The Magpye: Circus
Page 27
“Just this once,” it said. “Just this once.”
And before Able could ask what the creature meant, he felt his mind open up. The borders of his mind, unseen, gave way, like panes of smoked glass shattering to reveal a hitherto hidden world beyond. The waters of memory, as he called them, became a vast ocean and his head was filled instantly with a thousand new voices. He heard a thousand stories of betrayal, of loss, of death. He heard from fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters. Each and every one of them another body, another corpse buried by the Kings, another brick in the foundation of their empire. A thousand voices, and yet there was no cacophony, Able's mind was the clearest it had every been.
“Incredible,” said Rosa Blind. “So many.”
“Yeah,” replied Able.
Standing straight, his back healed, Able rushed across the room at his uncle.
This time, Cane was no match for him. With a strength and speed born from the anguished cries of a thousand victims, with a thousand minds guiding his, a thousand hearts giving him their strength, Able moved effortlessly around every blow thrown by Cane. He flickered in the air, no longer a thing of dead flesh but more a ghost himself. He struck again and again, pushing Cane back with body blow after body blow. Cane flailed wildly, but there was nothing to hit. He was fighting memories, fighting the ghost of a boy named Able Quirk who had had his home burnt the ground one night and had been haunting the Kings every since.
Suddenly, Able placed his hand around Cane's throat and dug his fingers deep into his flesh. He pushed Cane down to his knees. Electricity crackled across Cane's skin and The Ink raced towards Able's touch, a twisting river of darkness. Slowly, it bled from Cane into Able, drawing new patterns in the air on Able's spectral form. It redrew him, inch by inch, creating in white flesh painted with jet black ink a new form. Able Quirk, Magpye, was now the bearer of The Ink.
Cane's eyes grew wide as, on the screens, the last few minutes played back again.
“I needed to convince everyone I wasn't a criminal mastermind.”
“I needed a scapegoat for everything.”
“Every institution they believe in is rotten to the core.”
Able's face seemed to glow as he tightened his grip even further on Cane's neck.
“It's time for a new story, Cane,” he said. “A story with no more Kings in it.”
“You're so wrong,” rasped Cane, “Look at you. You couldn't be more of a King if you tried.”
With a wet, squelching wrench, Able tore out Cane King's throat.
EPILOGUE
Able stood on the rooftop in the rain and looked at the ruins of the casino. It had been almost a year, and nobody had so much as put a bid in for place. All that was left now was a charred framework, a burnt up monument to what had once been. It looked like an old scar on the city. It reminded Able of the circus, but Able didn't go there any more. He hadn't seen Marv since that night in the casino. No Marv meant no Marissa, and no Marissa left Able with no reason to go back to the circus.
A door closed loudly behind Able and he listened to Owen White limp onto the rooftop. He was late, but then he was a busy man these days. After the casino, he'd disappeared for months, only to resurface with a new presidential order and a whole new agency at his command. He was going to weed out corruption and organised crime right across America. It hadn't made him popular with a lot of people, but he was damn good at it. Able helped him, of course, from time to time. White's cases had a habit of turning weird, and Able was very, very good at weird. But, for the most part, it was White's show. After all, he was the man who brought down the Kings.
With Cane, Taylor, and Garrity all dead there had been nobody left to control the gangs. It had been open warfare on the streets for nearly six weeks, but the cops had eventually got it under control. After that, the number of people ready to turn in evidence on Cane and his criminal empire had become a landslide. His business assets had been seized by the state, the legitimate King empire being dubbed “too big to fail”. Owning a media empire had helped the government to control exactly how deep the revelations went too. With America's favourite son fallen, it wasn't the time for her to lose her president as well.
“The damp makes it worse; you know that, don't you?” said White.
“I know,” replied Able. “But I don't make the weather.”
“Where've you been, anyway?” asked White, taking a spot on the parapet next to Able. “I could have used your help with that Japanese situation.”
“I got a lead on one of Marv's old contacts, I was hoping he could help with... you know.”
Able waved a hand in front of his face, drawing White's attention to the intricate tattoo that covered one half of it.
“No luck then,” said White.
“Not yet. It's dormant, for now, but I don't know how long that's going to last,” said Able, “I have a feeling that this isn't the end of its story.”
EPITAPH
Down in the pit, Adam King slithered across the mound of rotten flesh and found a quiet, warm place to sink into and fall asleep. Time had no meaning here, but he had the feeling that it had been a good day. He had eaten well, keeping down almost all of the festering, rotten flesh he had harvested today, and he felt stronger for it. Healing this body was going to take a long time. It had been built wrong, but Adam was patient.
In the meantime, he had his ghosts for company. They weren't the best ghosts, most of them were mad and they had barely any memories left between them, but they were his and what scant memories they did have were useful to him.
After all, it wasn't just his own body he had to nurture. Up in his head, about the size of golf ball, tucked safe and snug in the malformed folds and lobes of his brain, he had a little egg.
A special egg.
A Magpye's egg.
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