by Jason Winn
“What?” Dana asked. This would be good. She was probably a lesbian, in love with Madison or something.
“I don’t have a family anymore. You’ve heard me talk about my daddy? Well, he’s passed away.” She paused, to let Dana soak that in. “He’s been dead for about a year now. I didn’t want Madison to know I was an orphan, living a lie in my parents’ house.”
She’s lying, Dana thought. But if she was lying, why was she tearing up? She thought about calling Sarah a liar, but for the first time ever, the little blonde girl looked completely helpless. Dana thought about what it would be like to lose both her parents. She loved her father and couldn’t imagine life without him.
Sarah continued, “I can see you’re shocked. How did I keep going to school? How did the bills keep getting paid? That friend of mine, Sean, who helps Maddy with the computers, he got me into all of Daddy’s records and bank accounts. It’s not that hard. And I’ve been able to forge signatures since I was eleven. Daddy taught me everything about his business over the years and I know where all his inventory is, all of his connections. They still think he’s alive. Yeah, that’s right. He died in a deal that went bad outside of Cairo, and I didn’t want to be turned over to the state’s foster care system.”
Dana asked the only question she could think of, “Then why the hell were you working at shitty Sky Garden?”
“Because continuing on with your life, after a tragedy like that, is the best way to deal with it. If I hadn’t kept that job, I probably would have gone crazy with grief, dropped out of school and been found out. I remember when my grandparents died, that’s how Daddy handled it. He went back to work the next day. I’m not saying it’s the right thing to do, but it’s what I chose to do. And the way Daddy dragged me around all those years, it’s not like I got a lot of friends to lean on.”
“What about your mom?”
Sarah’s eyes watered. “She left me and Daddy years ago. I don’t know where she went.”
“Didn’t you say once that she was a nurse?”
“I don’t remember.” Sarah turned and walked out.
Dana wanted to go after her, but what good would that do? She slumped onto the couch thinking about if she should tell Madison all of this. It was one more secret to add to the growing list.
Chapter 46
“Hold up,” Caymen said to Jitsuko as he loaded his AK-47 with a 75-round drum magazine. He then screwed a military-grade silencer onto the tip of the barrel. Last, he dug out a pair of welding goggles and put them on. They looked like swimming goggles.
“What are those for?” asked Jitsuko.
“This Molden’s got skills. Not like the other ones.”
“How do you know that?”
“Research. I used to hunt these things. No more questions. Just wait here and be quiet.”
It felt like he was ordering an eleven-year-old, for how small she looked. Yet, a warrior spirit burned in her eyes. He’d seen that look a thousand times before, when taking down sorcerers that had been part of special operations teams. It didn’t matter the age, there was no mistaking the glare of someone ready and able to kill.
Jitsuko wore a long black coat over her O-washi uniform. A pair of shortened swords hid under the coat. He’d gotten a decent look at them in the car ride up from Philly and had no doubt that she could yank them out as fast as a pair of switchblades. He’d seen what spirit suits were capable of, channeling spells into the body of the wearer.
If any of the Moldens made it down to the parking garage, Jitsuko could handle them. She seemed capable enough. Chances were they’d be shitting and bleeding all over themselves by that time, anyway.
The idea of working with her didn’t suit him. Doing jobs like this required coordination derived from months of training with a team. Or, a soul diver telling your team members to just do whatever the hell you told them.
Caymen turned to walk away when a sharp pain flared in his wrist. The muscles in his right arm seized up and he tried to whirl around. His knees weakened and all he wanted to do was swat away whatever had just bitten him. Jitsuko stepped in front of him; she had his wrist pinched in her tiny hand.
“I’ll go,” she said. “I apologize if I hurt you. But, you do not look like a man susceptible to reason.” She released his wrist.
The pain melted away as quickly as it started. The urge to point the barrel of his rifle in her face and dare her to do that again flashed in his mind. But instead, he bit his tongue and took a deep breath. How had she done that? He wanted to know. A child had just stopped him dead in his tracks.
