NICO, who had slept all day and seemed barely awake, met them at seven o'clock and drove them to The Beautiful House.
"This is where she lives?" Nico peered doubtfully at the hotel shrouded in Spanish moss and dying light. "The loa queen?"
"I want you two to wait here," Z.J. told them as they entered the lobby. He'd timed it right--the sun was just beginning to set. He was a knot of nerves and tension, felt like a razor blade.
When Bruce walked into the lobby, Nico whispered loudly, "He looks just like a human."
"I beg your pardon?" Bruce narrowed his eyes. He spoke to Z.J. "Did you bring a civilian into this?"
Z.J. gestured to Nico and Phoebe. "One of your outcasts has gone after her."
"Phoebe Marrs." Bruce bowed to her and she took a step back. "Clementine welcomes you." He turned to Z.J. "What 'outcast?'"
"Minotaur," was all Z.J. said, and Bruce looked as if he'd just said 'The Devil.' Z.J. continued, "I want to speak to Clementine alone."
Bruce led him to the private courtyard, where Clementine stood, elegant in a black evening gown. Her feet were bare. Z.J. didn't wait for her to speak as her silver gaze fell upon him. He said, "Why didn't you tell me you made Phoebe's brother into a Jack?"
She sat on a low wall, hunched forward. "He was dying."
"How?"
"He was using heroine. When he was seventeen, he overdosed. I could not let him go."
The Black Scissors had once told Z.J. the Fatas were not immortal as much as eternal. Immortal meant even though one's body remained young, the mind changed, became weary. The world transformed a person, a soul. Being eternal meant existing always, unchanged, remaining the same, like an insect in amber. Eternally youthful. No senility. No life lessons learned. Wisdom, perhaps, but only the kind that came with age.
Clementine looked like an eighteen-year-old girl. She pretended to think like one. As many years as passed in the world, she would never grow or change. Z.J. said, teeth gritted, "So you yanked out his insides and filled him with magic."
Clementine tilted her head. "No. That is the Dark Court's way. My magic flourished within him. I gave him my heart."
"So he's not human anymore." Z.J. watched her. Her face remained expressionless. He told her, wanting her to feel his dread and knowing she wouldn't: "A minotaur is following Phoebe."
A scream tore through the night. Clementine, rising, whispered furiously, "And you brought her here?"
Z.J. was already racing toward the lobby.
He burst through the doors and found Nico sprawled on the floor and the elderly desk clerk hurrying toward him.
"Nico--"
"I'm good." Nico shakily pointed to the open doors. "He dragged Phoebe out."
"The minotaur--"
"Not the minotaur. Some guy."
"What did he look like?" Clementine glided into the lobby Nico stared at her as if she were the second coming. Then he said, "Dark hair. Very white. Dressed like The Crow."
"Theo," Clementine said with a grim look. "Phoebe's brother."
***
Clementine wouldn't go with Z.J., but she gave him a tiny glass ball filled with emerald light and told him it would lead him to Theo if Theo was nearby.
When Nico volunteered to come with him, Z.J. told him to stay put. Phoebe had carried the mistletoe weapon. All that Z.J. had now were the misericorde, an amulet, and several small daggers.
Clementine walked Z.J. to the gate in front of the hotel. "If the minotaur is seeking them..."
"What kills a minotaur?" He turned to Clementine, who looked like just a girl in an elegant gown after a party.
Softly, she said, "You lost someone to one of us."
"Are you going to answer my question? If the minotaur is stalking Phoebe and it finds them--"
"I cannot tell you how to kill one of my kind. Your Black Scissors doesn't know?"
He turned his back on her and, holding the ball up in one hand, headed in the direction in which it seemed to glow the strongest.
After a while, the ball lit up like a tiny sun as he rounded a corner and found himself in front of a warehouse splashed with gorgeous graffiti. The last time he'd entered a place like this, he'd also been alone, clueless, without any weapons, without any guidance.
He felt something in his pocket and frowned. He reached in and pulled out a spool of red fishing line, stared at it. He began to suspect something and it made him stronger. He stepped into the darkness.
The glass ball lit his way as he moved down a corridor of corrugate steel--someone had built a maze. Above were pipes and shattered light fixtures. Things echoed; metal groaning; scrabbling sounds.
A voice.
Z.J. dulled the sphere's light by wrapping it in a piece of fabric torn from his T-shirt. Then he unwound the fishing line and hooked one end to the handle on the door. He prowled toward the voice. He turned a bend in the makeshift corridor and winced when he saw a huge, horned head spray-painted black on the wall.
The next voice sounded like a girl yelling. Z.J. ran toward it.
A sleek shadow swung down from above and kicked him in the chest. Z.J. went down, scrabbling for the glass ball.
A black-nailed hand snatched it up and raised it to the face of a boy his age, his hair a tangle, black triangles painted beneath his eyes. He was all in dark leather.
Z.J. slid warily back.The boy cocked his head. "Who are you?"
"I'm Z.J., Theo. Where's your sister?"
***
Friday, December 29, 2017
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 6
Z.J.'s mom's shop was still closed, so he and Phoebe went up the fire escape in the back and through the kitchen terrace doors. His mom was at church, so Z.J. attempted to make Phoebe breakfast while she wandered around the kitchen, gazing at the little paintings of fairy tale figures on the wall near the living room.
"I have to open up the shop," he told her after they'd finished a pot of coffee. "We can talk down there."
His first customer, five minutes after he turned the sign to OPEN and unlocked the door, was Anna from Fair Hollow. She and Phoebe regarded each other warily. Z.J. said, "She knows."
Anna set the umbrella she'd been carrying on the counter. "I brought it for you."
"It's very pretty." He doubtfully regarded the umbrella of bleached wood with its illustrations of Alice, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter.
"What, you think I'm simple?" Anna tapped the umbrella. "It's made of mistletoe wood."
Z.J. took hold of the umbrella and ran his fingers across the puzzled-together pieces of wood. He touched the point at the top. "I can keep this?"
"It's yours."
He thought of stripping the umbrella of its frivolous bits and driving it through the minotaur's heart. But they don't have hearts.
"Anna." He raised his eyes to the other girl. "Who gave this to you?"
Her mouth curved. She turned and walked toward the door. Her voice trailed softly back, "A fool who is a king."She opened the door and vanished in the hazy sunlight.
Phoebe walked over and looked at the umbrella. "How do you kill them?"
"You were going to try and kill Clementine without knowing how?"
She shrugged and cast her gaze down. "I thought blessed silver did it?"
"Sometimes. Not if they're old. And I think Clementine is as old as the goddamn bible."
Phoebe looked tired and drawn out. "And the minotaur?"
"Minotaurs are ancient. But mistletoe . . ." Z.J. ripped the pretty Alice in Wonderland fabric away from the umbrella handle. "Mistletoe is deadly to them. I need you to leave New Orleans. Do you have anyplace to go?"
She shook her head.
"If I take you to Clementine, will you refrain from killing her?"
"Will she tell me where my brother is?'
That's when his mother returned. Z.J. introduced Phoebe as a friend. His mother asked Phoebe if she'd like her cards read and Z.J. said "No" and pulled Phoebe out the door.
As they walked along the street, Phoebe told him how her twin brother had vanished when they were fifteen, that he'd sent her a letter telling her not to worry, he'd found someone in New Orleans who would take care of them, a young woman named Clementine. He'd promised to send for Phoebe.
He'd never sent for her. She'd never heard from him again.
"When did the minotaur begin haunting you?"
"A while ago. I ran away, here, to find Theo."
"What aren't you telling me, Phoebe?" He turned to her.
She looked stubborn. Then she shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. He demanded, "What else did your brother say in the letter?"
"He said there's a hidden world and he found a way into it. That he wasn't afraid of anything anymore."
Z.J. felt as if his stomach had plunged into his boots. He didn't let it show on his face.
***
"I have to open up the shop," he told her after they'd finished a pot of coffee. "We can talk down there."
His first customer, five minutes after he turned the sign to OPEN and unlocked the door, was Anna from Fair Hollow. She and Phoebe regarded each other warily. Z.J. said, "She knows."
Anna set the umbrella she'd been carrying on the counter. "I brought it for you."
"It's very pretty." He doubtfully regarded the umbrella of bleached wood with its illustrations of Alice, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter.
"What, you think I'm simple?" Anna tapped the umbrella. "It's made of mistletoe wood."
Z.J. took hold of the umbrella and ran his fingers across the puzzled-together pieces of wood. He touched the point at the top. "I can keep this?"
"It's yours."
He thought of stripping the umbrella of its frivolous bits and driving it through the minotaur's heart. But they don't have hearts.
"Anna." He raised his eyes to the other girl. "Who gave this to you?"
Her mouth curved. She turned and walked toward the door. Her voice trailed softly back, "A fool who is a king."She opened the door and vanished in the hazy sunlight.
Phoebe walked over and looked at the umbrella. "How do you kill them?"
"You were going to try and kill Clementine without knowing how?"
She shrugged and cast her gaze down. "I thought blessed silver did it?"
"Sometimes. Not if they're old. And I think Clementine is as old as the goddamn bible."
Phoebe looked tired and drawn out. "And the minotaur?"
"Minotaurs are ancient. But mistletoe . . ." Z.J. ripped the pretty Alice in Wonderland fabric away from the umbrella handle. "Mistletoe is deadly to them. I need you to leave New Orleans. Do you have anyplace to go?"
She shook her head.
"If I take you to Clementine, will you refrain from killing her?"
"Will she tell me where my brother is?'
That's when his mother returned. Z.J. introduced Phoebe as a friend. His mother asked Phoebe if she'd like her cards read and Z.J. said "No" and pulled Phoebe out the door.
As they walked along the street, Phoebe told him how her twin brother had vanished when they were fifteen, that he'd sent her a letter telling her not to worry, he'd found someone in New Orleans who would take care of them, a young woman named Clementine. He'd promised to send for Phoebe.
He'd never sent for her. She'd never heard from him again.
"When did the minotaur begin haunting you?"
"A while ago. I ran away, here, to find Theo."
"What aren't you telling me, Phoebe?" He turned to her.
She looked stubborn. Then she shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. He demanded, "What else did your brother say in the letter?"
"He said there's a hidden world and he found a way into it. That he wasn't afraid of anything anymore."
Z.J. felt as if his stomach had plunged into his boots. He didn't let it show on his face.
***
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 5
AS IF NICO had seen them coming, the door opened and he stood there, barefoot and sleepy-eyed. "Hey."
"Nico, Phoebe. Phoebe, Nico." Z.J. slid past Nico with Phoebe and, as Nico bemusedly shut the door, Z.J. glimpsed the horned shadow standing across the street.
"Hey, Phoebe." Nico smiled suavely.
"Your gran home, Nico?" Z.J. backed toward the china cabinet.
"No. she's playing bocci ball with her friends at Crew's Bar--what are you doing?"
"This is real silver, right?"
"Uh . . . I'm supposing."
Phoebe snatched a butter knife from Z.J. and checked it. "It's real silver."
Something struck the door. Nico whirled. "What--"
"Nico." Z.J. dumped two drawers of silverware on the table. "I need you to take some forks and knives and just hold onto them."
Nico turned and stared at him. "Z.J. . . what's going on? Are you messing with me?"
"This is real." Phoebe grabbed a handful of forks and glanced at Z.J. "Does silver really work?"
"Put it at every window and door--"
Something shattered in the kitchen. Nico swore.
Z.J. and Phoebe turned to stare into the kitchen.
"They can't get in unless they're invited, right?" Phoebe whispered.
"Hey." Nico's voice was weak. "Are you guys being chased by, like, a werewolf?"
The front door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it.
The man who stood in the doorway was young despite the white hair pouring over his shoulders. He was also a giant. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. A belt of what looked like teeth draped his hips. His eyes flashed silver as his gaze drifted from Nico, to Z.J., to Phoebe. He pointed at Phoebe with one sharp silver fingernail. "I want her."
Nico panicked and flung a handful of silver spoons at the intruder.
The intruder stumbled back from the threshold. Z.J. saw a crevice open up across his face and the shadow of a horn twist from the white hair.
Z.J. lunged with a silver fork in each hand and slammed them into the Fata's chest. The white-haired man shoved him back and Z.J. fell back into the house. He saw the Fata gripping the forks in his chest and yanking them out. Z.J. kicked the door shut.
There were eight windows and two entrances to the house. The three of them scrambled to set handfuls of silver at each.
When they were done, they slouched on the sofa together, staring blankly at the wide screen TV which was set to HGTV.
"Was that the Devil?" Nico asked.
Z.J. exchanged a look with Phoebe, who sat between them. She said, "Why isn't he trying to get back in?"
"Probably licking his wounds." Z.J. had peered out the windows and seen no sign of the Fata.
"You asshole." Nico took a deep breath and twisted to glare at Z.J. "How long you've known about things like that monster?"
"Since I was sixteen." Z.J. was surprised it didn't hut anymore, that memory of the dark, and the terror, and the blood . . . Anger surged though him. He stood and faced Phoebe. "Why is it chasing you?"
"I don't know. I thought she sent him."
"No." Z.J. rubbed his head. "No."
"How do you know/' Phoebe demanded. "How long have you known her, this Clementine? She's one of their queens--"
"She doesn't have the vibe." Z.J. narrowed his eyes at Phoebe. "She asked me to find you, to help you."
With Nico open-mouthed and Phoebe sitting up straight, Z.J. told them about the Black Scissors, who was a witch doctor, Shaman, and spiritualist, and cursed with immortality by a Fata queen. He told them how the Black Scissors had come to him one night, after Z.J. had encountered a bad Fata.
He didn't tell them about the hospital, about the terrible scars on his back that Nico thought were from a car accident, about what he'd lost that night, two years ago. He told them what the Fats were, the children of Night and Nothing and all the tribal names given them around the world.
Nico called his grandmother and asked her to stay overnight at a friend's. Z.J. could hear her demanding to know why.
"Just do me a favor and stay at Mimi's, okay? No. No. I don't have a girl here." He sighed. "Okay, I had a party and I've got to clean up."
Nico set down his cell and gazed resignedly at Z.J. "So what's out there? What kind of demon or fairy spirit or whatever?"
"It's the minotaur," Phoebe spoke up at the same time that Z.J. said, "It's a minotaur."
The minotaur didn't attack again. They huddled on the sofa, taking turns sleeping, until daylight cast the darkness away.
***
"Nico, Phoebe. Phoebe, Nico." Z.J. slid past Nico with Phoebe and, as Nico bemusedly shut the door, Z.J. glimpsed the horned shadow standing across the street.
"Hey, Phoebe." Nico smiled suavely.
"Your gran home, Nico?" Z.J. backed toward the china cabinet.
"No. she's playing bocci ball with her friends at Crew's Bar--what are you doing?"
"This is real silver, right?"
"Uh . . . I'm supposing."
Phoebe snatched a butter knife from Z.J. and checked it. "It's real silver."
Something struck the door. Nico whirled. "What--"
"Nico." Z.J. dumped two drawers of silverware on the table. "I need you to take some forks and knives and just hold onto them."
Nico turned and stared at him. "Z.J. . . what's going on? Are you messing with me?"
"This is real." Phoebe grabbed a handful of forks and glanced at Z.J. "Does silver really work?"
"Put it at every window and door--"
Something shattered in the kitchen. Nico swore.
Z.J. and Phoebe turned to stare into the kitchen.
"They can't get in unless they're invited, right?" Phoebe whispered.
"Hey." Nico's voice was weak. "Are you guys being chased by, like, a werewolf?"
The front door flew open, slamming against the wall behind it.
The man who stood in the doorway was young despite the white hair pouring over his shoulders. He was also a giant. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. A belt of what looked like teeth draped his hips. His eyes flashed silver as his gaze drifted from Nico, to Z.J., to Phoebe. He pointed at Phoebe with one sharp silver fingernail. "I want her."
Nico panicked and flung a handful of silver spoons at the intruder.
The intruder stumbled back from the threshold. Z.J. saw a crevice open up across his face and the shadow of a horn twist from the white hair.
Z.J. lunged with a silver fork in each hand and slammed them into the Fata's chest. The white-haired man shoved him back and Z.J. fell back into the house. He saw the Fata gripping the forks in his chest and yanking them out. Z.J. kicked the door shut.
There were eight windows and two entrances to the house. The three of them scrambled to set handfuls of silver at each.
When they were done, they slouched on the sofa together, staring blankly at the wide screen TV which was set to HGTV.
"Was that the Devil?" Nico asked.
Z.J. exchanged a look with Phoebe, who sat between them. She said, "Why isn't he trying to get back in?"
"Probably licking his wounds." Z.J. had peered out the windows and seen no sign of the Fata.
"You asshole." Nico took a deep breath and twisted to glare at Z.J. "How long you've known about things like that monster?"
"Since I was sixteen." Z.J. was surprised it didn't hut anymore, that memory of the dark, and the terror, and the blood . . . Anger surged though him. He stood and faced Phoebe. "Why is it chasing you?"
"I don't know. I thought she sent him."
"No." Z.J. rubbed his head. "No."
