Moonshine (2010)

by Johnson, Alaya

  I felt curiously empty as he led me through an arcaded passageway into another room. This was closed to the elements and filled with various arrangements of divans and large pillows for reclining. I didn’t quite know how a pillar of smoke benefited from well-made cushions, but I sat down willingly enough. I was sure I wouldn’t like what Kardal was about to tell me, and yet instead of dread I mostly felt relief. At least now I would know.

  “What has Amir told you about that vampire mobster? Rinaldo?”

  “Just that he wanted my help finding him. And maybe to kill him. He wouldn’t tell me why.”

  Kardal sank to the floor, and I could suddenly make out discrete facial features in the smoke. “Amir is the youngest of the djinn. And he was raised . . . differently. Your world was always more a part of him than any of our brothers. So much has changed since Kashkash’s time . . . even since mine. It’s hard for Amir to relate to the old ones. And yet, he’s also never truly complete in your world. He loves humans, but not in the way you do. To him, you’re like a rosebush. Something to enjoy, but not to take seriously. He takes human lovers, he plays in human politics, but he can always come back here where it never truly mattered. Except now.”

  “Now?”

  “Three months ago, to be precise. He found a toy, he made a business proposition, and the one thing he had never anticipated happened: he was bound.”

  I struggled to piece this together with what I knew of djinn and their rules. “He’s someone else’s djinn? A human bound him?”

  “Not a human. A vampire.”

  And there it was. Amir wanted to kill Rinaldo because . . . “But I thought djinn couldn’t kill their masters?”

  I could hardly read any expression on Kardal’s malleable face, but he visibly bristled at the term master. “We can’t kill anyone who becomes the vessel to our power, no. They have to die naturally. But it grows more complicated than this. Because Rinaldo, the mobster with whom Amir thought so foolishly to deal, wanted something quite specific from him. Not a djinn’s power, but a djinn’s blood.”

  Blood? I thought of Amir’s flaming eyes and Kardal’s sulfurous smoke. “But how could djinns have—”

  “Think of it as an essence, Zephyr, not a liquid. That’s what vampires feed on, and each source contributes something different to their power. They’re the bottom-feeders, the parasites of our universe. A scourge, as Amir has too late found out.” A lecture about the need for mutual understanding and the perils of prejudice lodged like a gumball in the back of my throat, but I restrained myself.

  “But why did Rinaldo want Amir’s . . . blood? Why wouldn’t he want a djinn’s power if he could have it?”

  Kardal laughed, a sound like ancient rocks beating against each other. “He’s too ignorant to know his own good fortune. I doubt Rinaldo has any idea that he’s become Amir’s vessel. The first of his kind to control a djinn in over a millennia. He wanted Amir’s blood because he wanted to cure himself.”

  I felt like he was tossing me puzzle pieces, but not only did I not understand how they fit together, they didn’t even seem to belong to the same puzzle. “Cure himself. Of being a vampire? Is that possible?”

  “Not in an absolute sense. But it’s possible for a certain kind of vampire to become another kind. That’s what Rinaldo wanted, and a misreading of an ancient book led him to believe that a djinn’s blood could change him.”

  There were different kinds of vampires? “What kind is Rinaldo?”

  “An unusual one. Most vampires—the kind you spend your days helping, Zephyr—are what you might call type A. They spread their powers like a disease. As they age, many natural things can damage them: sunlight, vegetables that grow in the earth, running water. But these problems come on gradually. And most vampires, to be honest, will never grow old enough for this to worry them. In exchange for their relative invulnerability, they lack certain powers: shape-changing, infernal strength, an impervious Sway. Type B vampires have almost always chosen their dark path. I’m sure humans don’t need any excuse to behave unjustly, but these vampires might be the root of your historical enmity.”

  I shook my head, overcome with the implications of what he was saying. It had never even occurred to me to wonder if there might be something more to those ubiquitous “evil vampire” stories. Had Dracula really existed? “And Rinaldo is a type B?”

