Magic and Loss g-3

by Nancy A. Collins

  “What’s the holdup?” Hexe asked the cabbie.

  “There’s some kind of protest going on outside the bank,” the centaur replied. “It looks like Seamus O’Fae is involved.”

  “We’ll get out here,” Hexe said, handing our driver a ten-dollar bill.

  As I climbed down from the hansom, I could see Seamus, dressed in an impeccable emerald-green Armani suit, standing on the marble steps that led to the doors of First Midas, Golgotham’s only bank. The leprechaun chieftain was carrying a bullhorn, which he used to address the throng of angry protestors that now spilled out onto the street. One of the faces I recognized among the picketers belonged to Octavia.

  “Good people of Golgotham!” Seamus shouted, his amplified voice ringing out over the noise of the crowd. “Are ye goin’ to stand by and let Mayor Lash sell ye out? Golden Egg Realty—a shell corporation owned by Hizzoner—is the company that sold Machen Arms to Ronald Chess, for over three million dollars! Chess then turned around and raised rent a thousand percent and threw hardworkin’ Golgothamites out of their homes and into the streets! I ask ye, my friends, does it sound like Mayor Lash has Golgotham’s best interests at heart—or his own?”

  As the crowd waved their signs and shouted in angry agreement, the leprechaun strutted back and forth, nodding his coppery head in approval, like a banty rooster on patrol. He might come up only to my knee, but Seamus O’Fae radiated the kind of charisma you’d expect from a born politician and lived up to the nickname Little Big Man.

  Just then the door to the bank opened and its president, Mayor Lash, stormed out onto the front steps, his face livid. “Damn you, O’Fae!” he shouted. “Take your rabble to Blarney’s!”

  “What’s the matter, Mr. Mayor?” Seamus replied in a taunting voice. “Yer not afraid of answerin’ to yer constituents, are ye?”

  Before Lash could respond, the crowd suddenly parted itself to allow Beadle Elok to approach. “Here now! What’s going on here?” he growled, calling for order by holding his staff of office aloft.

  “It’s about time you got here!” Mayor Lash snapped disdainfully. “I demand that you arrest Seamus O’Fae for disturbing the peace and unlawful assembly!”

  “It’s only unlawful if there’s no permit, Your Honor,” Elok reminded the mayor. The beadle then turned to address Seamus. “Do you have an assembly permit, Councilman?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” O’Fae replied as he handed the beadle a folded piece of parchment.

  Elok unfolded the document and stared at it for a long moment while nodding his head.

  “Well? Don’t just stand there—arrest him!” Mayor Lash demanded petulantly.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Honor,” Elok replied. “The GoBOO has granted Councilman O’Fae the right to assemble in protest against you.”

  “That’s impossible!” Lash sputtered. “I never signed off on such a thing!”

  “It didn’t require your signature to make it official, Your Honor, only the acting justicar’s—and there’s Lady Syra’s signature and seal on the bottom,” Elok explained, handing the parchment over to Lash for inspection.

  “This is an outrage!” The mayor was by this point trembling like a furious tuning fork. “If you won’t clear this mob from my place of business, I’ll call in the PTU and have them handle the situation!”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mayor,” said an all-too-familiar voice from the crowd.

  The picketers began to murmur among themselves as Boss Marz stepped forward, flanked by his lieutenant, Gaza. His familiar, riding astride his shoulder, turned and flashed its fangs at the assembled protestors in an angry grin.

  “What are you doing here, Marz?” Mayor Lash asked stonily.

  “I merely wish to add my voice to those asking why you would betray your own kind to the numps—and in an election year, no less,” the crime lord replied with an unpleasant smile.

  Lash’s face went from bright red to white as paper as he turned on his heel and hurried back up the stairs into the bank, his braided ponytail flapping along behind him like the tail on a kite.

  “I commend your stance on gentrification, Councilman,” Boss Marz said, turning to address Seamus. “You can count on the Maladanti in the coming election.”

