Serpent's Sacrifice

by Trish Heinrich

  “And this time?” Alice asked, her small hands clenching into fists.

  “He’s out on bail,” Garrick said.

  “How did he get bail with a murder charge?” Marco asked.

  “How do you think?” Uncle Logan said. “The syndicate has influence in the justice system.”

  “Not much of a surprise, I’m afraid,” Garrick said, draining his glass. “The last District Attorney resigned under suspicious circumstances and the election of Jamison was...unconventional.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Alice said.

  “You were studying for finals,” Uncle Logan said. “There was a solid candidate, Joe Walsh. He’d worked his way up through small firms, a bulldog, but a fair one.”

  “What happened?” Marco asked.

  “He went missing right before the election,” Garrick said, the frustration in his voice coming out in a growl. “It affected the faith of the voters, and Peter Jamison was elected.”

  “I don’t know much about Jamison,” Alice admitted, with no small amount of embarrassment.

  “You’re not the only one,” Uncle Logan said. “He’s a mystery, though a rich one.”

  “And Walsh?” Marco asked, placing a sandwich in front of Alice.

  “Was found two weeks after the election, in his summer cabin. No memory of how he got there or why he stayed for so long.”

  “You’re thinking then, that because this man is out on bail that it means the syndicate killed Aunt Diana?” Alice asked.

  Garrick nodded, his bald head shining in the kitchen light.

  “But, with their history of protecting this guy, and now Jamison as District Attorney, I don’t know how to make any of it stick,” he looked at Uncle Logan. “I’m wondering if your informant might be able to help us out?”

  Uncle Logan scrubbed a hand through his bushy hair.

  “My source is drying up. He’s given us one more lead that I think it may lead us to someone high up in the Syndicate, but I’m not sure.”

  “Can we get our mutual friends to investigate?” Garrick asked, nodding toward Marco.

  Alice stared at him. “You know that he’s—”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a detective if I didn’t, now would I?”

  “I’m working on it,” Uncle Logan said.

  Garrick leaned forward in his chair. “Logan, I know you don’t want to hear this, but this could be just the beginning, if you don’t lay off this story.”

  “I’m not quitting!”

  “Don’t be a—”

  “No! If they wanted me off the story, they went about it the wrong way! I’m getting the bastards, all of them! And to hell with the consequences.”

  “What about her?” Garrick asked, nodding at Alice.

  “Alice can take care of herself,” Uncle Logan said, though Alice could hear a measure of hesitation in his voice. “Besides, the sooner they’re out of the way, the safer everyone in this city will be.”

  Garrick stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over.

  “Fine. You’re gonna be stubborn—”

  “I am.”

  “Just hope I don’t have to fish your body out of the Sound, Logan. Let me know when the freaks go to work, so I can keep the cops out of their way.”

  “He just called you...” Alice said, once Garrick had left.

  Marco shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich.

  “We’re not exactly normal.”

  Alice shook her head. “I don’t like it.”

  “You should know better than to take Garrick’s insults too seriously by now,” Uncle Logan said, sitting beside her. “He admires the vigilantes.”

  “What happened to your source?” Alice asked.

  Marco and Uncle Logan looked down at the same time. It was almost comical, except it meant they were trying to hide something from her.

  “What now?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Uncle Logan said, giving her a sad smile. “It’s not—”

  “You just told Garrick that I can take care of myself, and whether you like it or not, I’m in this, too. I’m going to help you get whoever did this, so you better start treating me like a part of the team.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Uncle Logan said.

  “Why not?”

  Marco looked at Uncle Logan, who said, “Absolutely not!”

  “She’ll find out, eventually.”

  “That’s your reason for everything lately.”

  “How about the fact that she’s not a kid anymore,” Marco said, his voice edgy.

  “This isn’t about that.”

  “Enough!” Alice said. “Just tell me.”

  Uncle Logan turned away, his frown deepening, but Marco took a deep breath, his long face sad.

  “Our source has been your father.”

  Shock forced her to laugh, a high-pitched giggle that made Marco and Uncle Logan exchange worried glances. It wasn’t long before she felt her heart hammering in her chest and her breathing became difficult.

  “He’s...He’s alive,” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Uncle Logan said. “He was high enough up in the syndicate to have valuable information. He’s been feeding me information for almost a year now.”

  Alice put her face in her hands as the world began to spin around her.

  “And he stopped...talking?”

  “Yes,” Uncle Logan said.

  “Why?” she asked, taking deep, even breaths.

  Silence. Alice wanted to look up, but she didn’t trust herself not to get dizzy again.

  “Answer, please.”

  “He’s refusing to talk to Logan anymore,” Marco said, his voice thick with what he wasn’t saying.

  Alice laughed again, but this time it was filled with disgust.

  “Because he wants to see me.”

  “Yes,” Marco said.

  A moment ago, she would’ve walked into Hell itself to get the men responsible for Aunt Diana’s death, but facing the Devil wasn’t something she had considered.

  Tears fell hot and angry down her flushed cheeks.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “You don’t have to see him,” Uncle Logan said. “We have one last lead, and that might be enough.”

