Shadow Child

by Graeme Smith

  “Well, I can't read her Jack. And she's not even wearing a hat. Which is interesting, don't you think? But I don't have to, to see what she's thinking.”

  I couldn't tell if the piano player was jealous, but I decided she had to go green. I just needed a compost heap. I ran my fingers over Jack's chest, just to see him go even more red.

  “It's not going to work, dear.”

  I was waiting for the piano player to start sounding possessive. Not that it would matter. Like I said, I'm not used to losing. But she wasn't. What she mostly sounded was like she knew something I didn't. I'm not used to that either. So I grinned. “Oh, it won't be work, honey. All I need is time.”

  “Time. Of course.” The piano player laughed “You don't know Jack. He's always best when he's got time on his side.”

  The words echoed through my head like an AK on full auto. 'You don't know Jack.' I remembered the last two times I’d heard them. The only times I ever heard my Mom sound scared. Back then I thought I knew what she meant. Now I started to wonder if I knew a damn thing. I looked up at the man in the black leather duster. The piano player was right. It really wasn't going to work and I really didn't want it to. I just wished I had the first idea what I did want. Mostly, I didn't want to say what I knew I was going to say next.

  So I said it anyway.

  “Oh fuck. Hey, Dad. Sorry I killed you.”

  The room filled with piano notes – strong, but somehow gentle. Behind me, the piano player caressed keys. “Do you like this?” I could hear the smile. “I think I'm going to call it 'Shadow Child'.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Double Down

  Washington D.C. - 350 And Down

  “OW!”

  I think I was seven when Mom first taught me how hugs were really just a good way to pat someone down without them knowing. Or for them to pat me. Or for someone to get close enough to start breaking things I'd rather keep in one piece. So me and hugs didn't spend much time together. Apparently, wherever my Dad came from someone told him much the same thing. But if hugs aren't really your thing, what do you do when you meet your Dad for the first time? In my case, I got to say 'ow'. Like, a lot. Because if hugging was out, a little hand to hand practice definitely wasn't. Think of it as being like hugging but lot more honest.

  “OW! So why didn't you just – OW!” I looked up at the ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time. Let's be honest – though that's something I normally try to avoid. I'm good at what I do. Damn good. And that includes doing painful things to people even when I don't have my Glock. Or, like now, putting them flat on their back and showing them I can break their arm. So I'm damn good – but apparently my Dad was better. Like, a lot better. I got up. Again.

  Dad grinned. “You were saying?” That was something else it was taking some time to get used to. The only time Mom grinned, or smiled, sharks screamed. It meant she'd put something over on someone – sometimes me. Like, maybe I'd forgotten to check my morning coffee before I drank it. Which, if Mom was grinning, meant I was going to be running to the washroom every five minutes just so I'd remember what bad guys - or Moms - could put in it when I wasn't looking. Dad grinned, well, just so he could grin. It was like he didn't do it often, and now for some reason he felt like he could. And I had no idea if I was the reason, but I knew already I kind of hoped I was. And even hoping gave me a flutter in my stomach Mom never had – well apart from the time she had five guys jump me in a dark alley. Of course, that time the flutter was their knife – the one I had to pull out of my gut to waste them with.

  “I was saying – OW!” I got up. “I was – OW!” I got up again.

  “Yeah. I heard that bit.” My Dad reached down and pulled me up. Halfway up, he kicked my legs out from under me. I hit the ground again.

  I bit my lip. Licking the blood off, I tried to tell myself the bite was on purpose, so I didn't yelp again. Somehow yelping and 'gorgeous, drop dead or I'll kill you assassin' didn't really seem to fit together, and it was starting to feel like yelping had the edge. I reached up. As my Dad reached down, I kicked up, my foot slamming right between his legs. Well, that was the plan.

