“We should tell the police,” said Laura. “They know who handles cleanup on these cases. They can search for the amulet fragments and the Gin all at once. We’re not exactly equipped for searching right now.”
Juliana didn’t appear pleased with the idea, but a few more kicks at the rubble and she admitted defeat. “We need treatment for Lester anyway.”
“Is he all right? I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“He says he was only grazed. I’m not sure why he’d drop the way he did in that case, but—”
“He likes distance, right?” said Laura. “If you’re used to that, having an infestation get close and personal would be a nasty surprise. Maybe it was shock.”
Juliana’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he was still susceptible to that.”
Soon the police entered, and Juliana reported the details of the infestation to Albright. The chief nodded along as another man called for a medic, and yet another man ordered the presence of a cleaning bot. Lester was brought to an ambulance to be treated.
“It’s not bad,” he informed her, even as two medics loaded him on a stretcher. “It wasn’t even that deep a blow. I’ll heal fast.”
Laura would take his word for it. She stood by with Okane near the parlor doors as the cleaning bot finally arrived. It wheeled around the side of the building and set to work pulling apart the debris with its many hands. As Juliana continued to speak with Albright, her eyes remained fixed on the bot’s undulating movements.
“Her intensity is a little creepy,” Laura mumbled.
“She told Albright she wanted to claim this Gin,” said Okane.
Laura almost asked why to the obvious. Any additional Gin in their combination would lend power to their mix, and they’d just shown that their current blend was horrendously weak. If they could get more Gin, she wouldn’t have to think about resorting to using Clae or Anselm.
“Did you sense any Gin around here?” she asked. “When they’re active, I’ve been able to pick up on their presence, but I don’t think I felt or smelled anything like Gin here.”
Okane shrugged. “It may have already been stolen. A mob wouldn’t sacrifice something so valuable if they could help it.”
“An inside job?” Laura guessed.
“Who knows?” Okane pondered a moment, then said, “There might be far more than one amulet delivered to us. From what I understood, mob Sweepers kept their growing infestations in the same areas they stored their Kin.”
Laura’s heart plummeted. “What? Why?”
“Easy containment. A monster won’t come out of its hiding place when a threat is so close. This one, though. It came out anyway. It started breaking glass before we even attacked it.”
“So?”
“So, it directly attacked the Kin machine. The hive mind knows how to sabotage us now.”
It was a chilling thought.
Almost half an hour later, a policeman came up to Albright and saluted.
“Chief, we’ve pulled apart the larger debris. We’ve found no large stones, Gin or otherwise. Evidence of several broken amulets.”
Albright nodded. “Continue with the smaller debris. We can’t afford to let any of those amulet pieces remain unaccounted for.” She glanced at Juliana. “Do try not to blast these apart in the future. Killing one isn’t worth the spread unless it’s easily collected.”
Laura winced. Juliana nodded, but she seemed to have deflated.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll be sure to speak with my Sweepers about that. Is there anything else that you need from us?”
“Not at the moment. We’ll deliver the amulet pieces to your shop tomorrow.”
“We’ll be sure to store them as soon as possible.”
Juliana turned. Laura and Okane were directly in her line of sight but she didn’t look at them at all, instead making a beeline for the ambulance. It made sense for her to first check on her family, but Laura still felt snubbed.
“I didn’t like the look on her face,” said Okane.
“What look? She didn’t even look at us,” said Laura.
“The face she made at the robot,” said Okane. He pulled the collar of his coat tighter. “She’s scheming something.”
Laura frowned at him. “Is this a feeling, or is it something they’ve specifically done?”
“- - - trust my feelings when it comes to infestations.”
“I trust you in general, I just want to know if there’s something I should be looking out for.”
