by Graeme Hurry
Charlie doesn’t bother checking for a pulse. The stench of death has filled the room.
An elevator bell outside the door dings. Charlie runs down the hall back to the bathroom mirror. The front doors smashes open. ‘Police officers!’
Charlie goes back through the mirror, into his bathroom. Two jumps too quick. He bleeds into the sink, and his vision goes spotty. He takes a step back, and the room tilts and spins like a hard hangover morning. Charlie steadies himself.
Crap, I hope they haven’t gotten her too. He rushes to the bedroom, but she’s gone. The unmade bed the only sign she’d ever been there.
*
There’s an unmarked police car across the street from Harriet’s. Doesn’t mean anything in itself, but Charlie’s not taking anything for granted. He lopes up the alley behind the joint, knowing that Harriet always empties the trash before the happy hour crowd starts trickling in.
‘Harry,’ he says, standing out so she can see him, but with some cover in case someone’s behind her.
‘Charlie,’ she says, closing the door. ‘The cops are looking for you.’
‘I guessed that.’
‘What happened?’ She dumps the bucket of garbage into the bin, and slams the lid shut.
‘I’ve been set up. That woman had a job for me to do. When I got there, her husband was already dead.’
‘Charlie, that wasn’t her husband. That was Devon Nolan.’
‘Councilman Aldan’s opponent in the second district?’
Harriet looks back to the bar. ‘I’ve got to get back or the plain clothes in the bar is going to start getting nervous. But Charlie, listen. I had a seer draw a vision spell of those goons you tussled with in the bar. Neal, is local mob. No one knows the big one. Charlie, the woman had to be in on it.’
‘Could be. Or it’s a hell of a coincidence. Her looking so much like Elizabeth.’
‘Coincidence, Charlie… You know what the police are going to think. Everyone remembers what you did to that wife beater.’
Charlie rubs his hand over the jailhouse tattoo on his arm. ‘That one got what he deserved.’
‘I agree, but the jury saw a man that had to eat his meals through a straw for six months.’
‘Like I say.’
‘Just so we’re clear, this one didn’t get what he deserved.’
Charlie cranes his neck to look down the alley towards the street with the unmarked cop car. ‘Not from me he didn’t. I was late to that party.’
‘Aldan’s the necromancer’s little pet. Hard to imagine him working with the mob.’
‘Unless there’s something big in it for them.’
‘Charlie, I think they might be making a play against the Cabal.’
‘That’s swell. I just want to spend a day drinking at my favorite place, and I end up caught in between the most powerful players in the city. Crap. I got to get away from here. Maybe it’s not too late to keep you out of this.’
‘Charlie, hold on.’ She runs back to the bar, and returns after a minute. ‘Take this,’ she says handing him a small cloth bag tied at the top.
‘A mojo bag?’
‘Yeah. It’s good mojo. Might come in handy.’
‘It smells like magic,’ he says sniffing it. ‘And bourbon.’
‘A vodun had a large tab, wanted to work it off.’
‘I hope it’s more effective than that ward on your door.’
*
The augurs is in a working class neighborhood next to a vacant lot. The lot has been a dumping ground since the great quake in ‘33. Bikes, auto parts, even some camouflaged bits of army vehicles from the war sprout out of the earth between the weeds. On the other side of the field, high school kids run laps for P.E. oblivious to the squawking of the birds or the smell emanating from the building looming above the lot.
‘Charles,’ Damien says. He’s holding a littus, the curved wand of his station. Charlie knows this is part of the formality. He has to do this when delivering the news. Damien is tall and thin, with thinning hair, grey as his wrinkled skin.
‘Damien, just tell it to me straight.’
Damien sighs. Etiquette would’ve demanded Charlie use ‘Pontificus.’ ‘Very well, Charles. The auspices of divination however are rarely straight forward.’
‘I don’t know of any method that is. But I like the birds better than the cards. And I trust your word, Pontificus.’
‘First, a hen was opened. The heart was half sized. I examined another hen, personally, and found it too possessed the same defect.’
