Noir Fatale

by Larry Correia

  The pillow contorted. Stood. Flopped. Constricted. Sizzled. I twisted the end cap, but held the wand steady as the arc thickened. Burnt circuitry and fabric. Acrid smoke.

  The pillow came apart, the faux fabric obliterated, releasing a writhing, charred mass. The mass convulsed. Ceased movement. The arc retracted.

  Sizzling. Boiling away. A burnt and jagged hole in the plush carpet. Charred carpet fiber.

  Charred brain. Sizzled lungs.

  “Vic, I—I’m—” I stumbled for the bathroom. Folded over like a commode-hugging drunk not caring how clean or filthy a toilet was while under the influence.

  Bergamot and spice. Victor. Fire-warped—

  “Liz. Take your time, but we’ve a problem.”

  I fought back the visions of fire and licked my lips. Shivered. Fought the urge. Swallowed. Mistake.

  “Vic, please leave,” I said, choking, but I reached back, grasped his pant leg. “I mean, just the bathroom, while I”—I gagged—“I get myself together.”

  The door shut.

  After a spell I dragged myself up. Righted myself. Climbed into the clawfoot bathtub. Charming. Pulled the curtain. Showered. Skin-peeling hot. No cleansing nanos. The rational part of my mind understood the difference between helpful and harmful nanos.

  Gooseflesh crawled all over me despite the scalding water. I finished showering, toweled off, wondering what everyday item might try to off me next. I tossed the towel on the tile.

  Stood at the sink. My hair. I laughed. Coughed. Laughed. Hair straight and perfect, even after the struggle with the pillow. I leaned on the sink. A pillow of all things.

  My hair remained perfect. Burn it off. Get back the scars. The bags darkening the skin under my eyes would go so swell with an angry pink scalp covered with scars.

  Vic had saved me.

  Where was Mace? That bastard. The pearls. I touched the skin where the pearls once rested.

  Light raps on the door. “Liz, we need to go.”

  “I’m almost done. Five minutes.”

  “We don’t have five.”

  Really? What was going to happen in five?

  “Those nanosects—” Right. Tripped an alert somewhere.

  My clutch and overnight bag had found their way into the bathroom. Vic, I guessed. I picked fresh undergarments from the bag. I hated having to wear the outfit from the previous day. Mace—

  “Vic, any sign of Mace?” I didn’t want to mention pearls.

  A light rap. The door opened. “No. But he’s gone. He left the hotel. Hurriedly. I found these.” He thrust clothing on a hanger through the door’s opening.

  “Vic, I’m not shy.”

  “I don’t want to gawk.”

  I pushed away the clothes and exited the bathroom wearing only the undergarments. “I’ve been gawked at before, you know. Never was keen on it. Not from any man. Or anyone for that matter.”

  Victor averted his gaze.

  “You’re different, Vic, now hand me the outfit. You don’t gawk. You appreciate.”

  I grabbed the hanger and draped the outfit over an armchair. Not bad. A smart black bolo jacket and sleeveless white shirt, along with a pair of black capris. On the table was a hat: wide downturned brim with a shallow crown covered by a broad white band. A pair of black gloves lay nearby.

  “You pick these out, Vic?”

  “Afraid not, Liz,” His eyes darted about. “Please hurry.”

  I slipped into the sleeveless number and wiggled into the capris. Vic, always more gentlemanly than I was used to, kept his eyes averted. I ran the white belt around my waist, pulled on the jacket and gloves. “Shoes?”

  “Oh. Yes. I think I saw a pair by the closet.” Vic retrieved the shoes, a pair of black and white wedge-cut heels. I slipped on the shoes and fixed the hat atop my head at a tilt.

  The only downside to this outfit—well, there were two downsides at the moment: Mace’s bracelet and the now missing pearls.

  “Where are we headed?” I retrieved my clutch. “Hey, was there a handbag to go with this? Never mind, the clutch will do. At least it’ll match.”

  “Out of town.”

  “How? The Sunset Limited won’t be back until—”

  “I’ve another way,” Vic said. “Trust me.”

  The air left my lungs. Why did Vic have to utter those words. The last time—

  I shuddered. Fire-warped screams. Burning hair. Scorched skin.

