Salt and Iron

by Tam MacNeil

  “You’re the van Helsing boy,” she says. “The one who’s making trouble all over the place. People been talking about you. I hear you helped turn an unseelie back. Is that true?”

  “Jesus,” he says softly. “Word gets around quick.”

  She laughs, the scratchy laugh of too many cigarettes. “You think people aren’t going to talk about something like that?” She shakes her head. “They say you’re going to stop the Thing.”

  He nods. “Going to try.”

  “Well,” she says. She shrugs. “Well, I got a message for Gabriel, from Skinny Mary.”

  He nods, swallowing. “I can take it to him.”

  “She says he should take your grandma out. Make sense to you?”

  Let her out of the attic James’ parents have been keeping her in. That would unleash the Thing on the city, which is impossible. Innocent people would die. It’d be a bloodbath. His parents have been wrong about lots of stuff, but not about that. The Thing loose in the city would be an apocalypse.

  But they made a deal with the sidhe. And you don’t go back on those kinds of promises.

  “Not really,” he says, rising. “But I get it.” His shirt is stuck to the small of his back, and his pants are stuck to his ass. He’s sweating like he’s outside, like the AC doesn’t work. His hands are shaking a bit. “Tell her I’ll… I’ll let her know when it’s done.”

  He knows she watches him when he goes.

  ABE DOESN’T go directly home. Instead he stops at the New Glamis police station, smiles at the clerk on duty, says hi to a couple of the blues who are taking advantage of the break room, and finds his own way down to the holding cells, even though he’s technically supposed to have an escort down there.

  “Can I have Mr. Lennox in an interrogation room, please?” he asks, and Kareem, the sergeant who always either worked the desk or the door, nods.

  “Get comfy behind door number one and I’ll bring him in,” he says.

  So Abe sits there fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeves for five minutes, until Kareem opens the door and Lennox comes shuffling in. Abe and Kareem nod at each other, and Kareem closes the heavy iron door. Abe looks over at Lennox, and Lennox looks back at him, not dead on, but with his head a little turned, like he’s not sure what to make of Abe, not really.

  Abe’s seen the man before, and pictures of him, but this is the first time he’s ever been within spitting distance of him. He’s small and he hunches, and he squints like maybe his eyes aren’t so good, and right now he’s gripping his cuffed hands before him, wringing the fingers one at a time on one hand and then switching to the other, as if they ache or he’s afraid Abe’s come here to take them from him. Maybe, if the trial goes the way Abe figures it’s going to, that’ll be the price for divination. But he’s starting to think it’s not going to come to that.

  “Mr. Lennox,” Abe says, rising a little and gesturing to the chair opposite. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lennox whispers. He goes and sits, hands gripping each other in his lap. Abe sits down again too.

  “Mr. Lennox, I’m going to ask you a question. It… may seem like a strange question to you. There’s no subtext to this question. The question doesn’t mean anything special, and I’m not speaking in some kind of code. I only want you to give me a factual answer. Is that all right by you?”

  Lennox’s eyes dart side to side. “Yes, sir.”

  Abe nods and leans forward. He speaks softly. “Who asked you to make those cards?”

  Lennox’s eyes grow wider. His jaw begins to quiver. “Well, sir, I don’t know the name, sir. There was just a guy what come up to me in the bar and says….”

  “I know,” Abe says softly. “I read the report. But I want the truth.”

  Lennox swallows.

  Abe pushes down the anxiety that is creeping up, tightening his chest, making his back run with sweat. “If you’re convicted, they could cut off your hands, and the hands of your daughters,” he says quietly. “You might just get off with a piercing, but if the judge sees those cards….” He shrugs. “And Mr. Lennox, I’m not interested in the man who makes the big salt circles or his girls who make cards. I want to know who put you up to this.”

