by Tam MacNeil
He lets the feeling tug him like a fishhook. When he opens the eyes on his back, he can see something glowing like a fire on the top floor of the Firm building. He goes after it, lets the sensation reel him in, to the window where the glowing pulses softly like a star. He’s panting and he’s sweating. His back isn’t used to the strain of flight, and the wings are still new. They ache like bones that were broken and didn’t heal right. He’s tired. He goes to alight like a bird at the window. His hands burn, blister, and char. He jerks back, almost goes tumbling down, and looks at the line of bright yellow and bright pink salt on the inside of the window ledge. Then he looks at the woman who’s standing there looking at him.
If the Baron glows and Skinny Mary shines, this woman burns with a low, pulsing light. She’s looking at him. The face he couldn’t see before she turned him is visible to him now. She’s pretty. Curling black hair, full lips. Ears pierced and weighted down with gold. Heavy gold necklace looped three times around her long, black neck. Heavy gold bangles on her wrists. She’s staring at him.
“Open,” she says.
He realizes his hands are at the window. He realizes his hands are scrabbling against the salt, trying to get under the frame, trying to pull it up. He doesn’t even realize it hurts, it’s agony, that there are silver nails hammered into the frame to keep the glass in place, that his fingers are burning to the bone.
It’s his own screaming that alerts him. It sort of wakes him up. He turns around to see and the woman in the window tilts her head at him, still staring, talking to him. He hears the chorus of voices not through the glass but in his head. “Open,” it says over and over again, even though his hands are a ruin of charred flesh and bone, even though the pain is going to make him faint.
He pushes off from the building, moving like a swimmer against a riptide to get to the dome of the church. Open, she’s telling him, open, but it’s less loud way over here, less of a command. He curls around his charred hands and lies still for a while. It rains a little, even while the sun is cracking in shafts through clouds, like the weather doesn’t know what it’s about. The damp cools his hands and washes his face.
He stays there until he’s caught his breath, until he stops shaking, until his hands are twisted gloves of burned meat but the bone tips no longer show. He goes back to Skinny Mary.
Twelve
JAMES WAKES up because someone’s closed the door to the room with a soft thump. He cracks an eye open. It’s Gabe, moving very carefully, hands following the line of the wall, to where the table is.
He’s still shirtless, and James figures they’re never going to find something that’s going to fit over those wings. He’s breathing hard, and when he sits, he sits down heavily and slumps forward, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging.
“Hey,” James whispers. “You okay?”
Gabe’s head comes up and sinks down in a nod. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, just tired.”
James sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ve been… I was….” Gabe shakes his head. “I was doing a job for Skinny Mary.”
“What?”
“We were gonna talk about it later, but I couldn’t sleep and you were too tired.” He steadies himself with a big breath. “Never flown before. And….” He shakes his head again. “Flying’s pretty tiring. And I found the Thing.”
He turns over his hands as if he’s looking at them, and James sees how twisted and burned they look, as if somebody’s held them in a fire.
“Shit,” James whispers, scrambling out of the bed, “Jesus, Gabe—”
“It’s okay. It hurts and it looks bad, but it’s not. I mean, it’s healing. They’re almost better now.”
James subsides onto the floor in front of Gabe.
“This is better?” he asks.
“Yeah. A lot.” He smiles with one side of his mouth. “It’s what happens when I hit salt.” He shakes his head. “But look, Jamie, I… I went into your dad’s office. I, uh…. Uncle Abraham’s will was there.”
“You were in the Firm?”
“Three jobs I gotta do for Mary and she’ll help me out. One was getting seen by your dad. So I went to his office.”
James nods. That’d be the place to go.
“He left half the business to my dad, you know? He, uh, I think, uh….”
He stops, gulping. James nods.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Gabe whispers after a moment. “Yeah. So. I guess that explains that.” A long silence. Then Gabe raises his head. “Hey, is there any water? I’m thirsty.”
James nods. There’s a pitcher over where the basin is. He takes the glass they’ve been using for the bourbon and fills it up there.
