by E. A. Copen
If Ikelos just wanted me dead, why have the fighting break out all over? And why not take control of the officers and prisoners alike? Either he was too weak still and had to concentrate his efforts, or he was after something I couldn’t see. Something that would help him break through.
“Follow the light with your eyes, please.” The EMT clicked on a flashlight, projecting a beam of light into my eyes. A light I couldn’t see.
I swallowed the anxiety in my throat that was threatening to overwhelm me. “I can’t. I… Something happened. There was this bright light, and now everything’s just black.”
He patted my shoulder. A sympathetic gesture. Wasted. I didn’t need his sympathy. I needed my eyes back. Until I lost my sight, I didn’t know just how much I’d miss something so simple.
At the hospital, they cleaned the blood off my face and did tests. I spent the afternoon getting MRIs, blood draws, physical exams… They sprayed many things into my eyes and called in a specialist from another hospital. No one had any explanation.
I asked everyone who would speak to me about Moses, but no one seemed to know who he was. Eventually, an awful feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened to him. You hear about it on the news all the time. Some well-meaning officer of the law shoots an unarmed black man. There was a certain irony in the fact that Moses himself was an officer of the law. I hoped he’d gotten out of that mess alive.
Between being wheeled around the hospital to undergo various tests, I sat alone in my curtained-off section of the emergency room, listening. The older lady in the bed next to me was in there for low blood pressure, and the nurses came and went frequently from her room. I could hear the little metal connectors on the curtains sliding back and forth each time they went in or out, speaking to her in hushed tones. Her blood pressure cuff would buzz to life every fifteen minutes and then let go thirty seconds later with a big whoosh of air. It was the only way I was able to tell time.
Outside my room, wheels squeaked over linoleum floors as the nurses pushed around a big cart with a computer on it. They moved from room to room clockwise, stopping in to check on new patients and walk them through registration. People gave out all kinds of personal information without a second thought, and I wondered if anyone had ever taken advantage of that. There had to be a better way to check people in and out of hospitals than asking them to recite their name, date of birth, and insurance information.
Lucky for me, I didn’t have any insurance. Between Remy’s visit to the emergency room and mine, I would be broke for a long time to come. The worst part of it was, I knew there was no reason for me to be there. Wasn’t anything traditional medicine could do for my eyes.
The curtain to my section slid aside and I waited for the doctor or nurse to introduce themselves as all the others had done, but they remained silent. Something wooden tapped against the floor once and creaked. The sickly-sweet smell of rotting flowers overcame the astringent smell of the hospital, and I wrinkled my nose.
“How’d you manage to blind yourself, fool?” Baron Samedi asked.
I’d never noticed the smell around him before, but then I’d never had to rely solely on senses other than my sight.
I crossed my arms. “Did you know Detective Moses was an angel?”
“You should know better than to look at one of them.” Fabric rustled. Chair legs complained as they were dragged over the floor. Samedi grunted as he sat. “This is going to complicate things.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.
“I meant with the Sandman. I was able to set up your meeting, but he may decline to assist you, considering your recent disability.”
Something swept through the air directly in front of my face. I reached out after it. My hands closed around a long, thin strip of smooth wood. The Baron’s cane. He must’ve been waving it in front of me to make sure I was blind. Asshole.
I pushed the cane away. “Anything you can do?”
He sighed, and the chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “Unfortunately, this is not my area. I do know of a powerful healer, one whom you made quite an impression on in the past, but… Enlisting their help will be messy.”
“But you’ll talk to them, won’t you?” I didn’t know who Samedi meant, but if they could help me, I was all for it. “What’ll it cost me? Another body part?”
He chuckled. It was a smooth, slithery sound, like snakes crawling across velvet. “Let’s hope not. I’ll speak on your behalf, but it’ll take some time. In the meantime, might I suggest a cane? They’re quite helpful for feeling one’s way around.”