She looked up at him with her pale creamy skin and doll’s eyes. Her posture and demeanor had changed from that of a warrior to an innocent schoolgirl. “You are wasting your time, trying to assess me,” she said. “It is the spirit suit, of course. That and some other talents. You will wait here, quietly. If any of the Moldens make it down here, shoot them with your gun.” Her eyes scanned up to his head and back down to his black boots. “Besides, you do not look like you belong in such a pretty building.” She smiled and turned toward the elevators.
“Here, take these.” He pulled off the welding goggles.
“You keep them. I would not want your eyes to get hurt. You have to drive me home, later.”
Caymen receded into the shadows of the underground parking lot, thinking of how good it was to have a job hunting again. After all, he needed the cash to replace the water heater in his hunting lodge in Utah.
***
The elevator doors opened on the 78th floor of the building. Jitsuko stepped over the body of the security guard who had been kind enough to lend her his access key and made for the double doors of Molden’s condo. There was only one other pair of doors in the elevator lobby, meaning that Molden’s place took up half the floor. A quick study of the building’s website had revealed that most of the floor plans were open, so there would be few places to hide, save for bedrooms, bathrooms and closets.
There was laughter on the other side of the doors. It sounded like a party. The number of fresh bodies didn’t matter; Jitsuko could deal with that. The cops would find an empty blood-splattered residence, if someone bothered to call them at all.
Jitsuko shed her overcoat, revealing the powder blue uniform of the Emperor’s Guard, accented with golden feathers and sapphire-eyed dragons. She unsheathed the pair of Wakizashi swords. The gold patina glimmered. They were thirsty. Time to quench the blades.
She kicked open the doors. The shock on the faces inside seemed to slow in time. Everyone froze. Two steps into the sprawling space, a blade flew. It cut a man in half, from hip to shoulder. Jitsuko spun, bringing the other blade across a woman’s neck. Blood arced into the air.
Before her stood eight men and women, their faces twisting into shock and rage. Molden stood on the other side of the group, his back to the huge windows overlooking the city. One man went for something under his coat. Jitsuko took two steps and thrust her sword through his wrist, into his chest.
Another man, this one with long gray hair, reached for Jitsuko’s throat. She turned and sliced his arm from the fingers to the shoulder. He twisted, wrenching the sword from her hand. She swung her other sword at him. He lunged backwards, blood sheeting from his sliced arm. He then, planted his feet and punched her in the chest, throwing her back into a bookcase. Heavy books cascaded down over her head.
A woman tried to catch the puncher as he collapsed, but he was too heavy. His blood sprayed the windows.
“Get out!” shouted Max Molden. The people scattered toward the door.
Jitsuko recognized Max’s children Abigale and Leo. She lunged at Leo, sinking a crystal into a pocket on his cargo shorts, and pulled a pair of throwing knives from a hidden pocket in her blouse. The knives flew into the thighs of the people closest to the door. They fell in a heap. The first two bodies slowed the rest enough for Jitsuko to leap forward and cut them down.
Max Molden stood in the doorway, next to Leo and Abigale.
“So Contessa is taking over, I see,” said Max. He looked angry, betrayed.
Jitsuko paused. Max wasn’t running. He didn’t look scared at all. Neither did the kids. They should be, since she had just killed eight of their friends. Or were they customers? They would be friends when she told Contessa about all of this. No use in revealing the Moonmilk market was smaller by eight.
“Do you want to die first so you don’t have to watch me kill your children?” Jitsuko asked.
Molden smiled. “You think I’ll let that happen?” A thin blue circle appeared around him and the two kids.
“She won’t be able to get through, Dad.”
So Abigale has powers.
“Can you hold it?” asked Max.
“Yes,” she gasped.
Max stabbed a finger at Jitsuko. His eyes burned with rage. “You tell Contessa she’s started a war she won’t win.” Max turned back to Abigale. “Time to go, sweety.”
Jitsuko shouted, “Suzume.”