"How do you know/' Phoebe demanded. "How long have you known her, this Clementine? She's one of their queens--"
"She doesn't have the vibe." Z.J. narrowed his eyes at Phoebe. "She asked me to find you, to help you."
With Nico open-mouthed and Phoebe sitting up straight, Z.J. told them about the Black Scissors, who was a witch doctor, Shaman, and spiritualist, and cursed with immortality by a Fata queen. He told them how the Black Scissors had come to him one night, after Z.J. had encountered a bad Fata.
He didn't tell them about the hospital, about the terrible scars on his back that Nico thought were from a car accident, about what he'd lost that night, two years ago. He told them what the Fats were, the children of Night and Nothing and all the tribal names given them around the world.
Nico called his grandmother and asked her to stay overnight at a friend's. Z.J. could hear her demanding to know why.
"Just do me a favor and stay at Mimi's, okay? No. No. I don't have a girl here." He sighed. "Okay, I had a party and I've got to clean up."
Nico set down his cell and gazed resignedly at Z.J. "So what's out there? What kind of demon or fairy spirit or whatever?"
"It's the minotaur," Phoebe spoke up at the same time that Z.J. said, "It's a minotaur."
The minotaur didn't attack again. They huddled on the sofa, taking turns sleeping, until daylight cast the darkness away.
***
Monday, November 13, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 4
Z.J. DIDN'T invite Nico to the Fata party at The Beautiful House, the lure Clementine had set up for the girl foolishly hunting her.
He didn't have much in the way of fine clothing and he couldn't afford to buy any. He selected a long-sleeved gray crew shirt from the back of his closet, his newest jeans, and his best boots. He didn't see the point of going armed, but he put one of the silver misericorde daggers in his left boot.
As he approached The Beautiful House, he studied the guests handing their invitations to Bruce. They were all young. Most were mortal. A few moved with unnatural grace and their eyes flashed silver. As he handed Bruce the invite, he asked, "Did you send one to the girl you want me to catch?"
Bruce looked at him sternly. "Of course not. She'll find a way in. Clementine says she's resourceful."
Z.J. sauntered into the enormous lobby while Blues music swept over the people mingling and conversing in evening finery with an antique flair. The doors to the public courtyard were flung wide and more people drifted in and out.
Clementine had given him a picture of the girl. She looked so ordinary, no older than he was, a girl who should be enjoying her final year of high school. He was worried for her. Very worried. If she did something--
--and he saw her, suddenly, standing awkwardly in a white dress that reminded him of something Alice in Wonderland might wear, with a rhinestone headband in her short russet hair.
She didn't know, then, that the Fatas knew.
Z.J. moved toward her, from the side, so she wouldn't see him coming.
But she was wary as a deer. Her gaze flicked over the crowd and met his. He attempted a smile.
She bolted.
He swore and slid after her, into the lobby, where the moody light flared silver in some eyes. He never got used to that, and a shiver ran through him.
He saw Phoebe heading for Clementine. He saw a glint in the girl's hand--
He shoved aside a girl in white velvet and nearly knocked down a young man with red curls. He lunged and caught hold of the girl intent on murder. She whirled on him, wide-eyed.
"No," he told her.
She grimaced and tried to jerk away. He whispered, "Way to draw more attention to yourself."
She gave up. Aware of the Fata queen's eyes upon him, he led her away from Clementine and into the public courtyard. When they had moved into a spot where they wouldn't be overheard, he said softly, "Phoebe. I'm Z.J.--"
"You're one of theirs." She spoke through clenched teeth.
"I'm not. But you were about to attack one of their queens and I'm here to stop that mistake."
"My brother disappeared because of her. He's missing."
"And how will killing her bring him back? She doesn't know where he is. He left her."
"So she says." Phoebe was trembling. He realized that what she'd been holding, now tucked into her hair--a silver needle. She asked, "What are you?"
What was he? Border patrol? An ambassador? A shaman? He spoke the truth, "Taltu."
She clearly had never heard of them. She narrowed her eyes. "You are one of theirs. A traitor."
"Your brother went to Clementine willingly."
Her eyes widened as she focused on something behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw several of the queen's young elegants heading their way.
He grabbed Phoebe's hand and they ran.
They went over the wall. Z.J. heaved her up. She grabbed the branch of an oak and swung over. He followed. They raced up the street.
"Car?" She looked back at him.
"No," he told her. "I took the bus."
She stopped running and cast him a look. He pointed at her. "Don't be judgy with me. Where are you staying?"
She looked lost. "Nowhere."
"Where are you keeping your things?"
"In a backpack behind a school--" She broke off and went pale.
At first, he smelled it, a rank odor like dirty, blood-stained ice. But there was, beneath the reek, a flowery fragrance, even more disturbing. His Greek grandmother had once had a tree in her yard, a fig, and this is what he smelled when it blossomed.
"It's here," Phoebe whispered.
Z.J. bent and drew the misericorde from his boot. "What's here?"
"The monster."
He didn't ask her why she called it a monster. He turned his head.
Following a block behind was an inhumanly tall shadow, its fingers too long and too sharp. Its head was strangely shaped, a 'V' forming two points. He knew what it was. He had seen its kind before.
He and Phoebe ran.
When they turned a corner and Z.J. saw Nico's grandmother's shotgun house, he caught Phoebe's hand. "There."
They ran toward it.
***
He didn't have much in the way of fine clothing and he couldn't afford to buy any. He selected a long-sleeved gray crew shirt from the back of his closet, his newest jeans, and his best boots. He didn't see the point of going armed, but he put one of the silver misericorde daggers in his left boot.
As he approached The Beautiful House, he studied the guests handing their invitations to Bruce. They were all young. Most were mortal. A few moved with unnatural grace and their eyes flashed silver. As he handed Bruce the invite, he asked, "Did you send one to the girl you want me to catch?"
Bruce looked at him sternly. "Of course not. She'll find a way in. Clementine says she's resourceful."
Z.J. sauntered into the enormous lobby while Blues music swept over the people mingling and conversing in evening finery with an antique flair. The doors to the public courtyard were flung wide and more people drifted in and out.
Clementine had given him a picture of the girl. She looked so ordinary, no older than he was, a girl who should be enjoying her final year of high school. He was worried for her. Very worried. If she did something--
--and he saw her, suddenly, standing awkwardly in a white dress that reminded him of something Alice in Wonderland might wear, with a rhinestone headband in her short russet hair.
She didn't know, then, that the Fatas knew.
Z.J. moved toward her, from the side, so she wouldn't see him coming.
But she was wary as a deer. Her gaze flicked over the crowd and met his. He attempted a smile.
She bolted.
He swore and slid after her, into the lobby, where the moody light flared silver in some eyes. He never got used to that, and a shiver ran through him.
He saw Phoebe heading for Clementine. He saw a glint in the girl's hand--
He shoved aside a girl in white velvet and nearly knocked down a young man with red curls. He lunged and caught hold of the girl intent on murder. She whirled on him, wide-eyed.
"No," he told her.
She grimaced and tried to jerk away. He whispered, "Way to draw more attention to yourself."
She gave up. Aware of the Fata queen's eyes upon him, he led her away from Clementine and into the public courtyard. When they had moved into a spot where they wouldn't be overheard, he said softly, "Phoebe. I'm Z.J.--"
"You're one of theirs." She spoke through clenched teeth.
"I'm not. But you were about to attack one of their queens and I'm here to stop that mistake."
"My brother disappeared because of her. He's missing."
"And how will killing her bring him back? She doesn't know where he is. He left her."
"So she says." Phoebe was trembling. He realized that what she'd been holding, now tucked into her hair--a silver needle. She asked, "What are you?"
What was he? Border patrol? An ambassador? A shaman? He spoke the truth, "Taltu."
She clearly had never heard of them. She narrowed her eyes. "You are one of theirs. A traitor."
"Your brother went to Clementine willingly."
Her eyes widened as she focused on something behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw several of the queen's young elegants heading their way.
He grabbed Phoebe's hand and they ran.
They went over the wall. Z.J. heaved her up. She grabbed the branch of an oak and swung over. He followed. They raced up the street.
"Car?" She looked back at him.
"No," he told her. "I took the bus."
She stopped running and cast him a look. He pointed at her. "Don't be judgy with me. Where are you staying?"
She looked lost. "Nowhere."
"Where are you keeping your things?"
"In a backpack behind a school--" She broke off and went pale.
At first, he smelled it, a rank odor like dirty, blood-stained ice. But there was, beneath the reek, a flowery fragrance, even more disturbing. His Greek grandmother had once had a tree in her yard, a fig, and this is what he smelled when it blossomed.
"It's here," Phoebe whispered.
Z.J. bent and drew the misericorde from his boot. "What's here?"
"The monster."
He didn't ask her why she called it a monster. He turned his head.
Following a block behind was an inhumanly tall shadow, its fingers too long and too sharp. Its head was strangely shaped, a 'V' forming two points. He knew what it was. He had seen its kind before.
He and Phoebe ran.
When they turned a corner and Z.J. saw Nico's grandmother's shotgun house, he caught Phoebe's hand. "There."
They ran toward it.
***
Monday, November 6, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 3
PHOEBE had seen her.
The busy French Quarter was the one place Phoebe felt safe at night from the thing that was hunting her. She was shyly sliding past a flock of honey-haired girls in little dresses and platform sandals when she saw the regal girl moving through the crowds like a queen of the Nile. How could anyone not notice the silver shine of her eyes, the inhuman grace with which she and her four companions moved, as if they'd walked the earth for centuries, immortal monsters in human-like skins?
One of the young men swept his silver gaze across the crowd. A diamond glinted in the side of his nose and his skin glimmered. Phoebe looked quickly away and tried to hide herself in the mass of people.
The queen and her shadows moved onward and Phoebe followed.
***
Z.J. worked in his mother's shop on weekends. He liked to organize the various tourist trap junk, as well as the authentic voodoo/hoodoo/Wiccan/New Age items. The shop sold candles, spooky dolls, books, Tarot cards, and chintzy souvenirs. He'd convinced her to carry other items, which made her eye him warily sometimes, as if she worried he'd joined some sort of cult.
After last night's weirdness, he needed normalcy.
The girl who entered the shop before sunset looked fifteen, her dark blonde hair in two braids. She glanced at him, nodded once. He nodded back. She began to wander around the shop, hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She selected a deck of the most expensive cards and he moved behind the counter as she walked to him. She set the cards down and shrugged off her plaid backpack. "How much are these?"
"Thirty bucks." He squinted at her face. "Do I know you?"
"I'm visiting from New York."
"Where in New York?" He rang up the cards.
"Fair Hollow."
He froze. He met her gaze. He supposed she looked alarmed because he did.
Fair Hollow. Where a Fata version of a very dark A Midsummer Night's Dream had played out.
"I was there," he ventured. "Two years ago."
"Were you? I'm Anna." She held out her hand.
"Z.J." He had a feeling she knew. He tapped the Tarot cards. "Can you really use these?"
"They're for a friend." He realized her gaze was fastened on the black scissors tattoo he and the other taltu wore to let the Fatas know they'd best behave.
She leaned forward and whispered, "Are they here, too?"
"Silver eyes? Shadowy? Love/hate relationship with poetry? Yeah, Anna, they're here."
She solemnly accepted the Tarot cards and receipt. "I don't see them anymore."
"Anymore?"
She shrugged. "I can sense them, but only if they want me to."
"The ones I met here"--He thought of elegant and lovely Clementine--"seem okay."
She nodded. "Someone told me once that the one who rules here came from Ethiopia. That she's one of the good ones."
"Who told you--"
She shook her head and looked wistful. "I had friends, once, among them. Things changed. Good bye, Z.J."
He watched as she left.
***
The busy French Quarter was the one place Phoebe felt safe at night from the thing that was hunting her. She was shyly sliding past a flock of honey-haired girls in little dresses and platform sandals when she saw the regal girl moving through the crowds like a queen of the Nile. How could anyone not notice the silver shine of her eyes, the inhuman grace with which she and her four companions moved, as if they'd walked the earth for centuries, immortal monsters in human-like skins?
One of the young men swept his silver gaze across the crowd. A diamond glinted in the side of his nose and his skin glimmered. Phoebe looked quickly away and tried to hide herself in the mass of people.
The queen and her shadows moved onward and Phoebe followed.
***
Z.J. worked in his mother's shop on weekends. He liked to organize the various tourist trap junk, as well as the authentic voodoo/hoodoo/Wiccan/New Age items. The shop sold candles, spooky dolls, books, Tarot cards, and chintzy souvenirs. He'd convinced her to carry other items, which made her eye him warily sometimes, as if she worried he'd joined some sort of cult.
After last night's weirdness, he needed normalcy.
The girl who entered the shop before sunset looked fifteen, her dark blonde hair in two braids. She glanced at him, nodded once. He nodded back. She began to wander around the shop, hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She selected a deck of the most expensive cards and he moved behind the counter as she walked to him. She set the cards down and shrugged off her plaid backpack. "How much are these?"
"Thirty bucks." He squinted at her face. "Do I know you?"
"I'm visiting from New York."
"Where in New York?" He rang up the cards.
"Fair Hollow."
He froze. He met her gaze. He supposed she looked alarmed because he did.
Fair Hollow. Where a Fata version of a very dark A Midsummer Night's Dream had played out.
"I was there," he ventured. "Two years ago."
"Were you? I'm Anna." She held out her hand.
"Z.J." He had a feeling she knew. He tapped the Tarot cards. "Can you really use these?"
"They're for a friend." He realized her gaze was fastened on the black scissors tattoo he and the other taltu wore to let the Fatas know they'd best behave.
She leaned forward and whispered, "Are they here, too?"
"Silver eyes? Shadowy? Love/hate relationship with poetry? Yeah, Anna, they're here."
She solemnly accepted the Tarot cards and receipt. "I don't see them anymore."
"Anymore?"
She shrugged. "I can sense them, but only if they want me to."
"The ones I met here"--He thought of elegant and lovely Clementine--"seem okay."
She nodded. "Someone told me once that the one who rules here came from Ethiopia. That she's one of the good ones."
"Who told you--"
She shook her head and looked wistful. "I had friends, once, among them. Things changed. Good bye, Z.J."
He watched as she left.
***
Sunday, October 29, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS: Part 2
THE hotel was called La Chateau Beau, The Beautiful House. It stood in one of the oldest and sketchiest neighborhoods, shrouded by oaks draped with Spanish moss. It resembled a Victorian house gone mad, with its frivolous towers and gables, all painted black. It had been built around a courtyard of exotic plants and a huge pool that mimicked a grotto. Tiny lights twinkled in the palm trees.
Z.J. knew, as he and Nico moved out of the grand dame lobby and into the empty courtyard, that the hotel was a Fata haunt. The lobby had had two inhabitants; a pretty girl in a green satin flapper's dress, reading a book; and an elderly man who resembled Ian McKellan behind the desk. The man hadn't said anything to the two boys as they crossed the lobby.
Z.J., observing the dark pool glimmering with reflected light, imagined that an Afanc could live in that. "We should leave."
"What? We just got past Gandalf without a problem. I almost expected him to say"--Nico's voice deepened even further than his usual baritone--"'Thou shalt not pass.' And no one's here." He shucked his T-shirt and jeans. His swim trunks were patterned with pink sharks. Again, Z.J. did not judge.
As Nico dove into the water, Z.J. looked around. He saw, beyond the tangle of vegetation, a Tiki bar glowing with lights and bottles. Old-timey music drifted languidly through the air.
He thought he saw someone standing beside the bar, a shadow in a suit and top hat, and he went for the silver blade he kept in his denim jacket. He squinted.
But it wasn't a figure, only a dark space between the trees.
After an hour of enjoying the pool, Z.J. saw a few guests drift from the wild garden of the hotel. They appeared to be normal. Z.J. began to relax. He lay back in one of the deck chairs with a non-alcoholic sweet tea. Nico had gotten the drinks at the bar where a pretty brown-skinned girl in a halter top and jeans made an art of juggling bottles and mixer flasks. Nico had drifted back to talk to her. Her eyes were brown and didn't flash silver when they caught the light.
Z.J. listened to the rustling of palm fronds and the music which sounded as if it were being played on a phonograph.
Then he sensed a shadow blocking out the twinkling lights.
"Mr. Jenkins."
His eyes flew open.
The deep voice belonged to an African-American man in an expensive suit. The light gleamed on his bald head. His eyes were dark, human. He was the same man Z.J. had seen earlier that day in the convenience store. The man smiled, swift and polite. "Boss would like word with you."
Z.J. didn't dare look over at Nico He reached for his clothing.
"Ah-ah. Not that." The man, still smiling, held one hand out for the denim jacket with the silver dagger in it.
Z.J. handed it over and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. As he followed the man, he asked, "So who is your boss?"
"You may call her Clementine."
Only a first name. That was a bad sign. Z.J. didn't want to, but he asked, casual-like, "What's her real name?"
The man said something in French, then added, gently, "The Mistress of the Beautiful House."
Fata.
"And what are you? Her Renfield?"
