City of Broken Magic

by Mirah Bolender

  “You’ve done more than enough for tonight. Better get some rest now,” said Albright. “We’ll call you if we run into any trouble, but you removed the main threat. We’ll be fine.”

  Albright gave her officers some more orders, then drove away, leaving the cleanup for the stragglers. She dropped Laura and Okane off at the shop, assisted in unloading the strains again, and advised them to stay near the phone in case she needed them later.

  After some awkward conversation, they put all of the strains, Clae included, in the room behind the drapes and went upstairs to sleep. Okane headed to his own room, and Laura went to the one she’d slept in before. It was a grandmother’s room, she reflected as she stood in the doorway. Rocking chair, sewing box, old handmade furniture. She wondered why she hadn’t guessed it before. She pulled out the bedding from the closet and flopped down on the awful Partch mattress. She couldn’t see it in the dark, but if she turned her head she knew she was looking at the carved name in the nightstand. For some reason she found that a comfort, and fell asleep easily.

  Five hours later there was a loud noise from downstairs. Laura jolted awake. She was disoriented at first, casting around for the source. It happened again, and her addled mind translated it as the telephone ringing.

  Cursing incoherently, she rolled out of bed and shoved the door open. She stumbled down the stairs and into the shop, miraculously not injuring herself. It wasn’t the telephone ringing, though. She stared blankly at it before the noise occurred again, and she realized it was someone banging on the door. She must’ve missed a call from Albright, and the chief had turned up in person. She rushed to unlock and open the door. There was an apology on her tongue, but it never made it out.

  Morgan was on the other side. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all, and her expression was caught somewhere between fear and relief.

  “Laura!” she choked, and she grabbed Laura in a hug that made her wheeze.

  “Whoa! Hey, Morgan.”

  “Thank god you’re okay!” Morgan had her head buried so hard in Laura’s shoulder she was almost unintelligible. “All the noise, and the light—I was so afraid you were in the middle of it. That you wouldn’t make it out.”

  “Well, I did make it out. Look, I’m in one piece and everything,” Laura joked, rubbing her back, and Morgan snorted.

  “We came back as soon as they opened the doors again. We’ve been searching for you all morning.”

  “You found me. Really, I’m okay,” said Laura, holding her tighter.

  Over Morgan’s shoulder she could see Cheryl standing just outside, clutching her penny doll. The girl seemed baffled by all the fuss, and her eyes darted toward the place where Okane had tottered downstairs. He stood in the doorway behind the counter, wearing a nightshirt and an out-of-it look that was even more confused than Cheryl’s.

  27

  IN THE WAKE

  Frank Sullivan was arrested.

  A cartoon accompanied the article in the Amicae Sun, showing him in handcuffs being carted off to jail, saying something about “all for the humanitarian cause,” while three caricatures of schools wept and a grubby Fifth Quarter child cheered. The article itself (coincidentally written by one Annabelle Kilborn) went on about who he was, why he was important, and went into detail to say how it was completely his fault that Amicae had been in danger. He claimed he’d had nothing to do with it, that a mold for his business logo had gone missing months ago, but that hardly mattered. The story of his defeat took up the entire front page.

  It was the big news floating around the city: the fall of a prominent businessman. Laura was sure that, at some point before the sensation died down, people would start to speak out about how badly he’d treated people, the fates of those he’d led into the Mad Dogs’ hands. Maybe they’d dig up what really happened to Mary. Okane might come forward, but he didn’t seem willing to talk about those scars anymore, so probably not. In any case the man was incarcerated, his son and company publicly disgraced.