  Dad raised an eyebrow and looked down from where he'd stepped sideways. He grinned again. I told myself I was imagining the number of times I'd seen the same grin in a mirror. This time I didn't get up. “I was saying, why didn't you just snatch me? I mean, the other me? The real Maya. I mean, yeah. I can see she'd be useful. But me? A fuck-all use recording called Beryl who can't even leave this room? I don't get it.” Dad had told me how the room was special, and if I left it I'd just be a lump of rock. Of course, he could have been lying, like he could have been lying about a lot of things. But something else I'm good at is telling when people are faking. And even if Dad was better than me at that too, testing it didn't seem a good idea given what would happen if I was wrong. Dad grinned again, and reached down. I raised an eyebrow. He grinned some more, and shook his head. So I figured, hell. If I couldn't trust my Dad, who could I trust? Of course, thinking about Mom and the twice she'd already killed me, the best answer was probably 'just about anyone not family.' But I reached up anyway. After all, a girl's gotta start somewhere, especially when it looks like everything she thinks she knows might be for shit.

  The guy in the black leather duster – I mean, Jack – I stopped. No. That wasn't it. And even if the way I knew it 'wasn't it' was just something he'd had Little Miss Tinkles at the piano put in my head – I didn't want it to be. Fuck that. Even if I didn't know how, I knew it wasn't. Because I knew the guy in black leather wasn't just a guy in black leather. I knew it in a way I'd never really known Mom was Mom. She just was – because she'd always been there, and because she said so. Dad hadn't even said he was my Dad – but I knew he was. Or if he wasn't – he was sure as all shit something. Like, him and me. Me and him. That was just how it was. Like somehow it had always been that way, and it had just taken me a while to see it. So – and even in my head, for a moment I wanted to savor it while it was still new – he grinned. My Dad grinned. “Nope. Couldn't do that. Remember that neat thigh holster She gave you?”

  I could hear the capital. “You mean Mom?”

  Dad grinned again. This time it had more lemon than smile. “Yeah. We should talk about that. Well, that's why.”

  “Because of my thigh holster?”

  “Yeah. Well, and no. More because of the demon inside it.”

  “Demon. Of course. You do know there's no such things, right?”

  “Well, I guess a smart kid like you knows more than an old guy like me. So you're right. There ain't no demons, like there ain't no magic, and there ain't no time travel.”

  “Right. At least we've got that...” Magic. Time travel. And most of all, double negatives. Chemistry wasn't the only class I sometimes listened in. English as well, and not just Lit. “Demons?”

  Dad shrugged. “Back in my day, they used mages. But that was The Dragon.”

  “The Dragon?”

  Dad shrugged. “I used to work for them. But they pissed me off, so I quit.” I'd have bet large lumps of Be3Al2(SiO3)6 Dad quitting, or getting pissed off, was why I'd never heard of any Dragon. Why nobody else was going to either. “They used to track us with mages. For you, She used a demon. So She'd know where you were, or where your holster was. You ever go anywhere without it?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “Ever wonder why not?”

  “Because it had my fucking Glo...!”

  “Or why you swear like a hell-cat?”

  “I don't fucki...!”

  “Or why you always did what She said, and never questioned Her?”

  “Because she's my Mom!”

  Dad sighed. “Yeah. We really gotta talk about that. But no. Not. Not because you think she's your Mom. Hell. you're a kid. That's normally a pretty good reason on its own to do the exact opposite of anything your Mom says. No. It's growing up with a demon on your thigh. Of course, you needed something. To remember for you.
”

  “OK! So I forget stuff! That doesn't mean...”

  Little Miss Tinkles looked up – but her fingers never stopped moving. “Yes it does, dear. Because souls – which way is it, Jack? I keep forgetting. Souls are memories, or memories are souls?”

  Dad shrugged. “Pretty much both, P. But that's the thing, kid. She needed you to think what She wanted you to think. So She gave you something to remember things Her way - a demon. Whispering every day into the place your soul should be – the soul you ain't got.”

  “Yeah. Well, I've always been more of a jazz girl I guess.” Behind me I heard the piano player miss a note. In front of me, Dad's face said he heard it too, and didn't believe it either.

