It hurts. It's over. I drink more.
She takes the bottle and slugs. She tells me how to take care of it then stops boring me.
'The omens went fucking mental a few days ago, Lark. One of the seers is trapped in an automatic writing loop still. Wrote your name, we counted, one thousand eleven times so far. No one's breaking in to this place. Even if we wanted to. Everyone knows this is just about the most sealed-up space in the City. But we have eyes out. Word gets out about Bettina, walking around. We know you guys work cases together. So I look for her. Connor finds her first. He's on sick leave now - after he comes on too strong.'
Bettina just rolls her eyes real quick, telling me her entire opinion of that Librarian fuck. Katanya frowns. Connor's one of the crew she runs. Talks again.
'Then I find Bettina in the aftermath. Shopping, like. She trusts me enough to not introduce my face to a wall at first sight. Knows I reached out to you during that last big thing. Brings me here.'
Take another drink and light up. Not sure if I believe that story's clear as it seems but I'm not in the mood to run a paranoid thought through my head like a rat in a maze. My thoughts are all... bruised from that thing breaking the binding. Like being stoned, when the thoughts just get away from you- without the relaxation.
'You gonna talk to me?'
Can't even think my way through what happened.
'Thanks for the stitches.'
'I'm not talking as Library Enforcement Lark. I trained under you. I saw what happened with you and the Old Man. You took him down, not us. Out there, they say we saved you and you begged for your job back. I can't say otherwise. Politics.'
I sneer.
'Leave it be for now, Lark. It's not the time for your anger. I'm here to help.'
Bettina sits down with us.
'You should listen to her. After what happened. I know you're angry at her. And ... everyone she works with. But right now, with what we've got, you know, on our hands... might not be the time for holding old on to old beefs. Help you, you help me.'
What do I say? The Devil is pissed at me and I'm not entirely certain what's going on. I just know I got played. And Katanya still work for, benefit from, the last person to sell me out.
Pride fights with practicality. Can't seem to clear the pride out of my throat. See if I can work up to being smart for goddamn once. I don't trust her but the Ultrascorpions would have ripped her apart if she'd come here with tricks in mind.
'You told me you needed help.'
She fingers one of her eyebrow piercing scars. Shrugs.
'Yeah. I do need your help. Just information for now. What do you know about the other Lodges? Library Lodges.'
Library is one of about five magical cults that's big time for real. Operates worldwide. Funding. Rich members. A legacy. A history. Been around for a long time, too. The City's operation is one of the biggest but we're not in charge. There's authority over us.
'Me and Jon used to fly out to the other dozen or so Lodges all the time. We were sort of specialists in... conflict was how they said it. Conflict resolution. They don't have the problems we do. The City is sort of special that way. The other lodges have security and enforcement but not on our level. Three or four times a year, we got sent on a plane.'
'Yeah, yeah. You ever go to London?'
Foulstone. 'Yeah.'
'You ever run across a guy called Foulstone?'
'No. Why?'
'They bought him out. He's my new boss. Don't get all bent out of shape but I answer to Scarlet. She's moved on to something called Special Executive. No I don't know what that is. So they bought this guy in to supervise me and the rest of Enforcement. He's a limey.'
Shrug. 'Just like a corporation.'
Katanya heats up.
'I know! I know! Look, I know you don't give a fuck about the team but none of us signed up for that. Connor used to work with computers. Gave up a real gig with real money to come on board full-time. Rosengarten had something legit too. I went back to school, got the grades to be a doctor. A doctor! But when I got the magic, I knew it was bigger than that. You know? The world. Everything. Bigger than just a career.'
I know.
'Things are changing. I mean, they already were but something's happening. Foulstone is a heavy-hitter. Ghost-eater. Necromancer. Elliot is recruiting. More and more suits. More and more high-society types at the meetings. Baby-boomers getting curious about death, retiring rich, time to think about something spiritual. '
Doesn't bother to keep the sneer out of her voice and I'm glad to hear it.