Leo’s eyes went wide as his entire body turned to black marble. He was able to turn in horror to his father, before the transformation was complete. Rock replaced living flesh.
Abigale screamed, as she covered her mouth in terror. The blue bubble around them dissipated. She had lost her focus.
Max raised his hands. Jitsuko freed her last knife; it cut through the air before she heard an ear-splitting pop. A white light blinded her. Instinctively, she dropped her sword, pulled her hands to her face and fell backwards, trying to rub the white light away. She heard muffled shouts through the ringing in her ears.
As her vision came back, she saw the elevator doors closing and the down arrow go out. It was time for Caymen to prove himself to Contessa. A quick check of her hands showed she wasn’t bleeding.
She got busy placing pink and gold crystals on each of the bodies, placing severed limbs on top of them. Deep down she knew this would upset her later—once the spirit suit was back in its safe, nightmares would terrorize her. But the thought of disappointing her master, Contessa, was scarier. And then someone else would be wearing the O-washi uniform.
With the crystals in place, Jitsuko activated them with the word “rozu.” The bodies, along with the crystals, turned to water, leaving an inch-deep puddle running along the hardwood floors. An idea flashed in her head. She walked over to the statue of Leo and kicked it. It fell to the floor, cracking all over. With another kick, the neck split, severing the head. She found a pillow on a couch, sliced open the cover, emptied the stuffing and placed the head inside. Contessa would enjoy her new trophy. Perhaps that would make up for the dead sorcerers.
She sheathed her swords, collected her overcoat from the hallway and took the stairs down to the lobby.
***
Caymen lay in wait behind a service door, his rifle tucked behind his huge frame. His eyes were fixed on the elevator, darkened by the welding goggles. Cold blood flowed through his veins.
A Ferrari swerved down the ramp and into a spot. Caymen wondered which cost more, the car or the space. Parking spots in buildings like this could sell for a quarter million dollars, easy. People were fucking nuts.
A young couple, smartly dressed and clearly in love, emerged from the sleek red car and made for the elevator. He decided it would be a shame to kill them. They had money and youth. But that would all end if they got between him and Molden.
So many advantages. Hurry up, you two.
His mind drifted back to when he was that age, twenty years ago, a corporate spy for a European banking cartel. Patricia Churchill busted him and subsequently offered him a job. Hunting sorcerers was better than prison, at least. He wondered how she was doing, lying in that hospital bed, still in a coma.
The elevator dinged. After a beat, the doors opened and an old man in white linen shorts and shirt emerged. Without so much as a nod, the youngsters pushed past him, as if he were a garbage can, and entered the elevator. Maybe Caymen should have just shot them, he thought. Rude people were societal cancer. The ones with money were the worst. The old man probably would have thanked him for mowing them down. Instead, he got into a Lincoln and drove off.
A moment later the elevator dinged again. This time, Caymen sprang from his hiding spot and squared his body with the elevator before the doors could open. Molden and a teenage girl shot out, bolting across the parking lot.
Caymen opened fire. The silenced AK-47 erupted with a staccato of whip cracks. Rounds sparked off of a thin blue bubble surrounding the two. The girl froze. Molden grabbed her arm and made for a black Mercedes. Rage burned in Molden’s eyes; terror in hers.
Bullets ripped a trail of black holes across million-dollar cars as Caymen raked the parking lot.
The blue bubble shimmered and evaporated. The girl screamed and crashed to the concrete. Bright flashes popped and fizzled at the tip of Caymen’s barrel. The goggles blocked the blinding effect.
Caymen smirked. He calmly trained the barrel on Molden, who turned and tried in vain to get the girl to her feet. She was a rag doll, blood pouring through the fresh wounds in her back.
Molden’s last words were a murmur: “Abigale get up, baby.”
Caymen emptied the remaining rounds into Molden’s back. He spun around, a blank look on his face, and collapsed onto his daughter. The parking lot went silent, save for the empty bullet casings bouncing on the concrete.