"That's vampires. I am a man. My name is Bruce."
"A man over eighteen who can see them."
"I was a medium when she found me and asked me to work for her."
"Is she one of the good ones or one of the bad ones?"
"Now what would be the point of me telling you that when you don't know me?"
"Good point. Is she a queen?"
"What else would the Mistress of the Beautiful House mean?"
Z.J. liked this man. He was sardonic, a word Z.J.'s mom often used to describe Z.J., along with 'smart-ass.' He braced himself as they crossed the lobby, glad his swim trunks had dried while he was lazing in the deck chair and his jeans weren't wet. It would have been difficult to be menacing with the seat of his pants damp.
As a pair of red doors opened before them, he wished he hadn't let his guard down.
They stepped into a private garden, where a figure in a black silk dress and spike-heeled shoes sat, her face shadowed by a sweeping hat with a short veil of black netting. She sat in a wicker chair beneath an arbor of grapevines. A few bees buzzed quietly around her. She sipped from the tea cup she held and raised her head, revealing a face that was meant to break hearts. Her brown skin glimmered as if with diamond dust. She said with a small curve to her lips, "You're a taltu."
Z.J. was aware of Bruce deserting him. He was alone in the silent, bee-buzzing garden with a Fata queen. He was just as wisely afraid as he would have been facing down a Fata that had taken a monstrous form. "And you're a Fata queen."
She set down her tea and uncrossed her legs and faced him and shadows grew from behind her in a swirling show that reminded Z.J. of the spines of some poisonous creature.
"I need your help, Mr. Jenkins." She removed her hat, revealing rippling black hair curving from her face. Her silver eyes and semblance of humanity were unnerving. But Z.J. stood his ground, because he'd met an immortal witch doctor and fought a minotaur. The Fata queen said, "A girl has come to my city to kill me."
"What did you do do her?"
Clementine's eyes flashed. Then she sighed like any mortal girl and rubbed her brow. "I took her brother."
Z.J. leaned against one of the columns, arms folded. He didn't speak.
"He came willingly. He was sixteen, lovely and fierce."
She looked eighteen and wasn't. Z.J. knew the Fatas were all cradle robbers. "So where is he?"
"He became eighteen and left us. Left with knowledge."
Z.J. asked, "What did you do to him?"
Clementine lifted her chin and her face was cold. "What I had to do. I took the memory of us away from him."
"So where is he?"
"I don't know."
"This girl who's coming for you--what's her name?"
"Phoebe Thorne. I don't want her hurt. I want you to keep an eye out for her and convince her not to kill me. Then introduce her to your Black Scissors, since she already seems headed down that path."
Z.J., as much as he hated to trust one of the children of night and nothing, suspected Clementine was one of the good ones. He said, "I'll help you."
***
Z.J. knew, as he and Nico moved out of the grand dame lobby and into the empty courtyard, that the hotel was a Fata haunt. The lobby had had two inhabitants; a pretty girl in a green satin flapper's dress, reading a book; and an elderly man who resembled Ian McKellan behind the desk. The man hadn't said anything to the two boys as they crossed the lobby.
Z.J., observing the dark pool glimmering with reflected light, imagined that an Afanc could live in that. "We should leave."
"What? We just got past Gandalf without a problem. I almost expected him to say"--Nico's voice deepened even further than his usual baritone--"'Thou shalt not pass.' And no one's here." He shucked his T-shirt and jeans. His swim trunks were patterned with pink sharks. Again, Z.J. did not judge.
As Nico dove into the water, Z.J. looked around. He saw, beyond the tangle of vegetation, a Tiki bar glowing with lights and bottles. Old-timey music drifted languidly through the air.
He thought he saw someone standing beside the bar, a shadow in a suit and top hat, and he went for the silver blade he kept in his denim jacket. He squinted.
But it wasn't a figure, only a dark space between the trees.
After an hour of enjoying the pool, Z.J. saw a few guests drift from the wild garden of the hotel. They appeared to be normal. Z.J. began to relax. He lay back in one of the deck chairs with a non-alcoholic sweet tea. Nico had gotten the drinks at the bar where a pretty brown-skinned girl in a halter top and jeans made an art of juggling bottles and mixer flasks. Nico had drifted back to talk to her. Her eyes were brown and didn't flash silver when they caught the light.
Z.J. listened to the rustling of palm fronds and the music which sounded as if it were being played on a phonograph.
Then he sensed a shadow blocking out the twinkling lights.
"Mr. Jenkins."
His eyes flew open.
The deep voice belonged to an African-American man in an expensive suit. The light gleamed on his bald head. His eyes were dark, human. He was the same man Z.J. had seen earlier that day in the convenience store. The man smiled, swift and polite. "Boss would like word with you."
Z.J. didn't dare look over at Nico He reached for his clothing.
"Ah-ah. Not that." The man, still smiling, held one hand out for the denim jacket with the silver dagger in it.
Z.J. handed it over and pulled on his jeans and T-shirt. As he followed the man, he asked, "So who is your boss?"
"You may call her Clementine."
Only a first name. That was a bad sign. Z.J. didn't want to, but he asked, casual-like, "What's her real name?"
The man said something in French, then added, gently, "The Mistress of the Beautiful House."
Fata.
"And what are you? Her Renfield?"
"That's vampires. I am a man. My name is Bruce."
"A man over eighteen who can see them."
"I was a medium when she found me and asked me to work for her."
"Is she one of the good ones or one of the bad ones?"
"Now what would be the point of me telling you that when you don't know me?"
"Good point. Is she a queen?"
"What else would the Mistress of the Beautiful House mean?"
Z.J. liked this man. He was sardonic, a word Z.J.'s mom often used to describe Z.J., along with 'smart-ass.' He braced himself as they crossed the lobby, glad his swim trunks had dried while he was lazing in the deck chair and his jeans weren't wet. It would have been difficult to be menacing with the seat of his pants damp.
As a pair of red doors opened before them, he wished he hadn't let his guard down.
They stepped into a private garden, where a figure in a black silk dress and spike-heeled shoes sat, her face shadowed by a sweeping hat with a short veil of black netting. She sat in a wicker chair beneath an arbor of grapevines. A few bees buzzed quietly around her. She sipped from the tea cup she held and raised her head, revealing a face that was meant to break hearts. Her brown skin glimmered as if with diamond dust. She said with a small curve to her lips, "You're a taltu."
Z.J. was aware of Bruce deserting him. He was alone in the silent, bee-buzzing garden with a Fata queen. He was just as wisely afraid as he would have been facing down a Fata that had taken a monstrous form. "And you're a Fata queen."
She set down her tea and uncrossed her legs and faced him and shadows grew from behind her in a swirling show that reminded Z.J. of the spines of some poisonous creature.
"I need your help, Mr. Jenkins." She removed her hat, revealing rippling black hair curving from her face. Her silver eyes and semblance of humanity were unnerving. But Z.J. stood his ground, because he'd met an immortal witch doctor and fought a minotaur. The Fata queen said, "A girl has come to my city to kill me."
"What did you do do her?"
Clementine's eyes flashed. Then she sighed like any mortal girl and rubbed her brow. "I took her brother."
Z.J. leaned against one of the columns, arms folded. He didn't speak.
"He came willingly. He was sixteen, lovely and fierce."
She looked eighteen and wasn't. Z.J. knew the Fatas were all cradle robbers. "So where is he?"
"He became eighteen and left us. Left with knowledge."
Z.J. asked, "What did you do to him?"
Clementine lifted her chin and her face was cold. "What I had to do. I took the memory of us away from him."
"So where is he?"
"I don't know."
"This girl who's coming for you--what's her name?"
"Phoebe Thorne. I don't want her hurt. I want you to keep an eye out for her and convince her not to kill me. Then introduce her to your Black Scissors, since she already seems headed down that path."
Z.J., as much as he hated to trust one of the children of night and nothing, suspected Clementine was one of the good ones. He said, "I'll help you."
***
Saturday, October 7, 2017
A MINOTAUR IN NEW ORLEANS by Katherine Harbour and Zachary Jimerson
KID ROCK'S 'Bull God' blared from the decrepit black Chevy that pulled up in front of the auto repair shop where Z.J. Jenkins worked. He grimaced. His friend's broken radio and CD player were forever stuck on an '80's Favorites station.
Z.J. opened the door and got in before any of the guys he worked with could hear the music. As the youngest mechanic at seventeen, he'd never hear the end of it. Nico grinned and made a horn sign with two fingers. "I love this song."
"Don't embarrass me." Z.J. ran a hand over his closely shaven skull and peered into the rear view mirror as Nico swung the truck onto the street.
"How is Kid Rock embarrassing? What d'you think they'll play next? Green Day or Alannis Morrisette?"
"I don't know those." Z.J. slouched in the seat, narrowing his eyes as they drove past the convenience store. The African-American man who'd been idling in the convenience store across the street hadn't moved from the magazine stand. He'd been reading a copy of Time for the past two hours. He was too well-dressed to be a cop. And he wasn't one of the Others, because it was daylight.
"You are not a connoisseur of classic music. It's Friday. Don't look so grim.That's Alannis." Nico, black hair slanting over one eye, tapped ink-painted fingernails on the steering wheel as a woman began to howl from the radio.
Nico's mom was from Kenya and his dad was Native American, but that coolness was ruined by his having gone emo over the past year. Although Z.J. didn't judge his friends' life choices, this had been a tough call. Nico continued, "So, burgers? Then the pool at Hotel de Plaza?"
"No. We can't sneak back into a place we got kicked out of."
"And why did we get kicked out? Oh, yeah, because you thought there was an alligator in the pool and freaked out."
"I didn't freak out." Actually, Z.J. had thought the creature in the hotel pool was an Afanc, but one of the man-faced alligator horrors hadn't been spotted in the 'New World' in centuries--it had been a guest on an alligator float and Z.J. had been drinking, which he never usually did. Alcohol lowered one's reaction time.
He was paranoid,even after three Fata-free years, ever since the business up in Fair Hollow, New York. The Black Scissors--who only got in touch by mail or in person because he said the Fatas could hack electronic communications--hadn't dropped him a letter in three months.
Life was good. Z.J. was bored.
Nico swung onto the street where Z.J.'s mom's shop was located. She worked as a psychic. She wasn't. She was just good at guessing and great at a con.
"I'll pick you up in two hours," Nico called as Z.J. stepped out of the truck. "Po boys and the pool at The Beautiful House?"
He peeled out before Z.J. could say "Hell no" to the last part of his friend's suggestion--The Beautiful House was a hotel, old and grand and not on the national registry. Z.J. had his suspicions about it and its air of Don't come here.
Z.J. slipped into his mom's shop, with its incense air and tinkling wind chimes. She'd furnished the shop in thrift store chic, which wasn't mirrored in the neat and modern apartment upstairs.
"Z.J." His mom moved from beyond the red velvet drapes that hid the steps. "You missed dinner again."
She swept past him, her black dress swirling, pearls glimmering around her neck. She patted his head on the way, even though she had to reach up to do it, since he was six-foot to her five.
"You ate though, right?" He turned as she began switching on the mood lighting. Her serious clients tended to come at night.
"Mac and cheese and hot dogs and sauerkraut." She looked up and the light from a chandelier slid across her glasses.
"At least it's not green bean casserole again." He dashed up the stairs.
"What's wrong with my green beat casserole?" she called after him.
"It always tastes like incense."
In his room at the back, which had once been an enclosed porch, he opened his locked wardrobe and, ignoring the weapons hung at the back, considered what to wear--most of his clothes were in a pile in a corner of the room.He had to move two stacks of books--unfortunately, the sorts of books he needed weren't available as ebooks because they were rare--to find a decent pair of jeans and his favorite T-shirt.
He skipped the macaroni and hot dogs and microwaved a frozen burrito. He stood at the window while eating it, gazing out at the church across the street. It was lit up like the holidays although it was midsummer, the air swampy with heat. It was an old church, its round window a dazzling circle of sapphire, ruby, and topaz. He liked the way the light shone into his room at night. It was comforting.
***
Phoebe had gotten off the bus. She sensed the bad thing following two hours later, when the sun set. She didn't know how it had followed her. That meant it was a spirit, despite the shape it wore.
She found a crowded cafe and ate there, cheaply. She didn't have much money left. She was seventeen. She hadn't exactly been saving up. She hadn't expected her dad to die.
Her breath hitched. The French fries and po boy turned to lead in her stomach.
She left the cafe and wandered the French Quarter, keeping an eye out for any sign of the creatures that had taken her twin brother. Despite the tattered bits of knowledge she'd scrapped together about them, she still had to go by instinct--that chill at the back of her neck, the feeling that the person before you wasn't really a person.
The French Quarter, with its hordes of tourists and young people, would be a perfect hunting ground for their kind, so it was there she went. Her denim jacket, jeans, and boots were glamoured up by a rhinestone headband in her short russet hair.
She had her weapons. She'd never killed anything before. The weapons were holy amulets and a small journal filled with spells she'd made up. Enough, she hoped, to track a faery queen and get her brother back.
She spent her first night in New Orleans in a church, because the spirit following her wouldn't be able to get in. There were two other people there, praying, so she knelt with her head on her arms.
She fell asleep.
She woke to dim lighting and the votive candles flickering. The church was empty. She wasn't so tired now. She sat back and rubbed at her face.
The voice that drifted to her from the entrance caused her stomach to heave. No. She gripped the wood of the pew.
"Red rover, red rover, come on over."
It couldn't get into the church. but she had to know...
She turned and saw only a shadow beyond the open doors. The shadow was huge and ragged, as if it were scarcely holding itself together. That's how powerful it was. Yet it didn't enter.
Sick and shaking, she rose and walked unsteadily toward the open doors. She clutched the heart pendant she wore around her neck. Carved from acacia, the pendant was almost as big as her hand.
The spirit was gone.
The doors slammed shut before her . She almost screamed when she saw the two bloody hand prints on the wood.
***
Z.J. opened the door and got in before any of the guys he worked with could hear the music. As the youngest mechanic at seventeen, he'd never hear the end of it. Nico grinned and made a horn sign with two fingers. "I love this song."
"Don't embarrass me." Z.J. ran a hand over his closely shaven skull and peered into the rear view mirror as Nico swung the truck onto the street.
"How is Kid Rock embarrassing? What d'you think they'll play next? Green Day or Alannis Morrisette?"
"I don't know those." Z.J. slouched in the seat, narrowing his eyes as they drove past the convenience store. The African-American man who'd been idling in the convenience store across the street hadn't moved from the magazine stand. He'd been reading a copy of Time for the past two hours. He was too well-dressed to be a cop. And he wasn't one of the Others, because it was daylight.
"You are not a connoisseur of classic music. It's Friday. Don't look so grim.That's Alannis." Nico, black hair slanting over one eye, tapped ink-painted fingernails on the steering wheel as a woman began to howl from the radio.
Nico's mom was from Kenya and his dad was Native American, but that coolness was ruined by his having gone emo over the past year. Although Z.J. didn't judge his friends' life choices, this had been a tough call. Nico continued, "So, burgers? Then the pool at Hotel de Plaza?"
"No. We can't sneak back into a place we got kicked out of."
"And why did we get kicked out? Oh, yeah, because you thought there was an alligator in the pool and freaked out."
"I didn't freak out." Actually, Z.J. had thought the creature in the hotel pool was an Afanc, but one of the man-faced alligator horrors hadn't been spotted in the 'New World' in centuries--it had been a guest on an alligator float and Z.J. had been drinking, which he never usually did. Alcohol lowered one's reaction time.
He was paranoid,even after three Fata-free years, ever since the business up in Fair Hollow, New York. The Black Scissors--who only got in touch by mail or in person because he said the Fatas could hack electronic communications--hadn't dropped him a letter in three months.
Life was good. Z.J. was bored.
Nico swung onto the street where Z.J.'s mom's shop was located. She worked as a psychic. She wasn't. She was just good at guessing and great at a con.
"I'll pick you up in two hours," Nico called as Z.J. stepped out of the truck. "Po boys and the pool at The Beautiful House?"
He peeled out before Z.J. could say "Hell no" to the last part of his friend's suggestion--The Beautiful House was a hotel, old and grand and not on the national registry. Z.J. had his suspicions about it and its air of Don't come here.
Z.J. slipped into his mom's shop, with its incense air and tinkling wind chimes. She'd furnished the shop in thrift store chic, which wasn't mirrored in the neat and modern apartment upstairs.
"Z.J." His mom moved from beyond the red velvet drapes that hid the steps. "You missed dinner again."
She swept past him, her black dress swirling, pearls glimmering around her neck. She patted his head on the way, even though she had to reach up to do it, since he was six-foot to her five.
"You ate though, right?" He turned as she began switching on the mood lighting. Her serious clients tended to come at night.
"Mac and cheese and hot dogs and sauerkraut." She looked up and the light from a chandelier slid across her glasses.
"At least it's not green bean casserole again." He dashed up the stairs.
"What's wrong with my green beat casserole?" she called after him.
"It always tastes like incense."
