“Hmm,” said Roman. “Truthfully it's up to Mars. You see, she and I would be splitting the thirty, which means that we'd both only get fifteen percent. Fifteen percent of forty-two isn't very much, especially when you're talking about crackerjacks.”
Thing Moss looked up at Mars. “What do you say, whole-breed?”
Mars looked to Roman, but he didn't give her any ideas. “I'm not that good at math. What does that give me, six?”
“I'll make sure you get seven,” said Thing Moss. “After I win.”
“She's slow,” said one of the other Collectors. “She'll never win.”
“The crackerjacks are mine!” said another.
“Only if I give you one,” said a third.
“I won yesterday and ate all the crackerjacks,” groaned a fourth. “Stomach hurts now.”
“I get seven,” said Mars, looking around at them through the corners of her eyes. “Agreed?”
“Agreed!” said Thing Moss, sniffing the Wonder and taking a bite out of it. And then the Collectors all scattered, leaving them in the middle of Jackson Square.
Roman started leading them through the park, past the statue of Andrew Jackson upon his rearing horse and underneath the massive oak trees, towards the river. Mars waved across the park at a large bald man wearing overalls. The man was on his knees speaking to one of the bushes.
“A friend of yours?” asked Roman.
“Tomas is one of my newer clients, and he's super sweet. It looks like he's doing better.” She looked down at the flower that was wrapped around her wrist and smiled. “Well that was fun and productive. Are we still going into the river?”
“No, and our work just became significantly easier. I figured we'd take the streetcar back.”
After a few minutes Mars spoke. “Your family's freaking weird, but I could see maybe hanging out with them, at least every once in a while.”
File 41 :: [Edith Downs]
Ever since she'd woken up that morning Edith had felt an aliveness buzzing out from the core of her bones and rattling at the edges of her skin. At first she'd thought it was all the adventure of the previous evening – climbing up to rooftops and hunting down some kind of fugitive. But as the day went on and they began their slow patrol from Bourbon to Frenchmen and back, she realized she was only half-listening to Adelaide tell her about The Axeboy's patterns of movement – all Edith wanted to think about was the Extraction Glove. She'd run into some problems the night before, but it seemed that as she slept her mind had been running through the problems over and over, piecing together all manner of solutions. With each step the weight of the duffel bag pulled at the strap on her shoulder, and she kept thinking of the glove and the antiques inside. She'd swapped out the antiques when they'd gotten to the Agency headquarters and brought a couple of her own as well.
She had a fear creeping up on her – that if she left The Agents Of, Roman would take the glove back. Or that he'd only let her use it when he was with her.
Well, if that happens, she thought, I'll just have to trade him something for it. Or have him make me another one. The confidence she felt then was stronger than anything she'd felt for a long time. Yes, the glove was hers – or it was becoming hers. Roman would either understand that or she'd reason with him until he did.
She wanted to train, to get better. She wanted to become confident enough to use the Extraction Glove on the chisel that the boy had brought from 1934, The Axeman's chisel. Edith knew that it might help them catch The Axeboy faster, but what really excited her was the challenge – the danger – and knowing that she'd be doing something that she never would have thought possible.
It was past noon and they were walking down Royal Street and passing by a jug band in full swing when Adelaide said her name. Edith looked over. Adelaide was such a beautiful woman, and somehow she'd not only found pants in Edith's closet that she could somehow squeeze her hips into (Edith didn't have much in the hip department), but also wore one of Edith's blouses in such a way as to imply that Adelaide was ready to run off into adventure at a moment's notice. In short, Adelaide was wearing mild-mannered Edith's clothes and, as Mars would say, looked like a badass.
“Your thoughts are so loud I can almost make them out,” said Adelaide.
“I keep thinking about the glove. About how to fix the problems I was having with it yesterday.”
Adelaide laughed. “And this whole time I figured you were thinking about Wole.”
Edith felt her face grow warm. “Well, now I am.”
“But if you're in the mood to work on the glove, you should go and work on it. I'll drop you off at one of the coffee shops and check up on you while I travel back and forth.”
Edith looked around at all the people walking up and down Royal Street while watching the bands and the street performers. During the day the street was blocked off and became a pedestrian mall, so all the bands and performers could set up in the middle of the street. “But I can't just work on the glove in public. It would look too weird to people.”
“Which is why they won't see it. Or their minds will make up some weird reason for what's happening.”
“If you're sure about that...”
“It'll be good for you. Then you'll get used to using the glove with distractions around. And the glove is powered by Wonder, so it's even more improbable that anyone will realize you're doing anything weirder than what they'd normally see.”
“Ok, I'll try it out. I know of a place on the way to Frenchmen.”
Edith led them zigzagging towards the river and onto lower Decatur Street. They passed by all the cheesy T-Shirt shops and dive bars and touristy restaurants, then walked into Cafe EnVie. The corner coffee shop was long with one wall full of large double doors which were all open to the street with tables and chairs spilling out into the warm spring day. Over half the seats were taken by people drinking coffee or cocktails or eating sandwiches, but there were still plenty of places to sit.
“You want anything?” asked Edith.
