by Dan Stout
I considered moving back into the main room but paused when a woman’s familiar laugh echoed from somewhere down the hall. Could it be Gellica? I tried the handle of one door and it opened into darkness. The air was thick with the smell of damp soil. A window let in enough light for me to hit the wall switch, and I found myself in a nondescript study holding an office chair and a desk, littered with wire armatures and blocks of plastic-wrapped clay, no doubt the source of the smell. Kidney-shaped scrapers and lengths of wire capped by wooden handles lay to the side, near canvas bundles that hinted at containing tools. In my line of work, they’d be more likely used as murder weapons than to create beauty. I thought of the bull sculpture. Was this another artist’s home? If so, I’d greatly misjudged the income potential of the working artist.
I took a step toward the canvas rolls but stopped when the laughter sounded again. Gellica’s voice carried to me from somewhere nearby. I eased the door closed and went on farther down the hall, my steps hushed by the carpet underfoot, the sound of the crowd hushed by the carpet on the walls.
The next door’s handle didn’t turn, as if it had been locked by the last occupant. But that person had been lazy; the door hadn’t fully latched. I hesitated. There were no voices from within, no real reason to enter. I was uncomfortable entering, but the possibility of catching my breath for a few minutes before plunging into the crowd again was more than I could resist. With a slight push the door swung open.
In this room the curtains were drawn shut, leaving it in blackness. I stepped inside and swung the door shut behind me, being careful to silently close and latch it against unexpected intrusion.
I ran the backs of my fingers up the wall on either side of the door, pausing when I stumbled into a strand of cobwebs. I exhaled slowly, telling myself that I was overthinking, and pulled my hand back slowly, disengaging from the sensation of silky webbing. A moment later I struck a light switch. With a snap, the lights came on and I found myself in a luxurious bedroom. There was a neatly made bed, a pair of dressers, what looked to be a closet, and a small rolltop desk with padlock. But the focus of the room was a massive steamer trunk that stood in one corner.
Set on end, it was taller than me and wide enough that I’d struggle to wrap my arms around a single side. Redundant locks lined the opening, several of them clearly added to the original design. Whoever owned it had either very large valuables or their share of secrets. And I’ve never been able to resist poking at a secret.
I crossed the room and caught another whiff of damp soil. Similar to clay, but with an undercurrent of something else. There was a luggage tag on one of the trunk’s sturdy handles. I flipped it over, revealing a typed address in Fracinica followed by the owner’s name: M. Tenebrae.
I examined the room with new eyes. Gellica had told me that Tenebrae was a sculptor, and he’d invited her to some kind of party when we’d run into him at the Lotus. This was his “small event,” a gathering of the city’s most wealthy and influential in a luxury apartment that I couldn’t afford for a single night. More importantly, Gellica had accepted his invitation. I’d shown up to find her while she was at Tenebrae’s party.
At that moment I heard Gellica’s musical laugh again, along with what sounded like a man’s voice. Stepping toward the sound, I moved to my right. On the dark wood of the side table sat a metal box, a lock on the box itself, and a secondary padlock holding it to the table. More secrets, more boxes. Whatever the truth, I wasn’t going to be breaking it open that night. The man’s voice spoke again, and I turned my attention to the desktop. A gold necklace inset with a red stone draped across a stack of correspondence, letters addressed to Tenebrae. I stooped closer, and brought my ear toward the necklace. Was it a radio receiver? As soon as I crossed over to the desk I pulled back, feeling as if I’d walked into another spiderweb, this one stretched in the air between the desk and the door. Something skittered across my skin—no, under my skin, and I swung my hands, moving like I’d woken to find a spider perched on my pillow.
Two steps away from the desk, my cheeks burned with embarrassment as I caught my breath. I rubbed my finger and thumb together, wincing at the echo of the cobweb sensation. Tenebrae was a sorcerer. Was the thing magic, and I was somehow feeling it? But then why hadn’t I felt it around Gellica, or when I touched Guyer’s cloak? I raised my hand, and tentatively moved toward the desk once more. Hand out, I waved it through the air over the desk.
