by Luke Arnold
“You think an ancient angry teenager is hobbling around Sunder City killing businessmen?”
“No. But whatever Mr Deamar is planning, choosing a name like that makes his intentions clear to those of us who know what it means.”
My foot hit something hard and hollow. I kicked away the dead grass and found a floor beneath my feet.
“Hey! Come here.”
I peeled away more of the foliage. There had been a hut here once. The roof and walls were gone. The furniture too. But maybe…
I stomped against the floor and heard the hollow sound again.
Linda arrived as I pulled back the hatch to the basement.
42
It was a single room dug into the dirt, with walls of rotten wood. There was a bedroll on the floor beside a bow and a couple of arrows. Some discarded cloth in the corner. Animal bones. Someone had been camping here for a while.
“What do we know about Deamar?” asked Linda.
“Next to nothing. That he’s Human. That he murdered Lance Niles, stole a weapon, and is wandering around town creeping me out.”
“So, he could be the kind of guy who would live underground in a field waiting to kill a truck driver?”
“I have no reason to rule it out.”
The basement was mostly waterproof but some moisture had slipped in. It smelled like wet clothes and mold. I kicked over the bedroll but didn’t find anything.
Linda was looking at the bow.
“Mean anything to you?” I asked.
“Not really. Simply made. No markings. It’s more of an Elvish design than Human, but they’re fairly interchangeable these days. Not sure why he would have left it here.”
“If he was on his way to Sunder, it would make sense for him to swap his long-range weapon for a fancy suit and tie.”
“What did he look like?” Linda used the end of the bow to search through the old cloth.
“Hard to say. He moved like he was old but his face was youthful. Kind of. There were scars on his cheeks, like he’d had an accident.”
Linda bent down.
“And you’re sure he was Human?”
“Well, that’s what they said at the Bluebird, and he looked Human to me.”
She lifted up something from the pile of clothes and held it up to the light.
“I didn’t think there were too many Humans in the Opus.”
No there weren’t. Just one.
Linda was holding up a blue coat. It looked just like one I’d left back at the police station. It didn’t have fur, like I’d added onto mine, and it still had all the official insignia, but otherwise it was exactly the same.
An Opus uniform.
I took it from her. The material was wet and broken down, which made me kind of angry. Even though I’d betrayed the Opus more than anyone in history, I still didn’t like to see the uniform disrespected.
I looked up at Linda and she asked the question I didn’t dare to.
“Was Deamar a Shepherd?”
43
While I drove back, Linda went through the pockets of the coat, finding scraps of notes that confirmed the fact that the hijacker and Deamar were the same man. They were all written in the same fancy handwriting and they referenced Lance and Thurston Niles alongside dates and locations that Linda assumed were transport routes. I was still obsessed with the jacket.
“Maybe he found it. Maybe he stole it. Maybe he took it off someone he killed.”
She pulled out another note.
“Does this address ring any bells?” she asked, hinting that it most certainly would. “One hundred and eight, Main Street?”
Deamar had known about me before he entered the city. I’d been hoping that he only brought me into it after Simms put me on the case: a killer messing with the man he thought was coming after him. But this was something else.
I didn’t feel like talking much after that. Partly because we had to yell over the sound of the wind and the motor, but also because there wasn’t much else to say. We’d linked the hijacking to Deamar just like we’d wanted. It was a job well done, I suppose, but what we’d discovered made me feel queasy.
I dropped Linda back at Five Shadows Square and handed her a couple of bronze.
“Now, isn’t that a better way to make a buck than lying to little old ladies?”
She flashed her canines at me.
“You don’t learn anything, do you?”
“I’ve fallen out of the habit.”
She stood there, chewing her lip, deciding whether she should say something else. I tried to leave before she made up her mind.
“Thanks, Linda. If you hadn’t come with me, I’d still be out there searching in the wrong direction for—”
“So, you were in the Opus?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said that you were in Sheertop, right?”
“For a bit.”
She gave me a good look up and down. I was being weighed on a set of scales and I could tell that Linda didn’t like the outcome. She didn’t even say goodbye. Just nodded, like it all suddenly made sense, pocketed her bronze and walked away.
Fine. Thanks for the memories, Linda Rosemary.
I’d gotten used to the automobile and I wasn’t ready to give it back, so I took it up Twelfth Street to the police station and parked it right out front, just to piss them off. I went in looking for Richie but he’d already finished work so I swung by Dunkley’s and found him at the counter.
Dunkley’s was a cop bar. Not exclusively, but once the pigs decided it was their favorite spot, anyone with any sense went somewhere else. There were a few stools by the window, otherwise it was standing room only. I guess cops did enough sitting during office hours.
