A Key, An Egg, An Unfortunate Remark

by Harry Connolly

  ALSO BY

  HARRY CONNOLLY

  The Way Into Chaos

  The Way Into Magic

  The Way Into Darkness

  Twenty Palaces

  Child of Fire

  Game of Cages

  Circle of Enemies

  Spirit of the Century Presents: King Khan

  Bad Little Girls Die Horrible Deaths and Other Tales of Dark Fantasy

  A Key,

  An Egg,

  An

  Unfortunate

  Remark

  Harry Connolly

  Cover by Duncan Eagleson

  Copy edited by Rose Fox

  Copyright © 2014 Harry Connolly

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0989828492

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9898284-9-9

  To every urban fantasy author who has gone before me and who will come after me.

  CHAPTER ONE

  An Unwelcome Party Guest Catches a Glimpse of Himself

  Evening had fallen on Seattle, and there were a great many people going somewhere they didn’t want to go. An ER nurse with an aching back, a recent graduate about to ask his father if he could move back in, a middle-aged woman facing another evening of her boyfriend’s tedious anime and even more tedious sex—all felt the helpless resignation that comes before an unpleasant, unavoidable task.

  Of those thousands of people, none were expecting a warmer welcome than the man standing at Marley Jacob’s front gate, and none were more mistaken.

  Aloysius Pierce was a man of extraordinary self-regard, especially considering what he’d achieved in life. His education was marked only by his concerted effort to pass with as little effort as possible, and his law career, being run with those same priorities, had foundered. He had a knack for attracting women and then quickly driving them away, and did much the same with his professional clients. Having recently turned thirty, he considered himself a paragon of self-reliance, largely because the only people in his life were as uninterested in community and friendship as he was.

  Aloysius possessed an absolute certainty that he would Make His Mark Very Soon Now. All he needed to do was win a few cases in a row, or perhaps just win the right case (his current client had become terse with him, and he could tell their relationship was about to end unhappily). Or he might be introduced to someone influential and be brought into a pivotal role on some sort of project, possibly in the high-tech industry, or filmmaking, or women’s clothing. Not that Aloysius had any expertise in those fields—or in anything, really—but he simply couldn’t imagine a future for himself that did not include great things.

  And why not? He was a good-looking white man, raised in a wealthy family. At least, they’d been wealthy right up until he left for college. He could tell a joke, mix a drink, and convincingly tell a woman she lit up the room just by entering it. Why shouldn’t the world give him whatever he wanted?

  He believed he was the man who could thaw the infamous Seattle Chill. He was the one who could bring back the Sonics. He was the one who could manage that thing with the monorail, whatever it was. His plans weren’t definite, but he was sure they needed to be big. Only then would he get the house, the boat, the bespoke suits from London.

  If only Aloysius Pierce had realized that the life he was truly suited for was “glad-handing politician,” he might have achieved those things.

  On a chilly May evening, he stood at the front gate of his Aunt Marley’s urban mansion, uncharacteristically hesitant. Behind him, the street was congested with parked Mercedes, BMWs, and Lexuses, most the color of gold or sable. Every time Aloysius looked at one, he felt as though he’d been cheated somehow.

  All the windows were brightly lit, and the din of the party could be heard on the sidewalk. The revelers mingled and laughed within, not realizing a drop of rancid oil was about to land in the froth.

  Aloysius couldn’t stand Aunt Marley’s parties. She knew this and he knew she knew. From the dizzying heights of his own vanity, he was certain that his willingness to endure one of his aunt’s soirees would impress upon her the gravity of the favor he intended to ask. With a sigh, he started up the front walk.

  Weathers opened the door before Aloysius could ring the bell. As usual. Aloysius greeted him warmly—always be kind to servants, no matter how lowly, was his rule—but the man responded with all the human kindness of a cutlery set. Once again, as usual. Aloysius entered the house, noting with dread the sound of something that might pass for music coming from the front room.

  “If you would, sir,” Weather said, gesturing toward the end of the entryway. There was a tall stock pot on a table, and beside it stood a young woman wearing nothing but colorful paint.

  Aloysius blinked. Despite his imagined quick-wittedness, he needed a moment to take in what he was seeing. The woman was a short, slender blonde with her hair tied up in a frizzy ponytail. She stood with arms akimbo and her chin held high and facing away from him. What he’d first taken for green tattoos or body art turned out to be cash money. The pot on the table beside her was full of papier-mâché glue; guests had dipped bills into the glue before laying them on her. She was slowly being trapped into this pose.

  Weathers shut the door firmly and went back to his duties. Not that Aloysius noticed. His body tingled and the whole of his attention was focused on the young woman and, he dimly realized, the broad-shouldered brunette beside her. He was about to ask the second woman to step outside, but before he could embarrass himself, he noticed a holstered Taser under her arm and realized she was a chaperone.

  That was fine. Aloysius had operated under more difficult circumstances than this.

  He reached for his wallet. He knew better than to show up at one of his aunt’s parties without a few bills, although his plan to declare his donation as a way of earning even more goodwill now seemed shaky.

