my homes. No way I wanted to explain the shit in that bag to the TSA. I swapped out IDs and shut the locker. I found myself looking into the eyes of the Dragon.

  “Just going to slink back off into the night, huh?” Lauren said. Anna was with her.

  “Better than having you busting my balls about that job,” I said.

  “Do you realize how many wizards all over the world would gnaw off their own arm for the chance to join the Nightwise?” she asked.

  “Getting chosen to be the new Maven has really gone to your head,” I said. “Fine,” I sighed, “offer me the job.”

  “Okay, you want the job?” she asked. I nodded.

  “I’ll take it,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Now, I quit. That finally fucking settles that, doesn’t it?”

  “Asshole,” she said shaking her head and smiling.

  “You round up the rest of the Dugpa?” I asked.

  “Once Gida rolled over on them, it was easy to pick them up and break up their networks,” Lauren said. “She and Max Winder were both exiled off Earth yesterday. There are a few minor operators that ran, and our other branches are looking into cults in other parts of the country, but they are finally shut down in L.A. Gida was one of the greatest mages of the age; what a waste.”

  “Power doesn’t guarantee wisdom,” I said. “I’m the poster boy for that. Did she mention … a child that she had while in the cult, probably raised by another member?” Dragon gave me a cop-scan, sensing there was more to the question. She nodded warily.

  “Yeah, she did say she had a kid, but that she managed somehow to not turn her over to the cult. She refused to tell us anything more about the kid or where she was right up until she was banished.” I kept my mouth shut but I was wondering where Gida had taken our daughter and who she had left her with to raise. She’d be in her thirties now, and I’d be a stranger.

  “The Nightwise could really use you, Laytham,” Lauren said, “seriously.”

  “Darlin’, with my reputation, I’d be more of a hurt than a help,” I said. “Half the order still want me dead or banished for all the other shit I did do over the years.”

  “You summoned the Brilliant Badge,” she said. “You showed everyone you still believe in the cause, in what the order stands for. They’ll forgive in time.”

  “Or maybe I just figured out a way to hack the ritual,” I said with a smug grin. “Maybe the Brilliant Badge is no match for the ratfuckery of Laytham Ballard.”

  “You are so full of bullshit,” she said. Then I saw a little doubt cross her face. “You … are bullshitting me, right?”

  “I got a plane to somewhere to catch,” I said.

  “If you change your mind,” Lauren said, “you know how to find me.”

  “If you need me … on a consulting basis, you holler,” I said. “I’m going to miss you both.”

  “Not if you stay,” Anna said. Dragon nodded as the three of us held each other’s hands.

  “You don’t have to keep running away,” Dragon said. “You have something here…”

  “… Something real,” Anna finished. We got a few looks as we kissed each other. I could care less, there was only the three of us. It almost felt like it used to. I was the one to let go of their hands, to step away.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  “You really don’t,” Dragon said.

  “You run long enough, you forget how to stop,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “That much running is exhausting,” Anna said. “When you need to rest, you’ll come home.”

  “I will,” I said. It felt like a lie when I said it. I wanted to say the part I hadn’t said thirty years ago, the most important part, the part Joey regretted never having said one more time, the part that should always be the words on your lips, even after good-bye. I tried and they saw me struggle. Anna smiled. It was a little sad and it reminded me of how Caern had looked at me.

  “We love you too,” she said.

  * * *

  I took my first-class aisle seat. The guy in the window seat gave me a guarded smile. He looked like a corporate trainer type, someone who spent most of his week in the air or in hotels. He already had earbuds at the ready to wall himself off from the rest of the world, which was fine by me.

  We got underway and I felt myself sink deeper into my seat as the plane lifted. The trainer put on his music and entered his own little world. I envied him that. Once in the air, the flight attendant began making her rounds, getting drink orders.

  The grid of lights below, the city proper, and all the towns and cities that huddled around her would eventually give way to the deep desert, to yawning desolation. I remember coming to L.A. so long ago, passing over deserts for the first time. I thought they were beautiful. Now they just looked empty and vast.

  I was alone, again, just the way I wanted it. I had no idea where I was going when I got off this plane, no purpose, no reason, but I had been in a big goddamn hurry to get here. Running was exhausting, especially when you brought the thing you were running from with you wherever you go. At least I knew how to put it to sleep. I gestured for the attendant.

  “Scotch and soda,” I said.

  I was burning for this drink. I had been holding off for so long, so many weeks, maybe months? I had been so desperate not to fuck up again, at first to prove Gida wrong about me, then, after Caern, to minimize, to atone for the damage I create. But now there was no one to disappoint but me, no one to fuck up or damage or kill but me. I was running again, running above the night, through it, and I could feel the desolation approaching, the desert inside and out.

  The attendant was returning, and I dug in my pockets for some fake plastic to buy the booze. I fished out my wallet, and with it came Garland’s seashell. It was tiny in my palm.

  When you’ve walked the desert so long you no longer really see it, when you’ve wandered darkness with no light, no warmth, what do you do when you suddenly discover a tiny burning ember still exists in you? Do you stoke it, try again t
o make the crossing, knowing more likely than not you’ll fail, fuck up like you have again and again and again? Or do you snuff it out, put it out of its misery, and stay in the dark and the cold that’s come to be your comfort, your banner, your nation?

  The shell was small. Garland was so happy when he handed it to me, not a fucking clue about what I really am, and what hell I had damned him to, what he’d suffer because of me for the rest of his life. He saw a different me than I would ever see, would ever know. He believed in that me, like Grinner, and Anna and Dragon did, like Torri and Magdalena had. Time wears our crystalline selves—our hopes and aspirations, our dreams, and our better natures—down to sand. In time, this shell in my hand would be dust.

  The attendant returned and offered me the drink. I closed my fingers around the little shell. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it. I remembered the half-assed promise I made to that little boy, to be good. I looked at the drink in the plastic cup and licked my lips, swallowed, ached.

  “Could you … make that just a soda,” I said. The attendant looked annoyed at first but then she seemed to get it. I was betting I wasn’t the first drunk she’d ever had on a plane.

  It was a tiny shell, but it felt good in hands that had been empty for so long. I held on to it as the wasteland beckoned, far below.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It’s summer in the south and it’s hot as Hell. I wrote The Night Dahlia last summer with no AC, my fan blowing tepid air. So it was written, essentially, in a sweat lodge. I’m thankful for that discomfort. The Nightwise stories have always had a strong emotional tie to me. I think you see more of me in these books than anything else I write. Make of that what you will, good or bad. Pulling things out of you should be uncomfortable. Holding them up and then daring to bind them to words on paper, to show them to other people, is a kind of magic, a summoning of a sorts, and an exorcism.

  I like to think that it’s never too late for redemption, to salvage some tiny glittering scrap of your soul, but my time in the sweat lodge has shown me that redemption is painful, not just to yourself but to others. You hurt them in your failure and then you hurt them again in the reliving, the retelling. It’s easier to run from yourself, your mistakes, than to own them. You don’t get clean sometimes unless you scour with steel wool and there is no magical catharsis, no music rising like the dawn to tell you that you did the right thing, that the pain was worth it. You just get scars and a vague sense of uneasy change.