  “I don’t need the likes of you stumpin’ for me, Marz,” Seamus replied sharply, scowling at the Maladanti like he was something he’d just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, if I was you, Councilman,” Marz warned. “The Maladanti can be a powerful ally at the voting booths—or a dreadful enemy.”

  “And with an ally like ye, who needs a foe, eh?” the leprechaun said, spitting on the ground for emphasis. “Go on with ye, Marz. I’ll sink or swim on me own.”

  “Have it your way, little man,” the Maladanti snarled. “But don’t let it be said you weren’t given your chance.”

  With that Boss Marz turned and headed back through the crowd, which recoiled en masse, as if he were a deadly serpent. As he scanned the picketers, his gaze fell upon Hexe and me, and a nasty grin spread across his face. Marz raised his right hand, as if in greeting, then slowly drew his left index finger across the wrist in a mock amputation.

  * * *

  Needless to say, neither one of us was in the best of moods after our latest brush with the Maladanti. In fact, we argued the entire way back to the house.

  “I want you to go back uptown to your parents,” Hexe said insistently. “It’s not safe in Golgotham right now.”

  “And what makes you think I’d be any safer up there?” I countered. “If Esau can make it all the way from the Infernal Region, crosstown traffic isn’t going to be much of a deterrent to him.”

  “I just don’t want you and the baby to get mixed up in whatever batshit evil scheme my uncle has up his sleeve. And that doesn’t even factor in the Maladanti.”

  “I get a funny feeling I’m on the hit list, no matter what we do. Your uncle seems to have a really creepy thing for me,” I said with a shudder. “I’m also pretty sure that part of Esau’s plan is to split us up.”

  “I think the old chuffer can’t stand to see anyone happy,” he said sourly.

  “Besides, I can’t find anyone either willing or qualified to deliver our baby outside Golgotham,” I pointed out.

  “I still say it’s too dangerous,” Hexe insisted.

  “You’re probably right. But I’m still not packing up and heading home to Mother. I might not be able to sling spells like you used to, but I do have some magic I can bring to the table.”

  We were still arguing the matter as we entered the house, only to fall silent at the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Upon investigating, we found Mr. Manto sitting at the table next to Clarence, drinking tea.

  “Aloysius!” Hexe exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing upstairs?”

  “I came to bear witness,” Mr. Manto replied. As he turned to smile at us, I could tell the old soothsayer was flying high on diviner’s sage again. “And also to spend some time in the company of this charming young fellow,” Mr. Manto leaned over and patted Clarence on the leg. Clarence’s cheeks turned pink, but he did not offer to remove the older man’s hand from his thigh, “as he is an excellent conversationalist and makes a damn fine cup of tea.”

  “Bear witness to what?” I frowned.

  Just as I finished the sentence I was gripped by a strong cramp in the middle of my back and upper abdomen that seemed to come out of nowhere. I gave a sudden gasp of pain and grabbed at the kitchen counter to steady myself. Suddenly Hexe was there, slipping his arm around me as he helped me to a chair.

  “To that,” the oracle replied simply. “The dawn of the coming age.”

  “Tate—are you all right?” Hexe asked anxiously.

  “I’m scared the baby’s coming,” I groaned. “The doctor said I was farther along than I realized, but it’s still too soon. . . .”

  “Not by Kymeran standards—
our women normally carry a child for six months.”

  “Now you tell me!” I grunted.

  “Stay right here and let Aloysius and Clarence look after you—I’ll go upstairs and pack your overnight case, and then I’m taking you to the Temple of Nana.”

  “The Temple of who—?”

  “The Kymeran goddess of childbirth,” he explained as he hurried out of the kitchen. “Her priestesses are trained as midwives. Nearly every Kymeran child in Golgotham is born in her temple.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Timmy?” Clarence asked solicitously.

  “Yes, you can call my parents and let them know what’s going on.”

  “Are you sure you want me to do that?”

  “My mother may be a massively insecure, social-climbing racist, but she is my mother and she does care about me, in her own weird, fucked-up way. Besides, you’re probably still advising my father over the phone as to which tie he should wear.”