In his room at the back, which had once been an enclosed porch, he opened his locked wardrobe and, ignoring the weapons hung at the back, considered what to wear--most of his clothes were in a pile in a corner of the room.He had to move two stacks of books--unfortunately, the sorts of books he needed weren't available as ebooks because they were rare--to find a decent pair of jeans and his favorite T-shirt.
He skipped the macaroni and hot dogs and microwaved a frozen burrito. He stood at the window while eating it, gazing out at the church across the street. It was lit up like the holidays although it was midsummer, the air swampy with heat. It was an old church, its round window a dazzling circle of sapphire, ruby, and topaz. He liked the way the light shone into his room at night. It was comforting.
***
Phoebe had gotten off the bus. She sensed the bad thing following two hours later, when the sun set. She didn't know how it had followed her. That meant it was a spirit, despite the shape it wore.
She found a crowded cafe and ate there, cheaply. She didn't have much money left. She was seventeen. She hadn't exactly been saving up. She hadn't expected her dad to die.
Her breath hitched. The French fries and po boy turned to lead in her stomach.
She left the cafe and wandered the French Quarter, keeping an eye out for any sign of the creatures that had taken her twin brother. Despite the tattered bits of knowledge she'd scrapped together about them, she still had to go by instinct--that chill at the back of her neck, the feeling that the person before you wasn't really a person.
The French Quarter, with its hordes of tourists and young people, would be a perfect hunting ground for their kind, so it was there she went. Her denim jacket, jeans, and boots were glamoured up by a rhinestone headband in her short russet hair.
She had her weapons. She'd never killed anything before. The weapons were holy amulets and a small journal filled with spells she'd made up. Enough, she hoped, to track a faery queen and get her brother back.
She spent her first night in New Orleans in a church, because the spirit following her wouldn't be able to get in. There were two other people there, praying, so she knelt with her head on her arms.
She fell asleep.
She woke to dim lighting and the votive candles flickering. The church was empty. She wasn't so tired now. She sat back and rubbed at her face.
The voice that drifted to her from the entrance caused her stomach to heave. No. She gripped the wood of the pew.
"Red rover, red rover, come on over."
It couldn't get into the church. but she had to know...
She turned and saw only a shadow beyond the open doors. The shadow was huge and ragged, as if it were scarcely holding itself together. That's how powerful it was. Yet it didn't enter.
Sick and shaking, she rose and walked unsteadily toward the open doors. She clutched the heart pendant she wore around her neck. Carved from acacia, the pendant was almost as big as her hand.
The spirit was gone.
The doors slammed shut before her . She almost screamed when she saw the two bloody hand prints on the wood.
***
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Nine
"I DON'T think you can." Finn's words scraped out. "You're burning through those bodies. That's why you want us. And if you take us, we die anyway." She continued ferociously, "You're nothing but pieces of paper."
"Finn." Christie sounded on the verge of hysteria.
Finn gently put her hand over his mouth as she met Jintong's burning gold gaze. She didn't dare look at Jack, because she was admitting to something she'd always suspected about the Fatas. "You can't kill us. You need one of us--a human--to do it for you. Flesh and blood."
"So it's a draw, is it?" Jintong began to move back, step by step, while Jack watched him.
"I believe so," Jack told him. "The Mononoke and the Skriker won't take part in this. Like you, they're wisely afraid of Reiko."
"We're as old as she is." Jintong smiled slyly. "And what are these mortals to her?"
Finn saw the rustling shadows drawing closer and the entire nightmarish aspect of the evening, instead of dulling her into the numb inertia she'd been experiencing since Lily's death, sharpened her. She said, quietly, with a wondering realization, "You need us more than we need you."
A whirlwind of paper blossoms, leaves, and snowflakes swept over them as she and Jintong regarded one another.
"Do you see their plan?" This, from the until-then-silent Jade. "The Magician. The Empress. The Hanged Man. The Sun." She cocked her head to one side. Her face was expressionless, but her voice was threaded with despair. "We have lost, Jintong."
Jintong looked at each of them. The smile became a shadow on his face. "So the trick is on us. But now I know--these two mortals are not meaningless to your family, Phouka." He turned to Finn. "You guessed correctly--we cannot take what is not freely given. There is nothing with which we have to bargain. Beaten by the house, we accede." He bowed, folding into the night.
"Well, shit," Christie whispered.
Finn couldn't believe it. She stood very still, marveling at what had just occurred.
She turned. They were gone, the menacing silhouettes. Only Jade remained, watching Finn.
As Christie sank to his haunches, his arms over his head, Jade said to Finn, "They will be the death of you, braveheart."
Then she, too, was gone.
"What happened here?" Christie's voice was muffled.
Finn broke her gaze from Jack's to crouch beside Christie. "It's over now. You're safe."
"They took him." Phouka, Finn realized, was speaking to Jack. "I had no other way to fetch him back."
"Are you explaining yourself to me?" Jack was staring at Phouka. "Because it's not me you should be apologizing to, cara."
Finn rose, reeling a little. How could she go back to her somewhat ordinary life after this? She said, "Let's go. Now."
***
The ride home was quiet, until Christie shook himself and said angrily, "Isn't anyone going to tell me what just happened?"
Phouka, driving, glanced at Jack, who was in the passenger seat beside her. Jack, one arm on the back of the seat, turned his head and looked at Finn. Phouka said, each word succinct, "Nothing happened."
"Oh no you don't," Christie began, then sounded baffled. "What did I just say? Hey, where were we going again?"
"Phouka." Finn wanted to grab the other girl's hair. "What did you d--"
"Here we are." Phouka swerved into the driveway of Christie's house.
"Yeah. Yeah. Okay." After Phouka parked, Christie dazedly got out. Finn threw a furious look at Phouka and slid out after him. She heard Jack say to Phouka, "You're going to addle that boy's brain if you keep doing that."
"Christie." Finn hurried to his side as he walked toward his house. As they stomped up the porch stairs, she said, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He grinned, but his eyes were glassy. "See you tomorrow."
"Christie."
"Yeah?" He turned as he stepped into the warmth of his house.
"Are you sure you're all right" Finn was worried about the glazed look in his eyes. "Do you remember--"
"This weird night out at Max's Diner with the Fatas?" He gazed past her at Phouka and Jack. He frowned a little. "Yeah. See you at school, okay?"
"Okay." She watched him close the door.
She trudged down the steps. Jack and Phouka had gotten out of the Mercedes. Finn strode past them, across the street, heading for the wooded lot that led to her house.
***
Jack, watching Finn walk away, said to Phouka, his voice dark, "You used her to get rid of them."
Weariness dragged at Phouka's voice. "I needed a mortal. She's stronger than you think--Jack!"
Jack was already vanishing into the weedy lot across the street.
Phouka cursed.
***
Finn knew he was chasing after her in that way of his, feral and preternatural. She wanted to whirl around and tell him to go to hell, but sensed he may have already been there. She'd just engaged in the scariest game of Rock, Paper, Scissors ever and she couldn't summon the courage to tell one dangerous and damaged person to leave her alone.
She halted. She turned and he was there. She struck him, one hand flat against his chest. He allowed her to shove him against a tree.
"What are you?" She whispered, more afraid now than she'd been facing off the Zhi'Ren.
His expression was serious. "Just what you see."
"Stop." She didn't mean that word to sound the way it did, as if her soul were being shredded. "I don't want this. I don't want to know things. I don't want this world you live in."
"Liar." The word was almost voluptuous the way he spoke it. "What you said back there was true--we can't get to you unless we're invited."
"You're saying I invited you?" She still had her hand against his chest, which wasn't hollow anymore--she felt the drumming of his heart. He straightened. He was so close, suddenly, his mouth only a breath from hers.
He said, "You did invite us, Finn. Maybe you didn't mean to--but we are drawn to lost souls."
"I"m not a lost soul." But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true.
"Finn. I've been one." His gaze was shadowed. "And look where it got me."
"I don't know what you want from me, Jack." She felt as if she were pleading.
"You're the one who wants something from me. Don't pretend you don't need to know things, because there's something inside of you screaming. And all of them, my family, can hear it."
She felt as if the pain twisting up inside of him was bleeding into her. She searched his gaze with her own and saw the anguish behind the shadows in his eyes. She stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes, and kissed him.
It was like kissing an electric current wrapped in darkness--it jolted her from her head to her toes and shot heat through her, thieving her of breath, but so sweetly, she was scarcely aware of his arms folding around her or her own circling his neck because that kiss had become glorious and neverending.
Her mouth swept from his. She still had to breathe. For a moment, she didn't know if she was steadying him or he was keeping her from falling.
"Finn," he whispered against her temple, with his heart beating. "Forget."
It was an order. Finn knew he'd meant it as an enchantment, whatever Phouka had done to Christie, but it didn't work--
Then the night was gone from her.
She sat on the swing, gazing up at the stars. She'd fallen asleep for a second, and dreamed. She frowned, rubbed at her temples.
It had been a dream in which Jack had not been heartless.
Something drifted toward her through the air. She reached out, and caught it. It was a leaf, webbed and delicate, made of crimson paper.
The End
"Finn." Christie sounded on the verge of hysteria.
Finn gently put her hand over his mouth as she met Jintong's burning gold gaze. She didn't dare look at Jack, because she was admitting to something she'd always suspected about the Fatas. "You can't kill us. You need one of us--a human--to do it for you. Flesh and blood."
"So it's a draw, is it?" Jintong began to move back, step by step, while Jack watched him.
"I believe so," Jack told him. "The Mononoke and the Skriker won't take part in this. Like you, they're wisely afraid of Reiko."
"We're as old as she is." Jintong smiled slyly. "And what are these mortals to her?"
Finn saw the rustling shadows drawing closer and the entire nightmarish aspect of the evening, instead of dulling her into the numb inertia she'd been experiencing since Lily's death, sharpened her. She said, quietly, with a wondering realization, "You need us more than we need you."
A whirlwind of paper blossoms, leaves, and snowflakes swept over them as she and Jintong regarded one another.
"Do you see their plan?" This, from the until-then-silent Jade. "The Magician. The Empress. The Hanged Man. The Sun." She cocked her head to one side. Her face was expressionless, but her voice was threaded with despair. "We have lost, Jintong."
Jintong looked at each of them. The smile became a shadow on his face. "So the trick is on us. But now I know--these two mortals are not meaningless to your family, Phouka." He turned to Finn. "You guessed correctly--we cannot take what is not freely given. There is nothing with which we have to bargain. Beaten by the house, we accede." He bowed, folding into the night.
"Well, shit," Christie whispered.
Finn couldn't believe it. She stood very still, marveling at what had just occurred.
She turned. They were gone, the menacing silhouettes. Only Jade remained, watching Finn.
As Christie sank to his haunches, his arms over his head, Jade said to Finn, "They will be the death of you, braveheart."
Then she, too, was gone.
"What happened here?" Christie's voice was muffled.
Finn broke her gaze from Jack's to crouch beside Christie. "It's over now. You're safe."
"They took him." Phouka, Finn realized, was speaking to Jack. "I had no other way to fetch him back."
"Are you explaining yourself to me?" Jack was staring at Phouka. "Because it's not me you should be apologizing to, cara."
Finn rose, reeling a little. How could she go back to her somewhat ordinary life after this? She said, "Let's go. Now."
***
The ride home was quiet, until Christie shook himself and said angrily, "Isn't anyone going to tell me what just happened?"
Phouka, driving, glanced at Jack, who was in the passenger seat beside her. Jack, one arm on the back of the seat, turned his head and looked at Finn. Phouka said, each word succinct, "Nothing happened."
"Oh no you don't," Christie began, then sounded baffled. "What did I just say? Hey, where were we going again?"
"Phouka." Finn wanted to grab the other girl's hair. "What did you d--"
"Here we are." Phouka swerved into the driveway of Christie's house.
"Yeah. Yeah. Okay." After Phouka parked, Christie dazedly got out. Finn threw a furious look at Phouka and slid out after him. She heard Jack say to Phouka, "You're going to addle that boy's brain if you keep doing that."
"Christie." Finn hurried to his side as he walked toward his house. As they stomped up the porch stairs, she said, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He grinned, but his eyes were glassy. "See you tomorrow."
"Christie."
"Yeah?" He turned as he stepped into the warmth of his house.
"Are you sure you're all right" Finn was worried about the glazed look in his eyes. "Do you remember--"
"This weird night out at Max's Diner with the Fatas?" He gazed past her at Phouka and Jack. He frowned a little. "Yeah. See you at school, okay?"
"Okay." She watched him close the door.
She trudged down the steps. Jack and Phouka had gotten out of the Mercedes. Finn strode past them, across the street, heading for the wooded lot that led to her house.
***
Jack, watching Finn walk away, said to Phouka, his voice dark, "You used her to get rid of them."
Weariness dragged at Phouka's voice. "I needed a mortal. She's stronger than you think--Jack!"
Jack was already vanishing into the weedy lot across the street.
Phouka cursed.
***
Finn knew he was chasing after her in that way of his, feral and preternatural. She wanted to whirl around and tell him to go to hell, but sensed he may have already been there. She'd just engaged in the scariest game of Rock, Paper, Scissors ever and she couldn't summon the courage to tell one dangerous and damaged person to leave her alone.
She halted. She turned and he was there. She struck him, one hand flat against his chest. He allowed her to shove him against a tree.
"What are you?" She whispered, more afraid now than she'd been facing off the Zhi'Ren.
His expression was serious. "Just what you see."
"Stop." She didn't mean that word to sound the way it did, as if her soul were being shredded. "I don't want this. I don't want to know things. I don't want this world you live in."
"Liar." The word was almost voluptuous the way he spoke it. "What you said back there was true--we can't get to you unless we're invited."
"You're saying I invited you?" She still had her hand against his chest, which wasn't hollow anymore--she felt the drumming of his heart. He straightened. He was so close, suddenly, his mouth only a breath from hers.
He said, "You did invite us, Finn. Maybe you didn't mean to--but we are drawn to lost souls."
"I"m not a lost soul." But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true.
"Finn. I've been one." His gaze was shadowed. "And look where it got me."
"I don't know what you want from me, Jack." She felt as if she were pleading.
"You're the one who wants something from me. Don't pretend you don't need to know things, because there's something inside of you screaming. And all of them, my family, can hear it."
She felt as if the pain twisting up inside of him was bleeding into her. She searched his gaze with her own and saw the anguish behind the shadows in his eyes. She stood on tiptoe, closed her eyes, and kissed him.
It was like kissing an electric current wrapped in darkness--it jolted her from her head to her toes and shot heat through her, thieving her of breath, but so sweetly, she was scarcely aware of his arms folding around her or her own circling his neck because that kiss had become glorious and neverending.
Her mouth swept from his. She still had to breathe. For a moment, she didn't know if she was steadying him or he was keeping her from falling.
"Finn," he whispered against her temple, with his heart beating. "Forget."
It was an order. Finn knew he'd meant it as an enchantment, whatever Phouka had done to Christie, but it didn't work--
Then the night was gone from her.
She sat on the swing, gazing up at the stars. She'd fallen asleep for a second, and dreamed. She frowned, rubbed at her temples.
It had been a dream in which Jack had not been heartless.
Something drifted toward her through the air. She reached out, and caught it. It was a leaf, webbed and delicate, made of crimson paper.
The End
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Eight
"FINN." Jintong rose with the grace of a viper. Finn fearlessly met his golden gaze over Christie's shoulder. Christie whispered her name again.
"What do you want?" She let go of Christie but maneuvered so that she was between him and the young man.
Jintong gently told her, "Two new lives. Jack, doesn't your girl know what we are?" He drew aside his collar to reveal a hole in his neck, its edges smoldering cherry red, shadows beneath.
Christie whispered, "What's wrong with you?"
"You can't have us, "Finn told him, almost breathless with mad defiance.
"The White Cat has already made the deal." Jintong didn't even look at her. He was watching Jack, smiling.
"Do you think we're giving you tribute?" Jack spoke as Finn and Christie drew back. Finn looked around for Jade but didn't see her. Phouka had risen and was calculating the confrontation between Jack and the Zhi Ren. Jack continued, emanating danger, "You're mistaken."
"You're nothing but the muscle." Jintong's voice was just as dangerously quiet as Jack's. "The White Cat is Reiko's lieutenant. Her word is law."
"Finn." Christie sounded shaky. "What is this?"
"A family feud. Don't worry." Finn looked around for Jade. Where was she?
"What exactly did Phouka tell you?" Jack didn't take his gaze from Jintong. The tension in the air shimmered.
"In exchange for the boy and the girl, we'll leave without letting our presence be known." Jintong spread his arms and Finn saw, out of the corner of one eye, quick movements around them. She heard rustling and crackling noises.
Jack continued in that tone thrumming with violence, "What, exactly, did Phouka negotiate?"
Jintong slid a glance toward Phouka. "I give you what you want if you leave without causing harm."
"Finn." Jack spoke without taking his gaze from Jintong. "Have you and Christopher suffered any harm?"
"You mean aside from psychological damage and nearly getting sliced by mirror shards?" Finn whispered, shivering--not from fear, but from the dark violence Jack's kiss seemed to have instilled within her.
