Shade City

by Domino Finn

  I squinted at the form and it coalesced. It was doubtful that I had caused the clarity, but it was no longer a mystery who was following me. Trailing me was the skeletal form of what was once inside Soren. Orange hair hung haphazardly on a head beset by rot. He bared black teeth at me as he closed in.

  "Nero."

  I turned and fled. I crossed Spring again and pushed down the opposite sidewalk. The lonely streets, ever empty, began to bustle with strange activity. A populace sprang up around me. A parade of cars and carriages smothered the asphalt. Pedestrians bounced me effortlessly between them as they hurried on their way. I now had the sense that I was sport, a helpless animal being surrounded by something greater than myself.

  Behind me, with the ease of a skier on fresh snow, the fiend closed in.

  I ducked under two men holding a roll of carpet. I squeezed in between the locked hands of a mother and her child. I pressed the back of an elderly man to force myself by. One by one I was surmounting every obstacle in my path. I was a solitary salmon fighting the unbearable counter current. I was making headway.

  But Nero was faster.

  I got caught up in a row of women, two deep, who were caroling an old chant that was unfamiliar to me. They stood firm, their ghostly voices rising above my might, and I spun helplessly as I became encircled.

  The figure of death and dependence marched closer to me. Nero shrieked and raised a withered arm to clasp my throat.

  This was the most helpless I'd ever felt in my life, compounded by the fact that I couldn't wake up.

  * * *

  Strong hands gripped my shoulders and carried me backward, through the throng and into the glass storefront of the nearest building. The fuzzy ground hardened into a staccato of tiles beneath my feet. Bold stone columns rose high, their impressive density supporting a massive ceiling. An array of shapes materialized into a series of haphazard solid wooden bookcases detailed with iron and steel. And on their shelves, books. Hundreds and hundreds of books. I was in a grand bookstore.

  There was a red leather tufted chair. Beside it, standing straight with a single arm resting on it, was my savior. He was an old-world man of class and elegance, with a head full of jet black hair under an old top hat. He wore a well-tailored jacket the color of smoke. I was immediately struck by his sense of calm.

  "Good morning," he said, ignoring my harried demeanor.

  My eyes moved from one bookcase to the other, scanning the aisles and the second floor banister and looking to the door for any intruders. I was still in shock. A mere moment before, I had been amidst a suffocating throng. This newfound silence was eerie. I didn't trust it. And I wasn't prepared to thank anybody just yet.

  "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

  "I'm always here," the man said in a measured voice. He lifted a wooden walking stick and rapped the alabaster head against his chest. Then he pointed it at me. "You're the intruder."

  "It's a dream," I reasoned. I knew that didn't make this place any less real, but one couldn't readily be an imposition in one's own dream.

  "Interesting..." was all the man offered.

  Now that the world had solidified, I felt I once again had my bearings and my wits. The situation seemed safe enough, and it didn't appear as though Nero was coming inside.

  "A bookstore?"

  "The last," he answered. "There is great knowledge in these tomes."

  "Who are you?"

  The man smiled. "I've been called many things. My fifth wife preferred 'son of a bitch.'"

  "So, a ladies' man?" He didn't relax his stiff posture and stood resolute in his coldness. "Is that what I should call you? Son of a bitch?"

  "I am just a passing spirit. My name isn't important. You will likely never see me again. But him," he said, looking to the glass door, "he seems intent on meeting you."

  I checked again to make sure the fiend wasn't entering. "I don't know what to do about him."

  "Shades have a habit of finding you when you meddle in their business."

  I nodded. "Seems fair. I did expel him."

  For the first time, the man's stoic visage was allowed to appear impressed. "Ah, a rare talent."

  "It's just science," I said.

  "Isn't everything?" The man turned and paced casually. "These halls are filled with science. Even the fiction, stories passed down through generations, have truths to tell us. I have spent a great many years here in study, yet I have never found a story of a man who visits the dead when he sleeps." The metal tip of his walking stick made a flat note against the tile. "We all have our talents. Even shades. That," he said, pointing outside, "is a desperate one. He seeks to return to your world but is unable."

  "I gave sage to the one he was bound to."

  The man smiled blankly and said nothing. Had the spirit never read a story about white sage, either?

  "He's trapped here forever now. He'll never get back."

  "It's likely you are correct. Most shades are fools. Others are smart and disciplined. He is still a threat to you for the time being, but I wouldn't be overly concerned. The crazy ones may be more violent—but it is the measured ones who prove to be more dangerous in the long-term."

  I walked further into the bookstore. It was an area that felt warmer than any other place I'd seen on the Dead Side. If I didn't know any better, yellows and reds seemed to creep into the periphery of this desaturated place. Despite the comforting feel, there was a subtext to this conversation that I was missing.

  "Is that what you are? A smart spirit? More dangerous than Nero?"

  The gentlemanly figure turned. He shot me a look, not of one offended so much as of a man losing patience.

  "You can't trust shades, sir. Their motivations are foreign to the living."

  I scoffed. "Nothing's complicated about not wanting to be dead."

  "Perhaps you underestimate the desperation inherent."

  I strolled up to a small table where an original gramophone sat beside a pile of books. Taking a cursory glance at the pages, I tried to mutter as unassumingly as possible. "You're a shade."

  The man smiled again. "And that is precisely why you shouldn't trust me." He sat on the leather couch, rested back, and crossed one leg over the other. "I wouldn't trust me, if I were you. Certainly don't take instruction from me. But you may note that I am giving none."

  I nodded and leaned against the end table, facing him. This man was the definition of cool etiquette. He was polite and friendly and projected strong character. Everything he said made sense and appeared above board. But he had overplayed his hand.