  “Yes, dear. Me too.” The shadow on the wall hadn't been there before. Of course, it couldn't be there now, since there was nothing to cast it. And shadows don't talk, so there was no way I was going to admit to myself this one had. Then the shadow that couldn't be there was gone – which made it easier to pretend it had never existed.

  “Bloody Shadows. You're all the same.” Dad's face said piano-gal didn't swear much either.

  “Er – dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was just imagining there was a talking shadow on that wall, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That's OK then.”

  “Yeah. That was Fate. She was born triplets, so she gets confused. She just pretends to be a shadow.”

  “Er – dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “There's no such thing as Fate.”

  “And the longer you keep thinking that, young lady, the better.” The shadow that couldn't be on the wall didn't reach out from the wall with a shadow of a rod in its hand. And it didn't hit me on the head with the rod. Which didn't really explain why my head suddenly hurt like fuck.

  Dad sighed. “You know, was a time I came here to be alone.”

  “NO JACK. I mean, no Jack. You just thought you did.” The old guy in the white T shirt and red overalls vanished as quick as he'd appeared. Which was good, because I had no idea where he'd come from. I thought about telling Dad how old guys in red and white were impossible too – but somehow my heart wasn't in it.

  Dad sighed again. “Family. Can't live with them, can't kill them. Where were we?”

  “You were telling me why you made a half-assed copy and didn't snatch the real thing, and I was having hallucinations. At least, I hope I was.”

  “Oh, right. So you're – what did she say, P?”

  “She said she was a half-assed copy. Oh, and a fuck-all use recording. Can I say that Jack? Because I'm quoting her again, so it doesn't really count does it?”

  “Yeah. You can say it. So I guess I messed up, P.”

  “I suppose you did, Jack. What do we do now?”

  “Well, I guess we...”

  “I am still fucking here, you know.” This time I didn't miss. My right slammed into Dad's jaw. He went down hard.

  Dad didn't just grin. He flat-out smiled! “Not bad. For a half-assed fuck-all use recording.”

  “Well, that's what I am!”

  “If that's your choice – sure you are.” Dad got up.

  “My choice? What other choice is there?”

  “That there's some dumb-ass bitch out there in your body – and she's about to get your head blown off.”

  “So what if there is? What the hell can I do about it?”

  “I guess you're going to have to kill yourself – before She does it for you.” This time I knew damn well I'd seen Dad's grin before. Because I'd seen it in a whole lot of mirrors. It meant someone was about to have a real Bad Day - and whoever was grinning was the Bad they were going to have.

  This time, one way or another, or maybe even both – it was going to be me.

  Sonata

  Ricapitolazione – Tertio Movimento

  Somewhere, Somewhen

  The truck's lights speared the night.

  “Charlie!” The woman in the passenger side of the cab grabbed for the wheel, her foot stabbing for brakes that weren't there. Speared in the eighteen wheeler's lights, the man in the black leather duster made no attempt to get out of the way.

  Charlie sighed. He jammed down the gears, slowing the rig. There was no way any driver could stop the truck in time. But this was The Road, and Charlie wasn't any driver. As the truck eased to a stop beside the man in the black leather duster, Charlie rolled down the window. He leaned out. “So. It's you. Figured you'd be taller.”

  The man in black leather shrugged. “Figured you'd be shorter.”

  Charlie leaned over, and unlatched the passenger door. He swung it open. “You got a visitor, Ro'.”

  The woman sighed. “Guess so, Charlie.” Her hand twitched, and one end of a long black chain slipped from her arm, wrapping round her wrist.

  Charlie leaned over. His arm reached out towards the door latch. At the last minute, the arm slipped round the woman's shoulder, pulling her close to him. He kissed her. “Everythin' got a price, Ro'.”

  The woman flushed bright pink. “You're an Idiot, Charlie.” The chain in her hand whipped out, wrapping round Charlie's neck. Rosie tugged – and her own lips found Charlie's. “Just don’t you stop being my Idiot.” She looked deep into his old eyes – eyes that never aged. “Is it worth it, Charlie?”