Nothing.
That lack of anything was more painful that the initial feeling of cobwebs. I didn’t want to feel any of these sensations, but the possibility of it being completely in my head was even worse. Trying to re-create the sensation, I bent my head over the desk once more. Still nothing. I ignored the cramping in my stomach and hovered over the necklace. No cobwebs, no voices, no weirdness at all.
I swallowed. None of it made sense. I felt like a fool, attaching deeper meaning to a tingle with absolutely no proof, standing alone in a stranger’s bedroom arguing with myself. I was embarrassed and shivering, and I wanted to walk away, turn my attention to real, physical things I could put my hands on.
I slipped out of the room, footsteps once again hushed on the carpet. At the end of the hall I stared across the crowd. In a city where clothing indicated so much about the wearer’s status the fabrics of suits and dresses meant as much as the expertly cut gems on the necks and fingers of the attendees. An entire economy was on pause while drilling was suspended, manna quarantined, oil running out, the potential wind farm deal scuttled indefinitely. But these people were more concerned about the tax implications than furloughed workers unable to make rent. Unlike the CaCuris, they didn’t feed on hate . . . just greed. My stomach rumbled and clenched again. It seemed like the sight of them was making me sick.
I turned away. This time I turned to the left, pushing past the dark-clothed caterers and moving toward the kitchen, lit by light fixtures shaped like sea life and lined with glimmering faux-manna trim. The smell of food was strong, and I was surprised to feel hunger pangs. I tried to remember when I’d eaten last, and that was when I entered the kitchen.
Bigger than my entire apartment, it held a dazzling array of dishes and platters. An island with a sink and supplemental burners was covered with finger foods waiting to be distributed, while a surly human man in an apron and yellow rubber gloves processed the dirty dishes coming back from the front.
I caught a snippet of conversation: “. . . a new Rubrik K7 Turbo back home. When you’re in Fracinica we should take it to the test track.”
At the far end of the kitchen, Gellica leaned against a counter, sharing a conversation with Tenebrae. The blond man’s arm was bent at his side, holding a drink. His smile was wider than hers, and she was half turned, leaning into his space.
I came to a sudden halt and stared at her like a fool gaping at a circus performer. She noticed me and stopped talking, which confused Tenebrae, who looked past me into the hall beyond, as if there surely had to be something more interesting than me to catch Gellica’s eye.
She said, “Carter?” As if she needed confirmation.
I swallowed. “Envoy Gellica. I need a few minutes of your time. Police business.”
Tenebrae wore a well-tailored two-piece suit. I wasn’t an expert, but I was fairly certain the pin on his rune-covered tie cost more than a year’s rent on my apartment.
Gellica turned to Tenebrae and put a hand on his arm.
“You remember Detective Carter from the other night at The Lotus Petal?”
The tall man’s eyes widened and his smile beamed at me. He reached out a hand, and I took it without meaning to.
“So sorry we didn’t have time to speak at that event.” His grip was warm, firm and even. I wondered if he’d taken lessons to get it that way.
“Pretty sure we said it all.” I let his hand drop. It appeared recently manicured, without so much as a cuticle damaged or out of
place. A perfect match for the rest of him.
My words barely fazed him. He took it in stride and actually chuckled, as if we were old friends having a laugh. “Well if I’d known you were that Carter I’d have had more to say.”
His eyes twinkled, and for a moment it seemed like the most logical thing in the world that he only ignored nobodies.
I focused on Gellica. “Good to see you.” I felt my cheeks redden. What the Hells was wrong with me?
She disengaged herself from Tenebrae, who scooped a metal chain and pendant from the kitchen counter and headed to the main gathering. Gellica followed me a few steps away, to the far end of the kitchen, near heavily manicured plants flanking a window that overlooked the Mount. The rent here must have been mind-boggling.
“Imp’s blade, Carter. Why didn’t you return my calls?” Her hands were clasped in front of her. “I saw you on the news after that Therreau cart thing. I was worried.” She narrowed her eyes. “You look awful.”