I dropped Deamar’s jacket beside Richie’s glass and asked the bartender to bring me whatever the sergeant was having.
“You want me to do your laundry now?” he grunted.
“I found one of your killer’s hideouts. He left this behind.”
Richie inspected the collar of the uniform and checked the badge.
“Eyewitness said our killer was Human. You’re the only Human who ever wore one of these. Is this your way of confessing?”
My drink arrived and I took a sip. I should have known better than to follow Richie’s taste, it was Orcish cider served lukewarm.
“Why you showing it to me?” he asked.
“I thought you and Simms would want to take a look at it. See if you can find anything useful.”
“I don’t think Simms wants anything from you.”
Shit. Richie Kites was always such a stone slab of monotony, even on his good days, that I only just noticed he was giving me the cold shoulder.
“Kites, are you pissed at me too? You know I didn’t plan to screw you guys around.”
“But you did. That was our one chance to keep control of this case. After the trial went to shit, the Mayor stepped in and took it off our hands. If Simms sees you in here, she’ll lock you up just for looking at her.”
It wasn’t worth explaining myself. He’d get over it in a week or two. He always did.
“Fine. I didn’t want that shithouse cider anyway.”
I reached for the coat but Richie dropped a hand across it first.
“I’ll take a look,” he said. “But since Simms is off the case, which means I’m off the case, which means you’re off the case, I don’t know what good it’s going to do.”
I didn’t dare tell him that I was working for Niles now. I took his advice and got out of there quick in case Detective Simms decided to drop by for a drink. From the way Richie was talking, it sounded like she’d need one.
I dumped the car back at the Niles house. It was still early evening. Turns out you can get a lot done in a day if you travel by automobile instead of blistered feet.
I told Yael what I’d found. Not about the coat or that my name was on the paper, just that Deamar had been the hijacker. She told me that she’d pass the information onto Thur
ston and he’d call me with further instructions.
I walked back to the famous 108 Main Street and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. The door to my office was still broken. I wasn’t worried about anyone coming in while I was away (I didn’t own anything worth stealing) but I would need to get it fixed if I didn’t find Deamar soon. If he was determined to mess with me, I couldn’t have him coming by while I was asleep.
But someone had already let themselves in.
The Angel door was wide open and a figure stood in the doorframe, silhouetted against the twilight. It was a body that liked being seen that way. She waited a moment before she turned and made her big reveal.
My mouth opened slowly over a whole minute as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
There was a beautiful woman standing in my office. She had vibrant blonde hair, full cheeks and familiar eyes. I’d seen her face once before, in an old photo, standing next to a young Harold Steeme, back before the Coda had stolen their youth.
Now Carissa had stolen it back.
She closed the Angel door, shutting out the sound of the street, and stared at me with those green, pinprick-pupil eyes. I don’t know how long we waited without speaking but I missed my cue a million times. Eventually she just swore.
“You’re really not going to say anything?”
I tried, but only the beginnings of stammered syllables came out.
“Well, uh…”
“Screw it.” She marched around the desk and walked right up until we were inches apart. I was only slightly taller than she was. Looking into those peepers from right up close, I still couldn’t work out what she wanted. So, she helped me.
Mrs Steeme ran one smooth-fingered hand around my neck, onto the back of my head, and pulled my mouth down to hers. Her lips were timid but grew with confidence as I finally snapped out of my shock and played along. Her other hand wrapped around my waist and her tongue moved in to massage mine. My trench coat fell to the floor. When her hands went around my body, they got caught on the leather strap that held the machine. She pulled back.
“What is that thing?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I’m looking after it for someone.”
She went to take it from the holster and I stopped her hand.
“Best you don’t touch it.” I removed the whole sling, pulling it over my head.
“Is it dangerous? You pointed it at Harold like you could hurt him with it.”
“I was just drunk.” I stuffed the machine back into the bottom drawer. “Mrs Steeme, I’m not sure what’s going on here.”
She came closer again.
“Just tell me I’m beautiful.”
She was. It was undeniable. But there was something strange about it all. Everything was in the right place: symmetrical, polished and free of imperfections, but it was all too perfect. If that was possible.
“You are beautiful. Really.” I meant it, but no words have ever felt so phony coming out of my mouth. “I’m just not sure who you think I am. I’m not the kind of guy you want to get involved with. I—”
She put a delicate hand against my chest.
“Mr Phillips, with all due respect, this has nothing to do with you.”
I leaned down and kissed her and her body curled into mine.
44
I was used to surprises. Mostly they came in the form of cheap uppercuts or unexpected bills for things that I did while I was blackout drunk.
This was an entirely different experience.
I was on my back. She was on her side with her arm across my chest. Her leg was over mine and her head was tucked into the nape of my neck.
I noticed that my shoulder was wet.
