For a few dollars, Hodge let them hole up in the pantry.
Eli propped himself up against the sacks of flour, intent on recovering some of his lost sleep. Danny paced back and forth across the room for a few minutes, buzzing with agitation.
Finally, she said, “I’m gonna go talk to Faulkner,” and left.
It was sometime in the afternoon by the time Eli woke; warm, golden sunlight slipped through the windows, illuminating the pantry in bright patches. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams.
Jack was asleep, curled against the side of the dog where it lay on the floor. There was still mud splashed across his clothes and face, although it had dried over the course of the day. Asleep, he looked strangely small. Vulnerable.
He didn’t at all look like a rampaging, body-stealing evil spirit. But maybe that was the point.
From outside, the murmur of a familiar voice rose over the usual din of the canteen.
“—Eli and Daniela.” It was Officer Landry’s voice, his “official police business” voice. “They been here at all today?”
Eli inhaled sharply, then clamped both hands over his mouth.
Hodge’s reply was a low rumble: “Might’ve. Been busy.”
“You sure about that?”
Hodge’s only reply was a low grunt.
“If you see them, you send someone to come and tell me.”
“Might do. If I can spare someone.”
Landry didn’t reply. Eli couldn’t move; even the slightest noise might draw Landry’s attention.
The pantry door, left resting on the jamb, creaked. Eli watched it open, slowly, heart flipping over in his chest.
Through the gap of the open door, a massive, fluffy cat poked its head into the storeroom.
Eli nearly collapsed in relief.
The cat meandered through, tail upright and twitching. It sniffed the air, took a step toward Jack, and sniffed again.
The dog opened its eyes and growled, showing off long white fangs.
The cat replied with a hiss, but turned away and wandered off.
Danny returned a few minutes later. “No sign of Faulkner.”
Eli said, “Landry was here. Looking for us.”
“Shit.” With a glance over to where Jack still slept, Danny said, “Maybe we should just … go.”
“What, you mean—” Eli rubbed his eyes. “You mean, leave him here?”
“He’s safe enough, isn’t he? Look, he’s got a dog now. He’ll be fine.”
Across the room, Jack twitched in his sleep.
“I don’t know,” Eli said. “We should talk to Faulkner first. Did you check—”
Jack woke with a howling gasp, lurching forward onto his knees before collapsing to all fours. One hand clawed at the front of his loose shirt, scratching frantically at the scars beneath it.
The marks on his hands and throat began to move, twisting and writhing across his skin like a nest of snakes, scar tissue flushing an angry red.
With one last, violent convulsion, Jack collapsed to the floor.
Danny and Eli rushed to his side and hovered anxiously over his prone form, neither of them sure if they should touch him. From the other side, the dog padded forward and nudged Jack with its nose.
Jack groaned, and pushed back up onto his hands and knees.
Danny, unfortunately, was the first to regain her voice: “What the fuck was that?”
Jack dragged in a breath and swallowed. “Sinclair. He was trying to cast a spell.”
Horrified, Eli said, “That’s what it does to you?”
Jack blinked a few times, brows drawing together. “It’s usually worse.” He studied the scars on his hand; the redness was fading. “Whatever he was trying to do, I don’t think he succeeded.”
“Maybe he needs to keep you close by,” Eli said, thinking quickly. “Maybe that’s why he shipped you all the way here. And why he’s trying so hard to get you back.”
Danny looked uneasy. “He’ll be trying even harder, now.”
“Sinclair’s got a house on Silver Hill,” Eli said. “That’s what Faulkner told us, anyway.”
“So we’ll be staying very far away from Silver Hill,” Danny replied, stern. “Right?”
Eli shook his head. “We find Sinclair, maybe we find something to help Jack.” He produced the bet ticket he’d lifted from Quinn’s pockets. “This is for a match tonight, at Union Hall. We could go there, ask around. See if anyone knows about Quinn, or Sinclair’s other men.”
“Faulkner told us to lay low,” Danny reminded him.