  The rest of the paper gave mention to the police and a certain student of the university, who heroically assisted the Sweepers in destroying monsters with “the wrath of god,” a term many people had come to call the veritable lightning storm of kin. More and more articles abounded with talk of the cause and damage of the monsters. The more details came to light, the more people panicked. It was clear from the articles that this wasn’t a mob-planted mishap. No, this was a natural event, and the walls hadn’t prevented it. The Council tried to argue by radio and by paper, but between Annabelle’s interviews of the foreign Sweepers and prodding at old reports, and another paper—The Dead Ringer, suspected to be a front of the mobs—publishing graphic evidence from those same reports, their credibility was ruined. Police raids were staged. There was an actual shoot-out between police and mobsters outside the Sun’s offices. Both peaceful and armed rallies erupted all over Amicae, demanding the truth. After seven days of absolute chaos, the Council relented. Victoria Douglas took to the radio. The police commissioned a large ad in every paper, warning people about improper use of amulets and the dangers of infestations.

  Somewhere in that paper was a long list of people claimed by the infestation. Laura didn’t read all the way through it—she didn’t want to think about all those lost people she never even knew—but she read enough to see Clae Sinclair listed at the top. In all honesty that was the main reason she’d put it down. A week and a half later, Clae was still lying next to Anselm in that room beyond the drapes. Laura and Okane weren’t sure what to do with him, or even if anything could be done. If nothing Clae ever tried managed to revert Anselm, they were out of luck when it came to either of the brothers. They seemed to be doomed to eternity as living stones.

  Laura was having some trouble after the fact, thinking of how they essentially exploited some corpses to flush out the infestation. She didn’t like the idea of incorporating Clae into the kin production, no matter how much stronger his strain made it. He didn’t belong there. He wasn’t a tool. It was wrong.

  The few infestations that had escaped the interior were hunted down by the Puer and Terrae Sweepers. These were the only ones who got to Amicae to help, but they weren’t lacking in numbers. The head Sweeper of Terrae herself arrived a day late, bringing some of her best workers with her. Laura’s short encounter with them left her with a much more favorable impression than the extras in Puer. On the downside, the Terrae Sweepers were very businesslike and eager to get this done with. They mostly stuck around the police, harassing Albright for more orders until they got the all clear and left. That was kind of a blessing too, though: they hadn’t asked about that “wrath of god” at all. The Puer Sweepers lingered longer. Joseph Blair took a large part in the Sweeper efforts. Other Sweepers came to the shop, but they seemed to be there less for conversation and much more for protection. At that point the riots were still in full swing, and people were clamoring at the door with questions that Laura wasn’t yet sure how to answer. What would the Council’s decision be? Would talking now endanger her family? Was it all right to talk? Were these people even rational enough to listen? She’d rather have run home to hide in her apartment, but that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t leave Okane to deal with it on his own—he looked like he’d have a heart attack every time someone opened the door—and someone had to make sure the drapes were secure. She wasn’t as good a guard as Clae, but she could do something.

  During that time Melody was their main guard, standing by the door to monitor who came in and out. She talked to them in a slow, deep voice about how her bow and arrows worked, the grenade launcher, other assorted equipment, all while people outside kept shouting and shadows wavered beyond the closed blinds.

  Strangely, Helen was the one who came to their rescue. She’d arrived on the day after the Sun shoot-out to report something. For a moment she’d stood on the doorstep, looking into the shop with a blank face as the crowd wailed outside.

  “Come in or leave,” said Melody. “I can�
�t defend an open door so easily.”

  Helen had turned, stepped into the crowd, and brought her staff down on the pavement with a deafening crack and flare of yellow magic.

  “My name is Helen Blair.” Her voice cut sharply through the din. “I was once a Sweeper of Amicae. Now I’m a citizen of Puer, and your Council cannot touch me!”

  She answered the questions Laura had been afraid to. Laura crept over to peer through the blinds, and Melody watched through the panes in the door.

  “I never really expected her to help,” Laura admitted.

  “Helen is a complex mixture of duty and spite,” said Melody. “Duty usually takes precedence. I think she’s the best person to address this, having the perspective she does. She’ll break it to them, but it won’t be gently.”

  Laura gave a sad smile. “Clae would’ve killed to be able to do this.”

  A pause, and Melody chuckled. “He took after her that way, I suppose. By the way, the message she came to deliver was good. It seems your tree is sprouting again. Your barrier system will continue to hold.”

