A Barricade in Hell

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  The bell over the front door sounded. I saw a broad-shouldered man in a gray suit, a crisp white shirt, and a red bow tie reflected in the mirror. He was very tall and had to duck slightly as he came in the shop door to keep from hitting his head. The stranger wore a felt fedora much like Gabe’s, but newer and more expensive. I noticed a small black ring on the little finger of his left hand as he removed his hat. His short straw-colored hair was slicked back with pomade.

  Mr. Hopkins muttered an apology to Dora and hurried to the counter near the door. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “My employer left a coat here to be mended. I’ve come to collect it for her.” The man laid his palm on the glass, fingers splayed wide. “You promised the repairs would be finished this evening.”

  I pretended to watch Isadora in the mirror, but I was really watching the stranger. There was something vaguely menacing in the stranger’s stance and the tone of his voice, and I flinched from looking at him directly. Everything about the way he approached Mr. Hopkins was oddly out of tune with coming to collect a repaired coat.

  Still, I didn’t fight the compulsion to eavesdrop and not let on. More than mere curiosity prodded me to listen. This stranger hadn’t done more than walk into the room, hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction, but I was wary of him. That merited paying attention.

  “What was the name on the order, sir?” Mr. Hopkins was sweating again, handkerchief balled in one hand, but he stood rock steady behind the counter, order book open before him. “I have quite a few coats and jackets waiting for pickup.”

  “The name is Fontaine.”

  Dora stiffened, her gaze flying to the man’s reflection. She put a trembling hand on my arm, a warning I didn’t need. I couldn’t say whether she meant to caution me not to turn and stare, or if holding my arm was to keep from doing so herself. She continued to fuss with the drape of the coat, but her smile turned brittle, forced.

  I smoothed her coat collar, stealing glances at the stranger in the mirror, and leaned close to whisper. “Who is he?”

  She gave me an imploring look and flipped the collar up to cover most of her face. “Not now. We’ll talk later.”

  “Effie Fontaine.” The tall man glanced toward me and Isadora, but took no further notice of us. “She left a fox coat two days ago. Your girl said the small tear in the lining would be simple to repair.”

  Mr. Hopkins ran a finger down his list. “Oh yes, here’s the notation. I’ll fetch the coat from the back. It won’t take but a moment.”

  The curtain swayed softly as Mr. Hopkins hurried away. For the moment, he appeared to have forgotten about Dora and me completely, but I couldn’t say as I blamed him. Ridding his shop of the tall, rather threatening man at the counter seemed like the wisest and safest course of action for all of us.

  I should have known Dora would veer far from the safe and wise. She gripped my arm firmly and steered me to a display of fur hats in the corner of the showroom farthest from the counter. “Stay here, Dee, and ignore anything that goes on. Pretend to be selecting a hat or spend time staring at the paint on the wall. I don’t care which you choose, just don’t turn around.” Dora glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t want him to get a good look at your face. I’ll explain later.”

  “Isadora Bobet—”

  “Do as I ask, Delia.” Her voice hissed in my ear. “I don’t have time to explain. Trust me.”

  Trusting Dora often required a significant leap of faith, but I did what she asked and stayed put. Angling the small vanity mirror on the display table allowed me to see Dora and not reflect my face into the room. I took a mink cloche from a stand, keeping up the charade of shopping. Running my fingers through silky fur didn’t stop my heart from roaring loud in my ears. Something was very wrong here. Dora’s silence rendered me even more anxious.

  Dora sauntered up to the counter, crowding in next to the man who worked for Effie Fontaine. She smiled her brightest, most guileless smile, confirming that I wouldn’t approve of what she planned to do. “Excuse me, but will Mr. Hopkins be much longer?”

  The stranger stared down at her, stone-faced and cold at first, but before long the merest hint of a smile appeared and his expression became more cordial. “I hope not, miss. Bringing a coat from the back room shouldn’t take too long.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Dora leaned against the edge of the counter, a fingertip idly tracing patterns over the smeared mark his hand had left on the glass top. Patterns that looked vaguely like warding glyphs if I concentrated on the way her hand moved, but from across the room, I couldn’t be sure. “And please forgive me if this is too forward, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to Mr. Hopkins. You work for Effie Fontaine? The pacifist lecturer?”

