“I – I fucking swear! I don't know where they went!”
Mars touched the side of his face with her hand and the device crawled further around the back of her hand. She saw Julius jump, as if he was about to try and intervene between the device and the bartender – but the device stopped advancing and he stayed where he was.
“I see you really trying to lie to me,” she said. “And I admire all the effort you're putting into this. So I'm giving you thirty more seconds to play your game, then we're leaving – either with the truth or with you.”
“You can't do this!” he yelled, his wide eyes looking from Julius to her. Julius barely managed a shrug. “All I know is gossip! Nothing concrete!”
“Twenty seconds,” she said, looking over at Julius. “Can you hand me the ghost-rope?”
Julius started ruffling through a duffel bag.
“Doesn't this go against Agency policy?” asked Bartholomew.
Julius pulled the rope out of the duffel bag and Mars tightened her grip on the bartender's tie, using her other hand to push his face back towards hers. The device on her arm began making a soft whirring noise. “Our policy, Bart, is saving the freaking city.” She nodded to the bottles on the wall beside them. “We're here to make sure that tomorrow you still have plenty of ghosts to get drunk, so that you can pay your ghost-rent and afford your ghost-cup of coffee and chicory every morning.”
Mars pulled her hand away from his face, a little afraid of what the device was going to do to him, and grabbed the rope from Julius. “Mind giving me a hand?” she asked Julius.
He nodded and readied himself to climb up the stool like she had done.
“What?” yelled Bartholomew. “Ok! Fuck! They went to the Tartarus Realm! Straight there, no stops. I didn't even know that it was possible, but that's what everyone's saying happened. Like I said, I was in here. But everyone who's come in has said as much.”
Mars looked over at Julius, who nodded.
She let go of Bartholomew's tie and stood up straight, looking down at him. “Thanks a million, Bart. The Agents Of will remember your contribution to this mission for all time.”
“Yeah, fuck off.” He unbuttoned his vest and pushed his tie back down against his shirt.
“I'll always keep a piece of you,” she said, stepping fully onto the front bar and pointing at her heart. “Right here.”
He muttered something with the words “Agents” and “crazy” along with a number of expletives, and she handed the rope to Julius and climbed down the stool like a ladder. They left Bartholomew and made their way through the crowded club, then back out to Frenchmen Street.
“Ghost-rope,” said Julius as he took out the antique streetcar token, flipped it up into the air and caught it. “That was a nice touch.”
“I thought it sounded like something Roman would come up with.”
“It was perfect.”
The streetcar pulled up to Decatur and Esplanade and slowed to a halt. Henri opened the red accordion door.
Mars climbed up into the streetcar. “So what does this mean?”
Julius followed her up the steps. “It means we won't waste our time searching for Edith in Necropolis. We're going straight for the heart. Also, what you did back there? Roman won't like it if he sees you doing that. He's always giving me hell for jumping straight for the intimidation card.”
“Roman won't see me doing it. And I did that for Edith – for our fellow Agent.”
Julius took a seat and raised his one hand. “You don't have to convince me. Quick and precise. That's what I like to see.”
Henri looked back at them from the driver's seat. “You headed back to Spanish Plaza?”
“Yes,” said Julius. “But we probably won't be there long.”
The accordion doors closed and they were on their way.
File 63 :: [William Town]
William looked out over the gray buildings of the dead-world as he set his trumpet in its open case and squeezed the back of his neck. All this playing and being-possessed business was taxing. Between bouts of playing he and Edith had been swapping stories of their pasts, and he wasn't sure what he'd do if she wasn't around. The last thing she'd told him was the story of The Axeboy.
“It's pretty tragic,” said William, looking across the flat building tops towards the pristinely white Greek-looking building, where The Angel of Death stood on the roof next to the newest trumpet player she'd made play that damned horn. It seemed she was switching them out every couple of hours. Word had spread amongst the trumpet players that the exact species of horn was cornet, and that it was extremely out of tune.
“Tragic?” Edith leaned back against the edge of the roof. “I think he's just a spoiled, psychotic brat who has way too much power. His mother should be slapping the crap out of him right now, not helping him destroy the freaking city.”
William shrugged. “Maybe. But at the same time he's just a confused boy who wants to see his father come home. It doesn't sound like it's his fault that he has so much power.”
“I guess you could see it that way. It's just hard to feel sorry for him with the image of my friend being beaten by him fresh in my head.” She looked over her shoulder at The Angel up there, and William could tell Edith was getting really antsy. “How long do they usually stay up there?”
“They've never stayed this long. Usually it's only half an hour or so. But with the Axe-kid unconscious and this magic cornet, everything's different now. Not to mention the sky getting all bubbly and such.”
“I don't like it. I feel like she'd have to go to Trumpet Fest soon, but what if she doesn't?”
“She keeps looking over her shoulder, too. Do you think the boy's waking up?”
Edith pounded her palm against the roof she sat upon. “Damn it! I need to get off this roof! I need to do something!”
“I've got an idea, if you really want down.”
“What is it?”
