by Melissa Marr
Charles remained silent. He sipped his drink and stared at Alicia, who now stood with her hands on her hips. Not knowing what else to do, Frank handed his drink to Alicia and stood to the side so she could draw without interference, and he could still be there if she needed help. Something older than logic told him that Charles, for all of his polish, wasn’t the sort of man who’d go down easy in a fight.
Even as he thought it, Charles smiled at him. “You’ll do just fine around here, Francis.”
Alicia tensed.
And Frank said the only thing he could think of in the moment, “My name is Frankie Lee, sir.”
***
Alicia grinned. Frankie Lee was going to work out just fine.
“I don’t want semi-automatic weapons on my street, Alicia.” Charles motioned at the seat across from him. “I overlook a lot, but there are limits. I explained that to Boyd last week. On this, I will crush you.”
She sat and motioned for Frankie Lee to do the same. She tried the same argument that usually worked, “I don’t see why these—”
“No. Not this time. I play by the rules. That means, here and there, you’ll outmaneuver me. On this, it’s not going to be any time soon. I overlook revolvers, but that’s where we are staying. The damage, the loss of life . . . I can’t explain it.” Charles looked genuinely sad, but she knew well enough that the old bastard was able to fake emotions. “You have been out of that world for years, Alicia.”
“Dead. Because you had me killed,” she corrected.
Beside her, Frankie Lee tensed, but he stayed silent.
“True.” Charles sipped his wine. “I’ll negotiate, or I’ll start killing your boys. Permanent death so as they’ll be removed from the city.”
Alicia paused. “And me?”
Charles leaned back in his seat. “I won’t kill you. You know that.”
“Again. Say it, at least. You won’t kill me again.”
“I won’t kill you again, but”—Charles glanced at Frankie Lee—“I’ll kill him, Boyd, Milt, each and every one you employ.”
Charles made a come-hither gesture.
One of her information runners, Lewis, was brought in.
“You all exist because I allow it; you can die because I prefer it. No semi-automatic weapons, Alicia. You will agree to stop pushing this matter,” Charles said softly. “Or he dies.”
She started, “I’m not going to give in because of a threat.”
Charles fixed his gaze on her and snapped his fingers. Lewis crumpled. “There are always unbreakable rules. Right now, this is one of them, and you, of all people, know that I will do what I must to enforce the unbreakable rules.”
Alicia looked at Lewis. Where do they go if they die in the land of the dead? She’d asked that question often enough, but Charles never answered. “No automatic weapons for how long?”
“You have no room to barter,” Charles said.
She suppressed a shiver at the threat in his voice. “Just checking the rules.”
“Thirty years. We can renegotiate then.”
“Thirty years,” Alicia agreed. “But you owe me a replacement or undo what you did to Lewis.”
For a moment, Charles was silent. Then he nodded and said, “I can’t undo his death, but as a gesture of good faith, I’ll allow you to take one of the staff to replace your employee.”
Alicia kept her expression bland, but she felt the wave of sorrow that she’d been resisting. Charles had finally answered her: some deaths apparently were even fatal enough that they were out of his reach. She’d known there were other dead cities, and hoped that those who didn’t reanimate here went to another world, a world where they were happier. She knew such worlds existed: her own loved ones had gone on to them. She’d hoped, though, that the dead folk who were re-killed here went on to other dead worlds, but if that were the case, Charles could have un-done Lewis’s death.
Lewis is dead.
Thinking about the metaphysics of living in the land of the dead made her head hurt, so she didn’t. Lewis is dead because I pushed Charles too far. The same trait that had made her good at opposing Charles, both before and after her death, got Lewis killed. Silently, Alicia walked over to the bar and accepted the drink the barmaid held out as she approached.
Behind her, Charles said, “Shall I invite my staff here or would you deign to visit my home?”
Without looking back at him, she said, “Here.”
