Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  “Not yet, sweetie,” Akako said. “You have to help Mommy blow out the candle.” Akako leaned down to face the candle and pursed her lips to blow. “See, like this.”

  “Be sure to make a wish first,” Dan said.

  Renee didn’t understand these concepts; she merely applauded and squealed with happiness as Akako blew out the candle for her. Aggie made a wish; she wished that whatever help Cecelia needed wouldn’t put Aggie’s new family in danger. She kept this wish to herself; she forced a smile and helped to distribute the cake and ice cream.

  Emma was of course the first one to leave. Aggie could sense the girl’s impatience by the way she bolted her cake and didn’t eat any ice cream. Though Emma might think she kept her emotions hidden, Aggie could sense them roiling beneath the surface, especially whenever she glanced over at Renee. Aggie knew Emma didn’t see Renee in that high chair but her own daughter, the one whose birthday would have been tomorrow. Emma would never get to hold a party like this for her daughter; she could only go out to the cemetery to put flowers on her baby’s grave.

  So it didn’t come as any surprise when Emma checked her watch and then said, “I’d better get back to work on those budget reports.” She bent down in front of the high chair, to try to look Renee in the eye, but the little girl turned away. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

  Then Emma was gone, no doubt to put on the magic armor so she could vent some of her rage against Rampart City’s criminals. Once she left, it wasn’t long before Rebecca, Dan, and Megan—who had all come in the same car—decided to leave as well. Aggie nodded to them each in turn with a fake smile on her face.

  Finally it was her, Akako, and Renee. As if she knew something was wrong, Renee became fussy; she cried and banged on the high chair tray until Akako picked her up. “It’s all right, sweetie. It’s all over now. You were a very brave little girl.” Akako rubbed Renee’s back until the baby settled down. “Let’s get you upstairs and clean you up and then put you to bed.”

  While Akako took Renee upstairs to wash the cake from Renee’s face, Aggie went down into the basement. Despite that Sylvia had been dead for nearly three years, there were still rows of machine guns and other weapons along the walls. Aggie kept meaning to find a way to dispose of these so Renee couldn’t wander down here at some point and blow up the house by accidentally pulling the pin from a grenade. Since Cecelia was here, maybe the former assassin could help with that.

  In the metal vault on the other end of the basement she pulled open a drawer on the third level. She scanned the tiny bottles until she saw a dark gray stone vial. The label read, “Restoration.” So long as she’d brewed it properly—and she had more than enough experience in that area—it should make Cecelia good as new.

  It didn’t surprise Aggie to find Akako in the guest bedroom. “What happened to her?” Akako asked.

  “I’m not sure. She said she needed my help and then she passed out.” While Aggie said this, she wet a cloth with a few drops of the potion. She dabbed at Cecelia’s wounds with the cloth and then took a step back. Nothing happened, but then the potion usually took a few hours to do anything.

  “Do you think she’s in some kind of trouble?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Akako took a handful of the comforter on the bed. “We can’t keep her here for long. I don’t want her around Renee.”

  “She’s not going to kill her own cousin.”

  “How do you know that? She might still be working for whoever it is under the table. She might have faked these injuries so you’d let her in.”

  Aggie looked over at Akako, who stared down at the floor. It was Akako who had befriended Cecelia in the vault of the archives; she had tasked Aggie with tracking down the girl’s descendants. They had met a few times since then without any difficulties. Then Renee was born and everything changed. When Cecelia had tried to invite them out to Denver to meet her great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter Shelly, Akako had declined; she said it was too soon to take Renee on a plane. In bed that night, Akako had rebuffed Aggie’s efforts to cuddle with her; she arranged the covers to form a barrier between them.

  “Agnes, I know Cecelia is your niece and I know she’s been trying to change, but I don’t want her around Renee. She’s too dangerous,” Akako had said.

  As much as Aggie wanted to disagree, to stand up for her niece, she knew she couldn’t. When it came to Renee’s safety, everything else became secondary for Akako. Aggie often wondered if this reaction was because of what happened to Emma or because Akako had miscarried back in her universe or a combination of both. In the end she nodded and said, “If that’s what you want.”