“Glad you brought that up because I could really use another staff. The last two broke on me. And while we’re at it, how about a raise? All these trips to the hospital are making me go broke, and it’s going to be awful hard to do my job if I can’t afford to eat.”
“Your idiocy is what is costing you, Lazarus,” he said with a hint of admonishment. He tapped his cane against the floor once and stood. I imagined him placing that big top hat of his on his head. “As for getting a new staff, I’m afraid that’s up to you. A magical focus is personal business, and each must choose his own. I do suggest you find one soon. The Titan will only get more aggressive as time goes on. With all the blood that was spilled today at Angola, he’s more powerful than ever.”
Blood. That was it, wasn’t it? Why he’d incited the riot. In the magical world, blood was one of the most powerful conduits for magic. I used it to close circles and to occasionally fuel powerful spells. Josiah had used sacrifices to fuel his magic, a tradition that went back thousands of years for a reason. Magic and blood were inextricably intertwined. If Ikelos wanted to come through, he’d need to fuel a spell on this side and on his own. The easiest way to do that would be to shed blood. The more powerful the spell, the more blood he would need.
I didn’t know the total death toll from Ikelos’ quest so far, but it had to be more than ten now. How many more would it take? Probably not many.
I swallowed. “This meeting with the Sandman, when and where?”
“Midnight,” the Baron answered. “There’s a Starbucks on Magazine Street. I believe you know the one?”
I did. It was the same Starbucks Beth had taken me to when I met her boss. Considering how long I’d been in the hospital, it was after dark already. I hoped they’d discharge me soon so I could make it. “I know the place.”
“Don’t be late, Lazarus. The Sandman isn’t a patient man.”
The curtain slid aside again, and the Baron exited, his cane rhythmically tapping the floor as he walked.
It was only a short while before the doctor on staff came in to see me. He didn’t have anything to say that was unexpected. The tests revealed macular damage. My brain was fine, but my retinas had been burned, probably by a laser or a bright light. His theory was that I’d taken the brunt of a flash bomb during the riot. Not totally wrong. I guess I could’ve described Moses’ soul like a flash bomb.
“Sometimes these injuries heal on their own,” the doctor continued in his nasal voice. “The body is a miraculous thing. I’ve seen people recover from worse. Unfortunately, even if you recover, it’s likely there will be scarring on the retina, which could lead to permanent partial or total vision loss, depending on the size of the scar. Or, it could be small enough to have no effect on your vision whatsoever. It’s too early to tell. If there is significant scarring, there are surgical options available that you can discuss with your regular doctor. In the meantime, you’ll need to protect your vision as much as possible during recovery.”
Plastic crinkled and something wedged itself over my nose, wrapping over my eyes. The red streaks in my vision faded to black. Sunglasses. Probably those ugly disposable glasses they gave you at the eye doctor after dilating your eyes.
I swallowed. I had bigger things to worry about than a pair of ugly sunglasses. If I couldn’t see, I couldn’t drive, meaning I couldn’t get around. I couldn’t
change Remy, or prepare a bottle, or carry her from one place to another without tripping. “I have a daughter,” I stammered out.
“You have other family who can pitch in?”
I shook my head.
“Close friends?”
There were Nate and Leah, and then Emma and her family, but I felt like I’d been taking advantage of them a lot when it came to Remy. They were probably sick of having me call to beg them to watch my daughter. But what choice did I have?
“Yeah.” My voice came out rough. “Can you tell me if a Detective Moses Moses came in? Short black fella. Would’ve come in with stab wounds from the prison. He’s my ride.”
“I’ll look into it,” the doctor promised. “Honestly, there’s not much more we can do for you here in the ER. You don’t have any broken bones or life-threatening injuries, although I’d take it easy for a while if I were you. I know you can’t see it, but you can probably feel the heavy bruising on your ribs. Nothing strenuous for at least three weeks while you recover. I suggest you make an appointment with your regular eye doctor to follow up.” A pen clicked and scraped gracefully over the surface of a thick stack of papers. “I’m going to write you a prescription for some anti-inflammatories. Should help with any pain. Keep a pair of sunglasses on if you go outside. And get some sleep.”