***
An hour later, Frankie Lee watched as several dozen people tromped into the room. Beside him, Alicia sat with her boots propped on the table as one of them—the only one Charles said was ‘off limits’—told Alicia their names and roles. Charles had cooks, maids, barmaids, singers, a personal tailor, and God knew how many other employees.
Frankie Lee tuned most of it out after the first fifteen minutes.
Finally, Alicia pointed toward a young woman. “I’ll take her.”
Charles frowned. “There are others—”
“No. Her.” Alicia folded her arms over her chest.
“She’s not suited for your sort of work, Alicia. Perhaps, Steven. He’s handy with some sort of martial art, or Elizabeth . . . she’s an accomplished companion.” Charles gestured toward a pretty redhead.
“No.”
“Why?” Charles asked.
The smile Alicia offered was as frightening as her glare. “I’m a good judge of character. You softened at the sight of her.”
Charles frowned at Alicia. “What kind of job do you have for a singer?”
“I’m sure I’ll find a good use for her.” Alicia’s boots thunked to the floor as she stood. “I expect her and Boyd delivered to the inn.”
Frank felt a twinge of worry for the girl, as, apparently, did Charles. However, Charles merely inclined his head slightly and then walked out.
Once Charles and his people had all left, Alicia glanced at Frankie Lee. “Let’s go.”
“What will you do with her?” he asked.
Alicia leaned as close as she could get without her lips touching his and whispered, “Don’t ask questions I don’t feel like answering.”
He hadn’t ever been intimidated by much, but he knew when to have a healthy respect for a predator. Alicia was definitely on the predator list, and maybe her attitude should intimidate him. She’d shot him when he walked in her door, shot up the tavern, and in general, seemed pretty quick on the trigger.. Frank could hear his mother’s voice in his memories, Don’t poke a rattler, Francis. No matter how contrary you’re feeling. Good sense keeps a person alive. He grinned. He was already dead now, and by the way Alicia had reacted to Lewis’ death, Frank was pretty sure that the permanent sort of death was rare.
“I suspect you’re aiming to intimidate me. I probably should step back, but”—Frank stood up, invading her space as he did so—“I’ve grown up with hardass women. Tell me what you have in mind for the girl, please?”
“Charles likes her. He won’t strike her easily, and I’ve been thinking about ways to spruce up the inn. He’s a pushover for music, so she must be good. We cater to a . . . rougher crowd, so it’s a high-risk spot. I can’t lure his favorites away, but this time . . .” Alicia shrugged. “She can work at my inn, and she’ll be safe because Charles is fond of her and aside from the people who work for me, no one crosses him.”
“Smart.” Frank smiled at her, and they walked toward the door. “I think I’ll like working for you.”
“Who says you’re hired?”
Frank opened the door. “All the same, I might as well walk back that way.”
Alicia laughed, and together they crossed the weird city in comfortable silence. Once the General Store was in view, she linked her arm with his. “You did good work.”
“Thank you, Alicia.”
She stopped in the street. “I guess you ought to go home.”
“Home?”
Alicia gestured at the inn across the street. An unknown man stood at the door watching them.
“Milt will give you a key to whichever room’s yours. It’s not fancy, but it’s ours.”
“Ours,” Frank repeated.
“I do try to take care of what’s mine, Frankie Lee.”
“I’m sorry about Lewis.”
She nodded. “You might get truly killed working for me. I’ll need to be telling the rest of the boys later, but before you decide—”
“Decided when we were there.” Frank shrugged. “I like having a family. Yours feels like home to me.”
“Thank you.” Alicia smiled then and added, “Guess your interview was promising after all.”
Frank chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
He had a healing gunshot wound in his thigh, a job, and a home. All told, Frankie Lee figured that it was the best day he’d had since he died. Being dead wasn’t anything like the preacher said it would be, but considering the life Frankie Lee had led, that wasn’t such a bad thing. He nodded his head at his boss and headed off to find his room.
“Frankie Lee?”