Gabe straightens up. He folds the wings on his back up right and then rubs his wrist over his head, smoothing back the little ones sprouting there. They settle down behind his ears like contented little birds, and James can’t help but smile.
“Here,” he says. “You want me to hold the cup?”
“No, it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I think I burned them so bad when I got Rob out of the iron there’s probably no nerves left.”
James is gentle anyway. He folds Gabe’s fingers around the glass. Gabe’s wings sigh down a little more.
“Getting used to it, aren’t you? The wings I mean.”
Gabe grunts into the cup while he drinks.
“No,” he says. “I mean, the ones on my feet I don’t really notice, but the big ones….” He shakes his head. “They’re a fucking pain.” Gabe drains the cup, and when he looks at James his smile gets fixed, like a mask set in place. “They’re creepy and gross,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to pretend.”
“They’re weird,” James agrees. “I’m not used to them. But….” He shrugs. “I’ll get used to them. Will you?”
Gabe shakes his head. “Never.”
“Maybe?” James asks.
“I want them off. I made a deal with Skinny Mary. The second I can get rid of them, they’re going. Three jobs. Your dad, that’s one, and the Thing, I found it. Her. I found her. Do you… do you know where she is?”
James shakes his head.
“She’s at the Firm.”
James feels the air go out of him, as if he’s been punched. “The madwoman,” he whispers. “The madwoman in the attic.”
“Yeah.”
“No, we made that up. That was a story.”
“No, we saw her, and we heard her, and we were right.”
James closes his eyes and breathes a couple of big, deep breaths to steady himself. “It’s Wailing Mary, isn’t it?” he asks softly and doesn’t wait for an answer. “God, how long has she been up there? Since the nineteenth century? Christ. Christ. What the fuck is wrong with my family?” He looks helplessly at Gabe. “I mean it. Seriously. What the fuck is wrong with them?”
Gabe shakes his head. His feathers rustle softly.
“Oh my God. They’re using her to kill sidhe, and they used her to turn you. Why’d they…?” He stops, mouth slack, lungs airless. “Oh my God.”
Gabe nods. “Yeah.”
“Gabe, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have….”
“You didn’t make me like this. They did. And now they’re using her like they used you. Or I guess they’re using you like they’ve been using her. Nobody knows about it, and you two are the only ones who suffer. Nice and tidy.”
“What’s the third job?”
“I don’t know yet. Skinny Mary wouldn’t say. Uh, there’s something I need your help with, though. It’s probably going to be awful, so I get it if you say no.”
“Changing you back?” James says at once.
Gabe smiles, genuine this time. “De-monstering,” he says.
It makes James angry.
“Gabe, you’re not a monster.”
Gabe laughs. “Actually, I am.” His voice is a little loud, a little thin. “Ac
tually, I totally am. I’m a… I’m not blind, you know. I’m not. I’ve got eyes that work. Just not….” He stops. “How about you have a look?”
James doesn’t get the time to respond. Gabe takes a deep breath and gets to his feet. He turns his back to James, and the wings come unfurled.
The little ones stretch out and flutter, but James hardly sees them because the other six, six, on Gabe’s back are broad and soot-colored and stretch out at least three feet on either side of him. They sigh, like curtains opening or fabric rustling, the feathers broad and glossy, if a little askew.
“Your feathers are a mess,” James tells him. “You need to learn to preen.”
Gabe doesn’t laugh. He stretches out the wings to their length so that James can see something that glitters at the junction of each wing. Eyes. Seven of them. And between those and the wings, mouths open like zippers in Gabe’s back.
“Jesus, Gabe,” James whispers. “Jesus Christ, your back.”
“Yeaaah,” Gabe says. “So there’s that.”
James comes forward just a little. Gabe leans away. Those eyes are definitely functional.
“Can I, I mean, is it okay if I touch your shoulder?”
The skin on Gabe’s shoulder crawls, words bubbling to the surface and subsiding again, but he nods. He touches Gabe’s shoulder, and Gabe’s skin is fever hot.
