by Ben Reeder
“I'm gonna put a star here, in beads, and see, I got a unicorn for this zipper, and they had these little gargoyle charms, they can watch over my backpack for me, I'm gonna put this one here, see?” she held an ugly little bauble near the zipper for the main compartment. I nodded like I understood.
“Dee,” Mom said, drawing out the “e” sound into a warning tone. My little sister turned wide, innocent eyes to Mom. “Chores, young lady. Now. Then dinner, then we work on your project.”
“But Mo-oooommmm,” Dee protested.
“Don't 'Mom' me, young lady.”
“Come on, munchkin,” I said. “She Who Must Be Obeyed has spoken, and her word is Law. It's no use arguing.” Dee followed me as I got up off the couch, and I caught a glimpse of Mom giving me an approving smile as we left the room. Something in my chest went tight at that.
“Moms can be a pain sometimes,” Dee said from in front of me. She grabbed the broom from the narrow opening between the refrigerator and the wall and looked at me from across the kitchen.
My shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “Beats not having one.” Dee stopped and gave me a look while I grabbed the recycling bin and headed for the door.
“I guess so,” she answered. “Was it…really bad, not having a mom?”
“Worse than you can imagine,” I told her, not sure of what else I could say. Dee had a wide-eyed innocence most of the time, and I didn't want to screw that up. Her frown scrunched into something more thoughtful before she turned to sweeping the kitchen.
Mom started dinner while we took care of business, and Dee carefully marked each of her chores off on the chart on the refrigerator as she finished it. Everything seemed to float past while Mom made dinner, and even while I tried to savor each bite of Mom's stew, none of what was happening seemed to fit with what I'd seen at the start of the day.
Finally, it felt too weird, and I had to get up and leave the table. Being able to just leave a place felt strange all on its own, and I didn't really know where I wanted to go, I just needed to be somewhere else. I ended up near the top of the stairs. Mom came up a few minutes later with a steaming cup in her hand. She handed it to me as she sat on the step above me, and I took a sip of the black brew. Peppermint, chamomile, and strawberry hit my nose before they coursed across my tongue, with an herbal aftertaste that was softened with honey. Mom laid a hand on my shoulder, and didn't say a word.
“Doesn't seem right,” I said after a couple of sips of Mom's tea. “Mr. Chomsky's dead, and we're just sitting here eating dinner like nothing happened.”
“No, it isn't right, son,” Mom said after a couple of moments. “But, life always moves forward, and you still have to live it. You can't honor his memory properly if you neglect your own life, and I don't think a teacher would want one of his students to do that.”
“Guess not.” Mom was right, in more ways than one. I couldn't find his killer if I let this screw me up too bad. The normal things in my new life, the things I wasn't used to, those were the things that I owed Mr. Chomsky. He could have turned me in. If he had, I would have been locked in a cell tonight, instead of sitting on the stairs at home.
“Translating that from teen-speak to English, that must have been you agreeing with your tragically out-of-touch mother. I'll take it as the compliment, and leave you to brood in peace,” Mom said. She stood and walked down the stairs past me, her bare feet quiet on the brown carpet.
I went down to help clean up after dinner, then hung out in the living room with Mom and Dee while they decorated her new backpack. As much as I wanted to sit on the steps and brood all night, being with them was the gift my favorite teacher had given me. I wasn't going to waste it.
If someone had asked me six days ago what I would be doing tonight, I wouldn't have thought to tell them that I'd be sitting in my mom's living room, reading and watching my mom and my sister sitting in the middle of the floor, decorating a backpack. The image of me huddled in a makeshift squat somewhere in the depths of the Hive came to mind again, and I felt the corner of my mouth pull up a little. My luck had been a lot better than my planning. I tried to keep my mind on the mystery I was reading, but when I wasn't wrapped up in the simple pleasure of this moment, my thoughts kept wandering back to my real-life whodunit.