Caymen reloaded. The elevator dinged and he spun around, ready to kill whoever came out.
Jitsuko stepped out, a saggy pillow in her hand, and glided past him. “Good work.”
With a wide smirk plastered across his face, Caymen strolled over to the blood-soaked bodies and removed Contessa’s box from his jacket. He opened and upended it, careful it didn’t touch his skin, letting the Winter Rose fall right next to the father and daughter. A stream of blood touched one of the thorns and turned to ash.
Chapter 47
Rey’s rough-cut friends seemed terribly out of place on the mansion’s back porch. But Madison knew better than to make a comment about that. She needed these men to respect her, and you didn’t get respect by making light of someone’s shabby appearance when you needed their help.
The tide seemed to be turning. The previous night, Madison and Sarah had figured out the Sand Metal jacket from the Shiloh Library, was impervious to just about everything from knives to bullets. Anything made of metal that touched the leather, turned into a fine powder. The trick was that the jacket had to be buttoned all the way up to the neck to activate the embedded spell.
Hao, the mansion groundkeeper, had helped with the discovery. His face had lit up when he saw Madison wearing the old spirit suit and he immediately returned holding a large kitchen knife. He stabbed the jacket. Sparks flew from the blade as it dissolved into a metallic dust. He then pointed his fingers like a gun and aimed it at Madison, as if to indicate it could stop bullets.
“Yeah right,” said Sarah.
“Only one way to find out,” replied Madison. She took the jacket down into the basement and hung it over an old wooden coatrack. She ran a broomstick though the arms, giving it the look of a very fashionable scarecrow.
“You’re a better shot than me,” Madison said to Sarah as she handed the pistol to her.
“Cover your ears, Maddy.” And Sarah fired the pistol at the dead center of the jacket. There was a terribly loud pop as the 9mm pistol went off, followed by the acrid smell of gunpower. Sparks flew from the jacket’s breast.
“No fucking way,” said Madison as she lowered her hands from her ears. She walked over to the jacket and examined the leather. It was exactly the same as before, smooth, soft and perfectly intact.
“Let me see that,” Madison said, pointing to the pistol. Sarah handed it over, butt first.
Madison put the barrel an inch away from the jacket and emptied the clip into the place where her heart would be. Sparks flew off the jacket like fireworks, blurring Madison’s vision. Gun smoke curled in the air and Madison felt like she was go
ing to go deaf in the aftermath of the cacophony. As before, the jacket was like new.
Sarah said something, but all Madison heard was muted gibberish.
“What?” Madison shouted.
Sarah took the pistol from Madison’s hand and rubbed it on the jacket. Madison watched as the blued gun metal disintegrated in Sarah’s hands, as if she was holding a fist full of sand.
“I guess you’re going to have to be careful when you wear this thing,” Sarah said as Madison’s hearing slowly returned.
“Fucking A,” replied Madison.
With her arsenal growing, the problems of the past few weeks started to feel manageable. She’d be goddamned Superman in this thing. The demonstration only made Madison want to go back to the Shiloh Library and start carrying armloads of things back to the mansion. She wanted to spend a year just playing with everything, but business and her survival had to come first. And right now, she was sitting on her porch, across from a group of people that she desperately needed to work for her: the Black Fangs Bike gang.
***
The Black Fangs were rugged to say the least, even though they weren’t dressed in standard biker attire of leather and ripped denim. Fearing Sarah’s habit for saying what was on her mind, Madison sent her away to get more supplies. Dana was out, somewhere. It was just Madison with Han standing by for the demonstration, which would come before the two parties concluded their business.
The leader, Dwayne, was a stocky bald man with scar across his nose and cheeks. His ears had lost their natural shape, probably from being mashed up under a motorcycle helmet for decades. Bruises covered his knuckles and tattoos of skulls and military insignia ran up his thick arms. The dead serious look in his eyes gave Madison the impression that he was the kind of person that was all business all the time and never accepted excuses. The other three men looked just as weather-beaten and carried the nervous demeanor of threatened predators.