My mouth was dry, and her voice sounded muffled, as if there was something in my ear.
“I had to come here for work,” I lied. “Wanted to say hi when I saw you.” My lips kept moving, as if there were more words to be said. The flaws in my story apparent even as the words tumbled past my lips.
She started to speak, and I interrupted her. Her expression moved from concern to irritation.
“Gotta get going,” I said. “Good luck with . . .” I glanced toward the party, where Tenebrae had taken his movie-star smile back to the crowd. “With your friend. Or whatever.” The man’s face was as miraculously free of wrinkles as his suit.
“Carter . . .” Irritation moving to anger.
“Good luck,” I said again and walked away, half hoping she’d call out for me to stop, and half determined that I wouldn’t show her how much it confused and hurt me to see her there, in that world of corruption and power brokers.
Back in the press of the well-heeled crowd, I forced my way past politicians and sycophants, the cream of high society who bought and sold neighborhoods as if they were toys to be used and discarded. The CaCuris were sharks preying on the working class, but these people were commercial fishing boats. And Tenebrae was as bad as any of them.
At the thought of the gathering’s host, I saw the man himself. He was next to Colonel Marbury, smiling as he talked about something that allowed him to bat his eyes, flex his muscles, and add in the occasional flirtatious touch. The colonel, who’d seemed so skeptical of the gathering, was more than a little encouraging of the attention. I remembered her scanning the crowd, searching for a face. There was no doubt in my mind who she’d been hoping to see.
I turned away and searched for the door, head spinning, clammy sweat starting to drip down my back and from my brow. Every step I took moved me farther away from Gellica, the woman I’d rushed across town to find. The apartment was big enough that I’d managed to get disoriented. I found the statue of a rearing bull where I’d spoken with Marbury earlier and stepped beside it, catching my breath and getting my bearings as I searched for the exit.
A woman a head shorter than me blocked my path. With tightly cropped hair styled into curls and a gray silk blouse that exposed tattoos creeping down her biceps, I didn’t need to examine the cheekbones or dimpled chin to recognize her. It was the same face that presided over Gellica’s office from the oil painting on the wall. Ambassador Paulus.
Even as she boxed me into the space by the statue she barely spared me a glance, sipping her drink and looking back out over the party.
“Detective,” she said. “What a delightful surprise.”
I froze, pulling my arms in tight to my midsection and doing my best to control my breathing.
Paulus looked so like Gellica, only older, and drained of passion and concern. How far had the acorn fallen from the tree? I wanted to trust Gellica, and she wanted us to have a connection. But was that enough, even in the most tenuous of relationships?
“I had a message for the envoy. But I’m leaving. Now.” The metal clamp continued to squeeze my cheekbones and eye sockets, and the distant whisper-filled buzzing grew louder, the sound of an angry colony of bees emerging from the bottom of a long-dead well. It was time for me to get the Hells out of there.
Paulus smirked. “Oh, did our hero get his heart broken? Maybe you’ll still find it in yourself to save us all from peace and prosperity?” She lifted the miniature sword from her tapered glass, brandished it playfully in the air, its blade heavy with a trio of stuffed olives.
“It’s especially tragic,” she said, “considering it was Gellica who came to your rescue the last time we talked. Maybe she won’t care enough to bother next time.” She finally turned her gaze on me directly. “Just like your Captain Bryyh, who I hear is greatly in disfavor at the Bunker these days. Every time she defends your public appearances she burns a little more of her influence. Must drive you mad . . .” She slid her thumb across the flat of the tiny blade, pushing the olives toward its tip. “Gellica. Captain Bryyh. All the people who shield you from the consequences of your actions. Dropping away, one . . . by. . . . one.” The olives plopped back into her martini, spilling expensive liquor and accenting each word.
