Die on Your Feet

by S. G. Wong

  “Lola and Mayor were discussing the results of her investigation into the extortion ring when Copenhagen attacked. She killed Mayor’s Conjurers. Shot them all. Lola tried to hit Copenhagen, to disarm the threat, but Copenhagen shot Lola and tried to kill her. Copenhagen would have shot Lola in the head, but Mayor intervened. He and Copenhagen struggled, while my Host lay beat and bleeding on the floor. I urged her to get up, to leave immediately, but then I was torn away. We, Lola and I, we knew Copenhagen had intended to use me in her Dispersal spell. But to be honest, I’d forgotten about that. I just wanted to get my Host to safety. I struggled when I felt the Spell being Cast, when I was pulled into it, but I’m no Spell Caster and Copenhagen was strong.” His voice trailed away.

  “What did you feel?” asked Heung without inflection.

  “Please be specific,” added the other Ghost.

  Aubrey’s voice was quiet. “I felt as though she plunged her fingers into me and spread me out. She was wrapping me around Mayor, tightening a noose, a net, a rope, something deadly. I felt myself dissipating. He cut through me, then, sharp as a cleaver. I might have cried out, I don’t recall. I...thought of Lola, and her mother, I tried to hold on to myself, my...Essence. She still had a grip on me. He stabbed and slashed until he came free. I floated in tatters between them.” Aubrey’s voice was dull now.

  “But you were still conscious of yourself?” asked Liao. “You knew who you were?”

  “Yes.”

  Lola sighed. “It seems damned clear to me. Copenhagen used him to Disperse Mayor, but the old hack got to her before she could finish. He tore out her soul,” she concluded, her face suddenly tight. “And Aubrey pulled himself together, out of harm’s way.”

  “I was lucky,” said Aubrey.

  “And Mayor simply disappeared?” asked Heung.

  Lola nodded. Her throat was raw with exhaustion. “That’s what it looked like. She tried to tear him apart. He tore out her soul. I thought I saw a mist of some sort, afterward. It might’ve been him. It disappeared, but Copenhagen, her body was on the floor...beside me.”

  The silence lengthened. Heung sat calmly and searched Lola’s face with her inscrutable, dark eyes. Finally, Lola said, “You considered yet that Copenhagen tried her Spell with Josephson and his Ghost first? Maybe she couldn’t get them close enough to Mayor. Maybe they weren’t cooperating. I don’t know. A junkie and his Ghost might have been simply too unreliable.”

  Aubrey broke in. “It’s just as likely Lucille convinced her brother to leave town on the promise of another score.”

  “Whatever the reason,” Lola said, “Copenhagen needed another plan. So she looked for another option.”

  “And found you,” said Liao, his voice low and thoughtful.

  Lola shrugged, suddenly weary again. She dropped back against the pillows, grimacing as the metal cuff scraped her wrist bone.

  A knock at the door. Heung closed her notebook and stood. “We appreciate your cooperation, Ms. Starke. This is a most unusual situation. Your Ghost posed some interesting suppositions regarding the magics involved, which we will be following up. We may require your Ghost’s presence at another interview. In the interim, it’s in your best interest to stay in Crescent City.”

  Lola pulled at her arm, handcuffed to the bed. She let its rattle express her ire. She stared wearily at Heung’s crisp blouse and creased slacks. “Who’s next?” she asked.

  The door opened and in stepped two familiar figures.

  “Ah, the same old dog-and-pony, I see,” Lola said. “Any chance of a cigarette? Now that the oh-so-sensitive Conjurer’s off?”

  Heung nodded cordially to the two detectives and swept out into the hall. Lola heard footsteps, voices, squeaky carts, rattling dishes—all the sounds of a busy hospital—from the hall until Marks closed the door. Beneath his neutral demeanour, Lola sensed exhaustion. She almost snorted. It was nothing compared to how she felt. Bednarski pulled over the chair Heung had sat in. He reversed it and straddled the seat. Marks remained standing at the foot of the bed.