The cold, nauseating feel of demon magick hammered my mystic senses, and I felt my spine go weak in fear. All I could think of was that Dulka had found me, and the sound of my pulse hammered in my ears as I fought to catch a breath. I wasn't ready to face him again; I hadn't even gotten a decent ward on the house yet! Some part of my brain tried to remind me I was behind a threshold, that he couldn't possibly be ready to come after me himself, but the screaming, gibbering monkey part of my brain wasn't having any of that crap. It was all for getting me out of the house even if I had to make a new exit to do it.
The knock at the door stopped my thoughts for a moment, and damn near did the same to my heart. Mom looked at the door with a curious look in her eyes. I tried not to run screaming.
“Were you expecting one of your friends, honey?” she asked me as she got to her feet. I managed a fairly calm headshake, but I kept my tongue still. If I opened my mouth, all that was likely to come out was a squeak. My body was paralyzed, and so was my voice; I couldn't decide whether to scream at her to stay away from the door, or run for the back door, but I couldn't do either one.
“It's okay,” Dee said from beside me. “You're safe at home.” Her little hands fell on my shoulder and forearm, and I tore my eyes from Mom to look at her.
“What?” I managed. My instincts got jumbled, and the part of my head that could actually think clawed its way up to the top of the swirl of thoughts and impulses that I was drowning in.
“It's what Mom always says when I have my dreams and I'm afraid,” she said softly.
“I'm not afraid,” I said reflexively.
“Liar, liar pants on fire,” she taunted. “You're shaking.” I looked down to see the book trembling in my hands. I put it down, then looked over at her.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Not anymore.” I tried to pass it off with a grin, and she stuck her tongue out at me. I stuck mine out at her, then frowned as I realized that there was no screaming or fire, like I'd expect during a demon assault. Not even a gasp or a raised voice. No, I was hearing…mom giggle.
I'd only been doing the normal teenager thing for a few days, but I knew even from my zero to seven days that moms…Did. Not. Giggle. Especially not when a demon was at the door. My head turned at the same time Dee's did. A tall man was standing next to Mom, with one hand on her shoulder, and a thick yellow envelope in the other.
“I doubt very seriously that it will come to it, Mara,” he said with a honeyed smoothness, “but I would be happy to act as defense counsel for your son if any charges are filed in this matter. Provided, of course, he is also amenable to the arrangement.” He turned dark eyes to me, and I felt a shiver go down my spine again. The narrow smile that creased his angular face made me feel like a bird under a snake's gaze. The tight weave of a black braid looped over the shoulder of his gray suit jacket. He had matching gray slacks and a black shirt with a red silk tie on, and shoes that had to be more expensive than mom's van.
“Mom, who is this guy?” I asked. Now that he was in the house, the urge to run had been replaced with the urge to throw myself between my mother and the demon dressed like a lawyer. My feet went to the floor and I slid my butt to the edge of the couch.
“This is Kyle Vortigern, honey. He's my lawyer. Our lawyer.” She gave him a grateful smile and came over to me. The name of Kyle Vortigern set alarm bells off in my head and sent chills down my spine.
“Of Sammael and Berith?” I asked. “Mom, they're the most expensive law firm in the city!” Vortigern's eyes narrowed a little at my use of the firm's real name, but he didn't have any other reaction I could see.
“In three states, actually,” Vortigern corrected me. “B
ut Samuels and Barrett does encourage its partners to engage in the occasional pro bono case. And after hearing of your mother's plight…well, it tugged at my heart strings, you might say.”
He would have had to have a heart to have heart strings, but I let the comment slide. “So, what's the deal? Why is he here?”
“Chance, mind your manners,” Mom said. The iron in her tone stopped the next remark off my tongue. “Mr. Vortigern is here to offer his help, and you'd be wise to at least listen to him. He's the reason you're here tonight, instead of in a foster home or back at your father's.”
“Sorry,” I managed.
“Not at all, my boy,” Vortigern said with an oily smile. “A healthy dose of caution is never amiss. Perhaps you and I should talk this over in the other room.” He tilted his head toward Dee and raised his eyebrows, and I gave him a glare that should have taken years off his life.