  “Vic, we have to find Mason.”

  “What?” His eyes widened, then scrunched shut in pain, pulling on his scarred face, which he dragged a hand down. “Liz. Please. We have a stop to make first.”

  “Which is? And I don’t even want to know how you plan on getting us out of New Orleans, not with those nanosect swarms out there.” I glanced at the window but saw only gloom.

  Vic opened the door. “We’ll discuss on the way, okay? Please? We don’t have time for this.” I exited the room, Vic followed and closed the door. “Stairs.”

  For one second I lamented leaving the luxury of the penthouse atop the Hotel Monteleone. The elevator chimed. Vic opened the doorway to the stairs.

  “That’ll be the French Quarter Constabulary,” Vic said. “At least they have a horrid response time, but there’s no way those nanosects and the firing of the arclight wand didn’t register on their system.”

  “I see what you mean about having to leave.” I clanked down the metal stairs in the heels, causing a ruckus. Vic followed, his footfalls quieter, but not silent despite the sound-absorbing soles of the type of shoe he always wore.

  Once the constabulary arrived on scene, they cared only about containing the nanosects and hauling away the people who’d been in the presence of the nanosects. There was a good chance some had survived and were now inside me, eating and doing whatever business nanosects conducted. And where Vic obtained the rare and vicious weapon capable of destroying nanosect and human alike, I did not need to know.

  I shivered.

  I clunked two floors down. Wasn’t used to these heels. “Vic, how about an elevator from here?”

  He shook his head. “No. They may have people posted at the elevator. These stairs also have a door that leads into an alley along with the usual door to the lobby.”

  Ugh. I clunked and clunked. Feet already angry on account of the chafing. Too bad they weren’t those adjusting shoes like that well-dressed dame from the maglev and Carousel Bar had been wearing.

  Vic moved past me, opened the door and peeked left and right before ushering me into the alleyway. The gloom hadn’t lifted. The weak daylight in the penthouse had been manufactured. I sighed. A natural sun-filled day wasn’t in the cards. Not today. Probably not any day in the future.

  A layer of muck covered the alley. No amount of careful steps kept the muck from soiling the new shoes. A pity. My insides roiled. I doubled over before we exited the alley.

  “Liz. You need food.”

  “No, let’s keep moving. You said so.” Yeah, a little bit of a martyr, but so what. “How far, anyway?”

  “We can walk. I don’t want to risk an autoconveyance. Unless you absolutely cannot make it.”

  “Let’s just get there. Please. And you still haven’t said where we’re headed.”

  Vic grabbed my hand. “To take care of this.” His fingers traced the bracelet’s edges.

  “Oh.”

  He pulled me down Royal Street, weaving through a meandering crowd. He turned right down an alley, crossed another street and turned down yet another alley. Vic stopped at a beat-up door. He pressed a hand to the surface. A charred fleur-de-lis illuminated.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “A refuge.”

  “A holy refuge?” I laughed. “You sure they take fallen angels in there?”

  Vic smiled. Warm, but pained me every time as the scars stretched and contorted. He opened the door. Incense, the heavy sort, poured from a metal censer.

  “You found enlightenment or something during our time ap
art?”

  “Liz, don’t blaspheme, please. This is serious.” He led me inside. Thick incense clouded the room. Men and women in thick drab robes tended a shape on the table in the room immediately to our left upon entering.

  Wide plank flooring of deep brown and exposed beams overhead seemed to point the way to an inner sanctum of sorts. The incense cloud dissipated, and we were greeted by a man attired in a curious dark brown jerkin and pants. His eyebrows protruded and tufts of hair poked from his ears in that way of some older men when they ceased careful grooming.

  “Victor,” the man’s voice boomed. “You’ve arrived. Good. About this device, young lady.” I nearly snorted, but held out my left arm. “Ah, yes. A standard device, used to cow and torture.”

  More torture than cowing, really. Cowing wasn’t in my nature no matter how much others believed they’d achieved such a thing with me. I could do without the pain though.

  “Brother,” Vic said, “she may have ingested nanosects.”

