Against a Brightening Sky

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  Shots still pinged off the fountain, but he didn’t trust the gunman not to turn his frustration on other targets. Gabe ducked behind a small mound of bricks and a partly buried ice cream vendor’s cart, imperfect cover at best. He quickly searched the street for Jack. His partner had reached the building harboring the gunman and the man throwing dynamite. Jack and the two rookie officers were swinging a cast-iron bench from a trolley stop between them and trying to break down the front door.

  Two more uniformed officers approached Jack from an alley between buildings, accompanied by a third man dressed in street clothes. A large badge was pinned to his coat, marking him as a detective. Gabe didn’t recognize him from a distance, but the chief would have called in other squads by now.

  The strange detective said something to Jack as he pulled a .38 Smith & Wesson with a six-inch barrel out from under his overcoat. Very few cops carried that kind of service revolver. Those who did were usually ex–army officers who’d been issued the pistol during the war. The detective stepped back to the curb and fired at the men on the roof. Jack yelled, but it was too late.

  Gabe barely had time to huddle tight against the ice cream cart before bricks and broken glass, hunks of wood and shingles began to pummel him. Small impacts drew involuntary groans and grunts. A few larger, heavier pieces hit his back and pried loose cries of pain, pain that lingered and let him know he’d been hurt. The cart took the worst of the punishment, his sole bit of luck in the midst of an unlucky day.

  His ears rang to the point he could hear little else when the deluge stopped. Dust caked his face, plugged his nose, and the taste of gunpowder sat on the back of his tongue. Blood matted his hair. Gabe groaned and dragged himself up to his feet, bracing an arm against the cart and keeping his eyes closed until the world stopped spinning. Waiting, as well, to dredge up the courage to view what might have happened to Jack and the officers with him, to Sam and the young woman.

  He turned in time to see Sam help the girl to her feet. Both of them were filthy, covered in brick dust and powdered glass, but they were alive. She looked stunned, barely responding to what Sam said, but Gabe couldn’t blame her for that.

  Dust settled rapidly, clearing some of the haze from the air. Most of the force of the explosion had gone straight up or down into the building, an unexpected blessing. If the blast had traveled a different path, Gabe, Butler, and the unknown young woman would all be dead. Even so, how far masonry and framing timbers had traveled across the square was sobering.

  The top floor at the front of the building was gone, a gaping hole that allowed the heaped rubble inside to show. Patrolmen who’d lurked down side streets and alleyways to avoid the gunfire rushed back, picking their way through rubble toward the front of the building. Toward the last place he’d seen Jack.

  Their squad worked together to shift piles of brick and wood, passing the pieces from hand to hand before tossing them out of the way. Gabe stayed where he was, too dizzy and nauseated to be of any use. His men dug quickly, looking for survivors, but the first two bodies they uncovered were broken and lifeless. Relief that neither man was Jack left him light-headed.

  Shouts and cheers went up from the rescuers as they heard voices calling for help, and they dug faster. Gabe’s fingers curled around the broken and twisted pushcart handle. He’d lost too many people he cared about to think prayer offered any help or hope of survival. The hope he felt sprang from not being able to imagine a world without his best friend. “Come on, Jack, come on. Sadie and the kids need you. Crawl out of there.”

  Most of the explosion wreckage had fallen back inside the building, not onto the sidewalk and street out front. That, and his own piece of luck, was what saved Jack and the men with him. One by one, they pulled three uniformed officers out of the bricks and rubble heaped against a wall, battered and injured, but alive.

  Jack was the fourth and last man out. He clutched the front of Maxwell’s coat, peering into the patrolman’s face and asking questions. Maxwell pointed toward Gabe.

  He waved and the tightness left Jack’s face and shoulders. Bruised and bleeding, Jack leaned on Maxwell and limped toward Gabe.

  Gabe sat down hard, his back against what was left of the ice cream cart, and waited for his partner. He and Jack would go to meet their wives at the Palace Hotel, holding each other up if need be, but finding Delia and Sadie came before anything. The job would still be there when they got back.