‘Spare me the methodology, hit me with the interpretation.’
‘The woman you seek is hidden.’
Charlie rubs his temples. ‘That’s hardly helpful.’
‘Ah, but it might help you to know that she is being hidden by potent mystic forces.’
‘It’s a start maybe,’ Charlie crosses Damien’s hand with silver. ‘Can we tell the sort of mystic force?’
One of the priests shrieks, and comes running towards them.
‘What is it?’
‘Pontificus, a chick hatched with no eyes.’
‘Charles. Prepare yourself. It may be too late to run.’
Charlie opens his mouth to say something, but the big goon from the bar is already on him, appearing out of a cloud of sulfur smelling smoke.
The two crash through the door to the street. The pavement comes up fast, but the goon catches Charlie before he hits it. Before Charlie can thank him, the goon bounces him off it, and picks him up again, holding him by the collar and his back belt buckle.
Neal crosses the street, flanked by two small thin men.
‘Those two gunsels with you?’ Charlie says. The large goon cracks him hard across the jaw, sending Charlie back down to the asphalt. Charlie gets up to his knees. His jaw clicks slightly side to side. He raises his arm just enough to deflect another sucker punch from the big guy.
Neal doesn’t answer. The two smaller goons move towards Charlie’s flanks. The big one lifts a leg and puts a sharp toe of a boot in Charlie’s ribs. He doubles over. The two smaller men land fast punches on his back.
Charlie inhales, ragged and wet. He coughs up blood and spits it on the shoes of one of the gunsels.
‘Pull him up,’ Neal says. ‘Where is she?’
Charlie wonders a second. ‘She ain’t with you, I have no idea.’
The truth is evidently the wrong answer. Neal signals the big one to punch Charlie in the stomach. The two gunsels each hold one of Charlie’s arms.
‘You would be well advised to consider your next response with more care.’
‘Another one like that, the next thing out my mouth will be my lunch.’
What passes for a smile crosses the big one’s face. He gurgles and a foul smelling drool passes over his lips and down his chin.
‘Very good,’ the construct’s master speaks through it. ‘I am satisfied that you do not know the location of the woman. But the question is,’ as it speaks its master’s words, more reeking slime comes out of its mouth, bubbling with gas. ‘What do I do with you?’
‘Square things with the cops and let me go?’
The big creature laughs the other’s laugh. With each exhale Charlie gets a blast of the breath behind that reeking drool. ‘I think not. I think you’re too much trouble loose.’
Charlie tears his arm free and shoves the mojo bag into the creature’s mouth. There’s a sound like a light bulb popping, and the creature’s eyes go dim. Released from its grip, Charlie runs for it, dodging a trolley on his way across the street and into a grocer’s, the gunsels in pursuit.
He knocks over an apple stand, trying to keep his feet on the slick tile of the grocery store. The two weasels leap over the apples.
Charlie races through the back door, slamming it closed. The metal door clangs against the wall as it flies open again. The weasels are right behind. Charlie holds his breath and dives into a puddle. He comes out a mirror in Harriet’s men’s room. His nostrils ar
e full of sewage. He coughs and just makes it into the stall before the sick comes retching out of him.
*
Charlie sits outside councilman Aldan’s office. A pawn of the necromancer, Aldan’s office is warded, Charlie can’t mirror walk his way in. Some old fashioned bribery and lies has worked its black magic on the receptionist, and he now has an appointment on the books.
The buzzer on the receptionist’s desk reverberates. ‘I’ll see him now,’ a voice says over the intercom.
Charlie opens the door. Councilman Aldan is a little man, no more than five two, and thin. If it weren’t for his receding grey hair and forming wrinkles he’d look a lot like a boy in a cheap suit.
The councilman looks up at him confused. ‘You’re not Inspector Davis.’
‘Yeah. I lied to your secretary. I’d apologize for that, but I don’t think I give a damn.’
‘Very well. We’ll skip past your being here on false pretenses. You have two minutes. Speak your piece, and leave, or I summon my security staff.’