The doctor left me alone with the bad news. I reached up to touch the cheap sunglasses over my eyes and sighed. Well, it could’ve been worse. I made it out alive.
Armed with a baggie of paperwork and a three-day supply of pain medication, I limped out of the emergency room six hours or so after having gone in. Rather than letting me leave, the hospital administrator leading me through the hallways brought me to a conference room where the walls muffled all sound.
She put my hand on the back of a rolling chair and helped me into it before saying, “Warden Kane will be in to speak with you shortly.”
“Oh, great. My favorite person,” I quipped. “Thanks.”
The door clicked closed shortly after. I tensed for a moment, listening for a lock or some sign I was about to be attacked again, but it didn’t come.
“You look like death warmed over.”
“Moses!” I could’ve jumped out of my seat to hug him if I wasn’t so damn sore. He sounded like he was a few feet to my left and forward just a bit.
He chuckled in that lazy manner he had. “Didn’t think I’d die that easy, did you? Got a few new stitches is all. You look way worse than me. Nice sunglasses.”
“I feel like a bunch of prison thugs kicked the crap out of me.”
“How’re the eyes?”
I sighed and shook my head. “Depends on how they heal, but the prognosis wasn’t positive. I did see the Baron, and he said he might know someone who can help. Speaking of that, I got a meeting with the Sandman at midnight. I’m going to need someone to drive me there. You up for it?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound.” He didn’t seem bothered by it, at least. That was good. “You’re still going after him, then?”
I shrugged. “What choice do I have? Eyesight or no eyesight, Ikelos is going to come through and kill a lot of people. I’m the only one who seems interested in stopping him. Therefore, it falls to me to do it.”
“You ever think of asking any of these gods you know for help?” The steady tap on the tabletop told me Moses was drumming his fingers. “Some of them owe you, don’t they? Sounds like a good time to call in those favors.”
I’d considered that, but once I called in my favors, they were used up, and I still had Loki to deal with down the line. I’d need help with that. As scary as Ikelos was, Loki scared me more. Loki was manipulative, pervasive, and his war would cause large-scale destruction both on Earth and in the After. The whole universe would rearrange itself as the balance of power shifted. Dozens of gods would fall, and our reality would cease to exist in its present form. At least with Ikelos, maybe some people would survive.
“The gods are busy with their own squabbles. Besides, from what I gather, they’re all scared shitless of Titans. The only one who’s had the balls to deal with them directly was Hades, and he kept them locked in the most secure prison in the universe. You think he’s going to come up here and help me fight one? According to him, they can’t be killed.”
“They can’t be,” Moses reiterated. “Tartarus was the only solution the gods could come up with for a reason.”
“The gods didn’t consult me.” I jabbed a thumb into my chest. “I may not be good at much, but I can think outside the box. The problem with gods is they don’t talk. I’m sure if they’d put their heads together and their egos aside, they could’ve done better than a prison. Some monsters are too evil to chain up.”
The door behind me squeaked open. I shifted in my seat, tilting my ear toward whoever was entering. He walked with the confidence of a man who feared nothing, the kind of person who’d stand toe to toe with the biggest bully in the room and spit in his face, but only if he deserved it. His presence reminded me of a bull. Fierce, stubborn, territorial. I identified him at once as Warden Kane.
The warden came around the table, walking without any hurry, and pulled out the chair on the opposite end. He sank into it and rolled up to the table before clearing his throat and tapping a stack of papers, or a file folder—something like that—against the tabletop. “Good to see you’re alive, gentlemen. Some of the others at the prison didn’t fare so well.”
“How many?” I leaned forward.