  Lennox doesn’t move. He stares at the wall behind Abe as if there’s a TV screen there.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” Abe asks. “You’re going to cover for the person who paid you? Could anybody possibly pay you enough? You’re going to lose your hands, Mr. Lennox, and that’s if you’re lucky. You may very well end up on death row. What could possibly be more valuable than—” He stops. Lennox looks up at him, and they stare at each other for a moment. “—your life?”

  Lennox shakes his head once. “No, sir,” he says softly. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your daughters’ lives.”

  Lennox’s eyes flick up to Abe’s and then past him again. A tiny, fractional nod.

  Abe leans forward, face toward the table so if anyone is lip-reading, or if the video of his interview is ever at issue, no one will be able to read his lips. “They go free. You lose your hands. He gets the cards.”

  “She,” he whispers.

  “Who?”

  Lennox tilts his head a little, mouth turning up at the corners. “C’mon, son. I’m sure they keep all this in the family.”

  He tries not to feel his stomach falling like an elevator with the cables cut. He tries not to jump to the only rational conclusion.

  “Pretend they don’t,” Abe says softly. “Pretend they don’t, and pretend I can bail you and your daughters out now and put a hundred bucks in your hand and you can get out of state before nightfall.”

  Lennox licks his lips. “Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll tell you on the steps.”

  Abe hesitates. Then he nods and goes to see Kareem.

  IT’S QUICK. He puts the cost of the bail for the three of them on the company card and signs the papers himself. He gets a few weird looks when he does it, but nobody says anything. At least not to his face. They go out, all four of them, into the humid autumn air, and on the steps, like he promised, Lennox turns to him.

  “You done a kind thing,” he says softly. “They say you’re the good son. Seems like it.”

  Abe doesn’t answer. He shrugs.

  Lennox takes Abe’s hand and shakes it, and when Abe looks down he sees Lennox has palmed a piece of paper into Abe’s hand. He pulls his hand back, closing fingers over the paper.

  “I hope so,” he says. “It’d be nice to be the good one.”

  Lennox shrugs. He glances at his daughters. “There’s room for two good kids, you know.”

  Abe laughs softly.

  The nearest sister goes up on her toes and leans in, kissing him on the cheek. Abe stares, stunned, and before he can speak, the second sister is up on her toes, kissing his cheek. He watches them go, rushing across the hanging green, clothes blowing in the September wind. When they’re on the far side of the square, he opens the paper and reads what it says.

  ’til the sun goes out and fools rush in, death cannot harm you

  It means nothing to him, but he’s paid an awful lot to get it, so he folds it back up small, tucks it in his pocket, and goes to see his mother.

  WHEN ABE comes to see her, it is exactly as she expected it. Her son has always worn his heart on his sleeve, and from the moment he comes through the door, she can see that a friend is gone and his heart is broken in his chest and Abe van Helsing is in earnest mourning.

  He’ll mourn, and a part of her will mourn with him, but the lion’s share will keep its seat and know the cost. She always thinks of him as fair. Where James has her husband’s dark good looks, Abe is every bit her. He’s lost the golden hair he was born with, age has darkened it to a caramel sort of color, but he has the heart shape of her face, and he has the hazel eyes that she does, but in spite of his similar looks, he could not be less like her in any respect. His eyes, for example,
are threaded with red, and hers are ivory pale.

  “I heard about what happened, sweetie,” she says. If this was James it would be a simple thing. She would settle him on the couch and bring him drink after drink until he mellowed, until he grew weary and pliable, and this is the trouble with having two sons, one who is golden and who does his duty and knows what’s right and what is wrong, and one who is useful.

  “What did you hear, Mom?” he asks. He glances at the couch like he’s thinking about settling on it.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “About Gabe and Benecio, sweetie. About the two of them.”

  “Did you hear that Rob went after them?”

  She does not freeze, and she does not stutter in her movements, but it’s only practice that allows. “Not Rob too?” For that she would be genuinely sorry.

  “No,” he says softly, “no, thank God. Mom, listen. I’m worried about you and Dad.”

  She laughs. They’re such sweet little creatures, her boys. “We’ll be fine, just fine. Leave the worrying to your parents.”