“Sure,” I said, and hoped there was no growl in my tone.
“Only with your consent, Mara,” he said with a little nod at my mom. She gave him a nod and gestured toward the kitchen. I followed him into the kitchen and slid into the seat that had become mine at meal times while Mom led Dee upstairs.
“What's your angle, Vortigern?” I growled as soon as we were alone. “S&B doesn't do anything without an agenda, and they never do something for free.”
“First, I will thank you never to use the firm's true name on this side of the Veil. As to my angle…to be frank, you are my angle.” He smiled at my dumbfounded frown. “Allow me a moment to explain, and I assure you, all will be made clear, my boy.”
“You got it. I'll even give you two moments, seeing as how I'm feeling generous.”
“Thank you ever so much. I'll contact the Vatican straight away to extoll your virtues and petition for sainthood.”
“Skip to the part about my mom,” I demanded. “What are you trying to get out of her?”
“Your mother? Nothing! In fact, I already have what I want, and you are the one who delivered it to me last Friday night. Your mother was simply a rather novel means to accomplish my ends, to wit, to deprive the Red Count of his apprentice, one Chance Fortunato.”
“I wasn't his apprentice.”
“Not willingly, no, but that is little more than a variation on a theme. The most important thing was, through your efforts, he had become far more powerful than certain parties were comfortable with.”
“Too powerful to move against directly,” I supplied.
“Quite so. Hence, my involvement. The Count himself was not only powerful behind the Veil, but he had also secured himself a bastion in the cowan world, safe from many of the machinations of his plentiful rivals. The logical solution was to cripple him by removing you from the picture.”
“News flash: I did that myself.”
“Not entirely. Who do you think arranged for you to find the Rite of Severing?” His grin soured my stomach, and I felt my freedom start to slip through my fingers. “The desired outcome was to weaken Dulka by depriving him of his slave, to wit, you,” he went on. “Certain of the more traditional partners favored a more…fatal solution. However, convincing accidents are so passé, and reliable assassins are very expensive. My more subtle solution was simply the most cost effective.”
“Either way, you won.”
“Precisely. Your freedom was an unlikely, but acceptable outcome. The odds against you were astronomical. The betting was very…spirited.” Demons would gamble on anything, but most seemed to lean toward the sure thing. Why do you think they own so much of Vegas? The house always wins. Something clicked in my head; thought processes I'd been able to avoid for the past few days woke up suddenly.
“I don't owe you squat, Vortigern. There was no deal between us.”
“Oh, too true, there is no formal debt between us, which the firm is not at all pleased with. This is not a contract, boy. It’s a matter of honor. Yours, to be precise. You owe me a favor. A big one. Some day…I’ll collect.”
“Asshole,” I growled at him. “I hope you lost a bundle betting on Dulka.”
“Oh, no, my young friend. I bet on you. More than you can imagine,” he finished thoughtfully. “Now, to the matter at hand, the custody issue. I have some papers for you to sign…oh, do calm yourself. If you fear for your soul, don't. It's virtually useless to the firm, given the abuse the Red Count put it through. The firm has what it wants, as long as you remain free of your former Master. This is just part of the formalities required to keep you out of his control. It is merely an affidavit.” He slid some pages toward me.
Despite his reassurance, I made sure to read them all carefully…twice. It wasn't until I was sure I wasn't signing my soul or someone else's freedom away that I put my signature on the pages. He read it over, then tapped the pages to straighten them and tucked them into his leather briefcase.
“Hey, Vortigern,” I called. He stopped at the entrance to the living room and turned back to face me. “Thanks, man.”
His face contorted into a grimace, and he stood there for a few seconds before he shook his head, and the calm mask of the lawyer fell back into place. He called out a goodbye to my mom and strode out the front door like the house was on fire. I watched him slip into the back of the gray limo parked in front of the house, and didn't move until it turned the corner.
“He just feels wrong,” Dee said from beside me. Mom was behind her, her eyes deep and thoughtful.