“Faulkner told us to stay out of trouble,” Eli shot back. “We’ll be in worse trouble if we don’t do something. Besides, you don’t even like Faulkner.”
Danny shrugged, conceding his point.
They made their way to Union Hall at sunset. The doorman took one look at them and said, “No dogs.”
The dog looked up at him and growled, ears flat against its head. The doorman took a step back.
Jack laid a hand on the dog’s neck. The dog’s growl trailed off into a huff; it shook itself, then trotted away and sat on the street corner.
Union Hall was a rickety, three-story saloon crowded with too many bodies. Drinks were served on the ground floor; fights were held and bets placed in the basement, while the upper floor was reserved for those customers who, by coin or charm, had persuaded the staff to render additional services.
“I’ll ask around the betting cages,” Danny said, and made for the stairs.
Eli, meanwhile, saw a face he recognized. Across the room, one of the saloon’s waiter girls was making her rounds.
He patted Jack on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and sidled away through the crowd without waiting for an answer.
The waiter girl’s name was Sophie. Her doll-like features had so far resisted the usual wear and tear of her profession, and she wore the saloon’s standard uniform: a bright red jacket, a low bodice, and a skirt so short as to be entirely pointless. Her canned smile turned genuine as she noticed Eli’s approach.
“Eli,” she said warmly. “Don’t usually see you in here.” Her smile faltered. “I heard about Leon.”
Of course she had.
“I’m looking into someone,” he said. “Hired muscle. Name’s Quinn.”
Sophie’s nose wrinkled. “Quinn? Yeah, I know him.”
Eli gave her a glimpse of the cash tucked into his palm.
“Upstairs,” Sophie said, and led him by the hand up to the second floor.
Alone among strangers, a shiver slipped down the nameless thing’s spine.
Union Hall was a temple of blood and lust. Below, men brawled to the baying delight of the crowd. Above, guests took their pleasure with the staff and each other.
The binding spell trembled in the presence of older, more powerful magics. The strength of the berserking warrior, the power called forth on sacred mountaintops, surged beneath the nameless thing’s skin, straining against the inscriptions and sigils holding it back.
The saloon grew too bright, too hot, too loud, until waiting one more moment for either Danny or Eli to return became intolerable. The second floor proved no relief at all, noisy and reeking of sweat and sex. But at the far end of the floor was a ladder, leading up onto the roof.
Union Hall’s rear half overhung the very edge of the bay. The nameless thing’s flight stopped at the far end of the roof, overlooking nothing but water. There it stood, head tipped back, breathing in the cool, salty breeze.
Its stomach lurched as something grabbed it from behind, throwing it down onto the roof and pinning it there. It fought back with rising ferocity, one hand whipping up to snap the neck of its attacker—then recognized the form pressed against it.
“Don’t,” Danny sobbed, muffled into its chest. “Please don’t jump.”
The nameless thing went still. Its hand fell to rest softly between Danny’s shoulders.
“I won’t,” it whispered.
Danny’s hold could hardly be called gentle, but the force of it had its own reassuring warmth. Her heart pounded against both their chests, her breaths shallow and fast but gradually slowing as the panic faded.
Everywhere they touched tingled with alien sensation, and though it remained still under Danny’s weight, the nameless thing trembled faintly in her arms.
Long minutes passed, until Danny reluctantly let go and rolled to lie on her back.
The nameless thing said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Danny wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Sorry. I should have left you alone.” She kept her gaze fixed on the sky. “No matter how bad I want to, I just … I can’t stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop caring.” Danny rubbed both hands over her face. “Stop hurting.”
The nameless thing considered this. “Do you know why my kind is drawn to yours?”
“I’m guessing it’s not to corrupt our souls and sow chaos and all that.”
“No.” It rolled onto its side to face her. “We do it to feel.”
“Feel what?”
“Everything. Pleasure, pain, all of it.” One hand curled into a fist, pressing against the bandage. “Better to hurt, than to feel nothing.”
Danny finally turned to look it in the eye. “What were you doing up here?”