  “Seems the staff Conjurers are satisfied for now, Ms. Starke.”

  “I’m so happy for them.”

  “It’s far-fetched enough to be the truth,” commented Marks. He slid a hand into a breast pocket and re-surfaced with a packet of cigarettes. His expression bland, he offered them. Lola’s cheeks reddened.

  “Those always give me a headache, and the shape I’m in,” she swallowed past an abruptly tight throat. “No thank you.”

  Marks shrugged and shook one out, lit it with a shiny metallic lighter.

  Bednarski said, “We just have a few more questions and then you can go back to sleep.”

  “But don’t leave town, right?” asked Lola. She rattled her cuff again.

  “What can I tell you? You’re the sole surviving witness in the murder of the City’s highest official. By your own admission, you were an instrument in his demise.”

  “Did you just say ‘demise’, Bednarski?”

  “—although an unwitting one,” he finished.

  Marks chimed in: “But ignorance only gets you so far.”

  “Some farther than others,” Lola replied. Before Marks reacted, she sat forward, determined to ignore the pain, and asked Bednarski, “So now what? You need me to connect the dots for you too?”

  The big man nodded, “Something like that, sure.”

  Lola looked from him to his partner. Neither man looked any fresher than she felt. She sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine, gentlemen.”

  “That’s not much help, Starke.”

  Lola shrugged at Marks’s scowl. “Did you think we had a civilized chat in there? That she conveniently explained her murderous scheme to me before she was going to kill me? What kind of dime-store novel you think this is?”

  Bednarski raised his hands appeasingly. “We just want to know what she said, if anything.”

  “Oh gosh, Inspector,” gushed Lola, “she said she was going to torture me slowly until Mayor showed himself, at which point, she was going to use Aubrey to kill him, thereby killing my Ghost in the process and then, hopefully, she was going to kill me as painfully as she could.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Marks, “but why? Why target Mayor?”

  Lola shrugged. “Since you’re so desperate as to be asking an ignorant gumshoe like me, I’ll take pity on you. I’d suggest taking a look at those two years before she hired on with Gaming.”

  “Tell it now, Starke,” growled Marks.

  “Got nothing to tell.” Lola turned her face away. “I couldn’t dig deep enough.”

  “Now that I believe,” replied Marks.

  “That’s enough,” said Bednarski. He rubbed his face, his stubble rasping against his palm. “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Don’t leave town,” said Marks. He pointed a long finger at her.

  Lola clenched her fists. The cuff pressed into her wrist.

  “I apologize for the cuffs, Miss Starke,” said the big man. “Like I said, you’re a possible suspect and material witness. The Staff Conjurers’ll check into your story. We’ll check into the physical stuff. We’ll let you know as soon as it comes clear.” Bednarski replaced his chair and went to the door. Lola waited for the door to close with a soft thump before closing her eyes and collapsing against the pillow again. She considered calling for the nurse but was asleep before she could remember where the button was.

  * * *

  “Miss Starke, your mother is waiting to take you home. You’re free to go.”

  Lola rubbed at her bandaged wrist. Three days with that gods-damned cuff on her hand. No wonder it was raw. She nodded her thanks to the nurse, a grey-haired woman with gentle eyes. The nurse helped her into the wheelchair.

  “I prefer to walk,” Lola said, her voice tight.

/>   “Hospital procedure, Miss Starke. Wouldn’t want you to have a mishap on your way out.”

  Lola grunted. The nurse held out a cane of dark wood with a silver cap. Lola hesitated before accepting it. She laid it on her lap, its silver-tipped end resting on her feet, her hand clasped firmly around the cap.

  The nurse pushed Lola down the hallway, around a corner and out into the reception area. Lola saw her mother immediately. Just behind her stood St. John, his face neutral but Lola recognized the tightness in his stance, the set of his jaw, sure signs of his disapproval. Beside him, a few feet away, stood Bednarski and Marks.