  He shakes his head. “No, Mom, listen. Rob talked with Gabe.”

  Now she does stutter. Her hands grip the neck of the decanter, and the wine spills over, missing the rim of the glass completely to splatter on the carpet. It’ll be all right. It’s appropriate to be startled.

  “But I thought Gabe was lost too,” she whispers.

  “He was. He was turned.” Abe shakes his head, like he can’t really believe it himself.

  She looks at him, and he’s rubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he didn’t see her violent start. Maybe he didn’t hear the wine go splattering onto the carpet. Why should he have been looking for those things? Why should he be listening for them?

  “Rob said Gabe told him he’d been given as a gift.”

  “What do you mean a gift?” she echoes, because she isn’t sure if she ought to scoff or ought to be aghast. She’s not sure which would be natural to another.

  “Mom, somebody betrayed us. Benecio’s dead because of it, and Gabe’s….” He shrugs and looks up at her. He’s pale, furrows near his mouth and on his brow and his eyes smudged under by circles dark as bruises. “I don’t think you turn back. I think Gabe’s probably as good as dead too.”

  “Honey,” she whispers, taking her wine and coming to the couch, because comfort is in order now. “Honey, listen. I’m sorry. God knows I’m so sorry. But that’s not Gabe anymore. It’s a monster wearing Gabe’s face. You know that. Nothing he says can be trusted.”

  He nods. “I know. I mean, normally, yeah, I know that.” Abe sighs. He raises his head like he’s looking at something beyond the night-darkened windows. “Rob told me Gabe saved his life. That he burned his hands to cinders to get free of a salt circle and handled iron to get Rob free.”

  She is afraid. She does not like to be afraid.

  “Mom,” Abe says, and she holds herself quite still. “Mom…. Look, Mom, I’m worried about you guys.”

  She laughs just a little bit. It would be inappropriate to laugh as hard as she wants to. “Abe, you’re such a sweetheart. But your father and I can look after ourselves.”

  He licks his lips and draws a breath and looks at her, red-eyed and sad. “That’s not what I mean,” he says very quietly. “I’ve been talking with Jamie, Mom. I think you know what I mean.”

  Her heart stops like a clock in her chest. She looks back at him and sees on his face that he understands far better than she would have given him the credit for. But of course he does. She smiles a little. “Oh, sweetie,” she whispers, “you always were the smart one. My firstborn, my baby. Good and clever and brave.”

  “Has it always been like this, Mom?”

  “Of course it has. How do you think we’ve all survived? What do you think paid for this building? For your fancy suits and your good education? You think that money just came out of thin air?”

  “I thought we were doing good, Mom.”

  “We are, baby. Of course we are.”

  “Why’s the woman trapped in the attic?”

  “Oh, honey, think about it. If we didn’t use her, who would feed her? Keep her alive? Protect her from the sidhe? She’d have died long ago. If we let her loose, the sidhe will come get her, and then they’ll have the big weapon. We can’t let that happen. There’d be running battles in the street. It’d be like New York in the 1900s, but instead of broken bottles and brass knuckles, it’d be salt and iron. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not. Of course not.” He looks down at his hands, frowning, so upset. She smiles at him, even though he doesn’t see.

  “You see, Abe? This way there is always a legacy to pass on to the children. This way nobody has to know about the monsters in our blood. This way we are what we have always been, the heroes. We keep the place safe, and we secure a future for our family.”

  “Did….” Abe stops. He chews his upper lip for a moment. “Uncle Abraham too, Mom?”

  “Yes, dearest,” she says, pushing the hair, a little too long, back from his forehead, tucking it tidily behind his ear. “Him too. It was necessary. Things have been so quiet lately. And there are going to be more, Abe, sweetie. It’s a war, and we are soldiers. All of us will die with bloody hands.”

  He swallows and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says softly. “It’s not right. Mom, I’d never work against the family. You know that. You know I love you. You know I want the city to be safe. But this is not the way to do it. You gotta stop.”