“It was too much,” said the nameless thing. “Down there. I needed—I couldn’t …”
It trailed off, uncertain.
Danny sniffed again, then rolled so they were face-to-face. “My brother got like that sometimes.” Her lips twitched briefly into a smile. “Good days and bad days. Sometimes the good days were scarier than the bad.” She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right.”
A few breaths passed in silence.
“Where’s your brother now?”
Danny shrugged. “He died.”
Union Hall’s second floor was a maze of small, curtained alcoves that did nothing to disguise what was happening inside. Sophie tugged Eli into an unoccupied booth and shut the curtains.
Eli sat, and Sophie crawled into his lap. Best to keep up appearances, in case someone stumbled in.
He knew he was supposed to flatter her, or say something charming, but half-finished thoughts swirled incoherently in his head. Leon would have known what to say. He always knew what to say.
“Eli?” Warm hands cupped his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Eli fidgeted. “No. Leon was always better at this.”
Sophie smiled at him. “You want to know the secret?”
“Please,” Eli replied, desperate.
“You need to mean what you say.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “If you really said what you meant around here, you’d be fired in five minutes.”
“You’ve got it backwards.” Sophie slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Most of the time, people don’t listen to what you say. They listen to what you feel. You need to believe in what you’re saying, just a little bit. Even when you’re lying.”
Eli blinked at her. “You’re too good for this place,” he said, and meant it.
“I know.” Sophie looped her arms around Eli’s neck. “Now, ask me about Quinn.”
A brief laugh burst from Eli’s mouth. “All right. What can you tell me about Quinn?”
“He started coming in a few weeks ago,” Sophie said. “Some of the girls would go home with him, sometimes.” Her nose wrinkled. “They said he lives in some fancy house. Works for the man who owns it.”
“His boss lets him bring girls home?”
“‘Course not. Bella says there’s a cellar door ‘round the back. He’d sneak them in that way.”
“Did Bella ever tell you the address?”
Sophie twisted in his lap so she could stand. “No, but I can—”
She tugged the curtains open; two very large men stood on the other side.
“Occupied,” Sophie snapped, and tried to shut the curtains.
The men shoved her aside. One of them hauled Eli to his feet and said, “Massey wants to talk to you.”
Danny led the way down from the roof.
“Didn’t have much luck at the betting cages,” she said, waiting at the foot of the ladder as the nameless thing made its way down. “Quinn was here a few times, but he didn’t chat much. Where’s Eli?”
From behind the nearest curtain, a quavering voice said, “Danny?”
Danny frowned, and pulled the curtain aside. Behind it sat the girl Eli had left with.
“Sophie?” Danny said. “What’s wrong?”
“Eli,” Sophie replied, amid terrified, sobbing breaths. “They took him. To see Massey.”
“Shit.” Danny grabbed the nameless thing’s arm, dragging it toward the stairs. “Get outside, Jack. Head back to Hodge’s. We’ll come and meet you there.”
“Where are you going?”
Furious, Danny said, “I have to go get Eli.”
Eli was brought to a private room, and one of the men patted him down.
He paused upon reaching Eli’s jacket pocket. Reaching inside, he withdrew a handful of gold teeth.
The teeth were placed carefully on the card table that occupied the center of the room, while the other man shoved Eli into a chair. Across from him, on the other side of the table, sat Bill Massey.
Massey was a brawler steadily advancing into middle age, big and heavyset, with a boisterous charm that hid sly, vicious cunning. Eli had learned a long time ago not to underestimate him. There were others who hadn’t been so lucky.
“Eli,” Massey said. “Heard you and your partner went out to the Dominion last night.”
“It was a wash,” Eli replied, both hands white-knuckling the seat of his chair. “Didn’t find anything.”
“A few of my runners were headed out there, too. Never came back.” One of Massey’s hands, big as a bear paw, rested on the table; the other stayed out of sight. “You happen to see them?”
Eli shook his head.
“Because,” Massey continued, “I went out there myself to have a look. And all I found was my runners, dead, and an empty box.”