  Aggie had gone out to Denver, where Cecelia had rented a tiny apartment, one that befitted a supposed graduate student who doubled as a babysitter for young Shelly. On the uncomfortable futon, Aggie explained the situation to her niece. As she did, she noticed as always how much Cecelia looked like her mother, not only her hair or eyes, but the same intense expression and the same way she ground her teeth as she tried to keep her anger in check. “You know I’d never kill a baby,” Cecelia said. “Not on purpose.”

  “I know that, dear. It’s just that Akako is a little protective of Renee. Like all new mothers.”

  “Most new mothers,” Cecelia grumbled. Aggie knew her niece was thinking of the child she’d thought had died almost a hundred sixty years earlier, only to learn much later her mysterious employer known as the Headmistress had concealed the baby’s survival from her. Then came the second incident back in the 1940s when Cecelia had inhabited the body of a pregnant young woman named Maria Costopolous thanks to a spell in the archives. Cecelia-as-Maria had run afoul of some men and Maria’s baby had died.

  “You’re not a monster, dear. Look at how much you’ve helped Shelly.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” From what Cecelia had said, Shelly Forbes had been much like Emma or Megan at ten years old: extremely shy, lonely, and picked on by her peers. Since Cecelia moved to Denver and answered the Forbes family’s ad for a babysitter, Shelly had become a confident young woman popular with the rest of her class. Aggie had seen this result herself while she waited for Cecelia outside the Forbes home. Shelly had walked past her with a group of other girls; they laughed as she described some incident at school. She seemed well adjusted.

  “Give her some time,” Aggie said. “She’ll come around.”

  That had been almost a year ago and still Akako hadn’t come around. Aggie doubted her niece showing up with cuts, bruises, and missing teeth would help that situation. Yet when Aggie looked down at Cecelia, she saw the young woman’s mother, who had often come home from a brawl at some pub in the same condition. Despite this, Sylvia had never attempted to harm a member of her own family. Aggie knew that deep down, past the tough exterior, Cecelia was wired the same way. In time Aggie hoped Akako would recognize this as well.

  “She needs our help,” Aggie said. “I can’t turn her away. She’s my niece.”

  “And Renee’s your daughter.”

  “I know that, but you can’t ask me to throw a member of my family out on the street, especially if she’s hurt.”

  Akako opened her mouth to say something, but then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been having a really bad feeling lately that something is about to happen. Something terrible.”

  “I’ve felt it too,” Aggie said. She’d been tempted to do some readings to try to discover the source of what had been troubling her and Akako, but the last time she dabbled in fortune telling her prediction that Emma would never get to hold her baby had rung true. Though it was ludicrous, Aggie couldn’t help but think she’d somehow made this happen when she tried to look into the future.

  Aggie forced another smile to her face as she had at the party. “Maybe this will be nothing.” But when she looked down at her niece’s battered face, Aggie doubted this. She thought again of her wish during the party and prayed to anyone who would listen that Cecelia’s appearance here wouldn
’t harm the rest of her family.

  ***

  The Scarlet Knight didn’t take Don Vendetta far. She carried the unconscious don only as far as the remains of a pier from when this section of the waterfront had been full of life. From a rusty lamppost, its light long since extinguished, hung a length of equally rusty chain with a hook. The Scarlet Knight attached this hook to the belt around the don’s waist after she verified with the Emma Earl part of her brain that the belt could hold Don Vendetta’s weight. In a paper bag stored in a compartment on her bike she had the other supplies she would need, which included a roll of duct tape. She used this to tie the don’s arms in front of her so she couldn’t reach back to slip the chain.

  When Don Vendetta opened her eyes, she hung upside-down and dangled two feet in the air. The Scarlet Knight sat on a spool that had once been used for rope to tie down the big ships that would come into this part of the harbor. She had the visor of her helmet open to eat a sliver of cheddar cheese. The glasses that linked her to the FLI covered her eyes so the don wouldn’t be able to see much more than her nose.