Jack's smile widened. "I'd call that harm, wouldn't you, Phouka?"
"Most definitely," Phouka agreed with a droll humor Finn thought completely inappropriate for the situation.
"That's not--" Jintong snarled. His gaze slid to Phouka. "Trickster bitch--"
"Deal's off." Jack retreated with Finn and Christie behind him and Phouka guarding their backs.
Jintong's eyes blazed. A wind spiraled around him, making his coat flap. "There are more of us than there are of you."
Finn saw the tall, shadowy figures fluttering in the night around the temple and fear splintered through her. The figures resembled black paper cut-outs, but the light from the temple's lamps gleamed across flat faces like photographs or paintings . . .
Christie was snatched from Finn. She screamed and reached out as he was dragged upward by a black kite shaped like a person.
Phouka cursed and something flashed in her hand.
The small knife she flung tore a hole in the paper shape of the monster dragging Christie into the air.
Christie fell. He rolled up, scrambling back. "What the f--"
"Christie!" Finn lunged and grabbed the knife. And froze.
Jade had appeared from the temple darkness behind Christie.
"Finn?" Christie blinked. He whispered, "There's something behind me, isn't there?"
Finn glanced at Jack, who had drawn a long dagger and was pointing it at Jintong. "You forgot what Jacks are for." Jack spun and went for Jade.
Jade swept forward.She unfolded a fan of black paper beneath Christie's chin. He went still. Blood glistened on his chin. Jade's eyes were burning black holes in her face. Finn recognized, in Jade, the desperation of something supernatural to survive. A weakness.
"And you forgot how we can hurt them." Jintong smiled. "Unless you want the boy to die from the worst paper cut ever, you surrender."
Finn was reminded of Alice in Wonderland's stand-off with the playing cards--
She dove forward. She grabbed the fan from Jade. The paper crumpled between her fingers, but one sharp edge cut into her palm.
Phouka grabbed Christie's hand and pulled him away from Jade, who stood staring at Finn. Jack was still, watching Finn, waiting, holding Jintong off with a black knife.
Finn turned to Jintong. She tried to remember what she'd read in her father's books on Chinese mythology. She couldn't recall anything about Zhi Ren. All she could remember were stories of how to bargain with supernatural creatures. She said, "You can't have us. We don't agree to it, Christie and I. Most of all, we don't belong to Reiko. We're not part of her family."
"I see"--Jintong straightened, all languor gone--"we've a girl who reads the proper books. You will agree, Finn. Or we'll kill you."
***
"What do you want?" She let go of Christie but maneuvered so that she was between him and the young man.
Jintong gently told her, "Two new lives. Jack, doesn't your girl know what we are?" He drew aside his collar to reveal a hole in his neck, its edges smoldering cherry red, shadows beneath.
Christie whispered, "What's wrong with you?"
"You can't have us, "Finn told him, almost breathless with mad defiance.
"The White Cat has already made the deal." Jintong didn't even look at her. He was watching Jack, smiling.
"Do you think we're giving you tribute?" Jack spoke as Finn and Christie drew back. Finn looked around for Jade but didn't see her. Phouka had risen and was calculating the confrontation between Jack and the Zhi Ren. Jack continued, emanating danger, "You're mistaken."
"You're nothing but the muscle." Jintong's voice was just as dangerously quiet as Jack's. "The White Cat is Reiko's lieutenant. Her word is law."
"Finn." Christie sounded shaky. "What is this?"
"A family feud. Don't worry." Finn looked around for Jade. Where was she?
"What exactly did Phouka tell you?" Jack didn't take his gaze from Jintong. The tension in the air shimmered.
"In exchange for the boy and the girl, we'll leave without letting our presence be known." Jintong spread his arms and Finn saw, out of the corner of one eye, quick movements around them. She heard rustling and crackling noises.
Jack continued in that tone thrumming with violence, "What, exactly, did Phouka negotiate?"
Jintong slid a glance toward Phouka. "I give you what you want if you leave without causing harm."
"Finn." Jack spoke without taking his gaze from Jintong. "Have you and Christopher suffered any harm?"
"You mean aside from psychological damage and nearly getting sliced by mirror shards?" Finn whispered, shivering--not from fear, but from the dark violence Jack's kiss seemed to have instilled within her.
Jack's smile widened. "I'd call that harm, wouldn't you, Phouka?"
"Most definitely," Phouka agreed with a droll humor Finn thought completely inappropriate for the situation.
"That's not--" Jintong snarled. His gaze slid to Phouka. "Trickster bitch--"
"Deal's off." Jack retreated with Finn and Christie behind him and Phouka guarding their backs.
Jintong's eyes blazed. A wind spiraled around him, making his coat flap. "There are more of us than there are of you."
Finn saw the tall, shadowy figures fluttering in the night around the temple and fear splintered through her. The figures resembled black paper cut-outs, but the light from the temple's lamps gleamed across flat faces like photographs or paintings . . .
Christie was snatched from Finn. She screamed and reached out as he was dragged upward by a black kite shaped like a person.
Phouka cursed and something flashed in her hand.
The small knife she flung tore a hole in the paper shape of the monster dragging Christie into the air.
Christie fell. He rolled up, scrambling back. "What the f--"
"Christie!" Finn lunged and grabbed the knife. And froze.
Jade had appeared from the temple darkness behind Christie.
"Finn?" Christie blinked. He whispered, "There's something behind me, isn't there?"
Finn glanced at Jack, who had drawn a long dagger and was pointing it at Jintong. "You forgot what Jacks are for." Jack spun and went for Jade.
Jade swept forward.She unfolded a fan of black paper beneath Christie's chin. He went still. Blood glistened on his chin. Jade's eyes were burning black holes in her face. Finn recognized, in Jade, the desperation of something supernatural to survive. A weakness.
"And you forgot how we can hurt them." Jintong smiled. "Unless you want the boy to die from the worst paper cut ever, you surrender."
Finn was reminded of Alice in Wonderland's stand-off with the playing cards--
She dove forward. She grabbed the fan from Jade. The paper crumpled between her fingers, but one sharp edge cut into her palm.
Phouka grabbed Christie's hand and pulled him away from Jade, who stood staring at Finn. Jack was still, watching Finn, waiting, holding Jintong off with a black knife.
Finn turned to Jintong. She tried to remember what she'd read in her father's books on Chinese mythology. She couldn't recall anything about Zhi Ren. All she could remember were stories of how to bargain with supernatural creatures. She said, "You can't have us. We don't agree to it, Christie and I. Most of all, we don't belong to Reiko. We're not part of her family."
"I see"--Jintong straightened, all languor gone--"we've a girl who reads the proper books. You will agree, Finn. Or we'll kill you."
***
Wednesday, April 5, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Seven
JACK strode past her and she followed. Cherry blossoms--more paper, she noted with a shiver--were flurrying around them now instead of the false snowflakes.
A girl appeared kneeling in the center of the pagoda, her kimono a glistening whiteness, her hair fall of rose-pink around her mask-like face. Jack addressed her with careful respect, "Why are you with the Zhi Ren? They and the Mononoke were never friends."
The girl moved slightly and Finn's mouth went dry.
The girl was made of paper, from her robe to her skin, and the voice that issued from her was an uncanny ripple in the air. "We travel together. We, also, are outlaws."
"Is that why you look like them?" Jack's sweeping gesture indicated the paper girl's entire being.
"We tried to warn you. You must continue no farther."
"Oh and why is that?" Jack leaned slightly forward, mocking intense interest.
"We don't want to make enemies of the Ban Nathair."
"The Mononoke. A Skriker. You all travel together. You're a Family. And there is already a Family here. By stealing Phouka, you've absolutely made an enemy of Reiko."
"Phouka Fata came for the boy. She broke covenant law."
Finn's heart jumped. Foreboding swept over her. Christie . . .
Jack said with gentle menace, "What boy?"
"The boy with the red curls. The poet."
"No," Finn whispered as Jack began to curse venomously and softly.
Then Finn was striding toward the pagoda and the paper girl. "No. Not Christie. He had nothing to do with this--"
"They waylaid him on the road." The paper girl's eyes were midnight in her mask. She turned her attention to Jack. We want no trouble. We will not be part of this."
A wind swept over them and the paper girl came apart, unraveling, leaving Finn and Jack facing the pagoda. On the other side, the path continued through a grove of cherry trees.
"Christie!" Finn ran forward.
"Finn." Jack caught her in the pagoda. She twisted to face him.
"No. You don't get to tell me what to do. It's your world that's taken my friend and you're going to help me get him back."
"Phouka tried to get him back and do you see her succeeding?" Jack had her right arm in a steely grip. His gaze was savage. "This whole thing has gone sideways and, as usual, you're running headlong into it--"
"What do you want me to do? Stand here, useless, while you go on alone?"
"I don't know what Phouka's intent was in bringing you with us, but I'm beginning to wonder."
"Wonder what?" Finn jerked free. She ran down the pagoda steps, onto the path, with Jack beside her.
"What she's up to. She knows this was a set-up. Why drag you into it?" He seemed to be speaking to himself.
Finn halted, because they had emerged from the cherry trees into a forest of black bamboo. A red temple like those follies in large gardens rose before them. In front of it was a pool of black water. Upon the water glided swans of white paper, life-sized origami like the Mononoke girl. To either side of the temple, bound to its pillars, were kites constructed into the images of gold and black bats. Finn marveled at the terrifying, impossible beauty of it all.
Phouka sat on the temple steps, her head bowed.
"Phouka!" Finn moved around the pond, Jack a smoldering darkness at her side. "Where is Christie?"
Phouka lifted a bleak face. She said calmly, "I've negotiated."
Jack, his gaze on the shadowed interior of the temple, said, "Just how have you managed that?"
"By promising something else." A shadow languidly emerged from the temple interior; a young Asian man in a black three-piece suit, his hair a golden mohawk. He leaned against one of the pillars. "Hello, Jack."
Jack's expression was grim as he studied the new arrival. "I know you."
"You know me." The young man's eyes flared inhumanly golden. "And you know Jade, though we look a bit different now."
There was a wavering of shadow and light and Finn flinched as a girl appeared before them, very pale in a cocktail dress of green silk, her hair a sleek, black fall around her face. Jack whispered, "Jade."
The Asian girl's burning, dark gaze fell upon him. She raised one bare arm and Finn gasped when she saw holes in Jade's skin, like burn marks with darkness beneath.
"You remember"--the young man with the golden mohawk sank to a crouch--"what you did to her?"
Swift as a flicker of insect wings, the girl was suddenly close to Finn, whose skin crawled as if she stood before a giant wasps' nest. Finn gritted her teeth and said to the girl, "Where is Christie?"
Jade cocked her head, an inhuman thing trying to understand.
"That's enough." Jack's voice was low as he gently drew Finn back from the creature. "I do remember you, Jintong. And your grudge is against me, not anyone else here."
The young man nodded as if considering this. "But you've changed since San Francisco. You're a real Jack now. Ironic, isn't it?" Jintong rose. "Leave it to that Rangda bitch to Jack an exorcist."
Finn glanced at Jack. Despite her fear, she felt she'd just gotten a clue as to who he was.
Jintong said, gently, "Come on out, pretty boy."
When Christie stumbled from the temple, Finn lunged toward him. Then Jack was, impossibly, in front of her. "No--"
She dodged him and raced up the steps. Christie blinked dazedly when he saw her. She flung her arms around him, which was usually not something she'd ever do.
"Finn . . ." he murmured.
Jack cursed. "Now he knows your name."
***
A girl appeared kneeling in the center of the pagoda, her kimono a glistening whiteness, her hair fall of rose-pink around her mask-like face. Jack addressed her with careful respect, "Why are you with the Zhi Ren? They and the Mononoke were never friends."
The girl moved slightly and Finn's mouth went dry.
The girl was made of paper, from her robe to her skin, and the voice that issued from her was an uncanny ripple in the air. "We travel together. We, also, are outlaws."
"Is that why you look like them?" Jack's sweeping gesture indicated the paper girl's entire being.
"We tried to warn you. You must continue no farther."
"Oh and why is that?" Jack leaned slightly forward, mocking intense interest.
"We don't want to make enemies of the Ban Nathair."
"The Mononoke. A Skriker. You all travel together. You're a Family. And there is already a Family here. By stealing Phouka, you've absolutely made an enemy of Reiko."
"Phouka Fata came for the boy. She broke covenant law."
Finn's heart jumped. Foreboding swept over her. Christie . . .
Jack said with gentle menace, "What boy?"
"The boy with the red curls. The poet."
"No," Finn whispered as Jack began to curse venomously and softly.
Then Finn was striding toward the pagoda and the paper girl. "No. Not Christie. He had nothing to do with this--"
"They waylaid him on the road." The paper girl's eyes were midnight in her mask. She turned her attention to Jack. We want no trouble. We will not be part of this."
A wind swept over them and the paper girl came apart, unraveling, leaving Finn and Jack facing the pagoda. On the other side, the path continued through a grove of cherry trees.
"Christie!" Finn ran forward.
"Finn." Jack caught her in the pagoda. She twisted to face him.
"No. You don't get to tell me what to do. It's your world that's taken my friend and you're going to help me get him back."
"Phouka tried to get him back and do you see her succeeding?" Jack had her right arm in a steely grip. His gaze was savage. "This whole thing has gone sideways and, as usual, you're running headlong into it--"
"What do you want me to do? Stand here, useless, while you go on alone?"
"I don't know what Phouka's intent was in bringing you with us, but I'm beginning to wonder."
"Wonder what?" Finn jerked free. She ran down the pagoda steps, onto the path, with Jack beside her.
"What she's up to. She knows this was a set-up. Why drag you into it?" He seemed to be speaking to himself.
Finn halted, because they had emerged from the cherry trees into a forest of black bamboo. A red temple like those follies in large gardens rose before them. In front of it was a pool of black water. Upon the water glided swans of white paper, life-sized origami like the Mononoke girl. To either side of the temple, bound to its pillars, were kites constructed into the images of gold and black bats. Finn marveled at the terrifying, impossible beauty of it all.
Phouka sat on the temple steps, her head bowed.
"Phouka!" Finn moved around the pond, Jack a smoldering darkness at her side. "Where is Christie?"
Phouka lifted a bleak face. She said calmly, "I've negotiated."
Jack, his gaze on the shadowed interior of the temple, said, "Just how have you managed that?"
"By promising something else." A shadow languidly emerged from the temple interior; a young Asian man in a black three-piece suit, his hair a golden mohawk. He leaned against one of the pillars. "Hello, Jack."
Jack's expression was grim as he studied the new arrival. "I know you."
"You know me." The young man's eyes flared inhumanly golden. "And you know Jade, though we look a bit different now."
There was a wavering of shadow and light and Finn flinched as a girl appeared before them, very pale in a cocktail dress of green silk, her hair a sleek, black fall around her face. Jack whispered, "Jade."
The Asian girl's burning, dark gaze fell upon him. She raised one bare arm and Finn gasped when she saw holes in Jade's skin, like burn marks with darkness beneath.
"You remember"--the young man with the golden mohawk sank to a crouch--"what you did to her?"
Swift as a flicker of insect wings, the girl was suddenly close to Finn, whose skin crawled as if she stood before a giant wasps' nest. Finn gritted her teeth and said to the girl, "Where is Christie?"
Jade cocked her head, an inhuman thing trying to understand.
"That's enough." Jack's voice was low as he gently drew Finn back from the creature. "I do remember you, Jintong. And your grudge is against me, not anyone else here."
The young man nodded as if considering this. "But you've changed since San Francisco. You're a real Jack now. Ironic, isn't it?" Jintong rose. "Leave it to that Rangda bitch to Jack an exorcist."
Finn glanced at Jack. Despite her fear, she felt she'd just gotten a clue as to who he was.
Jintong said, gently, "Come on out, pretty boy."
When Christie stumbled from the temple, Finn lunged toward him. Then Jack was, impossibly, in front of her. "No--"
She dodged him and raced up the steps. Christie blinked dazedly when he saw her. She flung her arms around him, which was usually not something she'd ever do.
"Finn . . ." he murmured.
Jack cursed. "Now he knows your name."
***
Monday, March 27, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Six
A PAPER kite shaped like a black bat fell at Finn's feet. She stared at it. "Jack?"
Her heart slamming with panic, she glanced back at the path ahead. Before her, two birch trees formed an arch. Beyond that was a darkness drifting with what appeared to be snow. She couldn't see Jack. To either side was pitch black. Only the way before her was lit.
A light flickered to her left, revealing a fork in the path. Another series of lamp posts blinked on along that side, revealing a grove of red maples. She moved to the edge of the path, and noticed pieces of square paper hanging in the maples. "Jack . . ." Her voice wavered. I'm alone. "Are you there?"
A piece of paper drifted to her feet--a photograph. She picked it up. She didn't understand, at first, what she was seeing--a Polaroid of a boy and a girl slow-dancing at what looked like a prom.
The girl was Finn. The boy was Jack. Her hand shook.