She still wanted to believe that Juliana was trying to do this all right. She’d resented the idea of a new head Sweeper, sure, but if they could have a comrade supportive and tough as nails, then even if it wasn’t Clae she’d appreciate them. She craned her neck to get a better look at the ambulance. Juliana scolded Lester there. She didn’t look like the sort of person who’d hurt them. Then again, Sullivan didn’t look like the type of man who’d carve money symbols into a child’s skin on superstition.
Please, please be a good person, she thought. I want this to succeed too much for you not to be.
4
EXECUTRIX
When Laura reached the Sweeper shop two days later, the shop itself was dark, the street deserted. A few buildings down the street were stained black by infestation and fire, though the wreckage had been towed. Okane teetered on the edge of the roof. Laura stopped her bike in front of the shop and craned her neck to get a better look at him.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Practicing,” Okane replied, far too innocently.
“Practicing what?” Laura said suspiciously. “What can you practice up there that you can’t do in the road?”
“Things.”
“You’ll have to elaborate a little more here.”
“Oh, - - - know.”
Was that “you” lapse on purpose? Laura puzzled over amulet specifications before realizing he meant a different form of magic. She dropped her bike in horror.
“Tell me you’re not going to jump off the roof!”
“I’m not going to do that yet,” said Okane.
“Why would you do it at all?” said Laura. “You’ll break your neck, or your legs at the very least!”
“I didn’t do that last time.”
“Last time,” Okane miraculously fell five stories, landed on his feet, and gained no injuries from it. Clae had proceeded to panic over security blankets and overworked magic, and while Laura hadn’t understood the urgency then, she more than understood it now.
“But we don’t know if it’ll react the same way!” she said. “And even if it does, what if you overdo it? What if you turn out like Clae and Anselm?”
Okane fisted his hands. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Then why risk it?”
“Because I need to understand what I can do,” he said. “As a Sweeper, and even beyond that, no one’s been able to tell me what I can do or how to keep myself safe. Clae tried, but he wasn’t like me. He could—But he wasn’t—” Frustrated, he looked up and down the street for eavesdroppers. “- - - can’t understand the root cause if - - - don’t experience it. I don’t want to live uncertain anymore.”
“I know I’d live a lot more certainly if you could back away from the edge right now,” said Laura.
Okane coughed out a laugh and stepped back.
A bell rang from down the street as the bakery door opened. Mrs. Keedler stepped out with a large basket balanced on her hip. Laura waved at her with one hand, trying to gesture Okane out of sight with the other. Unfortunately Okane had no qualms about being seen.
“Hello, Mrs. Keedler,” he called.
“Good morning, you two.” Mrs. Keedler didn’t seem to know whether to be worried or not as she came alongside Laura. “Okane, dear, what are you doing up there?”
“Checking the chimney,” he lied. “I think I’ll need it cleaned soon.”
“Do be careful up there,” said Mrs. Keedler. “Even with amulets, you�
��re not safe at that height. That poor apprentice died up there while practicing with them.”
Okane stiffened. “Oh?”
“Poor Alf Jackson,” said Mrs. Keedler. “He was a rude boy, but he didn’t deserve to break his neck.”
Apparently the idea of injury hadn’t crossed Okane’s mind if he had magical assistance; he eyed the roof’s edge with more trepidation. “Did he, now?”
“Yes, a tragedy.”
“How about you go inside?” said Laura. “We’ll meet you in there.”
“Exactly! I brought some food to help welcome your new head Sweeper!” said Mrs. Keedler, lifting her basket. “I’m almost a week late, but—”
Okane perked up again. “Will - - - be staying? Would - - - like some tea?”
“How gracious! I’ll take up that offer if you’re not bothered.”
“Not at all,” said Okane, and vanished from the roof.
“It takes a little while to break through his shell, but he’s very sweet,” Mrs. Keedler chuckled. “Has everything been going well for you so far?”
“As well as can be expected,” Laura sighed, picking up her bike. “You know, I don’t think Clae ever mentioned an Alf, and he was pretty fond of bringing up dead apprentices.”