Adelaide looked up at the coffee menu. “Maybe later. The scent of coffee in here is strong enough to keep me awake for a while.” She glanced over the espresso machine at the clock on the wall. “I'll pass by every hour on the hour to check in. I probably won't need your help for a while, so just practice away.”
“Sounds good.”
Adelaide left and Edith got in line. She ordered a double latte and and an adorably sweet girl with dark, shaggy hair and thick black glasses began pouring the shots and steaming the milk. Edith looked at the patches that covered the girl's ripped jean jacket, but didn't recognize any of the bands. When the girl handed the latte to her, there was a wonderful drawing of a flower on top – stem and leaves and all.
“That's gorgeous!” said Edith, smiling.
The girl blushed. “Awe, thanks! Enjoy!”
Edith sighed to herself as she carried the mug outside, looking down at the flower as the latte foam slowly broke down, it's beauty already being siphoned away by time. Making latte art was one of the few things she really missed about Le Croissant Cité. Maybe she'd have to go into her own shop every once in a while just to make drinks so that she didn't lose the knack for it.
Most of the outside tables were not on Decatur but on the intersecting street named Barracks, which had far less walking traffic. Edith sat down at the outside table furthest from Decatur and sipped the delicious latte as she unzipped the duffel bag and opened the long, padded box. She pulled out the glove and one of the antiques she'd brought from her house – a jeweled dragonfly pin that she'd gotten from an antique store when she'd moved into town. It was silver with blue stones set into the body, tiny white stones dotting the wings and two large orange stones for eyes. A number of the blue and white stones were missing, but to Edith they added to its beauty. She was very familiar with the piece and the mems within, who came out to greet her.
The pin had been passed down from a New Orleanian lady to her young granddaughter in the late 1800s. Mo
st of the memories that the mems had shown to Edith were of the girl getting dressed up and going to the opera with her grandmother. The girl, who was about thirteen, absolutely loved it every time she went. She aspired to be more like her grandmother and wore the pin whenever she saw her. Edith had been surprised early on at how many New Orleanian antiques held at least the briefest mentions of opera – evidently opera was an extremely prominent part of the city's past.
Edith slipped her thin arm into the clunky glove and tightened the straps, then powered it on. It hummed and vibrated against her skin, the vials of blue and purple liquid bubbling and gurgling. She activated the glove with a turn of her hand and felt herself suddenly cut off from all of the mems around her. Even the mems who had crawled out of the dragonfly and had just been on the table vanished. She knew they were still there, but that she was cut off from them. Each time this happened she felt utterly alone, almost to the point of panicking. She breathed in deep, steadying her heart, then looked at the dozens of files all lined up inside the dragonfly pin. She hadn't realized there'd be so many of them in the tiny thing, all stacked atop one another and wrapped in golden light.
Edith glanced them over, getting the gist of each one. Most were of the grandmother, back when she was a young woman – the mems had not shown her any of these. Some were extremely sad, but the sadness couldn't touch Edith while she wore the glove – not unless she invited it inside.
Then she came to a memory she hadn't seen before of the little girl. It was wrapped in sadness, but Edith reached out with the glove and touched it, opened it, and the golden light spread out and covered the world around her. The light took on the shapes and dimensions of a small room around Edith, with a bed and a vanity, then the light faded and deep colors seeped into the walls and the bed – whites and blues and brown wood. The girl stood there, the girl from the memories Edith had seen. But she was not dressed up – she wore a thick nightgown over cloth pants, as well as slippers. It was very cold, and Edith could smell the scent of burning wood.
Edith couldn't help but smile – she so enjoyed the memories of the girl going to the opera. But then she saw that the girl's face was streaked with tears, and Edith felt the girl's thoughts and heartache. She knew that the girl had just found out that her grandmother passed away. The dragonfly clutched in her hand, the girl went to the window and opened it up. Like a ghost on a leash, Edith floated behind her as the girl crawled out the window and out onto the slanted roof just outside.
It was night and the air was freezing. The girl sat down and hugged her knees to her chest. She squeezed the dragonfly so tight that there would be an imprint of it in her hand. Edith knew then that the girl didn't feel companionship with her parents and she had no brothers or sisters. With her grandmother gone, she was completely alone.
Below them a carriage went by and people walked quickly through the brisk winter air, all bundled up in their coats and scarves. The city was quiet as the girl sobbed slowly into the night, her hot breath steaming around her nose and mouth. Edith wanted more than anything to hold her, but inside the memory Edith had no body.
“Stella!” said a woman from the window. “Stella, come in here!” The woman held her hands out, beckoning the girl back inside. The woman was her mother.
The girl climbed down and her mother pulled her in and shut the window, pulling a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around her. The woman dropped to her knees and held her daughter tight as the girl continued to sob.
“I know,” her mother whispered as tears dripped from the corners of her own eyes. “I know. I want her back too.” She kissed her daughter's forehead, her eyes red and wet. “I want her back too.”
They held each other for a while, then the mother wiped her face with her hand. She used the blanket to wipe Stella's face. “Let's go sit by the fire and warm up,” she whispered. “I'll make us some hot cocoa.”