‘Step away from the desk, or your security staff will be too late.’ Charlie points the bone wand at the councilman. Aldan wheels back slowly and stands, hands up. ‘This I will apologize for. I’m not gonna hurt you if I don’t have to, but I can’t have you going back on that two minutes, and your word don’t trade.’
The councilman stares straight ahead.
‘Your rival just bought the farm. Police want me for it, but I was setup good and proper. Some mobster lowlifes and a hot doll played a scene for me. I got that. What I don’t get is the mob and your boss cozying up to one another. You can start explaining there.’
‘You can’t imagine what would happen to me if I betrayed my master’s interests.’
‘Something worse than pain and death, I’d bet.’
Aldan nods. The look of terror remains on his face. ‘So you see why I can’t accommodate you.’
‘I’d expected that.’
‘Then why do you look so relieved?’
‘Because I’ve just diffused the ward that was preventing me from doing this.’ Charlie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mirror, which he places face up on the desk. ‘This won’t hurt. Much.’ He grabs Aldan and forces him into the mirror. Even as parts of the councilman slide away into the negative space, there’s little room, and it’s a tight squeeze for Charlie to follow. Charlie is wrong about it not hurting much. It hurts like hell squeezing into the small mirror, and carrying another with him doesn’t help.
In the darkness of the in between place, the only light comes from their auras. Dim shapes move in the distance. A serpent’s scales shine a brighter black as it swims through the aether above their heads. The closer the strange beings come, the brighter they get.
Charlie waits until he’s sure the serpent is veering away from them. ‘Now you’ll answer my questions.’
‘Why? The penalty will be just as severe. And if my master doesn’t deal with me himself, he might just leave me to the Cabal.’ The look on his face gives it all away. With the Cabal he’s not worried about himself. He’s afraid of what they might do to the people he loves. His family. People his family loves. The Cabal have a reputation for ruthlessness and sometimes go over the top to maintain that reputation.
‘You’ll answer my questions, or I’ll leave you here in the in between places. Do you know how little time I spend here? I almost never take half a second to emerge through another mirror. I don’t even want to see the sorts of things that pass through here, in case they take notice of me. The black snakes that swim in dreams. The spirits of deceased children, lost to the mirror ways and grown up feral in the in between places. The gangs they’ve formed, and the dark masters they serve. That’s what I’ll leave you to. You tell me what I need to know, there’s a good chance your master will torment you. But eventually he’ll forget about you. Here you’ll never be forgotten, just property passed along to the next torturer. And don’t mess with Mr. In Between.’
‘What about Bloody Mar…’
Charlie slaps him across his mouth. ‘Do not say her name here. Not even once.’
Aldan swallows. He looks around. Something terrible catches his eye and he starts talking like a hophead on a heavy dose. ‘My master made a deal with the mob.’
‘I got that, but why? What did he get out of it?’
‘Devon wasn’t just my rival. He had masters of his own. The Cabal. With me on the council the necromancer gets what he wants, and with Devon out, the Cabal don’t get what they want.’
‘The more I think about it, the less I’m interested in why you did this. I’m interested in what you’re going to do to make it right. Where’s the girl?’
*
Charlie watches Amelia pace back and forth in front of the windows. There’s one light on in the loft she’s in. A lamp on the floor, shining up. He doesn’t see anyone else in the room with her.
Doesn’t mean they’re not there though.
There’s no one watching the front of the building, but he makes his way up the building’s fire escape instead. He opens the window, and slides a leg through. She stands with her back to him.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you,’ he says. ‘I want you to know, I don’t blame you any. I know you didn’t have any choice.’
She doesn’t turn around. She steps forward, three paces until she comes to a phone on a stand, the only furniture in the loft, picks it up and says, ‘Operator, please give me the police.’
Charlie moves a pace forward. ‘Look, can we talk about this a minute? Just one minute, and I’ll go and leave you alone. Just put down the phone.’