Like the rest of the crowd, Paulus was focused on her personal gain at the expense of everyone else. But while they might be dealing in the manna futures market, Paulus had the opportunity to bend the flow of manna to her will. Whatever laws she had to break to lay hands on the new manna, she likely was already exploiting it. It was no wonder Tenebrae was trying to curry favor with her. And that Gellica wanted to escape from under her thumb.
“Yeah. I suppose you’d know what being alone feels like. You had to make your only friend in a lab.” I leaned closer. “And how’d that work out for you?”
A form slithered across her shoulders. I wouldn’t have seen it except for the ripple of silk on her blouse. It was almost invisible, a shift of the air like heat rising off the hood of a car. My right foot slid backward, an involuntary reaction to the memory of the fiendish thing Paulus commanded, and the memory of claustrophobia, of fear, when it had pinned me to the carpet in Gellica’s living room. The buzzing in my ears continued to grow, now almost sounding like distant voices raised in song, a kind of radio station that wouldn’t quite emerge from the static.
“So many things are beyond you,” she said. “Why do you persist in getting in my way?” The tone was disdainful, but there was a glint of something else in her eye—pleasure. She enjoyed making direct threats, probably in a way she could never do in a political setting. For all her wealth and power, Paulus was no better than the street thugs I dragged into the Bunker on a daily basis.
I gathered my courage.
“Haven’t you read the papers?” I managed. “It’s my job to take out the trash.”
The candles in their holders flickered then gutted out, their life snuffed by the air, or wind, or whatever the thing was that Paulus controlled. I had to get away. I pushed past her, pressing my hand against her arm. Her tattoos recoiled, but as with Guyer’s cloak, I felt nothing. No tingle, no sense of connection. Whatever suspicions I’d had about sensing manna, now I knew they were delusions. In addition to everything else, I had to contend with the idea that I might be going mad.
She let me pass, enjoying her drink as she watched me stumble for the door.
Gellica came across the room, moving too quickly for me to track. She’d saved me from Paulus once before, and I wondered if she’d do the same now, or if I was too much of a liability. A wave of nausea-tinged hunger hit me, and the room seemed to retreat down a narrow corridor. The sound of muffled singing grew louder, and my nostrils burned like I’d taken a deep whiff of the sulfur-infused air in a geo-vent. For all of it, I couldn’t help but pause to see if Gellica was going to stand by Paulus or to slip a hand onto Tenebrae’s finely sculpted arms.
Gellica gripped Paulus’s tat
tooed bicep and whispered sharp words in her employer’s ear. I turned and shoved my way through the crowd, batting at invisible cobwebs as I pushed past Tenebrae and Marbury and other less familiar faces. Another shiver wracked my body. I didn’t care anymore if they stared, if I looked deranged. All I really hoped to do was make it to the door before being sick. I pressed forward, venting my anger and frustration as I batted at the threads clinging to my hands and face. The shrill sound of feedback filled my ears followed by a sudden crack of an explosion as a concussive force impacted my back.
Behind me, Tenebrae spoke in the loud forced-calm of someone seeking to avoid panic. “Not to worry! Simply an overheated glass candle holder. My apologies, everyone!”
The alarmed crowd milled about, ignoring me in the confusion. The air was warmer near the door, and my nausea drained away, though I was still weak-legged. I took a deep, ragged breath, and with it came a flood of regret. I’d come hoping to reconcile with Gellica, and I’d walked out with the composure of a drunk stumbling from an all-hours bar. But disgrace wasn’t the only thing I’d incurred at the fundraiser.
I turned to stare back into the room. Standing by the sculpted bull, Tenebrae held a hand tight to his chest, as if he’d been wounded by some kind of debris. The glass candle holders that Paulus’s creature had been skulking around were indeed shattered, her anger probably the thing that had triggered their “explosion.” Gellica didn’t notice me at all, intent on examining her clutch purse, which looked like it had been torn open in the confusion. Paulus herself ignored the press of concerned partygoers, one hand pressed to her cheek, blood oozing past her fingers like bright red tears. Despite the crowd between us, we locked eyes, and my stomach clenched once more. The ambassador glared at me, furious and vengeful as all the imps in the Hells.