He paused and looked at her.
“Is it as bad as all that over there?” she asked haltingly. “It’s been a while since I was alive.”
Frankie Lee thought about the bullets that had ended his own life. A bullet is a bullet. The difference was how many of them tore into him that day. He shrugged. “I won’t be eager for those thirty years to end.”
“Oh.” Alicia faltered, but it lasted only a moment, before she said, “Maybe it’d be good for you to tell me what’s new over there in the living world; I can’t take care of everyone if I’m out of touch.”
And Frankie Lee saw the side of his boss that proved he had done right by trusting his guts: Alicia was good people. He kept his smile subdued and nodded. “You’re the boss.”
“I am,” Alicia agreed before going back into the General Store.
For a minute, Frankie Lee stood there, looking at the strange pioneer era building, and then out over the city where a towering castle loomed. Eras clashed and co-existed. Nothing at all like the preacher said. It wasn’t the life he’d known or the afterlife he’d expected, but he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. Some things were constant: finding a place where a person belonged, a job that made a man feel good about himself, and a boss he could respect--those were the keys to a happy life. Or a happy afterlife, in this case.
A Note on Guns for the Dead
As much as I loved all of the characters in Graveminder, the gun-toting Alicia was one of my favorites. When I was invited to the Naked City anthology, I'd already being toying with a story about Alicia, so it was the perfect excuse to write it. Much like my Dark Court faeries in the Wicked Lovely series, Alicia and the world she inhabits thinks about loyalty before morality. That sort of fluid definition of "right" and "wrong" has intrigued me for more than half of my life: How do we decide when the good of the tribal affiliation, the in-group with self-define as "ours," outweighs the law? That's probably why I write about faeries, killers, and monsters. It's no surprise that my college minor was Sociology or that I used my electives to take Abnormal Psychology, the Sociology of Deviance, and the History of Evil courses.
***
Corpse Eaters
Harmony stood outside the immense vat of viscous liquid. It looked remarkably like a cross between an aquarium and one of the coffee dispensers at every church dinner she remembered. Inside it, corpses floated. The water was thick with things she didn’t want to identify.
“Get out.” Chris grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the tank.
She looked past him to where the PBX was attached. The explosives were precious, used only when essential, but this was one of the essentials. The body of a girl about her age floated on the other side of the wall where the hole would be.
“Now, Harm!” He shoved her toward the door. “You were to be gone by now.”
Silently, she apologized to the dead girl for the imminent explosion—and the damage it would do to her body. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if her body would be treated with respect if they didn’t do this. She was food now, meat and skin consumed by the creatures that Harmony’s group opposed.
The explosions farther into the warehouse began. Hopefully, they’d draw enough attention that she and Chris could escape. Hopefully, only a few of the Nidos would be between them and the door. Hopefully, the monsters wouldn’t win today.
“Come on,” Chris whispered.
They moved closer to the exit and ducked behind a stack of boxes. His hold on her arm hadn’t loosened; she suspected it wouldn’t unless he had to fight. It wasn’t that she was reckless, not really. It was just that the only time she felt like life mattered was when she was taking something from the Nidos. They’d taken everything from her, from everyone who lived in North America. She liked taking something from them.
The sounds of slithering and harsh words echoed through the warehouse. The Nidos were heading toward the explosions. Those explosions were distractions, larger charges causing destruction, but as soon as the vat blew, the Nidos would come.
She felt it as it blew, a smallish explosion in comparison to the others they’d set. The crack in the glass was almost as loud. The fluid began to pour from the hole, and as it did, the crack widened.
They were at the door as the gush of water and human remains flowed into the warehouse.
“Faster!” she urged Chris. A fight she could enjoy, but being doused with a soup of decaying bodies was the stuff of nightmares.
It was foolishness, but she closed the door behind them.
As if sealing away the sight of it will change anything.
