by LE Barbant
The old man laughed. “No. Not them—at least, not yet. A different mob, of sorts: the Guild. Late one night, Edwin and I and a few others were meeting in the back room of a bar across town. What was the name of that place?” The man scratched a day’s worth of silver scruff. “No matter. We were in the back, planning our next big move. Edwin had unearthed another potential target—a mid-level enforcer who was on the rise. Edwin believed that if we could crush the head of the snake before it grew, we might stand a chance of curtailing the growth of the family.”
“OK,” Willa said, hoping to move the storyteller along.
“Well, there we were, when the doors to our private room flew open. I just sat there staring like an idiot. I mean, I didn’t know who these people were, but your grandfather did.
“‘Master Harker,’ your grandfather said, ‘What brings you to Pittsburgh?’ That’s when it struck me that we were in trouble on a few fronts. The magicians looked ancient, though we were so young.” The professor laughed again, the memories dancing in his eyes. “They gave us the business for over an hour. Harker, the head of the Guild, lectured on the rules. ‘Our job is preservation, not revolution,’ he said over and over. I was befuddled. For years, Edwin had mentioned the Guild and their backward ways, but to me they were nearly a fiction. I guess I always assumed they actually existed, but it was as if they would never affect my life. Edwin was different, though.”
“How so?” Will asked.
“I don’t know how but he knew the visit was inevitable, that they were coming. Maybe he took the power dynamic of guilds—in the Academy and among the wizards—more seriously than I ever did.”
Willa inspected the man’s face. The lines wore years of turmoil. She wondered what the story with the woman in the picture was, if it was anything like her mom’s, but she dared not derail him. “So, you stopped then?”
“That certainly seems like a wiser course, but our arrogance and recklessness hadn’t reached its zenith. I pulled back a little, but your grandfather, he sat in that room with the Masters, he listened, he nodded along, and then he continued his course of action undeterred. We pursued the new lead and…that’s what brought trouble upon your family. That’s what led to your mom’s death.”
Willa consider this, and wondered if she should have been more critical of her grandfather. If he had stopped her mother would still be alive. Then again, maybe not.
Fate is a funny mistress.
“Tell me about this mob enforcer. Who was he?”
A slight grin danced across the old professor’s face, then vanished. “You sound like your grandfather. But I’m afraid this is a path that’s too dangerous for you. And your grandfather would have agreed. Your mother’s murder taught us all the true price of our power.”
“I need to know.”
The old man sighed. His old body sunk further into the chair. “You want revenge, but it will get you nowhere. Follow your grandfather’s advice, go back to work, settle down, have some kids.”
Willa’s face grew hot as anger spread over her body. “I’ll never stop. They’ll need to kill me.”
“They can and they will. The Pittsburgh mob are petty criminals compared to what else is out there. Since the earliest years of the twentieth century, all eyes have been on steel. But industry was a red herring, a blind for the true powers. Edwin scratched at the surface of something more nefarious, a network with vast interworkings and far-reaching influence. Your mom’s murder was a small link in the chain, but that link was important. The boss who ordered the hit was himself just a pawn in the rise of someone else.”
“And even if you do have the strength to take on your mother’s murderer, the Guild won’t stand for it. There were days when the Masters did extreme things to protect the craft. I don’t expect that is beyond them even now.” The man’s gaze was deadpan.
“If they wield such power, then why didn’t they intervene last winter?”
“It’s true the Guild has waned. No one knows why. Maybe it’s because magic is dwindling in a world in which mystery is giving way to the hegemony of information. But don’t fool yourself. They’re watching you, they know about the battle at the Tower, and about Edwin’s death. The Masters know precisely who you are and what you’re doing. They probably know you’re here right now.”
The last words shot a chill up Willa’s spine. Her knowledge of magic and its possibilities were limited to her own experience and the things she saw her grandfather do. Being watched had never been a thought.
Willa breathed deeply, trying to settle herself. “You described my mother’s murderer in the present tense. Surely he’s not still alive?”
The aging doctor stared at the floor. After a moment he replied, “Not only is he still alive, but he’s right here in Pittsburgh.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“What killed steel?”
The class stared back at him, most of them with a mixture of boredom and confusion. The baker’s dozen sat with their desks arranged in a loose semicircle. Elijah stood in the middle.
Many of his students couldn’t care less about Pittsburgh’s industrial history. They kept quiet, trying to avoid eye contact with their professor. But Elijah wouldn’t let them off so easily. The new desk arrangement precluded any back-row napping, and he demanded answers to his questions.
“Tom, what do you think? What happened to the industry that made this city? Where did it go?”
Tom shifted. Elijah pegged him as a drifter, someone who floated through his classes without much effort. But he knew that if he could somehow get him engaged early it might draw the rest of the class in as well. From the first paper of the semester, the professor could tell that Tom was bright but lazy.
“I don’t know…”
Elijah smiled. “You’re from around here, right, Tom?”
The boy sat a little straighter, intrigued by a question that he knew the answer to, but wary of a trap.
“Butler area, a little north of the city.”
