"What are you, who are you working for?"
His mouth was a mere inch from my own. I struggled to breathe. "I'm not . . . you know who I am. I just work . . . for you." Please believe me, please believe me.
But his hand now threatened to crush my windpipe. I grew lightheaded. "You were following me. Why, Charity? And you better tell me the truth, 'cause help is pretty far away."
I closed my eyes. "Can't . . . breathe," I croaked. One agonizing second, and he abruptly relaxed his grip. I dropped to my knees, gulping air past my burning throat. "Okay," I said. And damn me if this didn't work, because Nicholas was precisely right: we were too far away from help if I'd misjudged him. I looked up into his eyes, which had returned to relative quiescence. Oh, I knew he was insane. But I had to bet my life on his rationality.
"I want to find Rinaldo. I want to kill him, and you're the only person who knows where he is."
He jerked, as though I'd hit him. But his expression remained strangely inscrutable. He stared at the wall above me. His lips moved, but no sound came from them. I wondered if my revelation, of all things, had finally pushed him over the edge, but eventually he seemed to arrive at a decision. All the coiled, tense violence of the last several minutes left him. I relaxed.
"I can't help you," he said. His voice was very quiet. "I owe Papa that much. I won't stop you, though. If you think you can do it. But I don't think you can. I think you'll probably die." He cocked his head at me and giggled. "You know that makes me sad? I don't want Charity Do-good to die."
I coughed, and it turned, inexplicably, to a laugh. "That makes two of us."
Nicholas led me from the tunnels and made sure I was firmly above-ground before vanishing. I couldn't have followed him even if I was stupid enough to try again. I caught myself shivering in latent shock, but it was more convenient to blame it on the cold. I didn't have time to fall apart over every little threat. My throat was just a little bruised, after all--another to add to my collection. I needed to see Amir and tell him about the party last night and Rinaldo's will, but since I was so close to the subway station I thought I'd check in on our malodorous informant first. Perhaps he had news of Judah's mother. I retrieved my bicycle from a lamppost across the street from the construction site and made my labored way down to Whitehall Street. I'd decided to take it this morning since I had given all of my remaining cab fare to Giuseppe and my bruises seemed to ache marginally less. By the time I made it to Whitehall Street, I'd given up the effort to maneuver the traffic on my bicycle. If the ground weren't so icy, or if I weren't so sore, it might have even been fun, but at the moment I could only think longingly of my bed. Or perhaps something less lumpy. Like Amir's. And warmer, like . . .
I shook my head firmly and jogged down the stairs into the station. The platform itself wasn't nearly as crowded as the streets above: the rush of morning traffic had ended hours ago. So I was surprised to find that the indigent seemed to have vanished. His state of advanced inebriation had led me to believe that he probably spent much of his time down here. I walked over to his corner, and saw that he had left behind a worn burlap blanket that smelled even worse than I remembered and a frayed sack filled with half-eaten candy and two bottles of soda pop. Perhaps he relied on the smell to keep thieves away, but why would someone with so little leave what he had behind? Had something happened to him?
I walked to the station master's booth. The man seated inside was portly and florid--a reassuring sight after so many days surrounded by dangerous, rail-thin and ghost-pale vampires flushed in all the wrong places. He was reading a copy of the Daily News with a front-page story about the sudden dry-run of Faust, and speculation that Jimmy Walker's secret narcotics agents had routed out the source. I snorted, which alerted the stationmaster to my presence. He peered at me through the grille.
"Can I help you, miss?" he said.
"Do you know what happened to that indigent who used to sit over there?" I pointed. "I had hoped to bring him some food and fortifying reading from our local charity group."
He squinted, then released his pince-nez and looked again. "Oh, you're that girl, ain't you? The one who beat up that pack of suckers yesterday! I wouldn't've believed it, if I hadn't seen the picture. My ma says a girl has no business getting mixed up with those types, but I don't mind telling you I think it's the berries."
I scowled. "I bet your ma doesn't approve of slang, either."
" 'Fraid not, miss. So you want old Rick? He's no sucker, if that's what you mean."