There were two Nidos outside the door, but Chris wasn’t willing to waste time on them. He lifted the sawed-off shotgun he had slung across his back and emptied both barrels into the Nido on his side.
“Got you,” she said as she threw herself on the back of the second one. The satisfying sensation of slicing his throat wide open wasn’t enough, but it helped her feel like all would be right in the world.
He bucked as he died, and she smiled.
When she released him, Chris was frowning at her.
“What?”
“Nothing, Harm.” He gestured at the street. “Move before more come.”
“I’m gone.” She took off in a jog.
***
When Chris caught up with Harmony, he was exhausted, not from the run or from their work at the warehouse but from the fear that came from watching her take stupid chances. She could’ve shot the Nido. They both had emergency guns. She didn’t even consider drawing hers.
“You’re on streetside.” He saw her sheepish look, but it only lasted for a blink. Then she shrugged and gestured for him to take the left side, closer to the dark alleyways and shadowed alcoves.
He didn’t look at her as they walked, but he couldn’t ignore the conversation they needed to have. “Do you try to get injured?”
“Nope.”
“You know they have a few openings for transfer to the Midwest.” Chris steered her farther from an open trunk on a relatively new sedan.
Harmony circled the car, peering in the windows. “And do what?”
They continued down the street. “You could work in one of the research centers, help with the trainees. It’s safer there.”
“I’m not qualified. I don’t get why…”
Chris stopped and held a finger to his lips. She grinned in anticipation of trouble.
He stepped into the mouth of the alley and moved toward the rustling coming from a pile of boxes.
Harmony eased closer.
An old man with rheumy eyes crouched in a nest of cardboard; he remained motionless as they approached.
Chris stepped up to the man, but not within his reach. “It’s not safe here.”
“Should I go to a nursing home?” The old man rose on his spindly legs and gazed in the general direction of Chris’ face. “The caretakers’ll send me to the creatures soon as I get sick.”
Harmony’s voice wa
s soft, neither threatening nor reassuring to anyone who didn’t know her, as she said, “No. You should get out of town, preferably at night when they aren’t as active.”
The old man snorted. “You think? I’m not a fool, but I can’t see well enough to drive out, especially in the dark.” Bracing himself against the wall, he tottered forward. “But I have a car.”
“Really?” Chris examined him more carefully. Cars weren’t easy for anyone to keep, especially vagrants.
The old man cackled. “Well, maybe not have, but I can start one if you help me drag the fuel out to it.” He nudged a piece of cardboard with his foot. It slid to the side, revealing a dirty jug. “Got three jugs saved up. You help me carry the fuel out to one of them cars, and I can wire it.”
Chris studied the man and saw no telltale signs of deceit: his clothes were unkempt, his eyes white with cataracts. His health was pretty far gone. The Center had yet to find a case where Nidos sacrificed culinary tastes for strategy.
He glanced at his partner.
“We’ll help you,” she said.
After a bit of fumbling around, the old man picked up two of his jugs.
Cautiously, Harmony stepped forward and grabbed the third. Chris’ already tense muscles stiffened. Their work was always the sort of thing that required all of his attention, but lately, it seemed like every day they were on duty was busier. Being on the front line of the fight was a sure way to see the daily proof that the humans weren’t winning this war.
As they moved away from the shadows of the alley, the man didn’t bother to wipe the tears that fell. His voice was low as he said, “I know I’m old, but that isn’t any way to die.”
“I know,” Harmony murmured. “You’re not going to die in a vat. Right?”
“Right,” Chris promised. They’d get the man to safety, one person saved, and then Chris would go home and get drunk for the two days he had off.
***
By the time night fell on her second day off, Harmony thought she was going to climb the wall. The down days were to help them recover, rest, and work out. She did all of that—and she still felt like she would go crazy if she didn’t move. The calm that had come from the last days of work had faded by the end of her first day off. On the second day she’d woken midday, and then she’d watched the sun slowly drop with the same lack of patience she always did at the close of the second rest day.