“No wonder you freaked the fuck out,” James says quietly. “I’d have gone nuts. I thought it was just the wings.”
Gabe shrugs with one shoulder. “Me too. At first.”
“You’ve been keeping it together in spite of this?”
Gabe laughs. “What else am I going to do? It’s fucked, I know. It’s fucked. My skin’s fucked, my back’s fucked, I’m fucked.” He laughs, weak, thin, his hands flopping at his sides. “Skinny Mary says the way out is painful. She says people die trying. So, I guess that’s what I’m doing on Tuesday.”
“Hey.” James pulls on Gabe’s shoulder so that Gabe will twist around, so he can see Gabe’s face. “You gotta stop acting like you’re okay,” he tells him.
Gabe opens and closes his mouth but doesn’t say anything.
“Really, you gotta stop acting like you got this. How freaked out are you right now?”
“Bad. Pretty bad,” Gabe admits, nodding. He’s starting to shiver. “Like a lot. So fucking much.” His voice breaks. He covers half his face with one hand. “I can’t believe you’re still here,” he whispers after a moment. “I wanted to run screaming, and they’re on me.”
Well, a part of James feels the same way, but it’s Gabe. Still Gabe, whatever else he is.
“It’s so fucked,” Gabe says, voice getting harsh. “And I want them off. I wanna fucking cut them off with a hacksaw if that’s what it takes that’s fine I don’t care I….” He stops, maybe because he’s out of air. He drags in a breath and then another and steadies himself. “Even the sidhe are afraid of me. Even Skinny Mary’s afraid of me. I don’t want to be a monster, Jamie.”
Gabe’s fingers dig into James’s hand, hard enough to bruise, and James, it’s a moment of weakness that’s all, but his heart is breaking for Gabe and he does it. He leans in, so that they’re forehead to forehead, and then he ducks his head to kiss Gabe’s mouth.
For a moment neither of them moves.
“Sorry,” James whispers, pulling back. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, don’t be, I—”
They both stop. James looks down at the floor between their feet. “I love you so fucking much I can’t stand this. I can’t stand how unhappy you are.”
“You what?”
He looks back at Gabe. Gabe’s brows are sloping toward his nose, his mouth downward as if something’s tugging on it.
“I love you. I’m sorry.”
Gabe makes a noise, a broken little sound, maybe half a laugh. “You’re sorry?”
“Gabe I… I….”
Gabe catches his jaw, draws him up, draws him in, kisses him, mouth hard and hungry and desperate. James is dumbfounded at first, doesn’t know what to think, how to be. Then he realizes Gabe is kissing him. Gabe is kissing him. He lurches into the kiss, so their noses bonk together and teeth clack.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“You apologize an awful lot, Jamie,” Gabe says, laughing a little.
James should probably be embarrassed, but he’s not. It’d be impossible to feel anything but buoyant and giddy after that. “Uh, I’m used to screwing things up, so it’s kinda automatic now.”
Gabe’s little laugh breaks the air above them like ice. A fate sealed, time pinned in place. He hadn’t even noticed before now.
They’re startled apart by a knock on the door. James goes over and opens it. Yuko’s standing out in the hall. She’s got an old-fashioned candleholder in her hand, a single red candle burning in it.
“Is Gabe back yet?” she asks.
James lets the door swing open a little wider so she can see him. Yuko doesn’t come into the room, just nods at him.
“Okay, so Skinny Mary says you two should get ready.”
Gabe’s head comes up. He looks in Yuko’s direction. “I still owe a favor.”
“She’ll collect when she collects,” Yuko says, stepping back a little. “And we know Wailing Mary’s been talking to you. Giving you orders.” Her eyes dart down to Gabe’s charred hands. “Skinny Mary wants you changed and out of here, and frankly so do I.”
Gabe nods. “I’m ready,” he says.
She exhales through her nose. She looks at James. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. “What about me?”