William walked up to the edge of the roof and cupped his hands to the sides of his mouth. “Pardon me!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Edith crouched down further behind the edge of the roof. “William! What in the hell are you doing?”
“Ma'am!” he yelled. “Pardon me! Can I just get a minute of your time please?”
The Angel looked over at him and then turned away, obviously ignoring him.
“Just a moment!” he hollered. “I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't terribly important!”
He could see her sigh from across the building tops, and her wings unfurled from behind her and pushed her up into the sky. She flew quickly towards them and landed on the concrete rail right in front of him, and nearly on top of Edith, who scrambled away from the ledge and looked up at The Angel like a scarred animal.
“What is it, trumpet player?” asked The Angel.
William pointed over at Edith. “She's not one of us.”
The Angel peered down at Edith. “Oh? How so?”
“William!” said Edith.
William shrugged. “She's a nice enough girl, but she's not a trumpet player. When you have one of us go up and play that cornet up there, all I want to do is play my heart out – it's the best feeling in the world. But this girl keeps on talking and distracting us. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind moving her somewhere else.” He looked over at Edith. “I don't mean any offense.”
The Angel shook her head and hopped down onto the roof in front of William. “Is that so?” She glanced back up towards the building she'd flown over from. “Figures the boy would take someone who wasn't a damned trumpet player.”
“I tried ignoring her,” said William. “But she keeps talking so much. Normally I'd be fine with conversation, but in these circumstances...”
The Angel looked into his eyes and a set of chills ran up the edges of his skin. “Shh. I don't care.” Then she turned and walked up to Edith, reaching behind her to grab the back of Edith's shirt. “Remember last time? Don't struggle, don't speak.” She picked Edi
th up with one hand and then leaped up onto the edge of the roof and jumped off. Edith screamed as they plummeted towards the street.
“No!” William ran to the edge of the roof and watched them fall, his own stomach dropping. He thought for sure that he was about to watch his new friend die because of him, but they vanished before hitting the ground. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fingers. “Holy hell. Safe travels, Edith.”
File 64 :: [Edith Downs]
Edith screamed and crossed her arms in front of her face as the gray buildings of the Tartarus raced by, the ground flying at her like a speeding truck. Then the world peeled away from her and she was pulled up into the air by the back of her shirt. The buildings all around were full of brilliant colors, and they breathed and morphed around her and The Angel. Balconies melted and splashed down to become sidewalks, which then floated up to become rooftops. Bright green vines erupted from the plants hanging from balconies, stretching out to become the walls of neighboring buildings. Edith watched some cloudy figures chasing each other across sidewalks and walls, others flailing about or screaming at no one.
“I could leave you here,” said The Angel, “but you'd surely go mad within the hour.”
“What is this place?” asked Edith.
“A place of freedom. Without restriction, without rules or borders. A place where the bridles of the mind and heart are stripped away, either by choice or by natural force. This place has been given countless names, but the names never stick. It is most often referred to as the third ghostly realm.”
The world again peeled away around them, and once more they were in the recognizable French Quarter. It was much darker, being night and not having the glowing sky of Oblivion to light the world around them. Edith knew instantly that they were not in the world she was from, but most likely in one of the other ghostly realms.
The Angel slowed their flight and landed on top of the amphitheater which rested between Jackson Square and the Mississippi. They stood next to a statue of a cannon which was surrounded by benches. Edith turned and looked at the Mississippi River, which was populated with hosts of large wooden sailing vessels. The levee still had it's walkway and benches, but the lamps that lit the walkway were gas lamps instead of electric. Dozens of docks were built out into the water, several of which had boats tied to them. Rather than parking lots between the river and Decatur, there were warehouses and other buildings.
Hundreds of people strolled the levee or worked on the ships – people wearing clothes from every era of New Orleans history.
“I'm leaving you here,” said The Angel, “because I'm in a good mood. This is Necropolis, the second ghostly realm. A much more forgiving place than the third or fourth.” The Angel turned towards Jackson Square and her black wings opened up behind her.
“How do I get back to the living world?” Edith couldn't believe she was asking this foul creature for help, but she knew nothing about where she was.
The Angel turned to her, nearly hitting her with a wing as she did. “If you're so eager to get back to your living world, Edith Downs, then I'm sure you can find your way. But if I were you, I'd stay here. People in Necropolis have a better understanding of what it means to be alive.” She took a step closer and the hairs on Edith's arms stood on end. “I don't know why you were brought to the Tartarus Realm, Edith Downs. I do know that you're a terrible actress. Maybe my son was taking you prisoner, or maybe you tricked him into thinking you were a trumpet player so that he'd bring you. It doesn't matter – any answer you could give me would be utterly useless. But you really should consider staying here. Get a job, rent an apartment, make new friends. Because the living world, one way or another, is not going to be habitable for much longer.”
Then The Angel turned and leaped into the sky, soaring towards the top of the Saint Louis Cathedral, and vanished.