He looked pointedly at the small pile of teeth.
Eli tried to stand; a hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him back down into his seat.
“It wasn’t us,” he said, all in a rush. “They were dead when we got there.”
“So if you didn’t kill them, who did?”
He’d never believe the truth. “I don’t know,” Eli said.
Massey didn’t believe that, either.
There was a knock, and the door opened to reveal another of Massey’s men. Next to him, his hand resting heavily on her shoulder, was Danny.
“Found this one sneaking around,” the man said.
Massey gestured. Danny, fuming, was sat down next to Eli.
Eli muttered, “What was your plan, exactly?”
“I was working on it,” Danny grumbled back.
“Here’s what I think,” Massey said loudly, interrupting them both. “I think you found something on that ship. Something worth a lot of money.”
Danny and Eli avoided looking at Massey, or each other.
“So,” Massey continued, “whatever you found, you can hand over to me, and I’ll forget what happened to my runners.” Massey reached under his jacket and withdrew a snub-nosed revolver. He laid it on the table, where it landed with a weight belying its small size. “And if you don’t—”
Something hit the closed door with a thud. From the other side came a bellow of pain.
One of Massey’s men scrambled to open the door.
The door guard fell backward through it, bleeding from the hand and ear, choking beneath the two-handed grip of his attacker: Jack, teeth bared in a feral snarl, thumbs digging so forcefully into the man’s windpipe that his nails broke skin.
It took two of Massey’s men to pry Jack loose, and he made them bleed for it. After a prolonged struggle, one of them managed to get a hand behind his head.
He smashed Jack’s skull into the table, wood cracking beneath the impact.
Jack crumpled to his knees and slumped against the table leg, where he panted and twitched like an exhausted horse, drenched in sweat. There was blood smeared across his mouth; his eyes were glassy and dazed.
Massey glared down at Jack, then up at Danny and Eli. “Who’s this?”
“My cousin,” Eli said, automatically.
“He bit me!” screamed the door guard, clutching his ear. “I told him to back off and he fucking bit me!”
Massey crouched, lifting Jack’s head with a firm grip on his chin and sizing him up like a piece of livestock. “Not much muscle on him,” he said. “Guess you could put him in a crib and make some money, if you got the biting under control.”
Danny lunged out of her seat, both hands clenched into fists; one of Massey’s men caught her before she’d gone two steps and shoved her back into the chair. Massey, attention now on Danny, released his grip on Jack and shifted his weight to stand.
In a movement too quick to see properly, Jack had his fingers around Massey’s wrist in a crushing grip. He looked up into Massey’s eyes, gaze piercing through his head and out the other side.
“You never could get the smell out, could you?” Jack’s voice was a whispering hiss. “The rot. Even after you burned the sheets.”
Massey hauled his wrist free, stumbling back a few steps with the force of the movement.
“She was sick so long.” Jack heaved up onto his knees, head lolling on his neck, still staring up at Massey. “Her flesh had melted into the bed. You had to peel her off it to bury her.”
Massey grabbed for the gun on the table; it shook in his hand as he leveled it at Jack.
Jack leaned forward until the muzzle of the gun pressed between his eyes. His own gaze never wavered from Massey’s face.
“You cried,” he breathed, and Massey twitched as if struck. “You cried long after she’d gone cold. Why don’t you cry anymore, William?”
No one else in the room dared move, or even breathe.
Massey’s trembling finger tightened on the trigger—
—and the door burst open as Officer Landry shoved his way into the room.
Massey turned his gun on the intruder, but there were two more officers at Landry’s back. “Fuck off, Landry,” he growled. “I’m paid up with the department.”
“Good for you.” Landry gestured to encompass Eli, Danny, and Jack. “I’m here for them.”
Massey squared his shoulders and stepped forward to loom over Landry. “We’re in the middle of a conversation.”
Landry sneered up at him, unperturbed. “Police business, Massey.”
Massey’s face darkened with rage, but he could only watch as the other officers stepped forward to drag their quarry from the room.
Leave a Reply