  She sighs and tucks another piece of hair back behind his ear. “Oh, my dear little Abraham Simon Michael van Helsing.”

  He jerks where he’s seated, as if she’d stuck him with a pin.

  “You always were the good son, weren’t you, sweetie? Always knew what was right, never was afraid to do it.” She shakes her head just a little. Such a waste. “I should have taught you better than that.”

  He stares at her, and she doesn’t need him to speak the words to know he’s asking her why and begging her to stop.

  “I’m going to need you to kill yourself, sweetie,” she whispers. “Be good and do it quick for me, okay?”

  Abe has always been obedient. He gets to his feet and goes to the desk. The top drawer has a false bottom. Everyone in the family knows about it. She catches up her wineglass and starts toward the door. Abe is her firstborn, her dearest. She doesn’t want to see this happen. Then she reconsiders. This is going to be a tragedy. It has to be. But it needn’t be wasted.

  “Stop,” she says, and Abe does, in the act of pulling the old-fashioned revolver from the drawer. His expression is calm, maybe a little empty, but his eyes move like the eyes of a trapped animal. He looks at her, at the gun, at the door, at her again. She crosses over to him. “Who did you tell?”

  “No one,” he answers, throat contracting as if he wants to cough or scream.

  “Who was on the team last night?” she asks, then, “No, never mind,” she says and shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. She can find that out from the duty roster. She puts her hand over the gun and slides it out from under his fingers. He breathes out, almost manages to make a noise, the soft wail of a wind blowing through a door that doesn’t shut quite fast enough.

  She reaches into the desk and pulls out the little folding knife. She opens it and sets it on the desk in front of Abe. “I’m going to need your blood, sweetie,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’s for the good of the family. I know you understand.”

  She pours the wine out onto the carpet, and when he opens his vein, she catches a little of it, as if it’s the blood of Christ.

  Before it’s over she slips through the adjoining door and into the bedroom, through the bedroom and into the bathroom to wash. She washes the base of the glass, the sticky stem, her hands, the basin, the taps. Then she goes downstairs, to the service areas, to the whiteboard roster near the back door. Rob, Gabe, Benecio are all listed as the senior members on that mission. She goes
back up to her room and chews her nail. Tastes iron. Looks and sees it ringed with blood.

  She washes her hands again. Then she gathers up her courage and goes back through the bedroom. She goes back into the study, and her eldest son is lying on the soaked and stained carpet like a picture of himself.

  He is still warm when she gathers him up in her arms, smearing hands and face with blood. Still warm, and with the sun falling in on him he looks like a child and golden again. When she starts screaming, it is easy. All she has to do is let free the thing that’s been in her all this time, that knows the horror of what she is and the horror of what is too late to be undone. She screams with her whole body, like screaming out a true name. She screams until the sound shakes her blood and rattles her bones, as if her screams could bring the whole house down.

  “I’M HEADING out,” Yuko tells him in a low, quiet voice. “She’s asking for you.”

  Rob looks up, blinking, eyes burning with salt. “Maria?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Yuko’s voice is harsh. She’s been crying too. Rob sighs and pushes himself to his feet. He nods at her and settles a hand on her shoulder as he passes.

  “Is it okay?” he asks. He knows he shouldn’t, but he has to. “Everything all set up?”

  “Yeah,” she says again. “Torren’s got her. They’ve got tickets for the first plane out tomorrow morning.”

  He nods and goes down the hall, to Maria’s office.

  There’s no point in knocking. The door stands open, and Maria van Helsing sits on the little love seat. She looks up at him when he comes to stand by the door.

  “Mrs. van Helsing,” he whispers. He thinks of Howls; he can’t help it. It chokes him like a fist. “I’m so sorry.”

  She nods. “The sidhe will pay for this, Rob. I need you to promise me the sidhe will pay for what they’ve done.”

  He’s loved Yuko long enough to know better than to make a promise like that. “We’ll find the ones who did this,” he says, “to Abraham, and Benecio, and Gabe.”