“If I asked your family that question, what would they tell you?”
The young man considered for a second. “My dad blames it on the unions. He says they got greedy, wanted too much, and it pushed the mills out of business.”
Elijah smiled. Thoughts of an old ally came to mind and a Croatian curse word settled on the back of his tongue.
“Your dad has a point. Most analysts think that the unions did have some part to play in the changing economic structure around here. It’s still a matter of fierce debate, though. Some say that higher workers’ wages actually benefits industry. It helped Ford Motors in the twenties. But you’d have a hard time convincing most mill owners of that. What else? Surely an industry as powerful as steel couldn’t have been toppled by unions alone. What other factors came into play?”
Rebekah, a student who was a repeat from last semester, raised her hand. Elijah was proud of her newfound confidence. Her notes now recorded every other word that Elijah spoke.
“Globalization? Other countries could make steel cheaper, pushing American companies out of business.”
“Excellent, Rebekah. Coming out of World War II, the United States was the biggest name in the game when it came to steel production, as well as other kinds of manufacturing. But as Europe recovered and China shifted its economic agenda, the states faced fierce competition from other nations. Plus, many American companies took advantage of looser environmental standards and,” nodding at Tom, “cheaper wages overseas.”
He paced back and forth, energized as he led them toward the point of the lecture.
“But internationalization doesn’t quite answer the question either. Nine out of ten people you’d ask on the street would give the answers that you two just gave, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But, they wouldn’t be entirely right either. As researchers, we need to get past the easier answers—look deeper into the data. For example, US Steel, one of the largest steel manufacturers actually increased its domestic output during the 80s while also
slashing jobs. By the end of the decade they produced more steel at home than ever before, while tens if not hundreds of thousands of US workers lost their jobs. How can this be? Can anyone make sense of this seeming contradiction?”
He paused, letting the silence fill the room. He guessed they wouldn’t land on the answer, but he wanted to make them work for it. Walking towards the chalkboard he wrote in large letters: TECHNOLOGY.
“New technologies emerged, in almost every sector of manufacturing, including steel, which contained the potential to increase output while diminishing costs. And the number one cost in almost any industry is human labor.”
Julie, a dirty blonde with too much make-up raised her hand. She had moved on from her crush the previous semester and now seemed genuinely interested in the study. Instead of her fawning, she was the first to criticize and question the adjunct professor at every move. Elijah loved her combative responses.
“But that’s not a bad thing, right? New technology means that steel got cheaper, which means that more stuff could be built and money spent elsewhere. Sure, steel doesn’t employ people like it used to, but they’ve found other jobs, right?”
Elijah considered his words carefully. Pointing at the chalkboard he said, “I’m not advocating against progress. But we need to be aware of how and why our world changes. You’ve grown up in a time that’s more aware of its problems than most before it, but humans seem oddly willing to repeat their past. Automation made the manufacturing workforce obsolete, as it did agriculture’s before that. At the turn of the century, 36% of Americans worked in agriculture. Now it’s less than 1%. In 1920, 40% of Americans worked in manufacturing, now less than 8% do. Transportation is currently one of the largest sectors in terms of employment. I want you to go home and Google self-driving cars and Amazon drone delivery.”
Elijah leaned against the oversized faculty desk. If he was too preachy he’d push them away. “Technology isn’t bad, but it’s not neutral. It has changed and continues to change culture in a number of significant ways. And we’re going to spend this semester looking at some of those changes, because what happened then can easily happen now. If we aren’t aware of our history, it’s likely to take us by surprise.”
****
A slight drizzle darkened the early afternoon air. Elijah was still amazed at the sheer amount of precipitation this area produced. He had read somewhere that Pittsburgh had more rainy days than Seattle. Packing his car in Boston, he scoffed at the idea. Now he wished he had invested in better shoes.
Homestead was quiet. Its emptiness provided an odd sense of comfort for the professor. He considered stopping home on Tenth but opted to head straight toward his destination. There was work to do and he had procrastinated long enough.
As he turned the corner, a lone jogger slogging through the rain ran past him on the sidewalk. She slowed her progress but kept moving in place.
“Hi, Mr. Historian.”
“Hey, Lainey. How’s your grandmother doing?” A smile spread across his face. He was glad to see the daughter of the old mill worker he had interviewed early in the year. The two of them had crossed paths several times in Homestead, and their convergences made him feel like he belonged.
“She’s as tough as ever. Giving the orderlies at the home a run for their money. You all settled up here in Homestead?”
Elijah smiled. The oddities of the Pittsburgh dialect were strange even compared with that of Boston. He wondered in what sense Homestead could be considered “up”?
“No problems so far. Wish it didn’t rain so much.”
The young woman laughed and resumed her progress. Turning, she yelled over her shoulder, “Welcome to Pittsburgh.”
****
The old mill stood silent, a monument to the past.
Elijah walked down the gravel lot, looking for signs of company. But the mill’s abandonment was complete. Other than animals and vegetation, it appeared as if no one had been there in a while.
