Shade City

by Domino Finn

  I was in an awkward position. My ass was in the bowl of the sink and the faucet was pressing into the small of my back. To add insult to injury, the motion-activated water cycled on and off sporadically. Both my arms were being held down and the wide frame of Soren was almost smothering me as my legs straddled his chest. The only thing I had going for me was that my recessed position had forced him to lean forward and stand off balance.

  My right hand was almost loose. I tried to swing my knees into his shoulders to slip his grip. He held strong and stared at me with frantic eyes, face awash in red.

  I thrust my head forward and crashed it against his, near the same spot he had slammed into the wall. Pain flashed behind my eyes. His shoulders buckled. Soren released me and wobbled backwards for just a second.

  In that single unassaulted moment, I drew my knees to my ears and rocketed both of my feet out, extending my legs as far as they would go. Soren was caught square in the chest and propelled backwards. He slammed through the door of the middle stall and tripped onto the toilet, hitting his head on the metal pipe behind it as he fell in a daze.

  I rolled off the sink and rubbed my aching back as I kneeled on the floor. Soren was quietly groaning but remained still. I hoped he wasn't hurt too badly.

  It wasn't supposed to go this way. Shades weren't overly aggressive. They shied away from pain. It hurt them just as much as it hurt anyone, even if it wasn't really their body. The mix of chemical stimulation and the threat of force was enough to put them on their heels. If they didn't abandon the world of the living that easily, exsufflation with white sage always did the trick. I was a fighter from my days in Miami, but it wasn't something I relished when my opponent didn't know any better. Now I had to hope that Soren wasn't seriously harmed in this melee.

  I plucked the half-smoked clove from the floor and returned it to my lips. It was wet. Probably piss and dirt, but I didn't care. I pulled out my lighter and worked the cigarette to give it new life. Then I stood up to face the wounded man on the toilet.

  "How are you resisting the sage?"

  I closed in and towered over his crumpled form. I repeated the question and he finally swayed his head to the side in an attempt to lift it.

  "Who are you?"

  I shook my head. He didn't want to tell me anything. I grabbed his face with my left hand and pried one of his eyes open. With my right hand, I brought the burning cigarette to within inches of his pupil.

  "If you don't talk to me, you're really not going to like this next part."

  He was trembling but his silence was resolute. The truth was that I didn't like the idea of the next part. I didn't have it in me.

  Someone pounded at the bathroom door. Shit. It was locked but there was a key somewhere. Someone had it. This incident had probably caused enough of a scene by now. That settled it. If my privacy wasn't long for this world, then the shade wouldn't be either.

  "Okay buddy," I said as I put the clove back in my mouth. I leaned Soren forward onto me and wrapped my arm around his neck.

  "...Who are you?" he asked futilely.

  I pressed my arm into the back of his neck, constricting his air supply against the headlock.

  White sage is usually enough for shades. The less coherent they are, the better. That's why I work clubs. Usually, half the job is done for me. They're already high out of their minds and exhausted. But not all shades are created equal. Some are stronger than others. Or smarter. And sometimes I have to mix it up. Still, no matter how much strength they have, if they're asleep or unconscious and have the sage in their system, they have no recourse. No defense.

  Soren didn't fight much. He knew he was beaten. His grip at my arms weakened. His fists relaxed and he dropped his hands to his side. I heard a loud clanking of metal as something bounced on the tiles. I held strong and waited until he fell limp. Then, with a slow breath, I carefully let him go and rested his back against the wall.

  "I'm Dante Butcher," I answered softly.

  I opened his mouth and blew a plume of smoke into his face. It lingered and rolled with unpredictable activity until he sucked some of it in. I exhaled some more sage and he took it in and out in ragged gasps. Soon, he was breathing evenly again. As I laid my hand onto his bloody forehead, I felt the second shadow leave him. Soren would have a headache when he woke up, but he'd be okay. He'd be himself again. What's more, he wouldn't remember any of this.