Edith licked her lips and looked down from the amphitheater at all the people strolling the sidewalk of Decatur. “Alright, Edith,” she said. “This is what you wanted – you're off that damned roof. Time to woman up and be an Agent.” She started making her way down the large concrete steps to Decatur Street.
As Edith made her way down the Necropolis version of Decatur, she realized that there wasn't so much difference between this world and the world of the living. The shops were different, as well as some of the buildings. There were plenty of people in historical garb, but it was almost like being in The Quarter when there was some kind of historic festival or convention in town. It reminded her of Pirate Week, when people in pirate costumes flooded The Quarter.
She walked into Tujaques, an old bar a block down from Jackson Square. The long room had a brass and wood bar along one side with mirrors and bottles behind it, and the opposing wall had several paintings and large windows. There were no bar stools – even in the living world, Tujaques was one of the last standing bars, with a brass rail at the foot of the bar for patrons to rest one of their shoes on. Many of the patrons eyed her when she walked in, and she asked the bartender if she could use the phone.
“A phone won't do your kind much good,” he said. “Maybe you'd do better if you bought a drink.”
Edith pulled out the little bit of cash she had on her.
“You're gonna try and pay me with paper?” he asked, laughing. “That's cute, but you won't last long here, doll.”
She left Tujaques, and, after trying a few more restaurants and bars with similar results, wandered into Dutch Alley, a little sliver of cobblestone walkway nestled between Decatur Street and the levee. Even in Necropolis, Dutch Alley was lit by hundreds of tiny lights dangling between trees, lighting up the plethora of metal statues of people. At first Edith finally felt like she had some space to be alone and think – a place that seemed normal to her – but she quickly realized that some of the statues in the alley were alive. They were human statues wearing metallic makeup with tip buckets sitting in front of them, though there were no pedestrians walking through the alley that could tip them.
A feeling of being overwhelmed took hold of her. She sat down on one of the planters in the alley, hugging her knees to her chest and closing her eyes.
Her mind raced through all the knowledge she'd acquired, just like when she'd been trying to find a way off of the rooftops in the Tartarus Realm. She both loved that she knew so much more about the city and hated that none of the knowledge seemed to be helping her in such desperate situations.
What happens if I stay here? she thought. Will I just die? Will I forget all the things I love?
She took a deep breath and cleared her mind, just resting her thoughts for a few moments. Edith sensed something approaching, but decided to ignore it. After a moment she felt a tug on the sleeve of her shirt and sighed. She looked up, but no one was there. Looking down, she saw a mem standing on the planter next to her – it was no doubt a mem, but it was yellow instead of blue.
It spoke to her in emotions and images like mems usually did, but she had a hard time deciphering them. She realized quickly that what she was experiencing was a different dialect of the same language. It was asking her something – if she was the shield, or the protector.
“I'm... I'm Edith,” she said.
The yellow mem lowered to one knee and bowed its head.
“Are... are you from an object?” she asked.
It shook its head and spoke once more to her through emotions and pictures. It showed her a picture of itself with a cord attached to a clock, and an “X” drawn through the cord. I'm not from something, it was telling her.
Edith felt the mem's energy, similar to how she would with the glove. She could tell that the mem was indeed unattached to any object or place or person, though it seemed to be associated with things – yet she couldn't tell exactly what.
“Curious. I'd like to learn more about you, but I'm afraid I have to save the city.”
The mem sent her a picture of a shield again.
“Yes. Are there many of you?”
>
It sent her a picture of dozens of little yellow mems.
“Are you presently in danger?”
The mem shook its head.
“I don't suppose you can tell me how get to the living world, or at least to contact it?”
The mem hesitated, thinking. Then it sent her a picture of Café du Monde[30], which was one of the places she'd walked by on her way to Tujaques. Then the mem sent her a picture of a phone.
“A literal phone? Like one that I can call the real world from?”
The mem nodded.
“Thank you so much!” Edith got to her feet. “I will not forget this. When I see you next, you might have to remind me of who you are, alright?”
The mem nodded again.
“If I can get back to Necropolis, where can I find you?”
It sent her a map of Dutch Alley, then a picture of Jackson Square and the levee.
“Thank you, friend.”
The mem once more bowed its head to her and she bowed her head back. Then Edith turned and ran down the alley, past the statues and fountains and shop fronts, until she came to the back entrance to Café du Monde. She walked into the covered outside dining area, full of little round tables with people in all manner of clothing eating beignets and drinking café au laits. A small band consisting of two brass horns and a guitar played to the diners from the sidewalk.
She stopped one of the servers, who wore a white apron and had a paper hat. “Excuse me, I need to use the phone.”
“Don't worry,” he said as he walked away from her. “Necropolis will spit you out eventually.”
“Eventually is too late!” she said, but he just kept walking. She tried stopping a couple other people, but they wouldn't even talk to her. Thoughts of Adelaide being beaten by that damned boy fluttered through her mind, followed by thoughts of the people of New Orleans and the dangerous, looming monster that was The Axeman. Edith thought of her customers and employees at Le Croissant Cité and how they knew nothing about any of this or the danger they were in.
The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1) Page 33