  The don wiggled around on the chain like a caught fish for a few seconds. Then she turned back to where the Scarlet Knight continued to eat her snack. “So is this the part where you threaten to beat me nearly to death if I don’t confess?” the don asked.

  “It’s been pretty effective with your minions.”

  “That because they can’t afford a decent lawyer.” The don wiggled against the chains again. “Mine will have me out of there in three seconds.”

  “Then the next time I might not be so generous.”

  “We both know you aren’t going to kill me.”

  “You’d be surprised what you can live through.”

  “You aren’t going to get another chance. I’ll make sure to put you in the ground first.”

  “Maybe, but right now you’re the one dangling from the chain. So let’s make a deal. You tell me where you keep your ledgers—the real ones—and all your other sensitive information and I’ll give you to the cops undamaged.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “So I don’t break that pretty face of yours for starters.”

  “Not a chance, you crazy bitch.” The don rattled the chain again to no avail. “We both know all you’ll do is rough me up a little and then turn me over to that buddy of yours, Donovan, and I’ll walk out as soon as my lawyer gets there. Why not save time and let me go now?”

  “I’m going to give you one last chance. Tell me where you keep your financial data and I’ll give you to the police unharmed.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “All right then.” The Scarlet Knight finished the last of the cheese and wiped the crumbs from her mouth. Then she reached into the paper bag next to her for the rest of the block of cheese. With a well-aimed toss, the cheese ended up inches from where Don Vendetta dangled. Before she lowered the helmet’s visor, the Scarlet Knight whistled.

  It didn’t take long for two-dozen rats to swarm around the cheese. These weren’t the mammoth ones from the depths of the sewers, but ordinary rats who lived in the area. They hissed at each other as they fought over the hunk of cheese beneath the don’s head. The Scarlet Knight watched with a grim smile as Don Vendetta’s face turned pale.

  “I don’t think the cheese is going to be enough for their stomachs. They might decide a little meat would be good too,” the Scarlet Knight said. It hadn’t taken long to summon the rats to the pier; by all rights Emma Earl was the “queen” of most of the city’s rat tribes. She’d developed this method of interrogation with Jim Rizzard, aka the Sewer Rat, during the RAT Bombings. Over the last two years she’d employed it a number of times; she found that the smaller rats worked more effectively than enormous ones like her friend Pepe; the idea of two-dozen rats crawling up your face and nibbling away at your skin was enough to make most anyone mad with terror.

  Don Vendetta proved to be no exception to this. As the rats finished the cheese, some of them snipped at her hair. Her eyes widened as she no doubt realized it wouldn’t be long before some of them managed to reach even higher. “You really are fucking crazy, you know that?” the don screamed.

  “That’s what my therapist keeps telling me.”

  “If I tell you, will you call these things off?”

  “Depends on if I believe you or not.”

  On cue one of the rats raked a claw across Don Vendetta’s forehead. The don screamed and squeezed her eyes shut. “We’ve got a whole network. It’s encrypted. There aren’t paper ledgers anywhere. Talk to Alonzo Jimenez. He’s the guy who runs that shit.”

  “I’m sure the police will be talking to him shortly. Where are your servers?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The Scarlet Knight screeched at the rats in their native language. A pair of them leaped onto the don and climbed along her very expensive breast implants. “Where are your servers?” the Scarlet Knight asked again.

  “All over the place! Ask Jimenez. He knows where they are.”

  The Scarlet Knight whistled again. The rats on the don’s chest jumped off to follow the rest as they disappeared from whence they came. Once again the Scarlet Knight was alone with Don Vendetta. “Thank you.” The Scarlet Knight stood up to walk over to the don. Then she squatted down to eye level. “I hope you remember there are rats everywhere in a city like this and it only takes a narrow little crack for them to get to you.”

  “I told you what you wanted. Let me down, you fucking nut job!”