  It wasn't a black hole—he would still remember most of what he'd done for the past two months—but he would have no recollection of being possessed by something that wasn't him. He would learn to rationalize some of the things he did that were beyond his control. He would need to apologize profusely and build his life back up, but at least he had his life again.

  But these last few minutes, the fight, the banishment—completely gone. Expulsion overloaded the senses in a way quite similar to blacking out.

  Still, as I tossed the spent cigarette into the toilet between his legs, several things concerned me about Soren. He was taken for much longer than average. Shades weren't precise creatures. The bindings to their hosts were brittle and difficult to maintain. Fiends got tired or bored and often slipped out after a few weeks. Not Soren. Even more troubling: when confronted, he didn't run. He'd stood his ground and acted like he had a right to this world.

  I stepped out of the stall and was surprised at my reflection in the mirror. There was a scrape of blood on my forehead. I wiped it with my hand and drew a line of red across my face. That's when I noticed my hands were bloody, too. It was all from the gash on Soren's head.

  I rinsed off in the sink and reveled as the cool water hit my face. It was refreshing. I grabbed a mint and popped it in my mouth. Since I was there, I sprayed myself with some Hugo Boss cologne for good measure. The attendant could take it out of the twenty.

  Banging on the door startled me out of my calm. I jumped away from the sink and my foot kicked something on the floor. The small piece of metal slid along the tile and into the locked door. I sighed as the incessant knocking continued. Before I abandoned the sink, I spit the mint into it. Soren was right. These mints did suck.

  I went over to the door and saw that the object I'd kicked was Soren's oversized ring. It must have fallen off when I choked him out. I picked it up, then clicked the deadbolt open. The old black man shoved his way in.

  "Break's over!" he said, sharpening his eyes into a menacing mask.

  I patted the bathroom attendant on the shoulder. "I got rid of him," I said, and walked into the hallway. He stuttered as he pointed to the feet sticking out of the middle stall but I just kept going.

  In the empty hall, I pulled out my pocket watch and flipped open the cover.

  You're getting sloppy.

  "I had it under control," I said. "Besides, they're getting stronger. You should see that more than anybody."

  She was moody tonight, but at least she was talking to me again.

  I passed by Pam. One of her girlfriends was already sitting with her trying to rouse her. My job here was done. I made my way down the stairs and walked out of Avalon with every intention of calling it an early night. Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned.

  * * *

  I emerged from the old theater into the dirty streets of Hollywood. The wide sidewalk housed metal barricades that still guided stragglers in and out of the club. Along Vine Street, a couple of bright yellow cars were waiting. I glanced at the watch still in my hand and realized the train had just closed. Fuck, I hated cabs.

  As I pondered my options, a group of three girls and a guy came to my attention, mostly because the shortest chick was very animated. She was yelling at her friends. It was her. The Asian girl with the platinum hair from inside. They were standing next to a cab debating their next destination.

  Something told me I only had a moment's chance, and I made my way to her.

  Oh, it's going to be one of those nights.

  I twirled the pocket watch by its chain. "Relax, you're a
n adult now."

  As I approached, the cute girl was still spouting obscenities in a language I didn't recognize. Her friends didn't look especially put off so I figured it was safe to go in. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to hit on a chick who was pissed off at something, but then again, I wasn't known for making good choices. And her tiny skirt hugged her tight body in a way that let me overlook annoyances like thinking and reasons.

  "Don't want to call it a night?" I asked loudly enough to interrupt her tirade.

  She turned around with half a look of disbelief on her face, but the other half held a smirk when she saw mine. That was the half I needed to court.

  "Excuse me?" she asked.

  "I'm just a white boy from Miami and I don't know what language you're speaking, but if I had to guess, I'd say you didn't want to go home just yet."

  Her eyes narrowed in playful creases and she brushed white bangs away from her face. I had thought she was wearing a crazy costume wig, but it looked real from up close. She had a small hoop in her right nostril to accent her cute little nose. I also noticed she had silver glitter sprinkled on her face and neck that led down to her cleavage. It was an unfair trick that naturally drew my eye. I returned my gaze to her face without shame. It was what she wanted, after all.