  Kardal shook his head, and some of his smoke floated to the sides. “Not precisely. He was cursed, twenty years ago, by a very powerful sahir. And the curse she chose was very close to a type B vampire. Though Rinaldo is a young vampire, the slightest touch of sunlight will burn his skin. And he lacks all the powers. He can change his shape, but not fully. His strength is only half as much as a normal vampire. Stuck between the two forms, with the worst of each, he decided to change himself.”

  “Into which type?”

  “Amir never found out. Rinaldo just had a taste of Amir’s blood before my brother escaped. But it was too late. Regular vampire venom would never have hurt a djinn. But Rinaldo, you recall, had some extra benefits. And one was the particular virulence of his bite. Most creatures he bites are killed too quickly to turn.”

  I felt vomit creeping up my throat, burning me. I knew what Kardal was saying. I knew because I’d heard this story a hundred times, but I’d never expected Amir . . . “That’s what his attacks are? He’s turning?”

  “No, Zephyr. He’s a djinn. It’s impossible for us to turn. Our essence isn’t so malleable as yours.”

  “But I thought you said that the venom—”

  “It’s much too strong. He can’t defeat it. But a djinn will die before he turns.”

  I suppose that some part of me had guessed that long ago. But it shocked me to hear Kardal say it out loud. Amir had known he was dying all this time. “But what good will finding Rinaldo do? If he’s dying . . .” I couldn’t continue.

  “It’s a strange thing, the essence parasitism of vampires. It can flow both ways. If Amir can drink Rinaldo’s blood, the venom itself will stop the turn from ravaging his body.”

  I thought of Amir’s slack face, the burning grass. “But it’s almost too late.”

  “No more than a day or two. Perhaps sooner, if Rinaldo realizes he’s become Amir’s vessel. The moment a djinn is bound, the store of power in Shadukiam leaks into your world. The longer the vessel waits before making a wish, the more powerful that wish eventually becomes. And Rinaldo has waited several months.”

  I shook my head. “And Amir doesn’t know where Rinaldo lives? After all this?”

  Kardal laughed, but the sound was bleak as a bone pit. “I told you, my brother is young. When they first met, he didn’t bother to follow him. When Rinaldo summoned him, the vampire was quite careful not to reveal his location.”

  A day or two. I’d suspected his time was short, but not that short. Amir had told me he’d discovered Rinaldo’s location, but after hearing Kardal’s story, I realized that must have been a lie. Given his desperate situation, if he’d truly found Rinaldo he would have hunted him down immediately, not gone on a tour of the city with me and my mother. He’d known he was about to die. And so he tried to make sure that at least Judah’s story would have a happy ending.

  I succeeded, with stomach-clenching effort, to hold back another rush of tears. “Can I see him?” I asked.

  “Be gentle, Zephyr,” Kardal said, but he showed me the way.

  Amir was sitting on a dirt floor deep under Kardal’s palace. The only light came from a single lamp in the center of the room, so that half of Amir’s face was hidden in deep, wavering shadow. At least he was awake.

  “What’s he doing down here?” I whispered.

  “Kardal prefers I don’t singe his carpets, that’s all,” Amir said. He turned to me, a strained smile on his gaunt face. His irises were dull and dark as two charred lumps of coal. A haze of smoke seemed to hover over his shoulders and hair, giving him an eerie resemblance to his brother. I walked closer to him.

&nb
sp; “That’s a fascinating concern for a creature made out of smoke,” I said.

  His eyes searched my face. “My brother is a peculiar fellow.” He hesitated. “And why are you here? Come to rescue me from the dungeon?”

  I knelt so my face was level with his. I remembered the first of his attacks that I’d witnessed. Then, he had been struggling against the vampire venom that was slowly devouring him from the inside. But now it was as though I could see him fading. And perhaps I could.

  “Kardal told me everything,” I said.

  His eyes widened.

  “She deserved to know, Amir,” Kardal said, his voice clipped.

  “You have no idea what . . .” He shook his head and looked back at me, almost shyly. “Dare I ask what you’re still doing here, then?”

  I had to smile. “I just wish you’d told me the truth.”

  “You’ll forgive me for thinking I had a greater chance of securing your help with a few well-placed omissions.”