  Diana and Seamus turned up after the crowds, but they were only inside for five minutes before Diana claimed she had something to do and hurried out, hand to her mouth, while Seamus muttered something about not getting so attached to other Sweepers.

  Otherwise, the city was settling. Not into normalcy; their idea of normalcy and safety had fled and would never return. This was a new Amicae, the same core as the old but wrapped in something terrifyingly new. Newspapers called it an age of truth. Personally Laura thought it was an age of confusion. People were still looking over their shoulders, but they were getting back to business. Shops and restaurants reopened. Workers swarmed in to repair the interior. Laura and Okane took care of Pit rounds. The routine was picking up again, but Laura didn’t think it would ever be so natural as it was before. She felt like she’d lost something integral. It helped that Okane was connected and struggling through the same loss. Still, it was strange to enter the shop and not see Clae fussing over something. Half the time Laura expected him to emerge from behind the drapes as if nothing had happened, but of course he never did. The very thought made her feel hollow and small. Morgan had been very supportive in her grieving. More than that, though, she’d found herself feeling a little better when reading that ratty journal she found in the room with the Gin. It had originally belonged to Clae’s father, and was passed down to him when the man died. It was more of a diary than anything, and the entries could be short and abrupt, but old man Sinclair liked to complain about his children, and Clae’s personality was very present in the latter parts. It helped a bit, but it still hurt. It had taken up a permanent residence beside her Coronae book and postcard of Gustave’s Moon.

  Laura had these in her bag now, a week and a half later, on the way to the Averills’ restaurant. There was a gathering tonight in honor of Clae. They wouldn’t be having a funeral; with infestations involved there wasn’t supposed to be a body, so there was nothing to send off for cremation. Coffins and funerals were out of the question. Instead they were throwing a kind of memorial potluck.

  Laura arrived at the restaurant at four with Morgan and Cheryl. As they walked through the door, Laura held it open so Morgan could get through: she’d brought her newest version of chicken soufflé.

  The restaurant was crowded, all the people inside being friends or acquaintances of Clae’s. Dan Averill laughed at Brecht, who hunched over a glass of alcohol and slurred badly. Peggy and the Keedlers fussed over the tables that had been pushed together for the various foods; despite other contributions, pasta dishes from the restaurant took up the majority. Freda sat in a corner, smoking like a chimney and looking at the paintings on the ceiling, while Marshall debated with a one-eared woman the proper way to use amulets. A short man wandered around with a fizzy drink, making snide comments about everyone’s clothing until he came across Okane and approved of his vest (“I made it, of course it’s top quality”). The only other Sweepers left at this point were Joseph and Diana. Joseph was nursing a drink of his own as he surveyed the room, while Diana had fallen into that mourning Seamus had been so worried about. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked around with a watery smile that fooled very few people. A lot of others Laura didn’t recognize at all, but they acted as if they were right at home here.

  “That boss of yours had a lot of friends, didn’t he?” said Morgan.

  “I never knew this many people could stand him.”

  “Surprising man, I suppose.”

  “You’re finally here!” Mrs. Keedler descended on them. “How are you doing, Laura?”

  “I’m okay, I suppose. It’s been hard to adapt with the city as it is, but I’ll learn to live with it. Oh, this is my aunt, Morgan. Morgan, this is Mrs. Keedler. She runs the bakery.”

  Both women began to blurt things at each other (“You’re Laura’s family? It’s so good to meet you at last, you’ve raised a wonderful girl—” “Laura’s talked about you! Thank you for looking after her, and you are such a talented baker—”) but it sounded like positive things and Laura was sure they’d get along. Mrs. Keedler insisted on helping Morgan carry the soufflé over to the tables, Cheryl trailing behind in hope of cookies.

  “It’s a bit lackluster,” Joseph chuckled, from a few feet away. “Then again, Clae Sinclair wasn’t exactly a lustrous person.”

  He was now, but as far as Laura could tell Helen was keeping her lips sealed about that. Speaking of which … “Is Helen here?”