  Grace McCall wore a tailored midnight blue dress. Its square-cut décolletage highlighted her delicate collarbone. A tear-shaped diamond hung against her porcelain skin. She repeatedly slapped one glove against the palm of her other gloved hand, the very picture of elegant, steely disdain. As soon as Lola was within reach, she gently took her daughter’s arm. Before turning away, however, she gathered herself up. She tipped her chin up and looked down her nose through the small veil of lace cascading down from her hat.

  “Tell Superintendent Locke I shall be expecting him tomorrow afternoon,” she said coldly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied Marks.

  “The next time you wish to reach my daughter, you shall do so through our solicitor.” Grace gestured at St. John, who proffered a simple card to Bednarski.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said the large man.

  Lola used her cane to push herself up out of the wheelchair. The nurse helped her up with a hand on her elbow and the other gently on her back. Lola nodded to the homicide detectives and held herself straight-backed, thinking of her maid Elaine. She thanked the nurse and allowed her mother and St. John to guide her out of the hospital. They walked carefully to the car, miraculously waiting at the curb. St. John opened the door and helped Lola in first. Then Grace slid in. The door closed with a soft click.

  “Home, St. John,” Lola said. After a beat, she added, “please.”

  The car started up and silence fell within.

  Lola closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and listened to the purr of the Packard. She dozed eventually, and came to just as the car pulled to a stop in front of her apartment building. Rubbing uselessly at her eyes, Lola prepared to get out. She looked down and realized her mother was holding her hand.

  “Darling,” Grace hesitated, “I’m leaving in two days.” Another pause. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No thank you, Mother. I’ll be fine. The Aunties will take care of me. And Betta.” She paused. “Thank you for the cane.”

  Grace opened her mouth to protest, then shut it firmly. Her face fell by degrees. “I’ll come by tomorrow, after I see Locke.”

  Lola nodded. She gently extricated her hand, turned away. She hesitated before pulling the door latch. Relenting, she said, “He died well. If that’s any consolation.”

  Grace seemed to shrink inward. “No,” she said faintly, “actually, it’s not.”

  Epilogue

  “It’s not safe for you to drive,” he says. “You’ve only been out of hospital five days.”

  “You sound too much like Vivian,” I reply. I glance at the cane on the passenger’s seat. The silver cap is smooth but pitted. I’ve found myself rubbing it soothingly too many times since my mother gave it to me.

  “She happens to be right this time.” Aubrey, talking again. Right.

  I shrug.

  “Where are we going?” he asks, subdued now. I imagine he’s looking out the window.

  “I’m going to the Jade Sparrow. You can make your own plans.”

  “Another frivolous night?”

  I pull out into a slackening rain. A light smatter of water taps on the top of the car. Barely enough moisture to scrape across the windshield.

  He speaks again, suddenly. “Could you tell I was gone? When you woke?”

  I shrug again. “Barely felt a difference.”

  “Even you know that’s not true.”

  “Fine, then.” Damned if I’d tell him about my first taste of freedom in ten years.

  “I was summoned by The Council.”

  I mull that over. “What’s the damage?” I ask finally. “Should I expect a summons of my own?”

  “They’ve promised to leave you alone.”

  “Their price?”

  A long pause. Too long. Then: “An increase in my tithe.” His low answer is almost lost in the increased tapping of the rain.

  I grip the wheel, hard, and maneouvre around a taxi letting his fares out. “What does that mean for me?”

  I can feel his hesitation, almost like a force pushing me away. He really doesn’t want to tell me. “They’ve chosen an additional Host,” he whispers then.

  My gut tightens painfully. I take a guess. “Mother.”

  His silence is answer enough.

  “How did you tell her without saying anything about The Council?”