"No, no, I'm just here on an errand of charity." Did he imagine I spent my days tossing errant vampires over my shoulder like sacks of flour?
He nodded, his eyebrows drawn together. "Well, I can't really help you there. Nice of you to do a charitable mission for his type, but a pig came 'round here six this morning and took him off. Didn't even give him time to get his stuff, as you can see. Seemed like Rick got himself mixed up in some nasty business the last couple'a weeks. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't come back."
Arrested? I recalled the yellowing tracks of hypodermic needles in his arm. Much as I hated it, spirits were illegal, and addicts like him were the easiest target of corrupt narcotics agents. The Daily News thought Jimmy Walker had the slightest interest in stemming the flow of Faust into the city? While he's at swanky parties on the Upper East Side, carousing with a glass of illegally imported champagne in one hand and a showgirl on the other? But this wasn't good news for Judah.
"Have you ever seen a woman in the station with a young boy? In her thirties, brown hair? The boy has freckles. Not poor, but maybe not obviously wealthy."
As soon as I gave this description, I realized how hopeless it was. As expected, the station manager frowned and shook his head. "A lot of people go through the station, miss. Unless they live down here and smell as bad as old Rick, I don't really notice 'em. Sorry."
I thanked him and walked back up the stairs. A blast of frigid air blew in from the river and my throat spluttered like a clogged exhaust pipe. I coughed, violently, and leaned against the wrought-iron fence of the tiny park for support. A few people looked up at me in momentary concern, but no one stopped. The wind subsided and I managed to breathe again, but I stayed where I was, shivering. I didn't know how much longer I could stand this, truly I didn't. The threats, the fights, the bruises, the relentless recognition, the gnawing worry about Amir's safety. And perhaps the only bright spot was the strange, delicate, tentative attraction Amir and I seemed to have for each other. But I didn't trust or understand him enough to know how much it meant to him or how it could resolve.
"At the risk of pointing out the obvious, Zephyr," I muttered, "he's a djinn. A three-hundred-year-old djinn whose idea of a social movement is crop rotation." And even after we found Rinaldo and hopefully stopped what ever it was that caused Amir's attacks, what then? He'd be my boyfriend? Take me on dates around town? I had to laugh, which my throat regretted. Why did that make me so sad? We ain't the same kind, as Daddy would say. I'd yell at him and insist it didn't matter. But did it?
I knew I looked a mess when I walked into Amir's place, but there was no help for it. I'd at least wiped what I thought were the last traces of errant tears on my cheeks. Maybe I needed a vacation. A trip to a lovely beach house on the Jersey shore. Mornings spent reading trashy novels on the porch, and evenings dancing at the community hall. And at least twelve hours of sleep a night.
He was sitting on his couch, chatting and laughing with another woman whose back was turned to me. I'm not a jealous type, really, but I felt sad and confused and a little vindicated in my pessimism about our relationship.
I almost cleared my throat, then thought better of it. "Should I come back later?" I said, wishing that my voice didn't sound quite so desperate and scratchy.
Amir turned toward me, along with his mysterious guest.
"Zephyr!" my mother exclaimed. "You look terrible!"
I grimaced and wished my blushes were not quite so florid. "Mama, what are y
ou doing here?"
"I came to visit Amir," she said, as though we were back in Yarrow and Amir lived down the street. "To thank him for his lovely present."
"Yes, nothing like a deadly weapon as a gesture of friendship."
"No need to be sarcastic, Zephyr," Mama said.
I sighed and collapsed into the couch opposite them. Amir's expression was one of patented inscrutability. I could see him take in the new bruises on my neck, the cave dust on Lily's clothes, my shuddering tension. I felt like a glass about to crack, and he could see every fissure. His hands fluttered, as though they would reach for me, but he instead combed them through his hair.
"Sweetie, what happened to you?" Mama asked. "How did you get those bruises?"
I glanced nervously at Amir, who seemed entirely too interested in the answer to this question. I knew he was worried about my association with Nicholas, and he'd think this proved his point.
"Well, I . . . I fell."
Mama raised her eyebrows. "Zephyr."