Stella took a deep breath and her mother lead her out of the room, still wrapped in the blanket, still holding onto the dragonfly pin.
Edith twisted her hand slightly and the world around her became brighter and brighter until that brightness covered everything, then the light folded into a single point before her like an imploding star, filtering into the file sitting on the table inside of the dragonfly pin. Once more she was sitting outside Cafe EnVie in The French Quarter, and none of the other customers were paying attention to her. Her skin felt ice cold and her breath steamed into the air before her. Edith took a deep breath and pulled her gloved hand away from the file.
Glancing down at her latte, she saw that it was frozen over. She reached over and touched it with her free hand and the top cracked and fell into the liquid beneath. Her breath stopped steaming as she felt her skin quickly warm up to match the temperature around her, and her cheeks were wet
“This,” she said to herself, her voice quivering. “This is the first file I will copy. You deserve to be known, to be saved.” She pulled out the stapler-like device and plugged it into the glove, then held it with her free hand as she reached into the dragonfly pin and touched the file. Edith felt the glove interacting with the copier, felt the Wonder and other fluids sloshing through the tubes between them.
It occurred to her then what she'd been doing wrong while trying to copy – she'd been thinking of it as a lithograph, as a printing press. She'd been trying to press the real file onto the new copy all at once, but all that did was reverse it. If the copies had worked, they would have been backwards.
With slight movements of her hand and fingers inside the glove, Edith coaxed the energy and light through the glove and tubes and into the copier. Like a puppeteer, she moved her fingers in the glove and the light danced to life around the copier. She let it play itself out, let it grow and experience itself. She gave the memory space to breathe, and the copier quickly rebuilt the memory from the ground up, weaving it together like a small tapestry of light. Within a minute she was looking at an exact copy of the file – a golden square of light emanating from the copier.
Edith smiled and her chest shook as she breathed. She knew quite suddenly that she would do all she could to keep it safe, keep it from falling into extinction. Even if the dragonfly pin was lost or destroyed, this memory and the others she would collect would not be easily forgotten.
With her thumb she pushed a button on the copier and the file slipped inside. A tiny golden light lit up on the side of the copier, letting her know there was one file inside. She powered down the glove and took a drink from her latte, which was half-cold and half-warm, then began unstrapping the glove so she could go and purchase another one.
File 42 :: [The Angel of Death]
Conversely batted upwards by the throngs of the perversely alive and pulled back downwards by those whose thoughts are drawn like magnets to their inevitable end, The Angel stretched her wings out into the New Orleans night sky. She shifted between worlds, twisting and thrusting herself forward like a pool cue.
Pulling her wings close to her shoulders, she swooped down past the overgrown oak trees in the neutral ground[24] of Esplanade Avenue and landed crouched in the large open window of an abandoned building. The hum of ghostly trumpets trickled out from the shadows like blood from a wound.
Silently she stepped down onto the rotted wooden floor. The Axeboy was there with his back to her, unceremoniously sitting on a pile of dirty blankets and eating some kind of sandwich. She walked up just behind him, quietly taking a cigarette out of its silver case and pulling out a lighter. She struck the lighter and lit her cigarette, and at the sound of the lighter The Axeboy rolled forward, dropping the sandwich and spinning around in a crouch with a hand on his sheathed axe. His eyes widened when he saw her and he leaped to the side towards the door, but The Angel was already stepping forward while she took her first drag, and with a slight twist of her shoulders a large wing collided with him and threw him against the wall.
He landed on his feet, holding his chest and coughing where she'd struck him. Then he turne
d and ran, shifting into the second layer of the ghostly worlds, Necropolis. The Angel leaped and dove in after him, shifting through the different planes, following just behind the perfume of life and death that he left in his wake. The walls of the building were ethereal and transparent – ghosts and entities watched confused as The Axeboy ran past them – then those same being ran for their non-lives when they saw her on his tail. He leaped through the transparent wall and landed in a room of a neighboring building.
The Angel dove down through the floor, flying into the next building and past him, then came up spinning and knocking his legs out from underneath him with one wing. The Axeboy tumbled across the floor, his axe skittering away and through a wall.
She grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt and dragged him back into the living world, then turned him around and pushed him against a wall. She took a drag of her cigarette, stepping back and pressing the feathers of one wing against the boy's throat, pinning him there.
“You come all the way here across decades of time, and don't even pay your mother a visit?” He struggled to breathe as she pressed her wing harder onto his throat. She could feel him trying to shift away, but she kept him pinned to the world of the living like an insect pinned to a board.
The air beside her bent and warped as the silver axe traversed through the worlds and towards his hand. She slapped it down before it reached him and stepped on it with her high heeled shoe. “Oh, now you're going to use your little toy on me, are you?”
“I didn't come here,” he croaked, “just to be bullied by you, you bitch.”
She stepped closer, folding her arms and blowing upward a long, thin stream of smoke. “I know exactly why you're here.” She let up on his throat a little. “How do you think I found you? I know more about what you're doing than you do.”
“The hell you do.”
“You already told me – you told me everything.”
The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1) Page 24