“That was a little white lie.” Mrs. Keedler winked. “Alf sprained his ankle while fooling around and quit immediately after.”
“You sly fox.”
“A little healthy caution never hurt anyone.”
Laura laughed as she opened the door. She parked her bike in the usual place, pulled over a stool for Mrs. Keedler to sit on, then climbed upstairs to check on Okane. He was already heating up the kettle, and looked up at the sound of her approach.
“Does Mrs. Keedler come over often?” said Laura.
He cracked a smile. “Usually she and her husband try inviting me over for dinner. I think they’re trying to adopt every business owner on the street.”
“Really?”
“The only reason she hasn’t roped - - - into it is because - - - live so far away.”
Laura laughed and turned away. The upper floor looked just as she remembered it from the time Clae had lived here, but she hadn’t investigated it much. Rosemarie’s room she knew from having napped there; the twins’ room she knew from carrying Clae here. The only one she hadn’t looked into was the master bedroom. A folding screen separated this from the rest of the flat, but it had been pulled aside; a little table sat like an island there, and she stepped around it to get a look. Newspaper clippings and photographs were pinned to the wall above a dresser, opposite a metal-framed bed with a patchwork quilt. A dusty-colored coat hung on one of the bedposts, long enough that it brushed the ground.
Laura leaned in to inspect the pictures. She saw photographs of the twins, their grandmother, and their parents; Helen Blair smiled from one of them, an arm around both Clae and Anselm, her expression so out of place on her that Laura was almost unnerved. Dotted in between were faces Laura didn’t recognize, though she spotted her own and Okane’s on the far right. The articles nearby featured Sweepers or random locations in Amicae; most predated Clae’s time as head Sweeper.
Looking at them, Laura felt almost hollow. Someone belonged here, and it certainly wasn’t her. Did Okane feel the same, staying in his home? Or worse, she thought, tracing a finger down newsprint that predated even Clae’s birth, had Clae felt like an intruder in his own home?
Behind her, the kettle whistled. Okane pulled cups from the cupboard and put dark, shriveled leaves in them.
“Could - - - bring these down if I get the kettle?”
“Of course.”
They descended the stairs and set up the tea while Mrs. Keedler set out an arrangement of scones. As they worked, a shuffle and clack announced the arrival of mail through the slot on the door.
“That’s early,” Mrs. Keedler observed. “Doesn’t the postman come in the afternoon?”
Laura picked up the envelopes. There were four: the first two were things Laura had no interest in, what looked like a bill and another clearly addressed “To the New Head Sweeper” (still a fresh wound), but the others had no return address and were written in a semi-familiar script.
“Weird.” She turned the one with her name over to examine the back, as if expecting a wax seal.
“What is it?”
“Letters addressed to us.” She held the second out to Okane, who accepted it with a baffled expression.
“Who’s it from?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Maybe you have secret admirers,” Mrs. Keedler chuckled.
More like not-so-secret critics.
Laura slapped the other mail down and sat to inspect the envelope. Her name and the address of the shop were written in a neat blend of print and cursive. She ripped the envelope open to find multiple pages folded inside. Laura, it started, and she felt a bit resentful that this person addressed her so casually, but upon reading the next sentence, she realized who it was.