  Old eyes suddenly weren't old at all. “Hell, yeah.” Charlie kissed her again.

  “Kharon Kharopos! You hold right on to that thought. 'Cos I'll be back, and we're gonna talk about this, you can bet!”

  “Oh, so it's just talkin', is it? I guess you're too laid back for doin', huh?”

  The woman blushed again. “Laid back, Charlie? I guess we can talk about that too. And you'd better be up for more than talking!”

  The woman swung out of the cab. “So. It's time?”

  The man in black leather said nothing.

  Rosie shook her head. “You don't say much, huh? Just like him.” She jerked her head at the dark figure in the cab.

  “Yeah. I'm starting to get that.” The man in black leather looked up into the cab.

  “So what do you need?”

  “Not me.”

  “So who?”

  “There's a kid.”

  “Kid? You the cradle type?” The black chain in the woman's hand snaked and grew spikes like bitter teeth. It span out and wrapped round the man in black leather's throat.

  “Yeah. I guess I am.” The man in black leather didn't seem concerned about the chain tightening round his throat. “Now I got to get this one out of hers. So she needs something.”

  “What she needs is you dead, pretty boy.” Rosie tightened her hand, and the chain wrapped tighter round the man in black leather's neck.

  “Maybe so. And if that's what it takes, it's hers. Any time she needs it.” The sound of a single gunshot cracked the night. The chain fell from the man in black leather's throat, one lone link shattered from the end and falling to the Road. The man in black leather slipped the gun back into his pocket. “But not this time.”

  Rosie stared at her broken chain. “You – you can't – that's impossible!”

  The man in black leather shrugged. “I guess so.” He bent down and picked up the broken link. “But she needs something to remember you by. So I did it anyway.” He handed Rosie the broken link.

  “To remember me by? What... Oh. Oh, fuck. You mean she's...?”

  The man in black leather shrugged.

  “Where? And when?”

  The man in black leather handed her a sheet of paper that looked like it had been torn from a notepad.

  Rosie read the note. She sighed. “I'll be there.” She looked at the man in black leather. “Jack? You gonna be good to her?”

  The man in black leather shrugged. “You tell me.”

  Rosie smiled, wistfully. “Oh, I think you'll do OK.” she walked back to the truck, and swung up into the cab. “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take me to Paradise?”


  Charlie grinned. “Thought you'd never ask.”

  The truck's lights speared the night.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Sister...

  Washington D.C. - 350 And Down

  “Daaaaad?”

  Dad grinned. He'd been doing that a lot recently. So had I – just not right now. “Whining? They teach that to kick-ass assassins these days?”

  I flushed. “Kick-ass? You mean that?”

  “Well, I did have to cover for you with the tapes on that building you blew...”

  “Fuck! I knew someone was... I mean, er, thank you daddy dear.” I smiled. If you look in the dictionary, you can find it – right under 'winsome'. Though the look on Dad's face said maybe 'sickly' would have been a better heading. “Anyway. That wasn't whining. See, whining is, like, 'Daaaaad!' That was wheedling. Like, 'Daaaaad?'” I grinned at the piano player. “He's kind of new at this parent stuff isn't he?”

  “Yes. Or no. One of those. Unless it's both.” Miss Tinkles didn't miss a note.

  “I am still here, you know.”

  This time Dad wasn't grinning. But I could see the only reason he wasn't was because he was trying hard not to. So I did it for him. It felt good. “Girl talk, Dad. No boys allowed. You'll get used to it. Anyway. Where was I? Oh. Right. Er - Daaaaad?”

  Dad sighed. “No. You don't have to kill her.”

  “Great! So you'll do it for me?”

  “Thought you were a kick-ass assassin?”

  “I am! OK, so I messed up on the tapes. I said thank you! But this isn't killing some fucking mark, Dad. You want me to kill – well, me!”

  “Nope.”

  “What? But you said... OK. That's alright then.”

  “You want to stay a rock on a chair, in a room that isn't really real – that's your choice. You'll die anyway. I mean, the other you will. Your boyfriend'll take care of that.”