  He watched Sam Butler tend to the grieving young woman. Sam wet a handkerchief in Lotta’s fountain and washed blood and dirt from her face, talking the whole time. Knowing Butler, he was telling her stories about places he’d traveled, hunting for a headline, or what it was like to be a reporter in a big city. Sam Butler was good at telling stories. Some of them were even true.

  Listening to Sam would keep her from thinking too hard or sinking deeper into shock. Listening would keep her from running. She would run, given half a chance—he was sure of that—and Gabe couldn’t afford to lose track of her.

  An icy breeze found its way down the back of his neck, making him shiver. Gabe flipped up his collar. The odds of Dominic Mullaney’s fledgling labor union’s having anything to do with the riot starting were slim, and any connection between the union and a gunman picking people off from a rooftop even more far-fetched. He’d bring Mullaney in for questioning, but that was a dead end.

  No, the real reasons, whatever they might be, had to do with the girl sitting on the curb next to Sam. Gabe would wager a month’s salary on that.

  Delia

  Quiet followed a small explosion on the far side of the square. We took a risk and dashed into the hallway leading to the private portions of the shop. Even if we went no farther, the windowless rooms in the rear were far safer. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that staying here was a mistake. We needed to keep moving.

  An unlatched door swung back and forth in the shop’s rear wall, giving glimpses of dustbins and a sunny alley. The prim clerk and the owner, Mr. Perkins, appeared to have fled in panic, leaving the shop to us. I smelled smoke, and the light outside the door appeared slightly murky, but it didn’t appear that the fire was close enough to be a danger.

  That the clerk and the shop owner were gone was for the best and a blessing. I was reasonably certain that Libby wouldn’t panic, and Sadie could be counted on to keep a cool head. The sense that something wasn’t right still itched along my skin, something that went far beyond dynamite explosions and rifle fire, or people rioting on San Francisco streets. We weren’t out of the thick of things yet.

  I gestured toward the door. “We can follow the alley to reach the hotel. It should be safe enough with the buildings between us and the street. The thought of staying here makes me nervous.”

  Libby brushed at the dust on her jacket, a futile gesture considering, and nodded. “I agreed, Delia. More people around and being inside a larger building would make me feel miles safer.”

  “Oh yes, let’s do go, Dee. The sooner, the better. Jack and Gabe expect to find us at the Palace.” Sadie stood with her back against the wall and arms wrapped around Stella, rocking her little girl back and forth. She trembled visibly and her face was flushed, but no one could fault her for that. “If we’re not there, they’ll imagine the worst. Do you think the explosions took down the telephone lines? I’d like to let Annie know all of us are safe. She’s bound to have had a call from the station summoning Jack for duty by now. She’ll be worried sick.”

  “We won’t know about the telephones until we reach the hotel. If Gabe and Jack weren’t set on meeting us there, I wouldn’t go to the Palace at all. I’m not sure there’s safety in greater numbers, or any safety at all, for that matter. People were far too eager to fight with total strangers. It all makes my skin crawl, but we can’t stay here either.” I pushed sweat-soaked hair off Connor’s face and kissed his forehead. He’d stopped screaming in fright, but he was still lying wide eyed and stiff on my shoulder, staring at ghosts. New haunts appeared
as soon as I sent others away, fresh victims who’d died at the hands of the gunman or in the explosions. “If the telephones are working, we should ring Dora too. Randy will have gotten the same call to come in before his shift. I don’t want her to worry needlessly.”

  Randy and Isadora were devoted to one another, best friends as well as lovers. They’d lived together more than a year and a half now, and Randy asked her to marry him at least once a week. I suspected that Dora would say yes one day soon. She’d admitted to me that the only thing holding her back was fear. The last two men she’d been involved with had both been murdered. Their deaths weren’t remotely connected to her relationship with either Daniel or John Lawrence, but Dora still saw herself as somewhat cursed.