Laura, if this is sent, I’m dead. Took me long enough. If you receive this letter you’re still working as a Sweeper, hopefully higher than apprentice status. At the time I’m writing this you’re the only other Sweeper working, so you’re the one I’m leaving instructions to. You should have gotten a key or will soon. It doesn’t look like a master key, but it is. It opens the contents of 684 and the armory. Clear it with the executor first, but 684 will be left to you. The executor will have to look at the armory, but I don’t have many debts so nothing should be seized. Amelia Huxley, an ex-Sweeper, lives nearby. Ask her if you need help with equipment or startup in general. Her number is 3-212-6341-3312. For 684, go to the Central Security Bank in the Second Quarter. The safe-deposit-box key is in the sewing box upstairs. Forewarning, the contents will be heavy. Take care of them—they’re irreplaceable. Also take care of the Kin, and particularly Anselm. I’ve seen you snooping around the curtains, so you’ve probably seen him already. The kid’s name is Anselm Sinclair. He’s my brother. He was reduced to a magic strain several years ago, and functions as a third Gin for Amicae. He’s the only reason we’ve been staying afloat over the past 20 years. DO NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT HIM. If word gets out, there could be disastrous results. Sweepers are far more ambitious than you realize. People may try to break in to steal him, either to use him or sell him. I don’t want the Council trying to sell him off to pay for some goddamn project. Worse, someone might try to turn people into Gin on a larger scale. By the time I die I hope you’re knowledgeable about the job, but if you don’t know how to do something or if you’re not sure about a procedure, refer to the other pages here. The list may not be lengthy, but it should give you the right idea. If there are other problems, Amelia is well versed in these things. Good luck.
—Clae Sinclair.
Laura gripped the paper so tight the other pages crinkled under her grip.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Keedler looked from Laura to Okane (still engrossed in his own letter, face getting paler by the second), but leaned toward Laura in the end, worry on her face. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“We got a letter from a ghost.” Laura tipped the letter so she could glimpse the handwriting. “Clae had letters sent to us after he died.”
“He what?” Mrs. Keedler rested a hand on her breast and leaned back in shock. “What did he say?”
“It’s information for the job, mostly.” Laura shuffled through the papers, finding a description of the Kin workings, the Egg production, listings of other Sweeper contacts.
“You too?”
Okane put down his letter quickly. “I—yes. Job things.”
“That man.” Mrs. Keedler put her hand on her cheek now and shook her head. She didn’t seem sure what to say, so just repeated, “That man.”
Another knock pulled them from their reverie. Laura rose again with a groan and pulled the door open. A woman stood on the steps, slim with a close-fitting gray skirt and matching coat. A brassy
decorative pin kept her curled hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, and she turned to look at Laura through spectacles that would have made Albright’s glasses seem clunky in comparison. Her very presence exuded authority. Laura straightened unconsciously.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“My name is Elinor James.” The woman’s tone was formal but not entirely unkind. She pulled a business card from the pocket of her coat and held it out. LYMAN AND JENSEN FIRM, it read, in stark black ink; the format and the insignia of a banking guild on the side gave away her true identity before she finished talking. “I’ve been appointed estate administrator for the will of Clae Sinclair. Is there an Okane Sinclair here?”
Laura stood aside for the woman to enter, mind racing. She hadn’t thought the will would be carried out so soon. Okane stood, face pale.
“You’re Okane?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Elinor walked straight forward and shook his hand. “We talked on the phone. Is this a good time to begin inventorying?”
“I think so,” he said. “What exactly do I have to do?”
“I’ll be recording larger assets left in Mr. Sinclair’s possession. I may have to refer to your knowledge if I can’t identify something, but otherwise I’ll work alone during this process.”
“Do I have to leave?”
“No.”
Relief washed over his face. “Thank goodness.”
“There’s no point in making you leave, in this case,” Elinor told him.
“Why not?”
Elinor glanced at the others. “May I speak with you privately?”
Okane blinked at her, then the other two. Laura shrugged and Mrs. Keedler gestured toward the stairs. He nodded jerkily and stepped toward the door.
“We can talk upstairs? Is that all right?”
“Of course.”
She followed him up, and the first floor went quiet again. Laura sat next to Mrs. Keedler.
“What do you think she needs to talk about privately?” she asked.
“It’s probably to do with the will,” said Mrs. Keedler. “Maybe talking about Okane’s share. I’m sure Clae wanted to support him, after all. She doesn’t know us, so she’s trying to protect them both. Don’t worry, dear. It’ll be fine.”
The Monstrous Citadel Page 8