  “Well, knowing that the most ruthless mob boss in the city has access to your rapidly burgeoning powers is hardly comforting, but it would have only made me work harder to find him.”

  Amir briefly touched my hand, the bare tips of his fingers singeing like stray sparks from a fire. “Any harder and you’d be dead now, dear.”

  It took me a moment to catch my breath. “Did you find anything in those papers, Amir?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, if you’d like to know where he delivers his cocaine shipments, or which of his officers control the city blocks. I imagine your friend Lily would love it. For our purposes, however . . .”

  “You’re giving up.”

  “Are you aware of any other options?”

  His smile was incredulous, not a little patronizing. I slapped him. I could feel the burn on my open palm, but the sensation was perversely fortifying. My voice filled with quiet fury. “You will not do this. I won’t allow you to. This attack will pass, and you will get your lazy, spoiled, careless bottom off the ground and help me save your life. Do you understand? We will find Rinaldo. I don’t care what I have to do.”

  I don’t know how long we stared at each other. My throat rebelled; I coughed, and it seemed to echo deep in my chest and throughout that bare room. Amir grimaced and forced himself up from the floor. It hurt me to watch. He moved like an old man whose joints were nearly frozen with rheumatism, and he had to keep his back against the wall just to stay upright.

  “You only met me two weeks ago,” he said, his voice soft but very far from mild. “There are hundreds of things you won’t do to find Rinaldo. This too shall pass, Zephyr. If I don’t mind, you shouldn’t, either.”

  “You can’t—”

  “Again, you seem to be under the impression that I have some choice in the matter. It’s not a tragedy. I’ve lived quite a long time by your standards.”

  Which was true. But he didn’t look aged or infirm or in need of release from this mortal coil. He looked like a man I’d kissed just yesterday. He looked like a man for whom yawning chasms opened up inside of me when I thought of what we had not yet done. But now there wouldn’t be a “yet.”

  “What should I do?” I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. My voice wavered like a vaudeville actress’s.

  He closed his eyes. In pain, I thought. “Find Judah’s mother. Tell Winnie it was a plea sure to meet her. Get some sleep.”

  “I’m not doing this,” I said abruptly. “I’m not.” I turned around, but not soon enough to avoid catching a glimpse of Amir’s expression: stunned and bleak. I heard him sink back to the floor behind me. Kardal had been standing quietly by the door this whole time. I paused before him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said, my voice low though I knew Amir could hear me, “let him burn your carpets. Give him some hot dogs.”

  Kardal billowed in surprise. “Djinni don’t benefit from animal sacrifice.”

  Amir’s laugh seemed to warm the room. “A snack, brother. A strange human snack, that might involve actual dogs but everyone hopes doesn’t.”

  My hands started to shake but I kept walking.

  “There was music, Zephyr,” he called. “When Rinaldo summoned me. I couldn’t see a thing, but there was music on a phonograph. I don’t know enough about your music to be sure, but it sounded new. Like what you sang at the speakeasy.”

  I took that in the spirit in which it was offered, as an apology and a parting gift, and held it to my chest when I left him behind.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kardal took me and Mama back to the city, near the Whitehall Street station. I gathered that he wasn’t terribly familiar with New York, and so had a limited repertoire of places to which he could teleport. The streets were dark, but the pedestrians didn’t seem quite as wary as they had for the last few nights. Faust hadn’t made a significant reappearance, then.

  “I think he’d like to see you,” Kardal said, “when—”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head firmly. “I’ll find Rinaldo.” It was getting easier for me to read his amorphous expressions. The clues weren’t so much in his face as the general quality of his smoke. Now, he settled into something like a human shrouded in fog—a literal depression. “And if you don’t?” he asked.

  My ears began to hurt; I relaxed my jaw. You’ve only known him for two weeks. Why did that seem entirely beside the point? “Kardal . . . would you let me . . . be your vessel? If I had your powers, we could find Rinaldo. We could save—”

  But he was already shaking his head. “The vessel of a djinn can only be someone capable of overpowering us.”

  Not me, then. “But couldn’t we find someone . . .”