  The man’s face drooped. Shoulders sagged. “Your acts of contrition and penance, Victor, do not falter in them—knowing your deeds have caused such pain in the world should keep you steadfast.”

  Fire. Screaming. Burning. Scorching. Chaos. I’d been there—been party to the act. Damned. Vic and I were damned.

  “Yes, Brother. I seek redemption.”

  “Now”—the brother turned to me—“come. This will be uncomfortable, I’m afraid.” He led me deeper within the sanctuary. A bubbling pot hung suspended over a small fire, next to which sat urns and jars and mortars, as if I’d entered a medieval laboratory. He fussed with some jars, pouring powders and what looked like seeds into a mortar.

  He hid his final preparations from view. I inched closer for a peek at this alchemy, preferring a hint of what I’d soon pour down my gullet.

  “A little too curious, I think.” He spun on me, a knowing smirk on his face. “We’ve found the old ways have their uses, even in this deplorable age.”

  “Liz,” Vic said, “let me hold your clutch during this.” I passed the clutch to him and dread filled me at what was coming.

  “Here”—the man turned, extended calloused hands holding a bowl—“drink this. It will destroy any nanosects coursing through your system.”

  Lovely. Just how I wanted to think about it. Perhaps this was my penance. I took the bowl. The concoction carried a pleasant odor, of a lily perhaps. I smiled.

  “Ah, the scent. Casablanca lily—fragrant, but used in that for the scent only, I’m afraid the taste—”

  I tilted the bowl, the first warm drops hit my tongue—tasted like sewage smelled. My nose kinked, but I opened wide and dumped the contents in, wanting those things out of me.

  “You’ll feel a bit off the next few days,” the man said. “Now, for the other matter.”

  I dragged my hand across my mouth. “How about a bourbon chaser first.”

  The brother stared into my eyes for a few seconds. Shook his head. Ice water froze my left hand. Ice water wormed up my arm. Squeezed my heart. A thumping ice cube. I gasped. I choked on “please.” Mace. Where was Mace? Where had he taken the pearls? My jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “No.” With all my might I pulled free. “No. I can’t.” The fist released my heart. The ice water turned lukewarm.

  “But we’re trying to help,” the man said.

  “Liz,” Vic said. “You’ll be free of Mason.”

  I laughed. “I’ll never be free of Mace, even with the bracelet off; as long as he lives I’ll never be free.” I rubbed my left arm. The pain receded.

  “So what is the alternative?”

  “We find Mace.” I turned to the man. “Now, is there a way you can assist with that?”

  He took a deep breath. “Maybe. We have some equipment here we use on occasion to assist in bringing to justice those who have strayed.”

  Oh, how I had strayed. The man attached a probe to the bracelet. I pulled free.

  “This won’t cause discomfort,” he said.

  “Liz,” Vic said, “I still don’t think—”

  “You’re either in or you’re out, Vic. Either way, I’m doing this.”

  The man reattached the probe. Studied a screen. I had no understanding of how this worked, but he explained the bracelet worked via a connection established between the bracelet and the one who implemented the device. He swiped the screen, tapped and poked the screen, and pointed: “Here. This is the spot, but you’ll need to access the other side of the Veneer if you’re to find Mason of the Lotus.”

  I’d never heard him called such before, but on the screen I spied the shape of a lotus on a specific spot on the map. I’d resisted crossing through the Veneer; doing so would put me on the map–but maybe that’s what I desired. Straddling the Veneer as so many did twenty-four hours a day was commonplace and I’d often done so. But I’d grown used to staying on the right side of the Veneer.

  “Liz, I don’t think—”

  “You keep saying that, Victor, but I have to do this. Don’t you see? To be free of him.”

  “But you seek something else,” the man said, his eyes glowed beneath the protruding eyebrows.

  “I do.”

  “The pearls,” Vic said. “Leave them be, Liz. They will only cause great stress and great damage. They should be left to others.” He glanced at the man.

  Something bothered me about those pearls. The sweaty sock man and the well-attired woman appraised them as being fake if I remembered the interaction at the Carousel Bar at all. And now Vic knew about them, or maybe had all along. I hadn’t said word one to him regarding the pearls and how I’d been on the hook for delivering them to Mace and whatever sordid business he conducted. Vic had said “business” when he found me on the maglev, said he was in New Orleans on business. I’d grill him later.