  “No! No. She’s been … well. It’s been very difficult for her. She’s lost both of them now, and she and Clae weren’t on very good terms to begin with. She said something about feeling like she would be intruding. Like he wouldn’t want her here anyway.” He fidgeted with his glass.

  “I suppose,” Laura mumbled.

  She didn’t think resentment had leaked into her tone, but Joseph grew flustered and rushed to his wife’s defense. “I—Well, you do know about their background, I assume. At the least you get the basic idea, anyway. She’s not a bad woman, Helen. She never meant to hurt Clae that way. She didn’t even intend to leave, it just happened. Not to say I’m condoning what she did at all, but she was in a very fragile state, very afraid, and wasn’t in her right mind. By the time she realized what she’d done, the damage was dealt and she was too afraid to reach out to him again, so it kept getting worse and worse over time.” He took a loud sip of his drink and fidgeted some more. “She was always so afraid of this, you know. One of the reasons she was scared enough to leave was because she couldn’t stand to see her other son die.”

  Helen’s stunned expression at the sight of Clae’s crystal flickered to mind, and Laura felt a stab of guilt.

  “She went back on the train this morning, with Melody. Neither of them were comfortable saying good-bye like this, among strangers. They wish you well, even if they couldn’t say so themselves. I’ll be leaving myself, tomorrow. Can’t leave Puer without a head Sweeper for long.”

  “What do you think we should be doing here?” Laura asked, seizing on the change in subject. “How do we get a new head Sweeper?”

  “I’ve talked with your council about it. Told them all about how well you two did in the middle of that infestation. They seemed very pleased … pleased enough for me to convince them that you don’t need that ‘apprentice’ title. You’re both fully fledged Sweepers now, and you, Ms. Kramer, will be promoted to the head Sweeper position. It’s not exactly in line with city requirements since you haven’t been around for a full year yet, but you have definite talent. That requirement is really in place to be sure that the candidate has experience and skill, and you have that. You showed it well enough during this disaster. I’m sure Mr. Sinclair would’ve wanted it this way. Besides.” His mouth quirked in bashful humor. “It’s not like they have a lot of other options clamoring at the door! But I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed by this title! If you run into any trouble please feel free to contact us in Puer
and we’ll be happy to give you advice. I actually petitioned to send one of our Sweepers over to join you. Lessen the load, as it were. If we get the Council’s approval for that, she’ll be bringing a load of new equipment for you as well. Things to carry your equipment, weapons, et cetera. I don’t know how Mr. Sinclair managed with a briefcase of all things, but I think we’ll make it a little easier on you.”

  “I—Me? I mean, that would be wonderful! That’s really, really generous, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me! Just keep up the good work. You’re doing marvelously for only having worked this long.”

  Laura beamed. Someone shuffled between them to inspect the food, and Joseph was soon distracted. Laura rounded Diana’s table and walked up to Okane. He was intent on the drink he was holding, so she tried to make her presence known in the least startling tone she could.

  “So, how have you been holding up?”

  Okane looked up from his glass and blinked as if he’d only just now noticed she’d walked in. “Oh … I’m doing all right. It’s very quiet when ---’re not in the shop, though.”

  “Maybe you can ask Mr. Brecht if you can borrow his phonograph.”

  Okane’s lips twitched toward a smile, but he hid it by taking a sip of his drink. “I’ve heard enough of his records to last a lifetime. Maybe I’ll buy a radio.”

  “Hey, Laura!”

  Laura looked around at the shout. Peggy stood on her tiptoes and waved to be seen over the other people.

  “What do you want to drink?”

  “Cocoal, please!” Laura called back.

  Peggy gave her the thumbs-up and disappeared.

  “She’s very intent on serving drinks,” said Okane.

  Peggy fought her way through the crowd and presented Laura with a large glass of the sweet drink. Laura took it, careful not to spill any as it was dangerously full. Once she had a good hold on it, Peggy turned to the crowd and raised her own glass.

  “Okay, everyone!” she cried, and they all turned to look. “Here’s to Clae Sinclair, Sweeper extraordinaire! The man who should’ve just eaten our lasagna!”