  “If it isn’t?”

  “Then, we can find another way,” Marco said.

  She looked up slowly, wiping her eyes.

  “Have either of you had any luck getting information any other way?”

  They looked away from her and she laughed bitterly.

  “He’s got us over a barrel.”

  Marco took her hand and held it, his thumb running over her knuckles.

  “You don’t have to make a decision now. Let’s concentrate on this lead and see what happens.”

  “But not until after the funeral,” Uncle Logan said. “Give them the impression they’ve beaten us. Maybe make them careless.”

  The front door slammed and Alice could hear Lionel’s heavy tread down the hallway. Coming into the room, he took one look at her and the grim faces of Marco and Uncle Logan, and asked, “What happened now?”

  “Your source,” Alice said, unable to keep the contempt from her voice. “My...father.”

  Lionel frowned and looked between Marco and Uncle Logan.

  “Who told her?”

  Uncle Logan held up his hand. “Too late for that, Lionel.”

  “Where’ve you been?” Alice asked, anxious to change the subject.

  Lionel’s face changed in a moment, a devastating grin appearing on his full lips, blue eyes sparkling.

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll find out in a week.”

  “A week? What kind of surprise takes that long?”

  “The good kind. You going to finish that?” he asked, pointing to her barely touched sandwich.

  She pushed it to him as the phone rang. From Uncle Logan’s deepening frown, she could guess who it was.

  “Mrs. Frost?” she asked, after he hung up.

  “That woman,”
he said. “It’s not enough she insisted on having the wake at her mansion. Now, she’s taken over the damn guest list.”

  “I didn’t think she and Aunt Diana were that close.”

  Uncle Logan paused. “There’s a lot you didn’t know about Diana. But...” he held up his hand when she started to ask. “Now’s not the time.”

  Normally, Alice would’ve pushed, but there had been enough surprises today.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Frost mansion was one of the oldest and largest homes in all of Jet City. Resting on one of the city’s two hills, it overlooked the downtown corridor to the south and the docks and water to the west.

  The view from the front deck where Alice stood, showed the grand scope of Jet City, with its towering buildings, never-ending lines of traffic, and sluggish ships moving in and out of the small harbor. On a clear day, Alice knew that the mountains to the south would be clearly visible, their ever-white caps standing in stark contrast against the rich blue sky. However, today the sky was shrouded in stale gray clouds that ever-threatened rain, but didn’t seem inclined to deliver.

  A gentle breeze played with the leaves of the plants and flowers in the huge pots placed at even intervals along the railing of the deck. Alice touched a bright orange blossom and let the delicate petals fall through her fingers. She could see the beginning of the end on the other blooms, as if they were just barely hanging on before the first frosts would drive them into hibernation.

  Green and white striped deck chairs and white tables were scattered among the foliage. Abandoned drinks sat on a few of the tables, along with small plates of half eaten food.

  Behind Alice, a string quartet played softly and waiters in black jackets circulated with food and drinks on shining silver trays. Socialites made uncomfortable small talk with select members of the middle class. There were few guests that Alice recognized, and of those, most gave her empty condolences and sidelong glances. She knew everyone wondered if she’d take over Aunt Diana’s business and philanthropic endeavors, and most of them hoped the answer was ‘no’.

  The question had been circulating in Alice’s head all week, and though she knew her aunt had believed she could do it, Alice wasn’t sure she was the right person for the job. All her thoughts were occupied with getting the man who’d ordered her aunt’s death, not on how to fund a new roof for the children’s home or an expansion for Jet City’s paltry homeless shelter.

  “Maybe after I get the bastards...” she whispered.

  But, was there going to be an after?

  In the back of her mind, Alice wondered if there was more to it than just bringing her aunt’s killers to justice. Wasn’t what Lionel and Marco did against criminals what she had dreamed of since that night in her bedroom in Park Side?

  Could I be a hero?

  The thought thrilled her and made her guilty all at once.

  Taking a generous gulp of the club soda in her hand, Alice heard shuffling steps behind her and hoped it wasn’t another of those fake debutantes.

  “I see you’ve found a refuge from the hypocrisy,” Gerald said, coming to stand next to her.

  “For the moment,” Alice said, smiling at him.

  Dark circles made his brown eyes look sunken, as if he hadn’t slept in years. He slowly raised his hand to light the cigarette between his lips, and then blew out a pungent white cloud of smoke.

  “Rose here?” Alice asked.

  Gerald nodded. “Surprised she came. You know how she feels about funerals and such. But she said Mrs. Frost needed her.”

  “I think that woman could get snow to stay cold in the summer.”

  Gerald snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Though, she couldn’t get you to let Rose go to college.”

  Alice studied Gerald out of the corner of her eye, hoping she’d taken him by surprise.

  He took a slow drag from his cigarette, eyes on the horizon. Most would only see a stoic man in a shabby suit, thrice-repaired dress shoes, newly shined, but years of training with Gerald had taught Alice to see the tiny clues he gave. His right eye squinted against the dull sunshine a little more than the other, his mouth was just a tad tighter on his cigarette.