  I tapped into the virtual, straddling the Veneer. Information flooded my brain, too much too soon. I swept away the detritus, digging for—

  “Not within the sanctum,” the man said.

  I cut it off. Left the sanctum of the fleur-de-lis. Vic followed. I retraced our path back to Royal Street. Tapped in once more, straddling the Veneer, and sipped the information this time. Not far. Mace remained stationary. The virtual marker given me by the man at the sanctum guided me: between Royal and Bourbon streets, a few blocks.

  The crowd thickened. The gray muck coated my shoes, which had been pristine for all of five minutes. The heavy air stuck to my face and invaded my lungs. I would not be deterred. Not now. We cut through the crowd snaking around street performers and vendors. Music cut through the crowd’s din. If only music washed out the stench of trash and tepid water and grimy people in need of a good scrub.

  The overlay projected upon my retinas guided me. Red dots appeared on the map in the corner of my vision. “Vic, people are coming for me.” Time ran thin for me. I had to find Mace.

  Vic grabbed my arm. “Wait.”

  “Vic. Let go.”

  “We should leave. Just leave. Why do this? I never told you my business in New Orleans.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Okay. Just stop walking. Please.”

  I stopped. Muck oozed over the lip of my pumps. Who knew what lived in the muck on these streets. “Okay, I’m not walking.”

  “I was here for you.” He stared at the ground. “And the—”

  I shoved Vic. “And the pearls. You were here for the pearls.” The red dots moved for our position on the map in my eye. “They’re coming, Vic, and you know who they are, don’t you?”

  “What? No. I don’t—don’t you see? I was here for you, and for the pearls, but they’re gone. I saved you, the nanosects at the hotel—”

  “Tell me you didn’t try to kill me for those pearls. Tell me that.” My skin crawled. I stumbled backward, into a wall, the dampness soaked through. “Oh my, I—the pearls. The pearls were gone—those pearls contained the horror—”

  “And now there is no more reason for me to be here. For us
to be here, don’t you see? Those pearls were supposed to be dormant prototypes of cleansing nanosects.”

  “And someone activated the pearls, which used the pillow as a means, but someone controlled them.” Mace practically told me my stay in New Orleans would be short-lived. “Cleansing nanosects? But that was crap, wasn’t it, I almost died.” I’d been wearing dormant nanosects around my neck. What, posing as pearls? “Even more reason for me to go after Mace.”

  “Liz, wait. Those pearls, they’re our redemption, don’t you see? The real strand wields the power for us to atone for the destruction we caused all those years ago.”

  Yeah. The fire-warped screams. Burnt hair. Scorched skin. Swarms of nanosects. Right. No atonement for my deeds.

  I walked away. Maybe Vic followed. Maybe he didn’t. The spot where Mace hid came upon me quickly, and the red dots on the map continued their march toward me.

  The overlay put me at what was once a club. A jazz club of sorts if memory served with one big room. The end was inside. Either mine or Mace’s.

  I peeled away from the Veneer slowly, allowing the data to trickle, then drip, then cease. I took a deep breath. Free from the other side once more. And I liked it. Free of the flow. But now blind to the red dots on the map. They’d likely discover my location, wouldn’t be hard, but only Mace mattered. Mace’s reckoning.

  What would I do inside? The bracelet still adorned my wrist. I’d fight through the pain.

  I pushed through the door, harder than I needed, as it swung open and smacked against the wall. Lights streamed from inside, illuminating the gloom in which I stood.

  “Lizabeth. I thought I’d never see you again.” Mace was bare-chested, tied to a chair. The lights shining on him. Bright. Hot lights.

  I stepped inside and took in the room. Every inch illuminated. Wood flooring sagged under my footsteps, soggy and blackened. I could almost make out the mold spores floating before my eyes.

  “I bet, Mace. I bet. The pearls. You tried to murder me, and for what?”

  Mace struggled against the ropes binding him to the chair. The rope sawed into his sweaty chest. Streaks of red crisscrossed his chest from where he’d struggled, the rope taking on a pink hue.