“You’re gonna be his second, aren’t you? The last thing is iron. He’s not going to be able to do it himself.”
He swallows. He nods. “Yeah,” he lies, as if this isn’t a surprise, as if iron doesn’t kill sidhe. “I’m ready. Whenever.”
She gives him a long, silent look. Then she hands him the candle. “When it burns out, come downstairs. Not the dining room, the ballroom. It’s on the other side of the hall.”
He nods. “Sure.”
“Don’t…,” she starts and stops. She shakes her head. “Don’t be flip about this, James.”
It could be cruel, but it’s not. He knows that tone now. He knows it means concern.
“Would being scared help?” he asks. “Genuine question. Because if it would, that’s what I’ll be.”
She frowns at him, but she shakes her head. “No. But a little respect might.” She pushes back her hair. “Skinny Mary can’t take the magic out of him, he has to do it himself, and it’s not going to be easy. He doesn’t make it, either we kill him or the Firm kills him. You gotta get him through this. I know you have an ace in your sleeve.”
“No,” he tells her. “That’s not what he gave me that for.”
She shrugs. “If it comes right down to it, you’ll command him through the salt yourself. I know you.”
He swallows and shakes his head, and she gives him a flat look.
“See you down there,” she says, and pulls the door closed when she goes.
JAMES SETS the candle down too hard, muscles suddenly jumping, the candleholder clattering and wax slopping over the edge like blood.
“Shit,” he whispers.
“James,” Gabe says softly. “You okay?”
“I won’t,” James says. “Skinny Mary thought I’d use your name to make you work for her. And now Yuko thinks I’d use it to make you do this thing. I won’t. You know that, right?”
Gabe nods.
“You could.”
“That’s not why you gave it to me.” That’s not the only reason, but he keeps that to himself. He picks some of the slopped wax off the wood with his thumbnail and flicks it into the candle. His hands are shaking. Keep it together, he tells himself. He looks at Gabe.
“When this is done, Gabe, the first thing we’re going to do is bury your dad.”
Gabe’s mouth twitches a little. “Thanks,” he says softly.
James nods. He’s tired again. So tired. He noticed white hairs this morning when he looked in the mirror. He plucked one of them, thinking it was blond, and had a look at it and realized it was white. Well. Being drunk ages you. Running for your life ages you. Sorrow ages you like sun and wind does pine wood, weathers it to silver, deepens the grooves. Crow’s-feet and lines, and the red threading through the whites of his eyes. All he wants is to not be so beaten and so tired. His breathing is all over the place. All he wants is a drink. He needs a distraction.
“Gabe,” he says quietly, “Skinny Mary says this is going to hurt, and Yuko thinks I’m going to have to force you to do it. I won’t. But, I mean, are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah,” Gabe answers. He chews his bottom lip, but he nods. “If the worst happens, at least I saved you a bullet.” He laughs faintly, as if him dying would be some kind of joke.
“Don’t fucking joke about that,” he snaps.
Gabe starts, and James can’t look at him, can’t bear to look at him more.
“I saw you with the gun in the warehouse. I know what you were trying to do when you were reading in. I know Jeremiah by heart, Gabe.”
Gabe lowers his head.
“I know you can’t live like this.”
“Jamie…,” Gabe starts and stops.
“But look, don’t go into this if you’re not going to come out, okay? Maybe there’s some other way. Something you don’t know about.”
Gabe laughs. “There’s not,” he says quietly. “Between the Firm and the sidhe, there’s nothing. Sorry.”
“Me too. For everything. I don’t know how much of this is my fault. Maybe all of it. I don’t know what I fixed, and I don’t know if I can un-fix it. But it doesn’t matter, not really. I mean, it’s done. I just….” He shrugs. His head hurts. “I’ve lost everything. In, like, a week. You’re all I have left. I know things are bad right now for you, but….” His throat closes up. He looks down at his hands. “But they’re bad for me too, okay? Stop trying to kill yourself, okay? Stop being so fucking selfish.”