  “Nope,” he finally said.

  “She’s brilliant.”

  Gerald nodded.

  “Could be a pioneer in her field. Maybe even pave the way for other women and Negroes.”

  Gerald nodded again.

  Alice sighed. He wasn’t going to give up anything about it. So, perhaps, she should try a different tack?

  “I’ve been thinking about that night, in the morgue, with my uncle.”

  There was the barest hint of a sigh as Gerald exhaled more smoke. “I expect there’s a lot of things you’ve been thinking about from that night, besides your aunt.”

  “Oh, yes. Things that have turned a lot of my world upside down.”

  Gerald stubbed out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe.

  “Be careful what you do with that knowledge, Alice.”

  She looked at him fully now. The tense muscles in his shoulders, the fact that he’d just lit another cigarette, when she’d never seen Gerald smoke more than one in an hour. The way he had always dodged any questions about his past. How he never wanted Rose to stand out in school, and now didn’t want her going to college. His reputation among Park Side residence for being a miracle worker of sorts.

  And, finally, what her Uncle had begged him to do that night.

  It all fell into place and Alice gaped at him.

  “You’re one, too, aren’t you? And you’re afraid that Rose might be, and you don’t want her to be found out.”

  Gerald took a drag off the new cigarette and exhaled.

  “It’s not exactly that simple. One day, maybe, I’ll tell you about it, but let’s just say that if the wrong people ever found out about Rose, she’d be in danger.”

  Alice swallowed the questions she wanted to ask. She would never want anything to happen to Rose. If it meant never knowing the real story, then Alice would live with that.

  “What about you then?” she said.

  “What about me?” he looked at her, a playful glint in his eyes.

  He wants me to figure it out. Okay then.

  Alice took a deep breath, a part of her was unnerved that she was having a conversation about super powers with someone she’d known most of her life.

  “You heal people, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Very good.”

  “When did you discover this about yourself?”

  Gerald took another drag of his cigarette.

  “I’m not like...you know who. I didn’t wake up with this.”

  “Was it an accident or did someone do something to you?”

  Gerald took a long time thinking and finishing his cigarette. So long that Alice thought he was choosing not to answer the question. She wondered if she’d over-stepped some boundary.

  But when Gerald did speak, his voice had an edge of steel to it Alice had never heard before.

  “Let’s just say that I didn’t know what I was getting into, and leave it at that.”

  Alice nodded. “Alright, sure.”

  They stood in silence for a while, a question itching inside Alice’s mind. She wanted so badly to ask it, but felt like she’d pried quite a bit already. Once her drink was done, she chewed on the inside of her cheek, shifting from foot to foot.

  Gerald chuckled. “Spit it out.”

  Alice’s head snapped up.

  “It’s easy to tell when you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “I do, but...I don’t know if you want me asking it.”

  “You want to know if I could’ve saved Diana.”

  Alice nodded.

  Gerald sighed, a deep, sad sound.

  “I don’t know. It’s a delicate thing to heal a body. Too much can be just as traumatic as the wounds a person has, more so even. Looking at Diana’s body...I don’t know.”

 
She squeezed his hand, wanting to erase the haunted look in his eyes, but what could she possibly say?

  A harsh staccato echoed on the deck as someone in heels approached. Alice forced her lips into the fake smile she’d worn all afternoon, and turned to see who was walking toward her. It was Veronica Veran, looking simply elegant, as always, in a black dress that showed off her willowy frame and long swan-like neck. A small black hat was perched on her perfect blond bouffant.

  “Miss Seymour,” she said, taking Alice’s hand. “I am more sorry than I can say.”

  For the first time that afternoon, Alice believed someone who’d said that.

  “Your aunt was such a dear woman and a good friend, she will be missed.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Veran. Have you met Dr. Allen? This is Mrs. Veran, she’s on the Improvement and Philanthropic council.”

  “Among other accomplishments as well,” Gerald said, smiling at her.

  Alice was relieved to see that Victoria did not hesitate to shake Gerald’s hand.

  “And you run the clinic in Park Side,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I will make sure Diana’s death does not derail plans for finishing the expansion of the clinic. It’s too important for Park Side.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “Well, I know you must be sick to death of all this smiling and handshaking. I just wanted to let you know that if you ever are in need of anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Veran, that’s a very kind offer.”

  Victoria dipped her head and walked with the grace of a dancer into the crowd.

  “Nice lady,” Gerald said.

  “One of the few,” Alice said, cringing as she saw Mrs. Frosts thin, sour butler coming towards her.

  “Miss Seymour?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Frost would like a word. I am to show you to her private rooms.”

  Alice sighed, wanting to tell the snooty man where to stick Mrs. Frost’s summons.

  “Good luck,” Gerald said, grinning.

  “Thanks.”

  If Alice had known how quickly the society matrons scurried away from a butler, she’d have hired one to escort her throughout the afternoon. He led her up the winding staircase, down an absurdly long hallway, and finally to a door half hidden in a dark corner. He knocked once and Alice could hear the scratchy, commanding tone from within. He opened the door and stepped aside.