  “Let me check that the alley is clear before we start. I’d hate to get stuck partway there and have to come back.” Libby cautiously stepped out the open door and moved away. She returned quickly. “I’ve been down lanes in other parts of the city that weren’t so wide or so clean. The alley continues through to the end of the block, and the buildings on the street side are packed pretty tightly. We should be safe making a run for the back of the hotel.”

  Another large explosion shook the walls, and the ceiling groaned, spawning clouds of paint dust and plaster. Ghosts filled the hallway in large numbers, men and women and a scattering of children, all crowding in as near as possible. Connor buried his head in my shoulder, whimpering. I hugged him tighter, whispering banishment charms to scatter gathering spirits and building layers of protection around him as quickly as I could.

  Ghosts often sought out people sensitive enough to detect their presence, drawn to their life force the way moths swarm a streetlamp. That was especially true of the newly dead who often didn’t remember dying. I prayed that I was the beacon that drew spirits in such numbers, not the tiny child in my arms. He was too young to understand what ghosts might want from him, overwhelmed and defenseless in the face of their emotions.

  I’d suspected Connor watched ghosts, but I hadn’t realized how sensitive he truly was. At his age, possession was a very real danger. I added one more worry to the immediate list. Now I was the one whose heart beat too hard and too fast, exhausted from keeping the ghosts at bay and eaten by guilt that I hadn’t done more for Connor before now.

  Libby peered at me quizzically as I stepped into the alley. “Delia?”

  I held tight to calm and managed a smile. “Connor’s heavier than you’d expect. I’m fine. Lead the way.”

  The alley was a smoky canyon overlooked by the unadorned back walls of millinery shops, gentlemen’s haberdasheries, and boot makers. Small placards marked doors for tradesmen to make deliveries, some nearly as faded as the weathered brick they hung on. Very few ghosts moved through the alley, and the ones I saw were long dead, old and thin to the point of nearly vanishing. Connor lay limp against my shoulder, exhausted from crying and fear, but he still watched each ghost’s passage. I’d worry less once we got him home. The protections I’d put in place around Sadie’s house more than four years before were worn with time, but they’d still help protect him. Dora and I would work on new barriers tomorrow morning at the latest, tonight if possible.

  And I’d find a way to break the news to Sadie just as soon as we were home and safe. I’d already waited too long.

  Gunshots still echoed from the other side of the buildings, faint and sounding far away. Time flowed slowly, an odd feeling, almost as if we were fated to run down this alley for eternity. While I knew that wasn’t really true, reaching the door of the hotel took longer than I’d thought it should.

  A young, freckle-faced patrolman I didn’t know guarded the back entrance to the Palace, ushering in stragglers seeking refuge just as we were. That sense of dread and disquiet—and a compulsion to keep looking over my shoulder—stayed with me even once we were inside. I couldn’t find the source or see any danger, but I couldn’t shake the need to be wary either. We were safe from gunshots and explosions, at least for the moment. I tried to take consolation in that.

  Enormous crystal chandeliers chased away shadows in the passageway leading from the alley entrance to the lobby. The lobby itself was crowded with overly polite people determined not to tread on toes or jostle the person walking past. Nearly everyone I saw was covered in dust, their clothing torn and faces sometimes bloodied. No one looked at us; no one smiled or made an effort to be social, or asked if the children were all right.

  These quiet, subdued people had been eager participants in the riot on the square; I was sure of that. I’d pushed past them or people just like them as we fought our way free. Now they milled around the lobby not speaking to anyone, sleepwalkers with blank expressions. The source of my disquiet was all around me. I’d just not known where to look.

  On another day, I might have believed shock over watching people gunned down in the street and bombs going off were to blame, or that guilt over rushing to join a riot had left them ashamed. But the need to be cautious and shy away from these people grew stronger each moment, causing me to pay more attention. Some other influence was at work, a force that set respectable people at each other’s throats and left them drained afterwards.

  I’d spent the last four years working with Isadora, learning about the spirit realm and a myriad of dank, unpleasant creatures and forces that moved through the world. Most people never encountered those creatures or felt the touch of influences that could only be described as evil. Knowing these things existed and what to look for was decidedly a mixed blessing.