  "It's only two," was all she offered. She didn't look upset anymore.

  I glanced at the other two girls. One was tall and one was thicker, but they were both pretty in their own way. All three had layers of makeup and fake eyelashes and high heels and were otherwise decked out for a party. It seemed a shame to cut the night short after all that effort. But the tall one looked a little wobbly. The guy with his arm around her looked bored. I guessed they were the ones who wanted to leave.

  "I'm Dante. What's your name?"

  She blinked coyly at me. "Eva."

  Good. She was easy to talk to. "Well, Eva," I said with a confident rhythm, "I was thinking about getting a bite to eat. We should all go together."

  It wasn't that I really wanted everybody else to come along—I just couldn't ask her to abandon her friends and hang out with a stranger. This way, we could all be friends. And if the couple got tired and wanted to leave early, so be it. Two hot girls were good company for the night, and I was still trying to get Soren out of my head.

  Dante, heads up.

  I ignored her as the thicker of the girls spoke up. "Let's go to K-town," she said. I already had the acceptance of one of the friends. I smiled at her.

  Koreatown in Los Angeles is a funny place. It's the largest population of Koreans outside their native country, but it's also LA so they're still outnumbered by Mexicans. Mexicotown doesn't have the same ring and is probably superfluous in Southern California. Anyway, K-town has a little downtown center on Wilshire that's stuffed with restaurants and bars and tacky clubs. It's dirty and divey—and dangerous—but it is one of the few places in Los Angeles where you could have a drink after two. Illegally of course.

  Dante!

  I spun around suddenly. I was in the middle of my groove and was trying to ignore the watch, but I'd learned to do that at my peril. She had a sense about things that I was still learning. So I flipped around and probably looked like an idiot. I didn't see anything at first. The clamor of partiers up and down the sidewalk blended together.

  "What?" I whispered, not wanting to look like the kind of person who talks to a pocket watch. Not that it would stand out in Hollywood.

  It's Soren.

  I immediately saw him. The dude should have been passed out on the toilet. Or perhaps stumbling out to find Pam. Instead he was being escorted to a taxi by a white guy with dreads. Soren had managed to clean himself up but still looked dazed. I got the feeling he was just following the lead of the other man. As Soren sat down in the back seat of the car, his benefactor handed something to the driver, closed the door from outside, and rapped on the roof to signal them off. Then the stranger watched the cab merge into the line of cars trudging along Vine.

  He was an average-sized man who had an impoverished look about him and wore a plaid flannel trench coat. I didn't even know such things existed or that there was a market for them. Satisfied that Soren was away, he marched past me. I didn't get a chance to touch him to see if he was taken.

  Not another one. Not tonight. I had already taken care of Soren.

  I returned my attention to Eva and smiled. "Sorry, I thought I knew that guy." It was a weak save, and I could tell she had been startled by my move. Shit. I wanted to touch her, but I didn't want to scare her.

  "Let's go," said the Asian guy, opening the door of their cab and helping his girl get in.

  You need to follow that guy!

  I had to consciously fight off a grimace. I knew this was important. I could tell. Violet had taught me how to work the streets, but she'd never demanded that I make a specific move before. I didn't know what this was about, but it might have been one of my few chances to learn more about the girl in the watch.

  Eva recognized my apologetic eyes and waved her friend into the cab. She stood as tall as she could in her heels and held her chin up, but she looked more cute than put off.

  "Shit, Eva. I need to take care of something first. Maybe I could meet you in K-town?"

  "I didn't invite you," she shot back. The glare of her large eyes reprimanded me and simultaneously pulled me in even more.

  "Well, maybe I can call you sometime?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe." Then she turned to get into the car.

  "At least," I said quickly, "at least tell me how to find you."

  She put her small hand on the door as she squeezed into the back seat. Her short skirt had trouble covering her thighs. She didn't seem concerned.