  He dipped a twenty into flour water. “What’s the cause of the day?”

  He’d addressed the chaperone, but it was the model who answered. “We’re from the Noon Shadow Arts Collective. We’re in danger of losing our studio space, and Ms. Jacobs offered to throw us a benefit.”

  Aloysius had always considered his own good looks to be something special—simultaneously manly and what he secretly thought of as elfish. But as he side-stepped into her line of sight, the model only glanced at him and looked away.

  “Aunt Marley will do that, won’t she?” Aloysius let the bill drip into the pot and stirred with his finger. The mention of his relationship to their sponsor didn’t earn the spark he’d hoped for: there was no second appraisal, no fluttering eyelashes, no licking of the lips, not even a little smile. She’d seen his face, knew he had money, knew he was related to a great deal of money, and somehow she still wasn’t interested.

  As though a gauze had been taken from his eyes, Aloysius suddenly realized the model was not as pretty as he’d first thought. Her brown eyes were large but not quite symmetrical, her nose slightly too long, and worst of all, she had the hard, lean strength of an endurance athlete. He didn’t like that in a woman.

  She must have taken his hesitancy for shyness, because she offered him a distant but kindly smile. In return, he fell in love with her just the tiniest bit, the way he often did with cheerful women he’d decided weren’t good enough for him. He laid the twenty on the small of her back—the best parts were already covered with much larger bills—and it felt so nice that he did it twice more.

  Why hadn’t his aunt told him about this? He would have been the first one at the door.

  As he wiped the flour and water from his hands, the model thanked him politely. Aloysius could feel the chaperone watching, and her unfriendly expression spoi
led his mood. He spun onto his heel and plunged into the party.

  By his aunt’s standards, this gathering was almost sedate. The music playing over the speaker system was wholly new to him—he was sure it would turn out to be Sri Lankan trip-hop or something equally outré. By the window a pair of androgynous twins—one dressed in a tweed suit with elbow patches and the other in a diaphanous white dress—talked with an austere older woman in a boxy gray pantsuit. On the couch, a man in a black suit and wingtips was deep in animated conversation with a bodybuilder wearing nothing but a Speedo and, on his back, a modified horse’s saddle.

  Each and every one of them would have been startled to discover that Aloysius felt a wave of pity and disdain for them. As he glanced at them, he imagined he could instantly spot their faults. Too much exercise or not enough. Too much money or not enough. Too fashionable. Too conservative. Like a great many unsuccessful people, Aloysius had a reflexive contempt for everyone he met.

  Suddenly, all conversation stopped, and even the music hushed. A figure in a tattered black cloak and ghostly white mask glided through the room. It loomed almost eight feet tall and trailed an unearthly chill behind it: the bodybuilder shuddered as it passed. The figure floated through the open French doors onto the balcony and then beyond, the black cloak dragged across the railing like a hanging blanket. Then it disappeared into the night.

  The music and conversation resumed. Aloysius scanned the room. Most of Aunt Marley’s more unusual guests were in attendance, including the silent and watchful ninety-year-old Guatemalan man with his two burly bodyguards, but she herself was nowhere to be seen. Aloysius wandered into the kitchen, onto the balcony, then into the sun room.

  There he found three naked models—Aloysius knew his aunt would refer to them as “nude”—standing on platforms, each with a half-dozen easels set up in a semi-circle around them. Seven guests, all of whom could have come from the same corporate boardroom, struggled to capture the figures in charcoal.

  Of course his aunt had set them up right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, where any of the neighbors could have seen them. He sighed, wondering if this was a sign of encroaching senility and if it was finally time to file that power of attorney for her estate.

  The nearest model was a tall woman, at least fifty years old, who had a scar where her left breast should have been. The second was a small, effeminate man of about the same age. He had a bit of a belly and he’d painted his long, pointed fingernails a sparkling purple.

  Beside the third model—a short, dark-haired woman who must have weighed over three hundred pounds—Aunt Marley perched on a stool, struggling to accurately depict the shape of the woman’s leg. Aloysius had no interest taking over an easel himself, and carefully pretended not to notice the donation jars set up beside the models.

  “Hello, Aloysius,” his aunt said without turning to him. Aloysius thought she must have seen his reflection in the darkened window even though she’d never looked up from her canvas. “I didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you didn’t like my parties.”

  “It’s not that I... I’m sorry, but...”

  “It’s all right, dear. A person can have a perfectly happy life without ever attending my little events. At least, some reliable friends have told me it’s possible, so I guess I believe it. I assume you have a problem?”

  “Well, I don’t have the problem, Aunt Marley. It’s someone else who needs your help, but—“ He looked around at the partygoers and disturbingly unashamed models. Their casual confidence had dented his smug disdain, and he wanted to retreat to someplace he could feel good again. “Is there anywhere more private where we could talk?”