A tense thread stretched through the air between us, pulling taut before he answered. “Two inmates were shot during the riot. Twelve stabbed. One officer was severely wounded and put in critical condition. But we regained control of Angola. It’s on lockdown for the next forty-eight.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. At least on lockdown, there wouldn’t be any prisoners roaming the halls. Fewer opportunities for officers and prisoners to interact directly would mean at least a temporary drop in the chances more people would die. Except, of course, for any suicides.
I cleared my throat. “You might have several suicides over the next two days. Maybe an uptick in violence among cellmates.”
The warden paused in his shuffling of papers. “What makes you say that?”
Time to put all my cards on the table and sound like a nutjob. “There’s something going on at Angola, something not entirely normal.”
“It’s a prison.” The warden scoffed. “Ain’t nothin’ normal about it.”
“I mean, something supernatural. Bet you’ve seen an increase in suicides and violence in general over the last month, haven’t you? Lots of extra complaints to the infirmary about not sleeping? Maybe a few cases of sleepwalking?”
His silence was the confirmation I needed.
I folded my hands on the table and leaned forward. “Something is making these men behave this way. What’s more, this has spread beyond Angola. People in New Orleans are exhibiting the same symptoms. People connected to here. It’s spreading, and you can’t contain it. Hell, maybe you’re even suffering some of the ill effects. Been having a lot of nightmares recently, warden?”
“This is crazy. You don’t honestly expect me to believe this is some kinda voodoo mumbo-jumbo, do you?”
I couldn’t see the warden, but I could hear the indignation in his voice. If I pushed him, he’d snap, and this conversation would be over. The only way to warn him and get him to listen without dismissing it outright was to teeter on that thin line between belief and skepticism.
“Even if he’s wrong,” Moses said, “what’s it hurt to hear him out? You been at the job long enough to know there’s all kinds of things that happen you can’t explain. I’ve seen human beings do crazy things, Warden. Bet you have too. It hurts nothing to listen and consider it.”
Warden Kane grunted and tapped his papers on the tabletop again. “Say you’re right then. What’s anybody to do? You want me to get a priest to perform an exorcism or something?”
I shook my head
. “Exorcism won’t do any good here. I’m going to do a little more digging, see what I can pull together to beat this thing. When I know how, I’ll need unrestricted access to the prison. Keep me under guard if you want, but I’ll need to be able to get inside without any resistance from your staff, and I’ll need to bring some things with me. Things that might not align with the rules.”
The tension in the air shifted. I couldn’t put my finger on how, but I knew the warden didn’t like what I’d just proposed.
“All I’m asking you to do for now, Warden Kane, is keep the prison under lockdown and an open line of communication with me. You have any more deaths, I’d like to know about it. And when I call you with an answer, I want you to hear me out and let me try my solution.”
Warden Kane sighed through his nose. I entertained the mental image of him pinching the bridge of his nose and dipping his head slightly. The man thought I was insane.
“I’ll listen to what you’ve got to say,” he promised. “But if I hear anything I don’t like, I reserve the right to deny you entry at any time. My job is to maintain the prison for the safety of the inmates and outsiders alike. So long as I keep doing that, and you don’t get in the way, I suppose there’s no harm in listening.”
I nodded and wished I could see his face to judge the conversation better. To my ears, it sounded as if he was okay with it and wasn’t yanking my chain, but without seeing his face, it was hard to tell. I had to trust that the warden was a man of his word.
“Now,” he said, sliding the papers over the table toward us, “if you’ll just sign these arbitration agreements, we can all get back to our lives.”
I had a little trouble signing, seeing as how I couldn’t see. Moses read the whole agreement out loud, much to the warden’s displeasure. He tapped his pen on the tabletop the entire time. It was very distracting. Once all the legalese was clear, Moses helped me pick up the pen and put it on the signature line. I did my best to scribble my name so it didn’t look like a kindergartner had done it.