  “Miss Fontaine is my employer.” His smile broadened, but if anything, that made me more leery of him. I could imagine a snake’s eyes glittering in just that way before swallowing a mouse. “You’ve heard of her?”

  “Of course! She’s the talk of San Francisco social circles. Everyone who is anyone knows about her lectures and the work she’s doing to keep our boys out of the war.” Dora sighed dramatically. “I’ve heard so many good things about Miss Fontaine’s cause. You must be proud to work for her.”

  Dora wielded charm like a battle mace, bashing away until all defenses crumbled. The set of her shoulders, the tilt of her head as she gazed into his eyes, and her coquettish smile were all familiar, and I’d no doubt that Isadora had a legitimate reason for pretending to flirt with him. But there was an edge there as well, and she never stopped tracing patterns on the glass.

  She was afraid of this stranger, careful and guarded, but didn’t want him to know. That worried me most of all.

  His reflection darkened the mirror suddenly, startling me. I wasn’t certain what I saw clinging to the stranger like a half-shed skin and looming over Dora: remnants of a haunting spirit, smoky shreds of living shadow, or a manifestation from another plane that I didn’t have a name for. Whatever surrounded this man was a part of him, yet separate. Watching it writhe made gooseflesh rise on my skin.

  Turning to look at him directly made the shadowy nimbus fade to an indistinct blur clinging to his skin, almost as if this second self knew I watched, and made an attempt to hide. What I saw wasn’t a dark aura, but something else entirely. A person’s aura was a reflection of their inner self and could be dark or light, but auras didn’t vanish viewed head-on. They grew stronger, more distinct. Perhaps the patterns Dora had traced again and again were the key, allowing me to see his true nature.

  Glancing at Dora and seeing the way her free hand twisted in the expensive coat assured me that what I’d seen was real. The symbols were meant as protection against that dark, second self dwelling within the stranger. If I recoiled from a reflection, the darkness would hit her ten times stronger. I turned my back and watched them in the mirror again, all the while cursing the fact I didn’t know what Dora was doing or how I could help her. All I was certain of was the way my throat tried to close and sweat trickled down my sides.

  The stranger cocked his head, still smiling, but now there was a different kind of appraisal in the way he looked at Dora. “Effie does important work, yes, and she’s a good, dedicated person to partner with. Have you been able to attend one of her talks yourself?”

  Dora laid her hand flat on the counter, grounding herself in the wards she’d drawn. Her smile was the perfect blend of dazzling femme fatale and lost waif. “No, and I’d dearly love to. It seems that each time I try to obtain tickets, they’ve already sold out.”

  “Then it’s fortunate that we met. My name is Maximillian Roth. Allow me to remedy your lack of tickets.” He fished in an inside jacket pocket and pulled out a creased and worn-looking envelope. “Is one ticket enough, or will you be bringing your shy friend over there along?”

  Her eyes flicked toward me and back to his face. “Would three tickets be too much to ask? My beau has been dying to hear Miss Fontaine speak.”
>
  “By all means, bring your beau.” Mr. Roth laughed, but whatever amused him failed to warm his pale blue eyes. He pulled three rusty red paper tickets from the envelope and held them out to Dora. “Her next talk is Friday night at the Baptist church on Clement Street. The man at the door will know to watch for you and that you and your friends are my guests. You’re all invited to the private reception Effie holds afterwards as well.”

  “You’re much too kind.” Dora tucked the tickets into a coat pocket. “I wonder what’s keeping Mr. Hopkins so long?”

  The shopkeeper rushed out of the back room as if Dora’s question had summoned him. Mr. Hopkins’s face was bright red, and crimson blotches ran down his neck.

  “I’m so sorry for the delay, sir. The repairs were finished, but the girls hadn’t put the coat into a muslin sleeve yet. Getting the stains out without damaging the mink took longer than estimated.” Mr. Hopkins passed over the wrapped coat and quickly stepped back, putting the counter between him and Maximillian. “Miss Fontaine settled the bill when she left the coat.”