  “You know me too well, Miss Timmy.” Clarence’s smile disappeared as I grimaced in discomfort as yet another wave of pain radiated through my body. “There, there,” he said as he patted my hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  I looked past him to where Mr. Manto sat, still sipping his tea. “Is it?” I asked anxiously. The oracle did not answer, but instead simply smiled, his pupils so dilated they eclipsed the whites of his eyes.

  Chapter 29

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Tate,” Hexe said as he helped me into the hansom. “The Daughters will see to everything—it’ll all be over soon.”

  “Where to, Serenity?” Kidron asked.

  “The Temple of Nana—and watch the potholes!”

  The centaur snorted his understanding, breaking into a brisk canter.

  “How do you feel?” Hexe asked, eyeing me cautiously.

  “Like I’m trying to lay an egg,” I grunted. “Honey, I should have said something before now—but I thought we had more time than this. There’s something I need to tell you about the baby. When I had an ultrasound . . . I found out our baby is human. He only has ten fingers and toes. I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner . . . but I was afraid. . . .”

  Hexe merely laughed and wrapped his arms around me. “It doesn’t matter to me if our child is human or Kymeran. I don’t even care if he’s born a norlock. The only thing that really matters to me is that he arrives in this world safe and sound. That’s it. I surrendered my right hand because trying to keep it would rob me of the woman I love; you gave up your inheritance because keeping it meant giving up everything that makes you happy. So what if our child doesn’t have magic? He’s not going to have a million dollars, either. That just means he’ll be like every other kid that comes into this world. And you know what? I’m good with that.”

  “You know why I love you?” I managed to smile, despite the contractions. “Because you can make chopping off your hand and getting disinherited sound like the best decisions we’ve ever made.”

  * * *

  The Temple of Nana was located, appropriately enough, on Maiden Lane, home to Golgotham’s self-segregated female communities, such as the Amazons, Valkyries, and fauns. It was a neoclassical rotunda, its façade of brick covered in stucco, with a roof of slate and lead. The central rotunda stood a hundred feet high, with a domed and balustraded roof. The main entrance was an oval-shaped door that was so narrow Hexe and I had to enter single file. The foyer of the temple was long and equally claustrophobic, its walls barely three feet apart. There was no light at all in the corridor, save for the glimmer at its farthest point.

  Upon reaching the end of the hallway, we found ourselves in the rotunda of the temple, which had ten separate interior stories that opened onto a central atrium capped by a rose-quartz skylight that tinged everything slightly pink.

  At the heart of the temple stood a fifty-foot statue of a triple-visaged, four-armed woman. The far right face was that of a young girl, the middle face that of an adult woman, while the far left face belonged to an old woman. Both her breasts were bared, the right full and pert, while the left teat hung withered and flat. The goddess’ first hand wielded a pair of shears, her second cradled an infant, the third held a length of umbilical cord, while the fourth and final hand held a jug from which water eternally poured forth into the fountain pool in which the idol stood.

  At the foot of Nana was a receptionist desk you’d expect to see in a medical clinic tended by a jade-haired Kymeran woman dressed in a shell-pink sleeveless robe. As Hexe helped me approach the desk, she left her seat to greet us.

  “The Daughters of Nana welcome you to her temple,” she said with a warm smile. “My name is Miri. How long have you been in labor?”

  “About an hour, I guess,” I replied.

  As she drew closer, a look of surprise flickered across Miri’s face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid the Daughters of Nana only accept Kymeran mothers.”

  Hexe stepped forward, his golden eyes flashing in anger. “She carries my child—is that not Kymeran enough for you?”

  The priestess lowered her head in ritual obeisance. “Forgive me, Serenity. I did not realize.” She quickly turned back to the desk and spoke into an intercom that echoed throughout the temple. “Sister Tipi, please report to the reception desk. . . .”

  Within seconds an older Kymeran woman with hair the color of sunflowers and dressed in salmon-colored robes appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Welcome, Serenity, to our temple. I am Sister Tipi, midwife emeritus of the Daughters of Nana. I shall be the one tending the birth of your child.”