  The Scarlet Knight didn’t move, but the Sword of Justice emerged from where she’d left it behind the spool. The golden sword easily sliced through the chain to drop the don unceremoniously to the pier. The Scarlet Knight let Don Vendetta sit there for a moment before she hefted her by the ragged front of her shirt into a fireman’s carry. “Time to go meet your new friends,” the Scarlet Knight said.

  ***

  Officer Amanda Murdoch wasn’t supposed to be out on patrol alone. Since she’d transferred two weeks ago from the traffic division she was supposed to have an experienced officer in the car with her to show her the ropes. Too bad her training officer had shown up shit-faced and was now sleeping it off in a coffee shop three blocks away. When she’d gotten bored with watching her supposed mentor snore and drool, Amanda decided to get back in the car and do her job.

  When she joined the force, Amanda didn’t have any illusions about “making a difference” or any bullshit like that. Such concepts were for people like Megan and Dr. Earl to believe in. She had joined the police force for the far more practical reason that she had an aptitude for it.

  Her mother and stepfather had disapproved when she told them she had dropped out of the English Lit program at Rampart State to join the police academy. They hadn’t talked to her since that day; they hadn’t so much as mailed her a Christmas card. She couldn’t blame her mother, not after her sons had returned home in pieces thanks to insurgent bombs. There was also her mother’s outdated notion—one she continued to hold despite a wealth of evidence—that as a girl, Amanda would be better suited to some nice occupation like teaching; that was if Amanda couldn’t find a nice man to take care of her.

  At Rampart State, Amanda had liked to tease Megan she should live with Amanda’s family. Megan was the kind of sweet, innocent girl Amanda’s mother had hoped for, one who scribbled in notebooks instead of firing guns on the range. Though Megan had only gone on one date, she would probably find herself a nice man eventually, once she got over her fear of her asthma.

  Amanda didn’t like “nice” men. She gravitated to the kind of men she wrote speeding tickets to, the kind who drove sports cars or motorcycles and had tattoos, greasy hair, and bad teeth. For that reason she hadn’t brought home one of her dates since she was sixteen and even that one she’d ditched two minutes after she arrived at the prom to fuck Johnny Carmichael under the bleachers of the football stadium.

  She couldn’t help but immerse herself in these morbid though
ts as she drove along the parkway to search for crimes. As she passed a group of bums gathered around a flaming trash barrel, she thought of what her mother would think of all this. Her mother who lived in the “retirement village” in Oakville with her stepfather and spent most of her time knitting and playing bridge with other old women. What did any of them in their suburban fortress know about the real world?

  Up ahead she saw two men bracket a young woman who didn’t look much different from Megan, except her hair was light brown and her sweater not so ratty. Probably a runaway or some dumb kid who’d taken a wrong turn. Either way, nothing good would come from the situation.

  When he wasn’t about to drown in a puddle of his own drool, Amanda’s training officer had given her a piece of advice: “You want to live through this, you do your route and stay in your car. Wave the flag, that’s all you do.”

  It was good advice—if you wanted to stay alive. Amanda didn’t really care so much about that. She’d already buried two brothers and her father and her mother was seventy years old. She pulled the car over to the curb and then got out; she made sure to close the door softly behind her.

  While on traffic duty, she’d never needed to pull her weapon. To keep in practice she’d gone to the range every day to shoot paper targets, though she knew there was no substitute for real experience. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, she unbuttoned her holster and put one hand on the butt of her pistol. Up ahead, one of the men was trying to get his hand between the girl’s legs to cop a feel. That was as much provocation as Amanda needed to take her gun from its holster.

  “All right guys, party’s over,” Amanda said. “Step away from the girl.”

  As expected, the men took off. Amanda didn’t bother to give chase. That was the second rule her training officer had told her: “If you’re dumb enough to get out of the car, for God’s sake don’t go chasing anyone.”

  From the fear in the girl’s eyes and the tears that dripped down her cheeks, Amanda assumed her first hunch was correct. “They aren’t going to bother you anymore,” Amanda said. She stuffed her gun back into its holster.