“What do you expect, he's a lawyer,” I joked.
“I pray we don't need his services any more than we already do,” Mom said softly.
“I don't like him.” Dee turned and went back to her project, and I silently agreed with her as my eyes went back to the deepening gloom that was settling over the street. I was in debt to a demon, and it scared me more than I thought anything could. For a moment, I wondered who Mom was praying to, and whether they took requests.
I'm in the science lab, and it's still liberally covered in Mr. Chomsky, but his head is still alive and talking, telling his arms to get the rest of him put back together.
“There’s something I’ve still got to finish,” he says. “You’re not done yet,” he tells me when he notices me.
“What do you mean?” I ask his head.
“I just started on you, and now I’m all in pieces. How am I supposed to finish up with you if I’m all over the room like this? Hell of a way to run a lab, if you ask me.” His arms spread themselves wide as if they're still attached to his shoulders.
“Finish up with me?”
“Of course. I hate to leave a project unfinished. But don’t worry; you’ll get done one way or the other. I just hope you turn out well.”
“What were you going to do with me?”
“I wasn’t really sure. You have some potential, but you’re broken in a few places. I really wanted to see if I could help fix you. But, now I’ve got this to deal with, and who knows when I’ll be able to help you.” He sounds a little sad, and I find myself wanting to help somehow, wanting to put him back together. His head turns to me with a sad smile.
“You can’t fix me, Chance. All you can do is find out who broke me. Who knows, it might fix something in you, too.” A disembodied hand shoos me out of the room…
I woke up with the window getting lighter, before I could ask Mr. Chomsky who'd broken him. Of course, I knew he was right, too. I was broken, in a lot of ways. What normal, healthy person would dream of a room full of blood and gore, and hold a conversation with a severed head? That went straight past broken and took the express train to seriously screwed up. Especially since, as dreams went…this one was pretty tame.
Chapter 11
~ Assume nothing. ~ Wizard’s proverb.
When Mom dropped me off at school, I found Wanda and Lucas waiting under a tree to the left of the front steps, while Brad and his cronies held court by the flagpole. The jock herd gave me a group of glares, which I smiled back at, then promptly ignored, and went to join my two friends. I sat down w
ith my back against the tree. Wanda was wearing all black today, and not going for Goth style in the slightest. Her eyes looked dark and tragic with runny mascara beneath them, but they weren’t red like she’d been crying.
Lucas wore a black armband on his left sleeve, and a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans. “You doing okay?” he asked somberly.
“Yeah,” I answered, “thanks.” It was macho boy-code for a deep, emotional outburst and gratitude for being there, minus the tears and chocolate.
“Did you really see him?” Wanda asked hesitantly. “I mean, did you really find his…body?” I just nodded. “That must have been terrible. Louise Harding said you were as pale as a sheet, and she said Stacy Pinkett, the girl that was with you, had a nervous breakdown and her parents had her admitted to the psych unit last night.” Even though she was still talking like the girl I had met in fifth period, it was a subdued version: slower, quieter and less bubbly.
“The cops are trying to say it was an animal attack,” Lucas offered softly. “Like a lion or something that some rich guy had bought and couldn’t take care of. I don’t buy it.”
“Me, either,” Wanda put in. Both of their voices took on an edge like iron, and I wondered where they were going with this. “No animal jumps through a second story window and dismembers a person like that. Not without leaving tracks or something. But the cops don’t have anything.” I fought to keep my face composed. Of course the cops didn't have squat; I had it all.
“And if it was an animal attack, it’s the second one this year, and there was another one last year, too. But they never catch anything. And all of them were just as weird.”
“So, what do you think it is?” I asked. If this was part of a pattern, I needed to hear more, even if I didn’t want them to go in the right direction.
“That’s the thing, I don’t know. It’s just not a wild animal.” Lucas’ face lost the look of certainty it had before, and I let myself relax a little. A little bit of doubt was all it took to keep them on the wrong track, and hopefully keep them safe. The bell for first period rang, and we got to our feet and headed for class.