She walked toward one of the closest trees. She snatched down another photo; of her and Jack, sprawled beside the pool, in the sunlight.
Angrily, she tore down yet another Polaroid, of her and Jack and Christie and Sylvie sitting in a diner, talking, smiling.
Another photograph drifted toward her and she almost tripped over her own feet to catch it.
Tears blurred the black and white image of Finn and her sister--Finn, in a black gown, Lily in white--sitting, surrounded by relaxed looking wolves. As Finn stared at herself and Lily staring back, she almost gave up. This mockery, or dark magic, or whatever was happening was gutting her with its impossible images of her and Jack and what might have been if he wasn't a Fata. And the picture of her and her sister in some other place, queens of wolves and darkness, opened up an unhealed wound.
"Jack!" she shouted. "Jack, you left the path!"
She looked down at the photographs she held. She wanted to take them with her.
She let them go.
A hand emerged from the dark and grabbed hers.
She yanked with all of her strength and Jack glided back onto the path. He stumbled--the first time she'd ever seen him graceless, and it was frightening--then steadied. He said, low, "Where's that goddamn kite?"
"What happened to you?" She moved after him as he stalked up the lamp-lit path.
He grabbed the bat kite. As if he were searching for something, he carefully tore it apart. He let the pieces drift away.
"Finn." He stood with his back to her. "Just now. You saved me. I was in the dark. I heard you call. I don't know what would have happened, if you hadn't . . ."
"They're not your family, are they? The ones we're going to see." Terror flickered in her brain. "What's happened to Christie?"
"That's what we're going to find out." There was a dangerous note to his voice, almost a growl.
Finn inhaled and exhaled slowly.
"You need to tell me." She spoke carefully. "What is happening."
"You wouldn't understand."
"That's what you're going to do?"
"Finn." He faced her, his eyes wide. "This isn't your world. This is a between place. The laws you're used to don't work here." He stepped past the arch of birches and turned, holding out a hand to her.
She didn't even think about it. She gripped his hand and allowed him to pull her past the arch. She was beginning to feel like Alice chasing the White Rabbit.
She stepped into a snowy landscape, but the snow that fell, the tiny flakes, didn't melt when they met her skin They weren't cold. Wondering, she caught a handful and stared down at tiny and exquisite pieces of paper shaped to resemble snowflakes. She lifted her gaze.
Round lanterns of white paper hung in the birches--it was as if the world were lit by little moons. Yet beneath all the beauty was a humming darkness that Finn could only sense with the same foreboding she'd had in childhood, knowing there was a monster in the closet.
Finn knew they had no choice but to continue, as snowflakes of glittering paper fell around them. They wouldn't be allowed to go back. Jack didn't need to tell her that.
She firmly grasped Jack's hand as if to anchor him, to keep him from flitting off into the darkness on either side.
The full-length mirror that appeared on the path before them was a baroque confection of gold fauns and nymphs around a tarnished pool of silver. Finn halted abruptly. Jack swore, and, before Finn could avert her eyes, an image emerged from the cloudy silver--a young man with black hollows for eyes, writhing hair, and white skin.
"Jack." She glanced at him, saw him transfixed by his reflection.
She didn't look back at the mirror. She fell to one knee and scrabbled in the grass beside the path until her fingers closed around a rock the size of her fist.
She twisted up, to her feet, and flung it.
The mirror broke like any mirror. Jack tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her away. The pieces swirled up. She and Jack flung their arms up over their faces. She winced as she felt a few pieces razor past her, into her clothing, across her skin.
Then they were standing amidst shattered glass and Jack was scrutinizing her. He reached out, gently pushing her hair back from her face. The shards had sliced into his temple, his right cheek.
"I'm all right," she said. "Can we get to the end of this?"
"Finn, in order to survive this, you need to believe it. This is not a dream."
"I gathered that, Jack, back in Mother Hubbard's building. And in Tirnagoth, when I saw the ghosts. And after I met most of your family--what is that?" She moved around him, staring at the white pagoda that had appeared within a frame of cherry trees blossoming a spectacular pink.
"That"--Jack turned and the nothing-can-hurt-me-because-I'm-a-badass attitude was back--"is not good."
***
Her heart slamming with panic, she glanced back at the path ahead. Before her, two birch trees formed an arch. Beyond that was a darkness drifting with what appeared to be snow. She couldn't see Jack. To either side was pitch black. Only the way before her was lit.
A light flickered to her left, revealing a fork in the path. Another series of lamp posts blinked on along that side, revealing a grove of red maples. She moved to the edge of the path, and noticed pieces of square paper hanging in the maples. "Jack . . ." Her voice wavered. I'm alone. "Are you there?"
A piece of paper drifted to her feet--a photograph. She picked it up. She didn't understand, at first, what she was seeing--a Polaroid of a boy and a girl slow-dancing at what looked like a prom.
The girl was Finn. The boy was Jack. Her hand shook.
She walked toward one of the closest trees. She snatched down another photo; of her and Jack, sprawled beside the pool, in the sunlight.
Angrily, she tore down yet another Polaroid, of her and Jack and Christie and Sylvie sitting in a diner, talking, smiling.
Another photograph drifted toward her and she almost tripped over her own feet to catch it.
Tears blurred the black and white image of Finn and her sister--Finn, in a black gown, Lily in white--sitting, surrounded by relaxed looking wolves. As Finn stared at herself and Lily staring back, she almost gave up. This mockery, or dark magic, or whatever was happening was gutting her with its impossible images of her and Jack and what might have been if he wasn't a Fata. And the picture of her and her sister in some other place, queens of wolves and darkness, opened up an unhealed wound.
"Jack!" she shouted. "Jack, you left the path!"
She looked down at the photographs she held. She wanted to take them with her.
She let them go.
A hand emerged from the dark and grabbed hers.
She yanked with all of her strength and Jack glided back onto the path. He stumbled--the first time she'd ever seen him graceless, and it was frightening--then steadied. He said, low, "Where's that goddamn kite?"
"What happened to you?" She moved after him as he stalked up the lamp-lit path.
He grabbed the bat kite. As if he were searching for something, he carefully tore it apart. He let the pieces drift away.
"Finn." He stood with his back to her. "Just now. You saved me. I was in the dark. I heard you call. I don't know what would have happened, if you hadn't . . ."
"They're not your family, are they? The ones we're going to see." Terror flickered in her brain. "What's happened to Christie?"
"That's what we're going to find out." There was a dangerous note to his voice, almost a growl.
Finn inhaled and exhaled slowly.
"You need to tell me." She spoke carefully. "What is happening."
"You wouldn't understand."
"That's what you're going to do?"
"Finn." He faced her, his eyes wide. "This isn't your world. This is a between place. The laws you're used to don't work here." He stepped past the arch of birches and turned, holding out a hand to her.
She didn't even think about it. She gripped his hand and allowed him to pull her past the arch. She was beginning to feel like Alice chasing the White Rabbit.
She stepped into a snowy landscape, but the snow that fell, the tiny flakes, didn't melt when they met her skin They weren't cold. Wondering, she caught a handful and stared down at tiny and exquisite pieces of paper shaped to resemble snowflakes. She lifted her gaze.
Round lanterns of white paper hung in the birches--it was as if the world were lit by little moons. Yet beneath all the beauty was a humming darkness that Finn could only sense with the same foreboding she'd had in childhood, knowing there was a monster in the closet.
Finn knew they had no choice but to continue, as snowflakes of glittering paper fell around them. They wouldn't be allowed to go back. Jack didn't need to tell her that.
She firmly grasped Jack's hand as if to anchor him, to keep him from flitting off into the darkness on either side.
The full-length mirror that appeared on the path before them was a baroque confection of gold fauns and nymphs around a tarnished pool of silver. Finn halted abruptly. Jack swore, and, before Finn could avert her eyes, an image emerged from the cloudy silver--a young man with black hollows for eyes, writhing hair, and white skin.
"Jack." She glanced at him, saw him transfixed by his reflection.
She didn't look back at the mirror. She fell to one knee and scrabbled in the grass beside the path until her fingers closed around a rock the size of her fist.
She twisted up, to her feet, and flung it.
The mirror broke like any mirror. Jack tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her away. The pieces swirled up. She and Jack flung their arms up over their faces. She winced as she felt a few pieces razor past her, into her clothing, across her skin.
Then they were standing amidst shattered glass and Jack was scrutinizing her. He reached out, gently pushing her hair back from her face. The shards had sliced into his temple, his right cheek.
"I'm all right," she said. "Can we get to the end of this?"
"Finn, in order to survive this, you need to believe it. This is not a dream."
"I gathered that, Jack, back in Mother Hubbard's building. And in Tirnagoth, when I saw the ghosts. And after I met most of your family--what is that?" She moved around him, staring at the white pagoda that had appeared within a frame of cherry trees blossoming a spectacular pink.
"That"--Jack turned and the nothing-can-hurt-me-because-I'm-a-badass attitude was back--"is not good."
***
Monday, March 20, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Five
"THERE was someone in here with you?" Jack set the satyr's head down on a dusty table.
"Yes. What is this place?"
"A broken place, where things slip between the cracks. And now Phouka has fallen into one of them and I've got to fetch her back, along with your poet boy. I'm taking you to the car--"
"No." Finn couldn't imagine sitting in the Mercedes, alone beneath the flickering street lamps, waiting for Jack to return.
He moved closer. Shadows clung to him like black liquid. "If you come with me, you do as I say. Am I clear?"
"Stop yelling."
He pointed to the grinning satyr head. "That was standing outside the door, trying to get in. I broke it. Are you beginning to understand you've stepped through the looking-glass, Serafina?"
Staring at the grinning stone head, Finn felt a rush of nauseating terror, which she swiftly quelled. "I'll do as you say, okay?"
He stepped close to her. "Kiss me."
"Are you kidding?" Heat shimmered through her because the shadows were sharp on his face and his eyes were beautiful beneath a forest of lashes.
"I can take that fear away--just this once. Until this is done."
Her breathing quick, she laid her hands on his chest, felt the faint drum of the heartbeat she had missed one day in a panic. She daringly pressed her mouth to his. He kept his hands beneath her elbows as if to steady her, as if to keep the kiss nothing more than a formality. But it became more than that; her body responded in a flash of heat and luscious desire. She leaned into him as his darkness swept through her, igniting ferocity, fearlessness, and a hunger for discovering what might be best left unknown.
She stepped back so she could breathe. She caught the lost, desperate look on his face before the expression of disdain for everything around him returned. He could do that, she realized, a little hurt and a lot angry; shut off what he'd been feeling.
"Well?" His voice was a taunt.
"Let's go," she said.
They left the apartment, stepping over the shattered limbs of the satyr statue. "What would it have done if it had gotten me?" She felt the question appropriate for this surreal night.
"Ripped your heart out."
She wished she hadn't asked. She was disoriented, with the taste of him, smoke and roses, lingering on her lips.
They descended the stairs to the entry hall where Finn could hear a song--Eternal Flame--playing in someone's apartment. It was as if the lunatic building were mocking her. She resisted giving it the finger.
The old woman stood before the doors. She looked pissed. She pointed at Jack. "You broke the covenant, killing the Veneno."
"Well, the Veneno would have broken Miss Sullivan." Jack smiled, his eyes dark and wild.
The fiery butterflies Jack's kiss had breathed to life within Finn made her tilt her head with the same disdain that was Jack's mask.
The old woman's blackberry gaze met hers, briefly. She pointed at Finn. "Don't trust him, girlie."
"The Zhi Ren have brought trouble to this house." Jack spoke with that seductive lilt to his voice that meant he was angry. "Mother Hubbard. Tell me where they are."
"You are not to hurt anyone else from this house, Jack."
His smile flashed like a knife. "As long as they don't try to hurt me or Finn."
Mother Hubbard turned. The front door flew open. Finn flinched again. The woman pointed. "Beyond the lamps. That is where they are. That's where your friend was taken."
Jack looked at the two flickering lamps as if they were the doorway to hell. He glanced back at Finn. His shadowy expression made her feel terror and exhilaration. He spoke to Mother Hubbard politely. "I don't want to walk between the lamps. Is there any other way--"
"Between the lamps." Mother Hubbard stomped into her apartment and slammed the doors shut.
Jack turned to Finn. "You stay by my side. You don't leave me. You don't--"
"--leave the path? I won't. This has gone wrong, hasn't it?"
"Very much so." He strode out the door and Finn kept pace at his side.
As they passed between the two lamp posts, she expected something to happen. The paved path beneath their feet was crumbling from explosions of dandelions.
"Can you tell me"--Finn glanced away from the forest surroundings to stare at the mysterious young man beside her--"what we're walking into?"
"I would if I knew. Would you tell me why you unwisely decided to accompany Phouka on this adventure?"
"I came for Christie."
As they passed two unlit lamp posts, the lamps buzzed and clicked on. Finn and Jack continued onward, the lamps switching off, leaving the path behind them in darkness. Finn didn't dare look back. They passed another set of lamps that blinked on, humming with electricity. Finn's shoulder blades twitched.
A piece of paper drifted past. Then another. They came to the end of the lamp posts, where poppy- red paper lanterns shaped like pumpkins hung in the trees, and these were no less eerie than the ancient street lamps. As leaves fluttered past, Finn plucked one out of her hair. It was made of paper, a red tissue gilded at the edges. She caught another. "Jack . . ."
He'd already snatched a leaf from the air and was gazing at it. He whispered, "Zhi Ren."
The term sounded familiar to Finn, but just as she was about to ask what he meant, she heard a girl singing in a language that she recognized as Japanese because her friend Sylvie had taught her a few words.
Something cracked beneath her foot. Lifting her sneaker, she saw red berries, shattered like glass. There were more berries in low bushes with shiny dark leaves. "Jack, what is this place?"
"A bad one. But we can't turn back." He looked over his shoulder. Finn did the same. The paper lanterns had been extinguished. The path behind them was clotted with darkness.
"Jack--" She turned back.
Something swept out of the dark. She shouted as Jack stumbled, and reached for him.
He set one foot off the path. The darkness swallowed him.
***
"Yes. What is this place?"
"A broken place, where things slip between the cracks. And now Phouka has fallen into one of them and I've got to fetch her back, along with your poet boy. I'm taking you to the car--"
"No." Finn couldn't imagine sitting in the Mercedes, alone beneath the flickering street lamps, waiting for Jack to return.
He moved closer. Shadows clung to him like black liquid. "If you come with me, you do as I say. Am I clear?"
"Stop yelling."
He pointed to the grinning satyr head. "That was standing outside the door, trying to get in. I broke it. Are you beginning to understand you've stepped through the looking-glass, Serafina?"
Staring at the grinning stone head, Finn felt a rush of nauseating terror, which she swiftly quelled. "I'll do as you say, okay?"
He stepped close to her. "Kiss me."
"Are you kidding?" Heat shimmered through her because the shadows were sharp on his face and his eyes were beautiful beneath a forest of lashes.
"I can take that fear away--just this once. Until this is done."
Her breathing quick, she laid her hands on his chest, felt the faint drum of the heartbeat she had missed one day in a panic. She daringly pressed her mouth to his. He kept his hands beneath her elbows as if to steady her, as if to keep the kiss nothing more than a formality. But it became more than that; her body responded in a flash of heat and luscious desire. She leaned into him as his darkness swept through her, igniting ferocity, fearlessness, and a hunger for discovering what might be best left unknown.
She stepped back so she could breathe. She caught the lost, desperate look on his face before the expression of disdain for everything around him returned. He could do that, she realized, a little hurt and a lot angry; shut off what he'd been feeling.
"Well?" His voice was a taunt.
"Let's go," she said.
They left the apartment, stepping over the shattered limbs of the satyr statue. "What would it have done if it had gotten me?" She felt the question appropriate for this surreal night.
"Ripped your heart out."
She wished she hadn't asked. She was disoriented, with the taste of him, smoke and roses, lingering on her lips.
They descended the stairs to the entry hall where Finn could hear a song--Eternal Flame--playing in someone's apartment. It was as if the lunatic building were mocking her. She resisted giving it the finger.
The old woman stood before the doors. She looked pissed. She pointed at Jack. "You broke the covenant, killing the Veneno."
"Well, the Veneno would have broken Miss Sullivan." Jack smiled, his eyes dark and wild.
The fiery butterflies Jack's kiss had breathed to life within Finn made her tilt her head with the same disdain that was Jack's mask.
The old woman's blackberry gaze met hers, briefly. She pointed at Finn. "Don't trust him, girlie."
"The Zhi Ren have brought trouble to this house." Jack spoke with that seductive lilt to his voice that meant he was angry. "Mother Hubbard. Tell me where they are."
"You are not to hurt anyone else from this house, Jack."
His smile flashed like a knife. "As long as they don't try to hurt me or Finn."
Mother Hubbard turned. The front door flew open. Finn flinched again. The woman pointed. "Beyond the lamps. That is where they are. That's where your friend was taken."
Jack looked at the two flickering lamps as if they were the doorway to hell. He glanced back at Finn. His shadowy expression made her feel terror and exhilaration. He spoke to Mother Hubbard politely. "I don't want to walk between the lamps. Is there any other way--"
"Between the lamps." Mother Hubbard stomped into her apartment and slammed the doors shut.