"Someone just . . ." I coughed and then winced. "I mean . . . Nicholas tried to strangle me, that's all."
She threw up her hands. "That's one of those Turn Boys, isn't it? The ones your Daddy's going to kill. Well, good riddance--"
"You won't have to deal with him again," Amir said, neatly cutting off Mama. "I found Rinaldo."
We both turned to stare at him. He looked perfectly blase, as though he'd announced something of no more import than the score of the latest Yankees game. And it was the first thing he had said since I arrived.
"You . . . you did? How? Was it marked on the maps?"
He nodded. "Quite obvious once I knew what to look for."
I beamed. "That's great! Oh, that's wonderful, Amir. Where is he? We'll have to plan our assault soon. Maybe even let Daddy and Troy in on it. Much as I hate to admit, they know what they're doing about this sort of thing."
Amir frowned. "Zephyr--"
"Well, Troy is a pain," I said, laughing nervously. "We don't have--"
"You can't help me."
"What?"
He laced his hands behind his head and shrugged. "You heard me."
I found myself standing up, like a medieval knight dealt a blow to his honor. I was furious, and Amir looked so damnably placid. "We've been through this," I bit out.
"I don't mean I don't want you to. I mean you can't. This was never your problem, Zephyr. I just paid you to help."
I could only imagine how I looked: like a child just told her pet dog has died, and never really loved her anyway. Mama looked between me and Amir and stood.
"I'll just go check on little Judah," she said.
"Judah? What's he doing here?" I directed it to Mama, but she'd already ducked into the hallway.
"I thought I'd take him to South Ferry again. See if his memory is better in the daylight."
I couldn't bear to look at him. He knew what he was doing to me--he had to--but he looked so businesslike and coolly attractive that I found myself wondering if I had imagined what had happened between us for the last few days.
"You just paid me to help?" I whispered furiously. "You expect me to believe this was all some bleeding business transaction? I got this"--I pointed to my throat--"for a business transaction? I know what this means to you, even if you refuse to admit it. And you still need my help."
Amir raised his eyebrows, but remained seated. "Has anyone told you you're remarkably needy for someone who spends their days giving to others?" I opened my mouth. He waved his hand. "And don't flatter yourself, dear. I'm a djinn. You're just a human. My business with Rinaldo is my own, and much better accomplished without you getting in the way."
I would not cry. I would not. But I couldn't seem to stand and hold them back at the same time. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood and sat on the edge of his couch.
"I'm afraid I misunderstood," I said, wishing I could keep my voice as cold as his.
"Zephyr, I . . ." Something seemed to have cracked his facade. I could see traces of the confusion and worry and tenderness I'd hoped were still there.
"This didn't mean anything to you?" I whispered.
He leaned forward, so his scent tickled my nose. Comforting, like a hearth fire when you come in from the cold. "I can't answer that. I've behaved . . ." He shook his head. "Wait a week, Zeph. If you can, ask me then."
His eyes were determined and sad, without a hint of seduction. And so I leaned forward to kiss him.
"Amir uncle, Winnie says you want to take me on a trip."
We moved slowly apart, like the heat I felt from him had turned to sticky taffy. I sighed. But he was already smiling and walking toward Judah.
"Yes, she's right," Amir said, letting the boy hold his hand.
If you can, ask me then.
I started to shiver.
I didn't have to, but insisted on coming along with the three of them. Mama thought of it like a tour of the city, and since she seemed to like both Amir and Judah, I couldn't really begrudge her enthusiasm. "He looks so much like Harry at that age," she'd said wistfully as we climbed into the cab. I wondered how much Amir had told her about Judah, but sitting in the back of a carriage with the two of them didn't seem like the ideal time to ask. We insisted the driver pull back the cover, so we could view the city in all its frigid, smelly glory. I had to make do with my worn tweed winter coat, but Mama wore a fox fur stole with a matching muff and hat that wouldn't have looked out of place in a boutique window on Madison Avenue.
"Daddy must be doing well," I said as we headed down Broadway.
She noticed the direction of my gaze and beamed. "Just a little something he got me for our anniversary, sweetie. Lovely, isn't it?"