'Some of my class,' she means the Librarians who joined in the last five years or so, 'some of us aren't happy. Something's up, with the high ups. But they're not talking. Also, Foulstone, he's got us studying some dark shit. Old stuff. Sumerian stuff.'
That's - what?
Sumer. Those were the first cultures to deal with magic and Gods in ways anyone working in a broadly Western Mystery tradition recognises. It stopped being shamanism, early Bronze Age. Stopped being witch doctors, working the raw current, seven thousand years back. But they were still half-wild people. Their Gods and monsters were dangerous and savage. Their magic was cruel.
'Tell me about that.'
'Later. All you have to know is, it's hard. Like, difficult magic to do. It's wrong information. It's too primal, man. The information is choppy and dangerous. None of us are happy with it. Those spells. Those spirits. You know what an Edimmu is?'
'Yeah.'
'What is it?' Bettina helps herself to my smokes.
'Malevolent utukku.'
'Right.' she says.
'Yeah. Sorry. Some ghosts are okay to those guys, those old Babylonian type motherfuckers. Not all demons and monsters were automatically, you know, evil. But some were stone bad. Edimmu are the oldest creatures we know could systemically be called ghosts. Child killers. Rabid air that reaches down your throat and murders you so they can eat all the pain. They been dead so long now that nothing human remains. '
'Yeah,' says Katanya. 'Yeah. They're fucking feral. You can't just chuck some salt, some holy water around them, call them bound. They're rabid. And he wants us to build up a corps of 'em. Took five of us to deal with one and in the end, we had to banish it. It spent three days trying to smash the bindings. We could feel it. Day and night. Feel it trying to get out. It never would have stopped.'
'Who needs that kind of firepower? Why?'
'No one's saying nothing. They're arming up. Circling the fucking wagons, man. We're back on Acquisitions too. Digging up weapons and hardcore gris-gris. Spending coin like it was nothing. Why? No one's telling us anything. I asked Elliot and he says he doesn't know. Orders.'
'Orders.'
'Here's the thing. I don't think he does know who's changing the scene. He's new. He's not hardcore magic. He came for fun and stayed for...' Scarlet '... I dunno. Guess he liked the job. But I think he's out of the loop as well. Or if he is, I tell him we've got a Sumerian superghost in the basement, that means dick to him. It's just noise.'
'Okay. The Library is getting some heavy artillery.'
...world like a meteor. I'm too spacey to focus on the Devil's words but was there a warning? Try to concentrate but it's just clutching water. Let it go.
'What help do you need?'
Katanya takes the whiskey and necks it.
'We're not happy.'
She keeps going into silence. Back out. Something's biting her.
'With the way things are going. I mean, it would be bad but they're not talking to us. Scarlet was the one we answered to and she's off doing her secret things. We trusted her. You know the job, Lark. Sometimes you have to stomp people down but we trusted her that the jobs we went on... if we got our hands dirty it was a good cause.'
I nod. She's right. Until she shopped me, I'd have trusted Scarlet.
'Last night I had to go and shut down a neighbourhood psychic. Tarot card reader. Woman was a grandmother. I used a charm to stop her eve
r divining again. Messed her up. She'll get sick if she touches the cards. Not even in a cult. What's that all about? I tell Foulstone - it's bullshit. He just tells me to get it done or give up the gig.'
Bully boys.
'Not hearing the help part. '
She looks up at the ceiling, eyes wide. Takes another big drink.
'We're thinking of walking. Setting up something new where I don't have to brutalise people just in case. We were wondering. You know. If you might want to come. The guys don't like you but no one thinks you're anything other than good at your work.'
Didn't see this coming. I did not see this coming.
'You can be the boss. Everyone knows you squeeze the most juice. Just, you know, don't be dicks to everyone. If you said yes, it would make the breaking out easier. Much easier. Guy with your history, your moves, you comes with us, we're legit out of the gate.'