  She sighed, obviously irritated to be dragged away, and turned toward him. Aloysius was once again struck—and not in a happy way—by his aunt’s resemblance to his mother. Both had the same long, triangular face and wide brown eyes. The main difference between them was that his mother’s hair had turned dull gray and her face had gone dark and pouchy. Aunt Marley, despite being the elder sister and well into her sixties, had the silver hair and complexion of a wealthy woman of leisure. Aloysius’s mother had spent her inheritance guzzling chocolate liqueurs, wrecking Italian sports cars, and marrying worthless men. Aunt Marley, with her huge house and crazy parties, was merely eccentric.

  She stood. A group of partygoers had come into the room, dragging a few of the dilettante artists from their stools. Marley went to the nearest easel, mounted with a crude charcoal of the model with the painted nails, and marred it with a long ink squiggle drawn with a pen that she took from her pocket. No one saw but Aloysius. “Very well, dear. Let’s talk in my study.”

  She led him upstairs although he knew the way very well. The soft carpet muffled their steps, and the hall had been left dark to discourage wandering guests. Aunt Marley didn’t switch the lights on. The darkness made Aloysius feel a little unwelcome but he was certain—absolutely certain—his aunt would not have given that impression deliberately, no matter how it seemed.

  At the office door, she waited for him to open it; it was one of her eccentricities that she never touched a doorknob.

  The room was soundproofed against the music from downstairs: They might as well have been on a space station for all the noise they heard. Marley crossed to a pair of comfortable chairs and gestured for Aloysius to sit. “Would you like a cup of coffee, dear?”

  He glanced at the elaborate Italian coffee machine on the table by the window. It made the best coffee he’d ever tasted, but he fought his usual impulse to indulge himself and declined.

  “Thank you!” he said with the effusive display of heartfelt appreciation that was so effective at getting what he wanted from people, “but I’ll be fine. It’s quite a party you have down there. Those weird life-drawing models are a little outlandish, am I right?” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that, but it had bothered him to see them there, naked and unashamed. He certainly wouldn’t have posed naked in front of strangers, and he had a body to be proud of.

  “They’re not outlandish, dear,” Marley’s tone was disapproving. “And they’re not weird. They’re the artists this party is meant to help. They’re human beings, Aloysius. They look the way human beings look.”

  Aunt Marley had a way of saying things that made a person feel guilty without really understanding why. “Of course! I mean, I didn’t mean to say anything rude, honest.”

  “I know you didn’t mean to be rude.” She put a bit more emphasis on the word mean that he would have liked. “What we intend is often beside the point. The artists downstairs are not on display. This isn’t an exhibit of curiosities. It’s a party. It’s a chance to meet and mingle with people outside your usual experience. To expand your horizons. Everyone’s horizons, in fact, But then, you’ve heard this little speech before.”

  “Sorry.”

  Few people could squeeze as much smug condescension into an apology as Aloysius. Marley took a deep breath, reminded herself that this was family, and steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Who is this person you want me to help?”

  Aloysius took a deep breath and leaned toward her. It was time to make his case. “First, I want to say that I know there are certain things Mother told me never to discuss with you.”

  “For good reason, dear.”

  “But we’re past that, aren’t we?” He began talking faster so she wouldn’t interrupt. “I know you can do things for people. Unusual things. For instance, White Mask just made an appearance downstairs, and I know it’s not a party trick or a special effect. I know that, whatever White Mask is, it’s for real... and you could stop it if you wanted.”

  “Why should I? She doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Sure. Okay. But my point is that I know you have a connection to... unusual things. And that you have certain abilities.”

  “You still haven’t told me about the friend you want me to help.”

  “It’s Jenny,”

  She didn’t react, but he di
dn’t expect her to. “I hope you don’t expect me to get in the middle—“

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. I know you know about me and her, and maybe you also know that she’s stopped returning my calls.”

  “I guess you should stop calling her, then.”

  “But she’s making a mistake! I know you can help—“

  “What do you want me to do, Aloysius? Fire her?”

  “No!” he said, although he secretly wondered if Jenny might be forced to come to him for help if she lost her paycheck. Not that his aunt would really do so. Aloysius lowered his voice, trying to keep a gentle tone. “Oh no, I don’t want to do anything bad to her. Not at all. You know how I feel.”

  “You’ve certainly told me enough times, darling.”

  He laughed at that, and brushed his hair back. “I guess I have. Okay. So. I know that you... I know you can do things to help people. Tricks.”

  There was a quiet knock at the door, then Weathers let himself in. “I’m sorry to disturb your meeting, madam, but there is a bit of a row downstairs. One of the guests, a Mr. Caldwell, has discovered that the portrait he was creating has been defaced with a slash of ink, and he has accused his brother-in-law. I’m afraid they might come to blows.”

  “Hmm,” Marley said. “Weathers, inform them that physical violence in my home is unacceptable, then offer to let them work out their competitive streak at the ping-pong table.”

  “I will do so immediately, madam.”

  “Some of the other guests will want to gamble on the outcome. Be sure to take their wagers from them.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “... As donations.”

  Weathers bowed and backed out of the room.

  Marley turned back to Aloysius. He was smiling and shaking his head, but her expression was quite pleasant and quite still. “How do you want me to help you?” There was a chilly note in her voice that her nephew did not have the wit to notice.