I scowled. "Sure. Nothing like the satisfaction of knowing that at least a dozen animals sacrificed their lives for your greater comfort."
"Zephyr!"
"I think it's lovely, Mrs. Hollis." Amir glared at me. I ignored him.
"Zephyr is very sad," Judah said. We'd bundled him up carefully--as such a young vampire, he didn't have to worry much about the sun, but it was better to be safe.
"You know," I said under my breath, "I think I liked you better when you didn't speak."
Judah looked up at Mama, his eyes wide and heartbreakingly confused. "I'm sorry," he said. "Should I stop talking, Winnie?"
"Of course not, honey," Mama said. "You can say anything you like to me." She drew him conspicuously into the voluminous folds of her coat. "Apologize, Zephyr."
"I'm very sorry, Judah," I said wearily. "I'm a miserable excuse for a human being."
Amir gave me a sharp glance. Of course we were sitting next to each other, which was bad for my emotional stability, but gave me an excuse not to meet his gaze. "I think Zephyr is hungry, isn't she, Judah?"
Judah looked between Amir and me, and I wanted to squirm beneath that calm, illusion-stripping penetration. "Yes. She is also hungry, Amir uncle."
He smiled a little at that, and told the driver to stop the carriage. He left for a minute, and returned with a box full of hot dogs, loaded with relish and mustard.
"Of course," I said. He handed me a pretzel and roasted nuts. I was hungry, but found myself distracted by Amir's meticulous appreciation of his frankfurter. He'd actually closed his eyes, emitting involuntary vocal exclamations more appropriate to certain other activities.
"Do you know what hot dogs are made of?" I said, because my current mood longed for sour company.
He licked the last of the mustard off his fingers and grinned at me.
"I'm immune to your lectures, Zephyr Hollis. You'll have to harangue your fellows at the suffragette meeting."
Mama laughed. "Yes, honey, don't be such a wet blanket."
Slang? What was next, a feathered turban? I closed my eyes and settled into the corner of the carriage. In my current foul mood, I was clearly not fit for company. Amir and Mama and Judah chatted while I relaxed. I felt curiously warm, given the weather. Amir seemed to have discreetly increas
ed his heat production for my benefit. As Judah talked, I realized how much he'd improved since I first found him. It seemed clear that the turning had damaged him, but in a different way than it had Nicholas. Judah didn't seem particularly violent. His memory had been wiped almost clean, aside from that one episode we'd witnessed. And beneath his uncanny stillness, he was so disturbingly observant. I'm snapping at everyone like a box turtle and he tells Amir that I'm sad?
"I hope we're doing to right thing. Giving him back to his parents," I said, quietly enough so that only Amir could hear me. I didn't open my eyes, but felt his heat shift and settle upon me like a blanket.
"I don't think we have another choice," he said, just as softly. "But you're right. This isn't the same little boy they lost."
We drove past what seemed to be every single ware house and residential building south of Fulton, paying particular attention to the ones closest to Whitehall Street, but Judah stared at each one with precisely the same placid nonrecognition. The sun was sinking, and we fetched up, finally, at Battery Park to witness the weak winter sun descending over the water. We all stepped out of the carriage while Amir paid the driver. I shuddered to think how much our hours of traipsing through the city must have cost, but I was beginning to suspect that Amir literally conjured his money out of thin air. Judah stopped on the threshold of the park and looked around.
"I know this place," he told me.
"Do you?" I said. "Did your papa take you here?"
"I told you, my papa is gone. I remember I like it because I can see the sun."
"Why don't you go with Amir and see if you remember anything more," Mama said, when Amir caught up with us. Judah happily took his hand and they walked off along the barren gravel paths.
"I do like him, Zephyr," Mama said, when we were alone. I realized too late why she'd encouraged Amir to go with Judah. "He's kind, and that's important. Lord knows I'd feel better if he were a human, but . . . well, I think your father will turn around. Don't worry." She patted my hand and I smiled weakly. If only Daddy's bad opinion was the worst of my problems.
Moonshine: A Novel Page 23