  Above all, she taught me to trust my instincts, to believe the revulsion settling in the pit of my stomach was a warning I should heed. If I was the least bit unsure or didn’t understand what I was dealing with, I should back away.

  Whatever was going on here had the feel of something best left undisturbed. Under other circumstances, I’d have taken Sadie by the hand and fled.

  “Sadie…” I touched her shoulder. “Wait.”

  Sadie stopped right where she was, shifting Stella to the other arm and looking only a little frightened. She’d known I could see ghosts since we were children, and took it on faith that strange requests from me had to do with spirits. Most things she took in stride, but given the day we’d had, I’d have forgiven her a little panic. “What’s wrong, Dee?”

  “I wish I knew.” I patted Connor’s back and rocked side to side, trying to keep him calm and sort out how best to explain. “A crowd of ordinary men and women came to watch a parade and ended up willingly joining in a riot. I’d wager that behavior would horrify them in normal circumstances, but nothing about today has been normal. Now I look around, and those same people are still acting strangely. I can’t pin down exactly what I’m sensing, but it’s real and makes me extremely uncomfortable.”

  “We can’t go back out there. It’s not safe.” Sadie’s eyes widened as she watched people wandering the lobby, really seeing them for the first time. She turned back to me, weary and scared, but not coming apart. Hidden under her sometimes frivolous exterior, Sadie Fitzgerald had a core of iron. “I assume you’d know if this was a ghost.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not a ghost. So far, whatever this is has taken no notice of us. That’s puzzling in and of itself, but I’d like to keep matters that way without wandering too far. I know you had your heart set on phoning Annie, but I think it best to wait. Gabe and Jack will still look for us here when they can. Sam too.”

  “I hope that’s soon. I can’t help but worry and imagine the worst.” Sadie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I keep praying I’ll turn around and Jack will be standing there.”

  “Jack and Gabe are all right, I promise.” Libby looked between me and Sadie, clearly bewildered but silent. I was grateful she didn’t ask a hundred questions. “Give me a moment to find the best place to wait.”

  I turned in a slow circle, arms beginning to ache from carrying Connor. Searching the cavernous lobby didn’t take long and I found what I’d wanted, a place to
hide in plain sight. Comfortable-looking sofas, with large plush throw pillows, filled an otherwise unadorned alcove set apart from the main room by tall rattan screens and potted palms. Not a single painting or ornament to attract attention hung on the walls, a strange thing in the lavishly decorated lobby, but that made the alcove ideal for my purposes.

  The space was sheltered and less exposed, but Gabe and Jack could still find us easily. I pointed. “Over there, between the pillar and the bellboy station. It’s the perfect place. We can rest until Sam and Jack and Gabe arrive.”

  Libby brushed long strands of dark hair off her face and started for the alcove, trusting Sadie and I would follow. “You sound so sure they’ll survive, Delia. What with guns and explosions … I wish I had your faith.”

  “I’d know if anything happened to them. I promise you, the three of them are all right.” “Skeptical” was the kindest word I could think of for the expression on Libby’s face, but I let it pass unremarked. This wasn’t the time to explain the strangeness in my life to Libby Mills.

  I laid Connor on one of the sofas, his head cushioned by a green velvet throw pillow, and settled next to him. He’d finally fallen asleep and I chose to think of that as a good sign. Sadie settled into one corner of the second sofa with a drowsy Stella, while Libby sat in a wicker chair angled to face the lobby.

  The interior of the hotel was brightly lit, a combination of the numerous crystal chandeliers reflecting and magnifying each other’s light, and the mirrored sconces set into every wall. I was able to see people in the lobby by peering through palm fronds and the loosely woven rattan screens. Anyone looking our way would see nothing more than shadows or indistinct shapes, something that should have made me feel safer and didn’t. Huddling in the darker alcove didn’t stop the wariness grating over my skin, nor silence the voice telling me to stay still and quiet. I imagined this was what a rabbit felt while eyeing the circling hawk overhead.