  “I did what I had to do. You’d be dead otherwise. You and your mother.” He tries to say it calmly, but I can hear the tremor running through it. I think about that tremor as I navigate through the City at night. Cars are everywhere, filled with glittering, marcelled girls laughing as their white-tie beaus dart and race through traffic. I catch glimpses of people on the sidewalks, waiting in line at the cinemas, or walking in groups. Everyone seems to be going somewhere.

  It comes to me, then, clear as day. “You didn’t tell her. You bastard. She doesn’t even know.”

  “I know it’s difficult for you to accept, but I’m thinking of your best interests. It was the only way to protect you. And Grace. They didn’t give me a choice of Hosts. They’d already decided on your mother.”

  “Let me guess.” A bitter taste twists my mouth. “I can’t tell her either.”

  He sighs. He actually sighs, damn him. “I had no choice, Lola. You can accept that, or not. You can be angry for the rest of your life. It won’t change one damned thing. It certainly won’t change the past.”

  “Ah, how convenient. Done and dusted. No need to consider your actions, then.”

  “My conscience is clear.”

  “Mine isn’t,” I shout. I take a few, concentrating on the streets, other cars, the pedestrians. I try to calm down. My heart is racing, though. This is madness. I can’t let it happen. “Let me talk to this Council then. I’ll bear the burden alone.”

  “It’s too late, Lola. Grace is already...tethered.”

  “You don’t even sound bothered,” I shoot back. The traffic thins as I keep driving. Past the Jade Sparrow, past all the rest of the houses and buildings in East Town. Past the City limits. I’m driving too fast, but I can’t stop.

  “You have absolutely no idea what I’m feeling.” His voice is as cold as the night air streaming through my window now. “I saved us the best way left to me.”

  “So the end result is worth any amount of duplicity, is that it?” I’m sickened by his righteous tone. Doesn’t he understand how deeply he’s deceived my mother, his childhood friend? The sheer magnitude of the betrayal stuns me.

  And he’s roped me into it.

  I clamp my teeth against the pressure building in my chest, the scream battering to get out.

  “Someday,” he says, his voice cutting, “you’ll be faced with a choice between your vaunted principles and the safety of a person you love. We’ll see which you choose.”

  My eyes fill with tears, I’m clamping down so hard against the scream. I feel my gorge rise, swallow against it. I gnash out each word carefully:

  “You. Don’t. Love. Me.”

  My knuckles show starkly white in the darkness inside the car. I loosen my grip on the steering wheel. “Get it straight, haunt. You don’t know me. I don’t owe you any
thing. You tricked me into this Hosting. I haven’t discovered why, but I will. The day it happens, be ready for a reckoning.”

  I drive eastward, toward the flats and the stark, black mountains. The rain’s stopped completely, leaving a light greasy film on my windows. Behind me lie the lights and glitter of the City. Ahead, nothing but empty road and the dark chill of the desert night.

  I drive until my face is numb and I’m deaf from the roar of the wind.

  I drive until I’m sure I won’t throttle the first person to speak to me.

  Then I stop.

  The desert sky is limitless out here. The black shapes of mountains brood in the far, far distance. Their vastness pushes at me even from afar. I swipe at my eyes and look up. Stars, like pinpricks of light, blink among the tatters of pale clouds. The moon hangs its crescent horns in the black sky.

  Bracing for it, I think of Arbogast, his last words to me and his smile when he introduced himself and explained his name. I think of Mayor, as he spoke of my parents. And then his expression before he tore a woman’s soul away.

  I remember my father, his handsome face, kind and intelligent.

  I gun the engine and take a deep breath. I’m ready. In the distance, the City pulls at me. Its neon lights, its excitement, its sheer joy in existing. My immediate future is simple: hard drink, easy tiles and a date with a stranger.

  There’s plenty of night before the dawn.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  S.G. Wong is a Chinese-Canadian writer who lives in the wilds of the Western Prairies—far in time and temperament from the hot climes of Lola Starke’s world.