  "Maybe I'll find you," she said and yanked the door shut. I could only watch helplessly as the car pulled away.

  I hope you're proud of yourself.

  * * *

  I marched south on Vine, following the man in the plaid trench coat.

  "I don't appreciate being cockblocked by a twelve-year-old," I murmured.

  I thought I was eighteen.

  "Yeah, well, I thought you could be an adult for once too."

  Violet was eighteen, technically, if you counted from the day she was born. That's how most people keep track, I guess. But Violet was different, mostly owing to the fact that she was dead. Six years ago, when she was only twelve, she had been killed under circumstances that were still a mystery to me. All I knew was that, two years after the fateful event, around the time I had first moved to Los Angeles, I found her. It was serendipity, perhaps, that I wasn't in town for long before I stumbled upon the watch at an antique store in the Magnolia Corridor. It was a cool trinket. It was old and looked it. As a bonus, it still kept good time. I was in for a bit of a surprise when I found out that the watch was haunted by a little girl.

  Sorry, okay? She was cute.

  "She was fucking hot."

  Whatever. This man's important.

  I nodded as I twirled the watch around my hand. The man with thick dreadlocks did look sketchy, I'd give her that. He looked over his shoulder and turned west onto Hollywood Boulevard.

  I hurried forward to keep up without making it look like I was chasing somebody. I assumed this scenario would result in having to expel another shade, but that was premature. I didn't know for a fact that he was even taken. I would need to confirm that first.

  Violet was keeping something from me, which wasn't altogether strange. She was tight-lipped. All business. She didn't like to talk about her past. We'd done this dance for four years together, and I only discovered that she was murdered six months ago. I still didn't know the details. I just waited for her to open up or slip up. But whatever her problem was, whether trust or trauma, she'd always been a dependable teacher. And she never asked for anything in return. At least, not until now.

  "So you know this guy?" I asked.

  There's something... familiar about him.

  As I turned onto Hollywood, he was
almost a block ahead of me. I continued my brisk pace as the cool wind battered me. I had a long sleeve T-shirt on. That was enough to combat the LA chill for short walks. This November was cooler than usual, however, and I had no idea how far we were going. What was worse, my bright red shirt didn't exactly make me an inconspicuous tail.

  "Is he taken?"

  It's more than that...

  I sighed. "You know you're being more cryptic than usual, right?"

  Look. I want answers just as much as you do.

  "Actually, I'm okay with just calling it a night."

  This is important.

  "Yeah, I got that. Why is it I get the feeling that if I knew half of what you did, I probably would have ditched you a long time ago?"

  Violet was quiet for a moment, but then she said what she always did. A few words, a poem, that stressed our strength together.

  The path is rough, and simple feet step better with a shoe.

  One's not enough; like lonely streets, they're better walked with two.

  I sighed. It was true that I liked the power. The novelty of a talking watch wore thin when I realized she only talked to me, in my head. But she was an actual person, or had been, and she knew things I didn't know. She had been to the Dead Side and had somehow come back to this world by attaching herself to this watch. Then she had found me or I had found her—I wasn't sure which. I suspected it was a bit of both.

  I was always a little different, you see. I had a gift. Or a curse. I could see things. Not ghosts or demons or monsters or anything that a movie would render in CGI. There was nothing so material. I could just recognize the tears in the fabric of the world sometimes. I noticed moments of singularity when others didn't. I could feel the presence of the dead. Not as wandering spirits, but as a sort of second shadow within the very substantial people of the world.

  I'd left Miami when I was twenty. My goal was to get as far away from my batshit parents as I could. So I went to the opposite coast. I didn't really know what I was doing out here but I had always felt drawn to the city. As Violet had said about the man I was following, the city felt... familiar. It was the natural result of my inertia. Then Violet came into the picture and I suddenly had an outlet for my quirks. I had a reason for being, even if there was no how or why. The girl in the watch took an instant liking to me and taught me to pay more attention to my talents.