  “You do not want anyone capable of subduing me in control of my powers. No one becomes that powerful by being kind.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. It was heavier than I expected, and very stiff, as though he had only read about comforting human contact without ever actually practicing it. “You are a remarkable human,” he said. “It is not your fault you couldn’t save him.”

  I wasn’t crying when he faded, but Mama hugged me anyway, pulling my head onto her shoulder and whispering the sort of platitudes you expect mothers to say.

  “I have to go to class,” I said, when I finally pulled away. It felt strange to even say it. After all that had happened, I had to go back to Chrystie Elementary for something as routine and mundane as night school? But it was too late to cancel, and the sad truth was that, as bad as things got, I still had to eat. Amir could last a few more days, Kardal had said. I’d start canvassing the entire damn city later to night.

  Mama nodded. “Call us if you need anything, dear. I’ll do what I can to get your father and Troy to hold off, but . . . I heard the client plans to pay Troy the last of the money tomorrow morning. They’ll probably strike tomorrow night.”

  It was too soon. I felt like begging my mother to make them wait, but she knew the stakes as well as I, and she knew the futility of stopping Daddy or Troy when they set their minds on something. Especially something involving significant monetary remuneration. So I just clenched my fists a little tighter and told her that I’d call. She hailed a taxi, but I waited for the train, since my bicycle was still locked up near Amir’s. Old Rick hadn’t yet returned to his corner. Someone would have to actually touch his belongings if the police didn’t return soon.

  As I waited, I wondered what business transaction Amir could have arranged with Rinaldo. Knowing Amir, he probably wanted to rob someone else of a priceless antique. He really did treat our world like a sandbox. Beside me, a vampire staggered against a pillar, so inebriated he seemed in danger of plunging onto the tracks. I had started to move discreetly away when a bottle fell from his hands and shattered on the concrete of the platform. He cursed, but the rest of the humans in the station covered their noses. The stench from even a small bottle of Faust was overpowering this close. I realized that I’d smelled it before—faintly, on Giuseppe’s breath, and earlie
r, in Amir’s apartment when we’d encountered the revenant tomcat.

  I huddled in the corner of the train once it arrived, wishing that the pieces didn’t fit together quite neatly. Why would Rinaldo have wasted Faust to threaten Amir? I very much doubted he’d meant the stench to strike a special terror. Amir and Faust . . . no. There had to be a better explanation.

  I had to stop by the boarding house to pick up some materials before class, but I didn’t even make it up the stairs. Lily, of all people, was lounging in one of the worn chintz armchairs and watching with apparent delight an argument unfolding between Aileen and Mrs. Brodsky. All three looked up when I walked in.

  “Zephyr!” said Mrs. Brodsky, her voice rising above the rest like a great ship buoyed on waves. “You will tell your wayward roommate to drink. She is sick. She is not herself.”

  Mrs. Brodsky held a tall glass of a strange amber liquid, thick enough to cling to the sides. I swallowed, hard, and gave Aileen a sympathetic look. She was seated on the couch, draped in what looked like four different knitted comforters of violently clashing hues. Hot water bladders covered her feet. And from beneath all this, she gazed at me with forlorn hope.

  “I had no idea you lived with such fascinating people, Zephyr,” quipped Lily. “Though I’m not entirely sure this is safe for us. I think your friend must be dying of consumption.”

  Aileen’s skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor. “What is that sludge?” I asked Mrs. Brodsky.

  “Traditional Moscow cure for storms of the mind,” she said.

  A morbid curiosity made me take a sniff. I gagged. It looked, if anything, better than it smelled. “Resist the Bolshevik tyranny,” I said, which provoked Aileen and Lily to fits of laughter and Mrs. Brodsky to a voluble stream of Russian.

  “What happened?” I said, sitting on the couch beside Aileen.

  She sighed. “I was reading on the street and one of the visions just knocked me out cold. I don’t even remember it now.”

  I put my arm around her. “Mrs. Brodsky,” I said, as firmly as I could. “Aileen will be fine, I promise. But a hangover cure isn’t going to help her.”