Jack turned to Finn. "You stay by my side. You don't leave me. You don't--"
"--leave the path? I won't. This has gone wrong, hasn't it?"
"Very much so." He strode out the door and Finn kept pace at his side.
As they passed between the two lamp posts, she expected something to happen. The paved path beneath their feet was crumbling from explosions of dandelions.
"Can you tell me"--Finn glanced away from the forest surroundings to stare at the mysterious young man beside her--"what we're walking into?"
"I would if I knew. Would you tell me why you unwisely decided to accompany Phouka on this adventure?"
"I came for Christie."
As they passed two unlit lamp posts, the lamps buzzed and clicked on. Finn and Jack continued onward, the lamps switching off, leaving the path behind them in darkness. Finn didn't dare look back. They passed another set of lamps that blinked on, humming with electricity. Finn's shoulder blades twitched.
A piece of paper drifted past. Then another. They came to the end of the lamp posts, where poppy- red paper lanterns shaped like pumpkins hung in the trees, and these were no less eerie than the ancient street lamps. As leaves fluttered past, Finn plucked one out of her hair. It was made of paper, a red tissue gilded at the edges. She caught another. "Jack . . ."
He'd already snatched a leaf from the air and was gazing at it. He whispered, "Zhi Ren."
The term sounded familiar to Finn, but just as she was about to ask what he meant, she heard a girl singing in a language that she recognized as Japanese because her friend Sylvie had taught her a few words.
Something cracked beneath her foot. Lifting her sneaker, she saw red berries, shattered like glass. There were more berries in low bushes with shiny dark leaves. "Jack, what is this place?"
"A bad one. But we can't turn back." He looked over his shoulder. Finn did the same. The paper lanterns had been extinguished. The path behind them was clotted with darkness.
"Jack--" She turned back.
Something swept out of the dark. She shouted as Jack stumbled, and reached for him.
He set one foot off the path. The darkness swallowed him.
***
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Four
THE fourth floor was illuminated only by the moonlight settling across three black doors and a satyr statue near a window. Finn moved forward, listening, and told herself there was nothing to be afraid of.
Something glided past. She glimpsed it in her peripheral vision. She turned, backing up against a wall. Again,she found no one there.
A door opened, revealing a lavish apartment with a chandelier scattering light over expensive furniture. She peered at what looked like a black line down the middle of the doorway.
The line wavered and expanded and became a silhouette of a person, the mouth an O, the eyes slits.
I'm done. Finn turned--
--and found a wall where the stairs had been. Her mind blanked for a second, unable to deal.
She heard a grinding noise behind her, like stone sliding against stone. There was a deliberate sound, as if something heavy had stepped forward. She pictured the satyr statue, moving.
Don't be stupid. Turn. Just . . . She turned.
The hall was as it had been. All the doors were closed. The satyr statue remained a sentinel against the window, its shadow stretching across the floor.
Someone grabbed her hand and she yelped.
The blonde young man from the third floor stood on the stairway. The wall had disappeared.
"I told you not to come up here," he whispered. "The ones up here have allied with them."
"What--" Finn wrenched her hand away and told him: "The people I came with are up here."
"No they're not." He looked terrified. " Get down from there."
She wasn't listening--she was staring at the wall that had appeared behind him in the darkness.
He twisted around and swore. As he backed up the stairs, she saw a tattoo of moth wings, gorgeous and luminous white, across his shoulders. He said, "We've got to go."
She began to back away.
He ran up the stairs to one of the apartment doors--the one with the shadow in it had closed. He pushed at the first door he came to. As it opened, he slipped in, and Finn--glancing at the impossible wall on the stairs, then at the satyr statue, made a decision--she dashed after him.
The apartment was deserted. Moonlight streaked mildewed walls and warped hardwood. Torn papers drifted in the corners like pale leaves. She closed the door on whatever menace was in the hall.
The tattooed young man was trying to shove one of the windows open. "There's a fire escape outside."
The dream-like terror of the night was creeping over Finn like a drug. At first, she couldn't move. Then she ran across the room to help with the window.
"I'm Finn," she said.
He looked at her, his face halved by shadow. "Moth."
"Moth. Can you please, please tell me what this place is?"
"You've come to a between place and they hate flesh and blood."
Finn did not like the sound of that. "Who's 'they?'"
"The ones who are nothing and night." Moth stepped back from the window, his face bleak. "It's nailed shut."
"That wall . . . what is it?"
"It's a Mononoke. From a Japanese family. They like to pretend to be objects." Moth walked to another window and began to tug at it.
Finn couldn't process any of this nonsense. She wanted to sag against a wall and put her hands over her face. Where was Christie?
Something crashed against the door. She and Moth went very still, hunted creatures sensing the beast at the threshold.
Finn swung around, seeking a weapon; a stone, a piece of wood . . . anything she could use--
The door flew open.
Jack walked in, blood-streaked, his eyes black. Like some male version of the biblical Salome Finn had learned about the one month she'd gone to Sunday school (and only because, bored, she'd read the juicier stories of the bible,) he held a head in his arms.
As he stepped into the moonlight, Finn realized he was carrying the head of the satyr statue. What she'd mistaken for blood on his skin were only streaks of shadow that vanished as the moonlight blanched him. He rubbed his chin on the top of the satyr's head and said to Finn, "I thought I told you to stay?"
Finn gritted out, "I did stay downstairs, but something happened. Moth--" She turned.
Moth was gone. The room was deserted but for her and Jack. She felt an astonished fear and a twist of regret.
Something glinted on the floor. Finn crouched down and picked up the moth key. She whispered, "He's gone."
***
Something glided past. She glimpsed it in her peripheral vision. She turned, backing up against a wall. Again,she found no one there.
A door opened, revealing a lavish apartment with a chandelier scattering light over expensive furniture. She peered at what looked like a black line down the middle of the doorway.
The line wavered and expanded and became a silhouette of a person, the mouth an O, the eyes slits.
I'm done. Finn turned--
--and found a wall where the stairs had been. Her mind blanked for a second, unable to deal.
She heard a grinding noise behind her, like stone sliding against stone. There was a deliberate sound, as if something heavy had stepped forward. She pictured the satyr statue, moving.
Don't be stupid. Turn. Just . . . She turned.
The hall was as it had been. All the doors were closed. The satyr statue remained a sentinel against the window, its shadow stretching across the floor.
Someone grabbed her hand and she yelped.
The blonde young man from the third floor stood on the stairway. The wall had disappeared.
"I told you not to come up here," he whispered. "The ones up here have allied with them."
"What--" Finn wrenched her hand away and told him: "The people I came with are up here."
"No they're not." He looked terrified. " Get down from there."
She wasn't listening--she was staring at the wall that had appeared behind him in the darkness.
He twisted around and swore. As he backed up the stairs, she saw a tattoo of moth wings, gorgeous and luminous white, across his shoulders. He said, "We've got to go."
She began to back away.
He ran up the stairs to one of the apartment doors--the one with the shadow in it had closed. He pushed at the first door he came to. As it opened, he slipped in, and Finn--glancing at the impossible wall on the stairs, then at the satyr statue, made a decision--she dashed after him.
The apartment was deserted. Moonlight streaked mildewed walls and warped hardwood. Torn papers drifted in the corners like pale leaves. She closed the door on whatever menace was in the hall.
The tattooed young man was trying to shove one of the windows open. "There's a fire escape outside."
The dream-like terror of the night was creeping over Finn like a drug. At first, she couldn't move. Then she ran across the room to help with the window.
"I'm Finn," she said.
He looked at her, his face halved by shadow. "Moth."
"Moth. Can you please, please tell me what this place is?"
"You've come to a between place and they hate flesh and blood."
Finn did not like the sound of that. "Who's 'they?'"
"The ones who are nothing and night." Moth stepped back from the window, his face bleak. "It's nailed shut."
"That wall . . . what is it?"
"It's a Mononoke. From a Japanese family. They like to pretend to be objects." Moth walked to another window and began to tug at it.
Finn couldn't process any of this nonsense. She wanted to sag against a wall and put her hands over her face. Where was Christie?
Something crashed against the door. She and Moth went very still, hunted creatures sensing the beast at the threshold.
Finn swung around, seeking a weapon; a stone, a piece of wood . . . anything she could use--
The door flew open.
Jack walked in, blood-streaked, his eyes black. Like some male version of the biblical Salome Finn had learned about the one month she'd gone to Sunday school (and only because, bored, she'd read the juicier stories of the bible,) he held a head in his arms.
As he stepped into the moonlight, Finn realized he was carrying the head of the satyr statue. What she'd mistaken for blood on his skin were only streaks of shadow that vanished as the moonlight blanched him. He rubbed his chin on the top of the satyr's head and said to Finn, "I thought I told you to stay?"
Finn gritted out, "I did stay downstairs, but something happened. Moth--" She turned.
Moth was gone. The room was deserted but for her and Jack. She felt an astonished fear and a twist of regret.
Something glinted on the floor. Finn crouched down and picked up the moth key. She whispered, "He's gone."
***
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Three
FINN peered into a hall, saw three apartment doors with numbers on them: 3,7, and 9. The stairway railing and the lamps were of a twisting metal that resembled vines.
"Why isn't this ordinary?" she whispered.
"Just remember some things are not what they seem." Phouka stepped in. Jack and Finn followed. Finn, glancing up the stair, saw a skylight in the ceiling, a stained-glass image of a red rose.
A diminutive old woman with silvery curls stepped out of one of the apartments, an empty basket hooked over one arm. Her eyes glinted. She tugged up the collar of her fur coat and moved past them. Her shadow on the floor writhed.
"Mother Hubbard." Phouka spoke without turning.
The old woman halted. She looked over one shoulder and no longer seemed so harmless.
Phoua spun on one boot heel and smiled at the old woman. "Aren't you going to greet us?"
The old woman's voice was younger than her face. Finn thought she had a Greek accent. "Why should I welcome you, white cat, and this one?" She glanced at Jack, who smiled charmingly at her. "And you bring a child here?" Mother Hubbard pointed at Finn, who felt like a kid caught out after curfew. "You two are worse than I took you for."
"You just hurt me deeply, Mother." Jack touched his chest with the fingertips of his left hand. In his black sweater and pea coat, his dark hair tangled, he looked elegant and dangerous.
Mother Hubbard snapped. "I don't want anything to do with your family. None of us do. I'll greet you, fine, to not cause trouble."
"You've a pair of new residents?" Phouka prompted.
"Upstairs. Fourth floor. I didn't know they were going to be kissing Reiko Fata's ass or I wouldn't have let them in." Mother Hubbard left, slamming the door behind her.
"Charming as always." Jack whirled to face Finn. There was a hectic glitter in his eyes. "Stay here? Phouka and I'll just run up and meet and greet our guests."
Finn hissed, "Where is Christie?"
"We'll get him." Jack halted on his way up the stairs with Phouka in the lead. He pointed at Finn, his brows slanting. "Stay."
She wanted to retort that she was not a dog, but as Jack and Phouka continued up the stairs, she resentfully sank down onto the bottom step. She noticed pieces of paper scattered on the stairs, almost indistinguishable from the carpet's maroon pattern. She picked up a red paper butterfly.
An edge of the paper sliced her finger. She flung the butterfly away and resisted the urge to stick the wounded finger in her mouth.
She stood up. She wandered to the mirror over the table that held a taxidermied fox, dusty and ragged. Her reflection was distorted, almost black and white. She combed leaves from her hair, smiled when she heard children's voices from one of the apartments.
Out of the corner of one eye, she saw something big move.
She whipped around. There was no one behind her. She breathed out. She turned back to the mirror.
--and yelped. She pressed her hands over her mouth.
Because what she saw was not her reflection, but a thing that looked like her, its eyes black hollows, a wreath of alien flowers set on its hair. It wore a gauzy dress. Blood ran from its wrists--
Finn turned and bolted up the stairs. "Jack!"
She reached the second floor. A lamp glowed on a small table. The wooden floor was scarred with age. There were three apartment doors, a television playing very loudly beyond one of them.
Finn breathed in and out. Had Mother Hubbard said the Fatas's guests were on the second floor?
"Can I help you, miss?"
The polite, cockney voice made her head jerk around. In the shadows, sitting in a chair leaning against the wall was a man in a suit. He also wore a plastic dog mask. Finn didn't want to talk to him, but she had to. "Did two people just come up this way?--and why is that TV so loud?"
"They went that way. And the TV's so loud because he's eating. You don't want to hear him eating."
The sudden buzzing in Finn's ears made her back toward the stairs.
She hurried up to the third floor. The buzzing in her ears vanished. She again felt that thrill, of peeling back the veil of the world that had taken her mother and her sister and revealing it to be false.
The third floor was brightly lit, the silhouette of an oak tree visible through the uncurtained window. Ragtime music came faintly through one of the apartment doors.
She set one foot on the next flight of stairs leading to the fourth floor.
Someone snatched off her moth key necklace from behind.
She whirled. The hall was empty, the three apartment doors still closed. A shadow crossed the light beneath one of the doors.
She saw the moth key necklace glinting in the middle of the floor and dove for it.
The key slid across the floor, beneath the door of the closest apartment.
As the door slowly creaked open to reveal darkness, Finn backed away.
"What?" A young man's voice called drowsily from within. "Who's there?"
A tousled blonde head popped out. The young man extended one hand, fingers draped with a silver chain. "Is this your necklace?"
She approached cautiously. The young man watched her, gray eyes hooded. She said, "It's missing the key. There was a key on it."
"The key to your apartment?" He continued to hold out the chain to her. He wore a pair of old jeans and nothing else.
"No." She accepted the chain, watching him. Shadows sharpened his cheekbones.
"I just woke up." He leaned against the door frame. "I think I'm supposed to help you."
"I don't think so." She began to back away toward the stairs. She regretted the loss of the pretty moth key, but she didn't feel like talking to yet another weird tenant of this building.
"Don't go to the fourth floor," he called after her as she ran up the stairs, her sneakers hitting the carpet in a rapid staccato. She wasn't about to trust him.
***
"Why isn't this ordinary?" she whispered.
"Just remember some things are not what they seem." Phouka stepped in. Jack and Finn followed. Finn, glancing up the stair, saw a skylight in the ceiling, a stained-glass image of a red rose.
A diminutive old woman with silvery curls stepped out of one of the apartments, an empty basket hooked over one arm. Her eyes glinted. She tugged up the collar of her fur coat and moved past them. Her shadow on the floor writhed.
"Mother Hubbard." Phouka spoke without turning.
The old woman halted. She looked over one shoulder and no longer seemed so harmless.
Phoua spun on one boot heel and smiled at the old woman. "Aren't you going to greet us?"
The old woman's voice was younger than her face. Finn thought she had a Greek accent. "Why should I welcome you, white cat, and this one?" She glanced at Jack, who smiled charmingly at her. "And you bring a child here?" Mother Hubbard pointed at Finn, who felt like a kid caught out after curfew. "You two are worse than I took you for."
"You just hurt me deeply, Mother." Jack touched his chest with the fingertips of his left hand. In his black sweater and pea coat, his dark hair tangled, he looked elegant and dangerous.
Mother Hubbard snapped. "I don't want anything to do with your family. None of us do. I'll greet you, fine, to not cause trouble."
"You've a pair of new residents?" Phouka prompted.
"Upstairs. Fourth floor. I didn't know they were going to be kissing Reiko Fata's ass or I wouldn't have let them in." Mother Hubbard left, slamming the door behind her.
"Charming as always." Jack whirled to face Finn. There was a hectic glitter in his eyes. "Stay here? Phouka and I'll just run up and meet and greet our guests."
Finn hissed, "Where is Christie?"
"We'll get him." Jack halted on his way up the stairs with Phouka in the lead. He pointed at Finn, his brows slanting. "Stay."
She wanted to retort that she was not a dog, but as Jack and Phouka continued up the stairs, she resentfully sank down onto the bottom step. She noticed pieces of paper scattered on the stairs, almost indistinguishable from the carpet's maroon pattern. She picked up a red paper butterfly.
An edge of the paper sliced her finger. She flung the butterfly away and resisted the urge to stick the wounded finger in her mouth.
She stood up. She wandered to the mirror over the table that held a taxidermied fox, dusty and ragged. Her reflection was distorted, almost black and white. She combed leaves from her hair, smiled when she heard children's voices from one of the apartments.
Out of the corner of one eye, she saw something big move.
She whipped around. There was no one behind her. She breathed out. She turned back to the mirror.
--and yelped. She pressed her hands over her mouth.
Because what she saw was not her reflection, but a thing that looked like her, its eyes black hollows, a wreath of alien flowers set on its hair. It wore a gauzy dress. Blood ran from its wrists--
Finn turned and bolted up the stairs. "Jack!"
She reached the second floor. A lamp glowed on a small table. The wooden floor was scarred with age. There were three apartment doors, a television playing very loudly beyond one of them.
Finn breathed in and out. Had Mother Hubbard said the Fatas's guests were on the second floor?