The boss of my own Lodge? Anger rises up. Are you winding me up? No one knew me even a second could expect me to want to take on that shit. The boss deals with the boring work, the organisation and gets rewarded with authority. But Bettina sees it break off in me - just gives her head a tiny shake.
This isn't an insult even though it feels like it. Bettina's cool gaze keeps me from lashing. It misunderstands me totally and that's what brings the anger. But the offer never came from disrespect.
Without Bettina, I would have forgot that.
No. Even so, it's not the right time. 'No.'
'Come on Lark, what have you got to lose?'
'I've got enough static with the Library. They still see me as a member, at least an asset, even though they give the word I'm rogue. That's the official story. But I'm useful and I'm under their thumb right now. I join up with you guys, it looks like I'm acting against them. They shut down all my freelance work. Spread the word that anyone selling me books or information is on the Library shit list. No one wants that noise. I do this, I get shut out. Maybe for good.'
She nods. That plays sensible to her.
'Also, I have a feeling we need to stick real close and find out what the fuck is really going on. So, reckon you tell your crew, hold tight. Just a little longer. Hold tight. It's bad for you right now. They got you being a cop. They tried the same to me and we never signed up for that. But it's not... intolerable. So stay. Eyes, ears open. It gets beyond bad, we talk again.'
I'm lying too. They go rogue right now or ever, the Library will have them. Don't let Katanya's reasonable tone fool you. She's a mean slapper and tough. Tell her she's being stupid, she'll dig in her heels. Tell her they'll just stomp her and go have a snack, she'll do it just to show you she can survive.
So I do, in fact, play it smart and tell the right kind of lie. Make her think that she's making a smart play, waiting. Holding fire.
But really, there's no way in hell I'd join up with that crew of amateurs.
'You might have something there Lark.' She's lying too.
'Lady, you're sitting there thinking I'm playing this like a pussy. Like I'm afraid. And I am. So should you be. Messing with that old magic is a bad sign for where the Library is headed. The smart play is fear. But fear doesn't make you weak if you know how to use it. You can do what you want. I'm not your boss and never felt like I was. That's how I see it. Wait. Play it cool and play it slow. That's good advice.'
She shifts her head, looks at me from the corner of her eye. Snorts. 'Maybe.'
Bettina's watch alarm goes off.
'I have to go. I have to make some money.'
When she's above the ground, Bettina hustles the local guys at ball. They see her coming, think that they can take a girl easy. Think she's there with something to prove. She pays her way in and once every few months, destroys them. Moves around from court to court so she never gets recognised and all of those courts are gangster territory so, not a lot of cross-over between players. She's not going to see the same face in two different places real often, keeps the hustle fresh. Comes back with a grand in the pocket and a little sliver of life in her eyes.
'Later.' she looks up at me as she bends to put on her sneakers.
'Thanks,' I tell her as she laces. She shrugs and goes out the door.
Katanya draws back on the jar of whiskey and puts the lid back on.
'I'm serious about breaking off, Lark. I don't know if you're being overcautious or what. I don't care. Having you with us, that'd be alright. That'd be, you know, a message to the community. But no matter what you think or say, I think it's gonna happen. I can wait. Sure, I can wait. But not forever. '
Nothing to say to that.
I just light up.
'She gonna be long?'
'She'll play for hours.'
'Good.'
She gets up and peels off her tank top.
'We have some time'.
iii
We go to bed. The usual things happen, although they happen slowly and not like they did when I was younger. But she's patient and she's kind and she's smart enough to not give a damn about wreckage. But she says she doesn't care. She says not to be stupid.
My leg is smashed in. My hip never heals. My mind is a mess of poor concentration and slow connections. I have a two inch scab under my right eye that throbs with pain. I've been drinking. I tell her that maybe I'm not at my best. That maybe she should wait until my body is something other than pyrotechnics. It's unexpected. It's good.
Lying there, smoking. Yard of space between us on the bed. Naked. She's looking at the scars on my legs from where Ludo kicked me so hard it tore open skin. There's bruises there months old that I'm not sure will ever fade. Others too. Vampire bite and the tracks the rusty tin lid made across one nipple. Working for the Library, it got exciting now and again and the scars and dents are reminders.