‘Yes, police? Come quick. I’m being attacked. 4407 Broadway. Come quick, he’s here. He has a razor.’ She says this monotone, just a pinch of fear in her voice, just enough.
He reaches her shoulder and pulls her around. Her face and neck are covered in dried blood. A large gash in her neck extends horizontally across her throat. But she’s no longer bleeding, and she’s cold to the touch.
A glint catches his eye. A straight razor on the floor, next to a red pool. Her bare feet have left bloody prints on the wood floor, but he realizes the cops won’t think twice about that.
‘I don’t suppose you have anything to say to me?’ He watches as she puts down the phone, walks over to the pool and collapses into her blood.
Charlie’s out the window before the first siren roars.
*
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Charlie says. The butler has shown him into an immense library. Twin ceiling fans spin two stories above. Bookshelves line the walls extending up from floor to ceiling. Some of the books on the shelves are occult, but all look safe for public eyes. Charlie breathes a sigh of relief, this is the room the necromancer normally meets people in. A chill runs up his spine thinking about the sort of people the necromancer is likely to entertain, or what those entertainments would be.
The necromancer’s appearance takes Charlie by surprise. Looking at him, it’s hard to imagine this is one of the most feared men in the state. He’s old and frail looking. It’s only the look in his eyes that betrays that there’s more power in his mind than he needs to protect himself and destroy Charlie.
‘No. Thank you for coming. I have to admit that I am curious as to why you have come.’
‘You mean why I’m not in Tierra Del Fuego by now.’
‘Or at least underground.’
‘I like it here. I’d prefer to stay, and I figured I might have one last play to make.’
The butler sets down a silver tray with two drinks on it before returning to the foyer. The butler’s slouch and slow movement suggests controlled undead. Charlie doubts it’s the only undead creature in the estate animated for the necromancer’s bidding.
‘I figure,’ Charlie says, ‘if anyone can fix this, it would be you.’
The old man closes his eyes in reflection. Rings adorn his wrinkled fingers. Each ring holds a gem with some spell or charm ready to fire. ‘
The question would be, what have you to offer that I would find desirable enough to do such a thing? I have gone through considerable trouble to get to this point.’
‘I have little to offer, outside of my service.’
‘You have evaded capture. You have shown certain worthiness. But what could you do for me that would allay the cost of keeping you out of prison?’
Charlie crosses the room to the fireplace. He puts his hands out as if to warm them, while eyeing the wards etched into the stone mantle. Of course he wouldn’t be mad enough to have fire unshielded in his home. ‘What do you gain by putting me in prison? Just saving money. Maybe a little bit less trouble. Whereas if I help you pin this all on your opponents…’
‘Interesting. We tell the District Attorney that they killed Devon, because he was going to betray them. And then they did away with that poor woman to cover their tracks. There are loose ends with the men from the syndicate.’
‘They’re no more likely to rat on this angle than the one that already exists.’
‘True. They seem to understand the necessity of maintaining the current fiction. There’s no reason they couldn’t be persuaded to adopt a new one.’ The old man stares into space as he speaks. Behind his eyes pieces are moved on a series of chessboards, counter moves calculated. Charlie wonders how far off mate is.
‘One question. If you had the girl all along, why send Neal and your Golem after me for her.’
‘Ah. She briefly eluded us. You were a first guess. I must say you are more resourceful than you let yourself appear.’ He rings a bell and the butler reappears. ‘Reginald, delay for a moment telephoning the police. Please instead contact our friends in the syndicate, and ask that they send their representatives at once.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Reginald says, and shambles towards the door.
The necromancer turns back to Charlie. ‘Would you care for a drink while you wait?’
Charlie licks his lips. ‘Normally, yes. But I’ll have to take a rain check.’
Neal and his gunsels are shown in by the butler. Charlie guesses it was Neal that cast the relocation spell back at the bar.
The necromancer says, ‘Now that we’re all here…’
‘Not quite all of us,’ Charlie says. He opens his coat revealing, long mirrors adhered to the fabric.