"Can I help you, miss?"
The polite, cockney voice made her head jerk around. In the shadows, sitting in a chair leaning against the wall was a man in a suit. He also wore a plastic dog mask. Finn didn't want to talk to him, but she had to. "Did two people just come up this way?--and why is that TV so loud?"
"They went that way. And the TV's so loud because he's eating. You don't want to hear him eating."
The sudden buzzing in Finn's ears made her back toward the stairs.
She hurried up to the third floor. The buzzing in her ears vanished. She again felt that thrill, of peeling back the veil of the world that had taken her mother and her sister and revealing it to be false.
The third floor was brightly lit, the silhouette of an oak tree visible through the uncurtained window. Ragtime music came faintly through one of the apartment doors.
She set one foot on the next flight of stairs leading to the fourth floor.
Someone snatched off her moth key necklace from behind.
She whirled. The hall was empty, the three apartment doors still closed. A shadow crossed the light beneath one of the doors.
She saw the moth key necklace glinting in the middle of the floor and dove for it.
The key slid across the floor, beneath the door of the closest apartment.
As the door slowly creaked open to reveal darkness, Finn backed away.
"What?" A young man's voice called drowsily from within. "Who's there?"
A tousled blonde head popped out. The young man extended one hand, fingers draped with a silver chain. "Is this your necklace?"
She approached cautiously. The young man watched her, gray eyes hooded. She said, "It's missing the key. There was a key on it."
"The key to your apartment?" He continued to hold out the chain to her. He wore a pair of old jeans and nothing else.
"No." She accepted the chain, watching him. Shadows sharpened his cheekbones.
"I just woke up." He leaned against the door frame. "I think I'm supposed to help you."
"I don't think so." She began to back away toward the stairs. She regretted the loss of the pretty moth key, but she didn't feel like talking to yet another weird tenant of this building.
"Don't go to the fourth floor," he called after her as she ran up the stairs, her sneakers hitting the carpet in a rapid staccato. She wasn't about to trust him.
***
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
TRIBUTE: Part Two
JACK strode toward the Mercedes as Finn and Phouka got out. He said to Phouka, voice low with fury, "Why did you bring her?"
"Because Christie's my friend." Finn wasn't going to let him do that thing he did. When his gaze fell upon her, she continued, "She said he needed help."
"Did she?" Jack's eyes glinted as he turned back to Phouka. "You didn't tell me Christie Hart was involved in this. How did that happen?"
Phouka, who was polishing her nails on one coat sleeve, shrugged. "It's too late to turn back. We'll meet our new family members and get Christopher home."
Jack didn't move. "Did she send Christie Hart into this?"
"Not Reiko." Phouka glanced carelessly over one shoulder at Finn, who was trying to control her temper. "We'd best be on our way."
Finn could scent something in the crisp air, an incendiary fragrance that always made her think of magic. It made her less scared. "What is this place?" she asked as they began walking.
"This is what's left of the town of Greenfield." Jack spoke gently. He indicated the street of rundown row houses and bars. "Glove factories and textiles didn't so so well, so now Greenfield isn't. Phouka, the meeting place is through there." He pointed to a wooded lot and a barely discernible path lit by a single street lamp.
"Let's go then." Phouka strode toward the path.
Despite fresh misgivings, Finn followed.
"I thought I'd dissuaded you from wanting to know more about me," Jack said idly.
"I'm here for Christie. Your family has gotten him into something. Would you please tell me what?"
"The ones we're going to see are visiting. They were supposed to let our family know they were here. They didn't. I have no idea how your friend ended up in this tangle."
"Are these 'family members' involved in criminal activities?"
"Sometimes."
Finn took out her phone and tried to call Christie again. Her hand shook. She hoped Jack didn't notice.
Then they were on the path and the trees closed over them, a gloom broken only by spatters of moonlight. Her phone went dead. Her blood iced. She pocketed the useless phone. "Where exactly do they live? These people holding Christie hostage?"
"In a house. In this lot. And they're not holding him hostage."
Finn swatted aside a branch fluttering with ragged leaves. "This is like a forest."
She jumped when she glimpsed a figure moving between the trees. She squinted and realized it was a full-length mirror, antique and clouded, leaning against a tree. She looked away from it.
They passed a motorcycle tangled in creepers. A woman's red, high-heeled shoe dangled from a tree branch, over the path.
Phouka looked back at Jack--meaningfully, Finn decided. Not wanting to seem like a scaredy-cat, Finn said, "We couldn't have driven to this house?"
"No. There's no road."
A few minutes later, Finn asked Jack if he watched horror movies. He glanced at her with a crooked smile. "Don't worry. If Phouka and I were going to kill you, don't you think we'd have done it by now?"
"I don't think you're going to kill me. I don't like mysteries, Jack. That's all."
"You liar." His smile was the equivalent of a swagger.
She turned and deliberately and defiantly pressed one hand against his chest, over his heart. "I can feel your heart beating."
He looked at her and something like pain flickered in his eyes. "I know."
They began walking again, Finn with a little more confidence as she thought, There's nothing supernatural about you, Jack Fata.
When she heard a rustling in the trees to her right, she turned her head and glimpsed a large shadow that promptly shoved that last confident thought out of her head. It looked very much, that shadow, like a goat walking upright.
No, she told herself as horror gnawed at the edges of reality. It's not.
Then Jack's hand closed warm and strong around hers and his voice was in her ear. "Don't stare at the shadows. You'll start to see things." He let go of her, leaned toward Phouka to whisper in her ear. Finn thought she heard him say "Skriker."
Phouka glanced at Finn and said, "She's stronger than you think."
They passed a clutch of creeper-draped oaks cradling a grandfather clock, its face stained and cracked. She almost refused to go any further.
Then she saw the lights of house silhouetted against the sky behind the trees--a brick apartment building in a wooded lot. With its swooping roofs and scarlet trim, the structure looked slightly Asian and antique. Beyond, the headlights from traffic on the highway streaked the night.
Finn glanced at Jack and Phouka,. She felt as if this were a test of some sort and she was determined to pass it because she wasn't about to let Phouka Fata think her a coward.
Jack, on the other hand--and this was somewhat daunting--seemed genuinely concerned. He scrutinized the building like a knight about to break into an enemy's castle. He moved forward.
Finn trudged after him, with Phouka, up the stairway. That's just an ordinary door, Finn told herself despite its fairy-green paint and the brass doorknocker shaped into a scowling gargoyle.
"Don't think this is ordinary," Jack said as he bypassed the gargoyle and pressed the doorbell.
No one answered. Jack and Phouka exchanged a glance.
Jack turned the knob and shoved the door open.
***
"Because Christie's my friend." Finn wasn't going to let him do that thing he did. When his gaze fell upon her, she continued, "She said he needed help."
"Did she?" Jack's eyes glinted as he turned back to Phouka. "You didn't tell me Christie Hart was involved in this. How did that happen?"
Phouka, who was polishing her nails on one coat sleeve, shrugged. "It's too late to turn back. We'll meet our new family members and get Christopher home."
Jack didn't move. "Did she send Christie Hart into this?"
"Not Reiko." Phouka glanced carelessly over one shoulder at Finn, who was trying to control her temper. "We'd best be on our way."
Finn could scent something in the crisp air, an incendiary fragrance that always made her think of magic. It made her less scared. "What is this place?" she asked as they began walking.
"This is what's left of the town of Greenfield." Jack spoke gently. He indicated the street of rundown row houses and bars. "Glove factories and textiles didn't so so well, so now Greenfield isn't. Phouka, the meeting place is through there." He pointed to a wooded lot and a barely discernible path lit by a single street lamp.
"Let's go then." Phouka strode toward the path.
Despite fresh misgivings, Finn followed.
"I thought I'd dissuaded you from wanting to know more about me," Jack said idly.
"I'm here for Christie. Your family has gotten him into something. Would you please tell me what?"
"The ones we're going to see are visiting. They were supposed to let our family know they were here. They didn't. I have no idea how your friend ended up in this tangle."
"Are these 'family members' involved in criminal activities?"
"Sometimes."
Finn took out her phone and tried to call Christie again. Her hand shook. She hoped Jack didn't notice.
Then they were on the path and the trees closed over them, a gloom broken only by spatters of moonlight. Her phone went dead. Her blood iced. She pocketed the useless phone. "Where exactly do they live? These people holding Christie hostage?"
"In a house. In this lot. And they're not holding him hostage."
Finn swatted aside a branch fluttering with ragged leaves. "This is like a forest."
She jumped when she glimpsed a figure moving between the trees. She squinted and realized it was a full-length mirror, antique and clouded, leaning against a tree. She looked away from it.
They passed a motorcycle tangled in creepers. A woman's red, high-heeled shoe dangled from a tree branch, over the path.
Phouka looked back at Jack--meaningfully, Finn decided. Not wanting to seem like a scaredy-cat, Finn said, "We couldn't have driven to this house?"
"No. There's no road."
A few minutes later, Finn asked Jack if he watched horror movies. He glanced at her with a crooked smile. "Don't worry. If Phouka and I were going to kill you, don't you think we'd have done it by now?"
"I don't think you're going to kill me. I don't like mysteries, Jack. That's all."
"You liar." His smile was the equivalent of a swagger.
She turned and deliberately and defiantly pressed one hand against his chest, over his heart. "I can feel your heart beating."
He looked at her and something like pain flickered in his eyes. "I know."
They began walking again, Finn with a little more confidence as she thought, There's nothing supernatural about you, Jack Fata.
When she heard a rustling in the trees to her right, she turned her head and glimpsed a large shadow that promptly shoved that last confident thought out of her head. It looked very much, that shadow, like a goat walking upright.
No, she told herself as horror gnawed at the edges of reality. It's not.
Then Jack's hand closed warm and strong around hers and his voice was in her ear. "Don't stare at the shadows. You'll start to see things." He let go of her, leaned toward Phouka to whisper in her ear. Finn thought she heard him say "Skriker."
Phouka glanced at Finn and said, "She's stronger than you think."
They passed a clutch of creeper-draped oaks cradling a grandfather clock, its face stained and cracked. She almost refused to go any further.
Then she saw the lights of house silhouetted against the sky behind the trees--a brick apartment building in a wooded lot. With its swooping roofs and scarlet trim, the structure looked slightly Asian and antique. Beyond, the headlights from traffic on the highway streaked the night.
Finn glanced at Jack and Phouka,. She felt as if this were a test of some sort and she was determined to pass it because she wasn't about to let Phouka Fata think her a coward.
Jack, on the other hand--and this was somewhat daunting--seemed genuinely concerned. He scrutinized the building like a knight about to break into an enemy's castle. He moved forward.
Finn trudged after him, with Phouka, up the stairway. That's just an ordinary door, Finn told herself despite its fairy-green paint and the brass doorknocker shaped into a scowling gargoyle.
"Don't think this is ordinary," Jack said as he bypassed the gargoyle and pressed the doorbell.
No one answered. Jack and Phouka exchanged a glance.
Jack turned the knob and shoved the door open.
***
Sunday, February 19, 2017
TRIBUTE: A Lost Chapter of Thorn Jack by Katherine Harbour
('Tribute' takes place between Chapters 7-8 of Thorn Jack)
'Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles it is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?' John Keats
The book was called Wonder Tales from Antiquity. Phouka, who usually didn't like old things, who didn't like to dwell in the past, had found it in a bookshop in Detroit and fallen in love with its stories of Greek myths transformed into Victorian fairy tales.
She sat on a windowsill of a Tirnagoth tower, her jeans and Dresden Dolls T-shirt sprinkled with pollen from the poppies she'd been eating. As she turned another page, she gazed down at a Rackham illustration of a tenuous girl dressed as Diana, goddess of the moon.
A whisper of malice alerted her to an unwelcome presence in the candlelit corridor. She said, "Stop lurking."
A young man appeared, his eyes sly beneath platinum hair. He leaned against the wall near the window. This evening, he'd opted for an elegant-thug look, all black beneath an overcoat. "Seth Lot scolded me. And it's all the fault of those school children."
"They're nothing to worry about."
Caliban's smile was a gash. "I'm thinking of paying a visit to the schoolgirl with the big eyes."
"Then you're an idiot." Phouka rose. She set the picture book on the windowsill and turned and walked away.
Caliban lifted the book and opened it to the illustration of naked, bat-winged fairy. The caption read ARIEL. He curled up on the windowsill and began to read.
***
An hour later, Caliban stood in a yard, in the shadows of trees, gazing up at the lit window of Serafina Sullivan's bedroom. He enjoyed stalking, the idea that his prey didn't know he was there but sensed his presence because of an uneasiness, a chill in the air.
"Why are you here, malevolence?"
Jack's voice made Caliban reach for his knives.
Jack crossed the yard swiftly and struck Caliban, slamming him against a tree.
Caliban cursed. Jack glided back. Caliban slid into a crouch, his nails sinking into the earth. He no longer knew his place in Reiko's court. He was losing everything to the Jack. He tensed, to leap, to claw, to spill the Jack's insides all over the leaves.
"You go near her again," Jack told him, a silhouette against the house, "and I'll take you to pieces."
Caliban growled.
"Boys." Another shadow parted from the night, auburn-haired and sleek, a stylish peril.
"Phouka." Jack inclined his head.
"Stop playing. Go away now. Reiko has sent me to watch her."
"Why?" Caliban and Jack spoke at the same time.
Phouka shrugged. "Who knows? I'm just to stand guard." She looked pointedly at Caliban.
He slunk away. He heard Jack tell Phouka, "I'm not a threat to her."
"Aren't you, Jack?" Phouka spoke with skepticism. "Scram."
Jack glanced away from Finn's house and narrowed his eyes at Phouka. "What does Reiko want from her?"
"Nothing, Jack. I'm doing this for you."
***
Two days later . . .
Finn had become quite fond of the swing set in the backyard. She liked how her toes scarcely touched the ground as she swayed back and forth.
She'd been ridiculous last night, believing Jack didn't have a heart. Of course he had a heart. She'd panicked.
She began to sway, leaning back onto the swing as she grasped the chains, gazing up at the star-shimmering sky. She swung faster, until her feet were in the air and she felt as if she was flying--
She swung down, forward--
A shadow was standing directly before her.
Finn yelped and slammed her sneakers down into the dirt. She jerked violently forward and met Phouka Fata's silver gaze.
"Do you want to know more about my family?" Phouka invited. "Come with me."
"I don't think so."
Phouka held out an amulet on a thin chain. It glinted like a wink. "Wear this. Don't take it off. And come with me."
Finn stood up. She touched what she wore beneath her T-shirt; the locket Jack had given her and the moth key on a silver chain. "I've enough jewelry."
"I'm not playing a game, Finn Sullivan." Phouka's face had become a stern mask. "You know too much. You need to learn some things to keep safe."
Finn began to back away.
Phouka, clearly irritated, said, "You know about Jack's condition."
Finn's breath hitched.
"You want to know, don't you?" Phouka still held out the amulet. It gleamed, rotating slowly. "Who we are?" She continued, "Christopher needs you."
"What?"
"He was convinced to bring a gift to new family members of ours. We need to pick him up."
Finn checked her phone. And there it was, a text from Christie: STRANDED HERE. HELP. There was no address.
She tried his cell phone number. No answer. She looked suspiciously at Phouka. "Who convinced him to run this errand?" She thought about all she knew concerning the Fatas, all the little hints of something other, and her pulse accelerated. "Where is he?"
"Next town over. We'll get him, but I need you with me."
"Again, who sent him on this errand?"
"Someone who likes to cause mischief." Phouka's mouth tightened.
Finn snatched the amulet from the other girl. It was a tree in a circle made of bronze. She carefully drew the chain over her head. "Let's go."
Phouka stepped back. With a sweeping gesture, she indicated a silver Mercedes parked at the curb.
Finn grimaced. She walked toward the Mercedes.
Phouka was suddenly there before her, opening the passenger side door. Finn came up short.
"Go on." Phouka jerked her head at the Mercedes. Her auburn hair, wound in knots, was the same flame-red as the car's leather interior. Finn ducked in.
As Phouka slid behind the wheel and started the car, Finn asked, "Where are we going?"
"To meet Christie."
Finn was fed up with the Fatas and their word games. "I'll repeat myself: Where are we going?"
"You sure do ask a lot of questions." Phouka steered the Mercedes onto the street.
Finn had learned that causing frustration was one of the Fata family's secret weapons. She didn't speak again, gazing out the window as they left Fair Hollow's streets behind and curved onto the road into the mountains. After fifteen minutes of gazing at dark forest on either side, she couldn't keep silent. "Seriously, where--"
Phouka made a sharp turn. Finn winced as she was jostled against the door. Then the Mercedes swerved onto a broken road. They passed a rusting sign, but Finn only caught WELCOME TO--because the rest was slathered in rust.
They drove through an ugly neighborhood with flickering streetlights and boarded up houses and a bar on every corner.
Phouka halted the Mercedes a foot away from a figure leaning against a black sedan. The figure turned. Finn's heart lurched.
"Jack." Finn hunched her shoulders.
***
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)