He pushed open the rusted metal door and entered the dark confines of the factory. Elijah relaxed, happy to make it out of the rain. He moved into an open space and, after pausing to listen for other occupants, took off his tweed jacket, tie, and button-up. Finally removing his undershirt, Elijah stood, naked from the waist up.
Still damp, he shivered in the cool factory air.
He wouldn’t be cold for long.
Since the fight with Brooke, Elijah had spent more time working on his physique, but his routine lacked consistency. He’d managed to lose some of his fast food weight but beer and laziness kept hidden any increase in definition. It didn’t matter; if someone were to see him now, the scar on his chest would draw all of their attention.
The scabs had faded with time and with the help of Chem’s miracle ointment. But the clear lines mapped out a unique symbol, a square tipped onto its corner intersected by two sharply pointed ovals. His former “guest” left an indelible legacy, the outward brand a mark of his inner transformation.
Elijah closed his eyes, legs shoulder-width apart and arms tensed by his side. He focused inward, seeking the fire that lay dormant. He thought of Pittsburgh, of the needs of the many living here. He thought about Brooke and the way he felt seeing her encased in ice. He thought about Rex and Sean.
Steam started to roll off Elijah’s back. Warmth ran through his body, emanating from his chest and working its way toward his extremities. He braced himself for what was coming.
His mind registered the smell of burning flesh seconds before it made sense of the pain that accompanied it. Elijah screamed. A fire raged in his chest. His arms expanded, turning gray at first, then black. He shuddered as bright cracks emerged along his forearms.
Then the pain was gone, and Elijah felt only power.
As it had been since the day at PPG, the transformation remained incomplete. His arms up to the elbow were twice as large and hard as steel, his chest a glowing ember. But the human form remained intact and with it Elijah’s consciousness.
He reached for a large steel cylinder; straining, he lifted it to his waist. It was easily 500 pounds. Elijah, condensation steaming from heat and exertion, dropped the thing. It clamored through the mill. His strength was impressive, but it wasn’t up to its previous car-tossing level. He thought of Willa, hiding under a vehicle to escape his rampage. Thankfully, her spells and Chem’s mixture were enough to take him down.
He moved to an old concrete furnace, turning it into his punching bag. Cracks formed as his hands pounded on the solid wall.
Twenty minutes later his training was over. Elijah slumped to the ground exhausted, his body returned to its original size. He surveyed the damage.
His knuckles were caked in blood, but nothing appeared to be broken. His steel flesh absorbed most of the damage; however, turning was not without its consequences. Fresh burns covered his forearms and his arm hair was singed clean off, leaving his body looking pale and sickly. He got up and retrieved a bottle of meds from his jacket. The pain was becoming manageable, but the adjunct was still thankful for Chem’s prescription.
“Impressive.” A harsh, gurgling voice filled the once-quiet space.
Elijah jumped at the sound. He raised his bloody fists.
Out of the shadows stepped a woman wearing a bright yellow rain jacket. The hood hung low, covering her face.
“You must be Rita. I heard that you had a way of sneaking up on people. How long were you watching?”
“Long enough to see your secret firsthand. But I was expecting…more. What happened to the beast from the videos?”
Elijah dressed himself while considering the strange woman in front of him. She wasn’t wrong. Though his strength remained enhanced, the power was a fraction of what he had in the winter. But the power that was left was his own, and he had to decide how to best use it. He couldn’t rely on spiritual guidance from beyond the grave. Feeling defensive, he decided on a direct response.
“I hear you’re quite the monster as well. You’ve
seen what I can do, why don’t you reciprocate?”
Rita stood unmoving. Elijah wondered if he had pushed her too far. There was still so little they knew about the newest addition to their group. He wished Willa, who was much better with people, was there with him.
After a minute, Rita stepped forward out of the shadows and into a patch of light that filtered in through the old factory windows. She unclasped the raincoat and let it drop to the floor.
What the hell?
Standing before him was a creature from his nightmares. Its general proportions were human, but that was where the similarities ended. Pale, scaly skin shimmered in the dim light. Her legs were knobby and bowed slightly outwards. Huge feet splayed like fans on the concrete. Long strong fingers formed claws where hands should have been. What could only be described as talons emerged in lieu of nails. But the most unnerving part was her face, lipless and cold. Large jet black eyes filled up her head, their size exaggerated by the lack of a nose. In uneven intervals, imperceptible lids would swipe down over the eyes, then disappear somewhere behind her brow.
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, Elijah?” The sliver of a mouth turned up at the corners. Rita raised her hands. The outsides were covered with stone white scales, like her face and neck. The undersides were smooth, like the underbelly of a fish. “Not all of us can be as lucky as you.”
“How long have you been like this?”
The creature took a step back into the shadows. “Long enough to know that it’s a curse. And that the outside world would crucify us if they could. You should take care who you show yourself to.”
Elijah put his shirt back on, self-conscious at how normal he looked. “It might be a curse, or maybe this happened to us for a reason. We could do some good with what we’ve been given.”
Rita spat. “You’re as foolish as the men you keep company with. Stay in the shadows, historian. Or else you risk dragging all of us into the light.”