  Without warning, I suddenly found myself doubled over in pain. As I cried out, I was dimly aware of a splashing sound, followed by an abrupt dampness on my thighs, and for a brief second I was afraid I had wet myself.

  “Her water has broken. Page Sister Zena and have her report to birthing chamber three fifteen,” Tipi said, checking the clipboard she was carrying.

  “Right away, my sister,” the priestess replied.

  Tipi led us to an old-fashioned birdcage elevator that took us to the third floor of the temple, which was lined with numbered doorways, like a hotel. I wasn’t sure what to expect in a temple dedicated to a goddess of childbirth, but was pleasantly surprised to discover the birthing chamber contained a bed, rocking chair, and a bassinette, as well as a foldout chair that converted into a bed, and an oversized Roman bathtub.

  “This is your birthing chamber,” Sister Tipi said. “Please make yourself as comfortable as you can while I prepare the birthing pool.”

  “You want me to give birth in the water?”

  “It is the Kymeran way,” the midwife-priestess explained. “It is a ritual that ties us to the island that birthed our race, millennia ago. It also has the added benefit of greatly reducing your pain, supporting your weight, and taking the stress off your perineum during labor.”

  “Now you’re talking,” I grunted as I eased myself into the rocking chair. “Anything that keeps me from getting stitches is A-okay with me.”

  Just then another Daughter of Nana, this one with moss green hair and dressed in candy pink robes, entered the room.

  “Hello, my name is Zena,” she said as she took my hand. “I’m going to be your Pain-Taker.”

  I frowned and looked at Tipi. “But I thought you were going to be my midwife?”

  “Yes, I am,” the priestess replied. “Sister Zena is here to alleviate your pain during labor.”

  “You mean she’s an anesthesiologist?”

  “Something like that.” Zena smiled. “Save that we Daughters of Nana do not utilize drugs of any kind.”

  Before I could ask any more questions, I was hit by another contraction. And this time it was a doozy. It felt like everything below my breastbone was in a giant clamp that was being gradually, but mercilessly, cranked shut. I gripped the armrests of the chair I was sitting in so hard I was surprised they didn’t splinter. Zena quickly stepped forward and knelt before me, so that she
could look into my eyes, and placed her hands atop my own.

  “Take a deep breath and then let it out, slowly,” she instructed in a calm voice.

  I did as I was told, focusing on Zena’s scent, which smelled of almonds and violets. The priestess tilted back her head, and her eyelids fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. As I exhaled, she inhaled, and the pain I was experiencing abruptly diminished, as if someone had turned a dial.

  “How do you feel?” Zena asked, her pale gray eyes seeming a little less focused than before.

  “Much better,” I said gratefully. “Thank you.”

  As Zena stepped away, Sister Tipi came forward and placed her hand on my stomach. “Premature birth is common with children such as yours,” she said matter-of-factly. “But your baby’s heartbeat is strong. All is going well.”

  The attending Daughters of Nana helped me change out of my street clothes into a lightweight linen gown, and for the next few hours I lay propped up in the bed, riding out the contractions with the help of Zena. That’s not to say it was a walk in the park. Although the Pain-Taker was able to reduce my discomfort considerably, she did not erase it entirely. Hexe stayed with me the whole time, doing his best to try to make me comfortable by putting cold compresses on my forehead and coaching me on my breathing, or bringing me tea or ice chips whenever I got thirsty. Whenever the pain got to be too much, Zena would quickly step in and “take” it from me by placing her hands on me.

  Throughout all this, Tipi monitored the progress of the delivery by her own laying on of hands. The light in the room was kept subdued, and hidden speakers piped in natural ambient noise, like the sound of rain, wind chimes, and birdsong. This, combined with the calm, self-assured manner of the attending priestesses and Hexe’s presence, helped prevent me from feeling stressed. Still, although I wasn’t in a lot of pain, I was exhausted by the start of my sixth hour of labor, and eager to get the whole thing over with.