“Carissa? Are you okay?”
She sniffed. “It’s just strange. After a hundred years of only kissing one mouth. One body. It’s…”
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t be.” Her fingers ran over my skin. “It’s just different.”
We were quiet for a while. I felt the skin on her arm. The scars, not quite healed, against her ribs. Her breath on my ear.
“How about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Who was the last person you held?”
I suddenly noticed how naked I was. And cold. I pulled up the covers.
“It was a long time ago.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“It was. Six years.”
“Oh.”
It wasn’t six. It was eight. But six made sense. Everyone knows when the Coda happened. Six is romantic. But eight? Eight is just strange.
Still, I was surprised when she said, “Tell me about it.”
“Sorry?”
“Tell me.”
“About what?”
“The last time.”
Her hand was flat on my chest, over the part that always hurt. She rubbed the muscle between my ribs like she knew. Women have that thing, don’t they? They know where the pain is.
“I was on the coast. Alone. I wrote to her and asked her to visit. She did.”
“You weren’t together?”
“No.”
“But you loved her.”
“Yes.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
She pulled her body tight onto mine.
“In Lipha, where Harold and I come from, men and women are more equal than they are here. There would never be a club like the one where you found him. Never so many men in power.”
“Do you think that’s why Harold wanted to come here?”
She took a long, sad sigh.
“Perhaps. I’d had other lovers when I was young, but when it came time to get married, I entered into it with all my heart. I thought Harold did too. We fell for each other. Every year, I found new ways to love him. What happened when she arrived?”
She changed the conversation so quickly, I’m surprised we didn’t both get whiplash.
“It was everything I’d wanted. More of her than I ever thought I’d have. We walked on the sand and watched the ocean. She kissed me. I kissed her back. We went back to the hotel and it was… everything. But I couldn’t hold onto it. I kept trying to stop time… to make her stay because I knew she wouldn’t. If I could have just enjoyed it and been good to her… just been thankful for the time she was willing to give me, then maybe it would have been okay.”
She brought her fingers to my hairline. Stroked my forehead.
“And then the Coda?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. She left.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t love me. For her it was… it was just a holiday.”
“She said that?”
“No. She said she had to work.”
“And did she?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do you think she didn’t love you?”
“Because she didn’t ask me to go with her. Or try to stay. And… why would she?”
My chest was sore again.
“What did she do?”
I took a big breath.
“Nothing. She packed her bags and while she was in the shower, I just got out of there.”
Her hands traced my body. My cheek. My jawline. My throat. Down my arm. My waist. Her fingers were cool against my skin. Had it really been eight years?
“So, you were the one who left,” she said.
“I guess so.”
I wrapped her up in my arms, she wrapped me in hers. I looked at her face from an inch away. The morning light kicked its way through the window and danced on her shoulders. Her hair had a chemical perfume, from the fresh dye. The surgeon hadn’t been able to smooth her skin everywhere. The older Carissa Steeme was still visible on her ears and eyelids. I ran my hand over her face, feeling her nose and lips and the line of her chin.
“Why did you do this?” I asked her.
I was worried I’d offended her, but she just needed a moment to gather her thoughts
.
“Harold and I were a team. During all our time together, I never kept score or worried about who was getting the most out of our relationship. I didn’t get jealous. I didn’t think about what I might be missing while we were together. But after seeing him and accepting what he’d done, I just felt so fucking angry. I… I try to think about what kind of life I want now but it’s all tied up with him. I can’t live alone as an old woman if he’s out there… doing whatever he’s doing. I know it’s petty…”
Her nails scraped my back.
“Why do you think Harold did it?” I asked.
“Because all men are fools. You think women care about things like looks and clothes and all that crap, but I’ll tell you the truth. Only one thing really matters. Authenticity. Those of us that, for some daft reason, are interested in men, we get thrown into this awful waiting game. Like some insufferable party. All the guys and gals standing around, passing the time until a man finally grows up and gets over his shit. You can be fat or bald or broke, it really doesn’t matter to most of us as long as you’re authentically yourself. As soon as that happens, I promise you, a good woman will find you and take you home. The world is full of women just tapping their toes until the boys grow up. That’s what’s so infuriating about Harold and all the other idiots like him. They forget themselves. They get out of the party, but then they find too many wrinkles or gray hairs so they panic and run back, but now they’re more out of place than they ever were. You saw him. He looks ridiculous. But who am I to talk? I’ve followed the fucker back in.”
I turned her head to mine.
“Well, as one of the dumb boys who might never get out, I’m glad you came back for a visit.”
She laughed. She had a beautiful laugh.
“Thank you.”
She rolled on top of me, we closed our eyes, and used each other’s bodies to push the sadness from our minds.