  “No harm done. Waiting gave me an opportunity to have a pleasant chat with this charming lady.” Maximillian bowed shallowly before donning his hat. “I hope to see you on Friday. I’m looking forward to introducing you to Effie.”

  Dora looked him in the eye and offered a hand for him to kiss, a mannerism that lingered from her time in Europe. I so rarely saw her touch strangers that seeing her do so with this man came as a shock.

  His smile was rather smug as his lips brushed her knuckles, becoming more so when Isadora didn’t let go of his hand.

  “I quite enjoyed our conversation as well.” Dora favored him with her most fetching smile and touched the ring on his little finger. “Can I impose on you to answer one last question? My German is a bit rusty. What does the inscription on your ring say?”

  Maximillian gave Dora a considering look. “Do you have German blood, Miss—?”

  Mr. Hopkins spoke up, likely thinking he was being helpful. “Bobet. Miss Isadora Bobet.”

  A muscle in Dora’s jaw twitched, but she kept smiling and didn’t let go of his hand. “My family is Welsh, but I spent several years on the continent. I managed to pick up bits of the language in several countries. I know Das Vaterland means ‘the Fatherland,’ but beyond that I admit I’m lost.”

  “I should have guessed a lady like yourself was well traveled. Allow me to translate, Miss Bobet.” He ran his finger over the inscription on the ring. “The words say ‘Loyalty to the Fatherland to evidence, gave I, in troublous time, gold for this iron.’ It’s an old sentiment, dating back to the war with Napoléon. My grandfather wore a ring like this, and his father before him. Some family traditions shouldn’t be broken. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way.”

  The bell over the front door jangled, signaling his departure. I turned in time to see Maximillian through the window. He’d stopped to speak with Nathan, but hurried away in less than a minute. I wanted to think it innocent, to imagine he’d just asked directions of Nathan or inquired as to the time, but I couldn’t. Nothing about this man was innocent.

  “Dee, take these.” Isadora held out the three tickets with a shaking hand. “Seal them in your handbag before I disgrace myself by being ill.”

  I did as she asked and set the handbag aside. She was sagging against the counter and looked near to sliding to the floor, so I put an arm around her waist and held her up. “Are you all right? Should I call Gabe to come get us?”

  “I’m far from all right, but I will survive.” She gave Mr. Hopkins a wan smile. “I shouldn’t have worn this coat so long indoors, it’s much too warm. Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water?”

  “Oh, yes.” He looked startled, but stopped wringing his hands. “Of course.”

  With my assistance, Dora slipped out of the coat and I helped her to a chair. She batted my hand away as I tried to loosen her collar. “Don’t fret so, Dee. Once I get some air and my stomach settles, I’ll be fine. Nathan can take us straight home once I’ve paid Mr. Hopkins for the coat.”

  “Nathan’s not taking us anywhere. I’m sending Mr. Hopkins out to dismiss him for the day.” Twilight had deepened to full dark, but I could still see Nathan standing ramrod stiff under the streetlight. I gestured toward the window. “That man, Maximillian, spoke with Nathan before he left. I have no idea what they said, but I’d feel safer telephoning Gabe or Randy to take us home. If I can’t reach either of them, I’ll summon a cab.”

  “He spoke with Nathan? How interesting.” Dora studied the driver through the window and frowned. “Your instincts are the equal of mine, Dee, often better. I won’t second-guess you about this. We’ll send for Randy.”

  Mr. Hopkins returned with Dora’s water and was dispatched to send Nathan away. I watched their heated exchange, a silent pantomime viewed from my side of the window glass. Mr. Hopkins had no trouble being firm with those he considered below his station, and it didn’t take long before Nathan stomped around to the driver’s door. Mr. Hopkins stood at the curb, a fierce scowl on his face, and made sure Nathan was well and truly gone. I breathed a small prayer of thanks as the car pulled away.

  I settled in next to Dora after using Mr. Hopkins’s telephone to call the police station, prepared to wait patiently for Randy’s arrival. She sat with her eyes closed and head tipped so that it rested against the chair back, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping. “Mr. Hopkins is still outside, and Randy will be here soon. You can tell me now.”