Not really a self-conscious cat and, all the hits I've taken but there's no point getting shy now. No point in covering up. Still. Only Scarlet ever saw most of these. Only one who knew the stories. That's all gone Lark. Let it go.
Katanya touches some of them. Traces her fingertips over them. Best pain I had for a long time. Her fingers are aware of just how much pain a wound can stand and hits the threshold perfect. She's not a freak digging scars. She's got her own as well. Puncture wound in her belly, a burn along her ribs. She's not quivering with sympathy. She's... I dunno. But it feels good.
Then she says 'Don't tell anyone about this.'
'Sure.'
'It's just.'
'S'alright.'
'I just... I'm seeing someone.'
'Okay.'
'And, I dunno. She wouldn't like it.'
'She in the know?'
'No.'
'She probably won't find out then. I won't talk. You the guilty type?'
'Guess we'll find out soon.'
She gets up and dresses quick. She's lean as a bone. As her boots go on I just say, 'Fix your hair.'
She glances in the bathroom mirror. All the spikes are worn out.
'Thanks.'
Rummages around. Finds some pomade. Must be seven years old. Fixing done - she comes back in.
'So, umn...'
Roll up on an elbow.
'I won't be here after Bettina comes back. We've got a situation. But I'll be around. Do me a favour. Hold up on your plans until you've talked to me.'
'I'll try.'
'Yeah. Try hard.'
And she nods at me and walks out the bedroom, then out the door.
I'm too tired to know what to feel. The Devil's mark is still on me. One more smoke then a go round with zazen meditation. Medicine against a sick head. Come out of it and a memory is offered up -
Jon's still Case Grey. You're not going near him. You're not to contact him for any reason We're back on Acquisitions too. Digging up weapons and hardcore gris-gris.
Oh hell, they're gonna kill Jon.
Eight
i
So there's a man and he's crying. He's alone, sitting on top of a dumpster, old rubbish makes the alley stink in the
summer haze and there's rats as big as your arm rooting amongst this evil trash. The roaches aren't shy about size either and they ain't got the dignity of the rats. They swarm. There's a blocked drain down here somewhere too and the water's gone stagnant, gone black, gone foul. Somewhere a halogen buzzes, dying like a fly. Somewhere not far away a woman is begging for help.
He's in the dark, this man, pinching his finger to his eyes and holding in the sobs. He could care less for the rats and the roaches and that distant victim. Be glad you can't see him. He's the kind of man, you see him in a moment like this, you do the human thing, right? 'You okay, buddy?'
This guy, he'd take his cane knife to you just for catching a glimpse of him in a moment like this.
Aristide. Nineteen years old. He's killed fourteen people. Two a year, on average, since his first at thirteen. That was his older brother, Caesar. Caesar was a rapist and a natural born torturer and was fond of the necklace. Set a tyre alight, it burns slow. The rubber heats up. Melts. That shit gets on you, well, sting isn't the word to describe it. Rubber keeps heat a long time, you know. Jesus, it doesn't bear thinking about...
You're the kind of man Caesar was, you see that as a good way to send a message. Put that burning, melting tyre over someone's head, like, you know, a necklace, and they don't die till pain or plain melting finally gives the poor fucker a break and murders them.
Want to know the worst thing? You can survive it. It takes such a long time to kill you can live through it but you probably won't be looking in mirrors afterwards. Probably won't live a day of your life without the kinds of wounds that never heal. Can't heal. Pain.
That's how it was for Aristide. He saw a lot of that go down. His abiding memory of his brother was when he was ten and he watched Caesar laughing with a hard-on, doing a necklacing. That little girl from a different tribe screamed and screamed and would not die. Aristide remembers that all the time.
Caesar joined some political youth group that recruited through the football club. But what it really was, was a front for a militia. Some ethnic war was going on and one of the old men who runs these things figured that a few soldiers on the streets might help the cause.
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