  She opened one eye to peer at me. “Tell you what?”

  “Why you took such a risk. I thought the plan was to spy on Effie Fontaine from a distance, without her knowing who we are or that we were part of the crowd. Now we’re specially invited to her reception afterwards.” I hugged my handbag to my chest, needing to hold tight to something. “And I can’t believe you let that man touch you. Not after what I saw. That was very foolish, Dora.”

  Dora shut her eyes again, hands resting on her stomach. “My my, the worm has turned. Not long ago I was the one scolding you for taking too many risks. I’m not certain if I should be proud you’re such an apt pupil or wounded. That you’re right doesn’t help at all. But in my defense, I was very careful. I’m reasonably certain he didn’t mark me.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel much better, Dora. I shan’t worry then until you keel over or break out in large spots.” Mr. Hopkins was visible through the shop window, speaking with a beat cop and pointing down the street. Perhaps Nathan hadn’t gone far after all. That would serve to make me all the more suspicious. “Now that we’ve established you acted foolishly, tell me what Maximillian is and what being marked means. I like to know what I’m frightened of.”

  “Don’t settle for half measures, Dee, be utterly terrified. Maximillian is a hunter for the rituals Fontaine uses to raise power. He’s still a man, but participation in blood rituals has left him—tainted. Less than completely human.” Dora groaned and pushed herself upright in the chair. A touch of color had returned to her face, pinking her cheeks and making her look somewhat less drained. “My guess is he hunts for people who already believe wholeheartedly in her cause or that are weak-willed enough to convert fully. Once he finds someone, he singles them out for special attention. Belief in anything is a potent force on its own. The stronger a person’s faith, the more power their death yields.”

  “Mandy believed, but surely not all the people who’ve disappeared were that passionate.”

  “No, of course not. They didn’t need to be.” She pulled her burnished gold compact from her handbag and studied her reflection in the small mirror. “Faith that someone has told you the truth or means to keep a promise can be enough. The men hired for day labor all thought the job was real and that they’d be paid. The yield in power is smaller, but still tangible.”

  Fear tasted acrid, burning the back of my throat and making it difficult to swallow. I’d spent two years learning about the occult from Isadora, and she’d
never glossed over any of the dangers we might encounter, or that evil was a real, true thing. Neither of us had anticipated someone like Effie Fontaine arriving in San Francisco. I don’t think we could have.

  Being afraid didn’t mean I could walk away. “How do we stop her?”

  “With a great deal of caution. The forces at work here are ones I’ve only read about. There’s a strong possibility that Fontaine is in thrall to some sort of demon.” She glanced at me, making sure I listened, and went back to studying her reflection. “The teacher I studied with in Europe had me read translations of ancient Babylonian and Greek texts as part of my training. He wanted me prepared for anything, no matter how improbable. One text spoke about night and wind demons, and what I’m seeing reminds me a great deal of that section. That would also explain Maximillian.”

  “All right, you’ve won. I’m terrified now.” I didn’t bother asking if Isadora was joking. “We’ve banished our fair share of ghosts together. I assume there are ways to banish demons.”

  “It’s not quite so simple. But yes, if my theory proves to be true, there are ways to rid the city of their influence.” Dora tucked the compact away again and leaned back in the chair. “I still need to get a look at her during one of her lectures. That will tell me a great deal more about her alliances in the spirit realm and what steps I need to take. Simply arresting Effie Fontaine isn’t enough. We need to sever her ties to those allies. What happened to poor Archie and Maximillian’s transformation, for lack of a better word, are proof of that.”

  “Convincing Gabe and Jack that we need to go through with this mad plan won’t be easy, but I don’t see another way either. They can’t stop her on their own.” A car pulled up outside, drawing the beat cop’s attention. Randy Dodd climbed out of the driver’s side, dressed in street clothes but with his badge in hand. “Randy’s arrived. We can pull him into our conspiracy on the drive to your house. Perhaps we should leave out the parts involving Maximillian’s being less than human.”