  "You said that shades can find you when you poke into their business." He looked at me as I spoke with a knowing expression. "One might wonder how you found me, but I've already figured it out. We came to cross paths in the world of the dead because I chased you off a building in the world of the living."

  He bowed his head slightly. "Bravo, sir. You have your man. I do apologize for acting like such a brute. I didn't know who you were and I panicked."

  "And now Sal is dead."

  "Well, let's not shed a tear for the unfortunates. I have little patience for madness."

  "So," I said, acting cool in the face of his apathy, "you decided you would get to know me and my methods?"

  The man removed his hat and brushed his hair along the part. "Turn about is fair play, but to the contrary, it was you who was seeking an audience with me. Was it not?"

  He was right. Sal, or this man while inside of Sal, didn't even know about me until I intervened in his affairs. Still, his business was illegitimate. That is what had attracted us to him in the first place.

  "It was."

  He nodded. "And what, pray tell, do you seek me for?"

  "I make it my business any time the dead impose on the living."

  "Do you now?" The man's dark eyes studied me intently. "May I ask why?"

  I shrugged. My friends didn't know about my moonlighting so I hadn't been asked about it directly before. I'd never really
thought about the answer. "There's nothing quite like it."

  "No illusions of nobility, then? You do it for the thrill. Because you can. Isn't that a little self-serving?"

  "Says the man who just killed a human being to avoid being found out, then quickly changed his mind and decided to meet me anyway. Besides, I never said I wasn't self-serving. Aren't we all?"

  The man responded quickly, dismissing the gravity of his actions. "Precisely. As for me, it is true. I am weak. I concede that, like everybody else, I desire to live forever. How is it that you do it, if I may ask?"

  "Do what?"

  "You said you were about to find me out. How would you have known who I was?"

  Something else he'd never read about. I shrugged again. "Just a simple touch will do. I can see second shadows in my mind. Couldn't tell you how or why." I kept the part about Violet out of it.

  "Fascinating."

  I was unnerved by the man's composure. Shades, for obvious reasons, strived to blend in with the living. There were exceptions reserved for short-lived attempts at disruption, but Sal had been right to run from me. He had known that I was on to him. That something was off. Now he just pulled a one-eighty and introduced himself. Why?

  "What's your business with Red Hat?" I asked.

  My unnamed companion widened his eyes and stroked his mustache. It was an outdated growth on his face that drew too much attention, although it may have played well with today's hipster crowds. "Take care with them," warned the man gravely. "Any frivolities you've had with the dead thus far are trivial by comparison."

  "I've got it under control."

  "Famous last words."

  "What's your business with them?"

  "They are an old company. Not Red Hat Events, of course. That is the newest incarnation. They started before your time—before my time even—as a millinery."

  "What is that?"

  He tipped the hat on his head. "A fine hat maker's shop."

  There was nothing sinister about that. "Is it a front for a criminal enterprise?"

  "The business? No, no, I suppose it is legitimate enough, as much as can be said for any in the nightlife industry. Red Hat is a means to an end, a vehicle of wealth and a structural hierarchy for a movement."

  "What, do they want to take over the world or something?"

  "No," said the man, forcing a laugh. "Nothing so sophomoric. They want what everyone wants." He looked at me and waited for an answer.

  "To live forever."

  He simply nodded.

  The man was playing a delicate game. He had taken a risk by exposing himself to me and he was hedging what information he conveyed, for sure, but there was something more. He wanted something out of this exchange and I couldn't nail down what it was yet.

  "Are you telling me that the entire staff is taken?"

  "I am telling you that the structure is set up to propagate the dead. With your abilities and curiosity, it was only a matter of time before you found out for yourself. Not every employee need be possessed. Many can assist the cause simply by doing their job in ignorance. Many are just there to make money. But the ones in charge, the ones that matter, have lived a life other than their current one. They want to be rich. They want to be successful. And they want to find new hosts."

  A dark cloud hovered over our conversation as soon as I understood the subtext of his words. "Soren."

  The man nodded. "I was scouting for new troops. Red Hat recruits, you see. They look for strong, impressionable youths in good health. If they have been taken before, like your friend, then they've already proven viable receptacles."

  "But he's not viable anymore," I countered. "I pushed white sage through his breath. He'll be safe, at least for a while."

  "Whatever you think of your parlor tricks, they are only for the weak-minded. Like the shade that was chasing you outside. There is a set of elites who aren't dissuaded as easily. They can overcome your trifles."

  There was something in his tone that sounded like... contempt. I began to get the distinct feeling that this man had no great love for Red Hat.

  "What makes them so powerful?"

  "That, unfortunately, is a question that even these books cannot answer."

  I paced around the room, trying to find the catch. "So why tell me this?"

  "I suppose every memorable dream needs a twist," he said, rising to his feet. "For my part, I am an agent of Red Hat in appearance only. I worked for them, at times, merely to apply a more critical eye to their activities."

  "You were spying on them?"

  "Indeed. This is a fact which may help you better understand my suspicion and behavior on the rooftop, and why I could not turn to the others for assistance. But here, outside the prying eyes of the Royals, we can be two men of discretion."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Who are the Royals?"

  The man in the old suit paused a moment, as if to afford the subject its proper reverence. "The monarchy of Red Hat. Powerful shades at the top of the food chain. Heed what I say. These aren't simple fiends like the orange-haired spirit that gave you chase. These are refined men and women, in touch with their craft, armed with a solitary mission. The Royals are a threat without scope. To take them on, you will need allies."

  That was it, the opening I had been looking for. Alone, it would have taken time and aroused suspicion to get the kind of information I was being handed now. Still, this seemed to fall into my lap too perfectly. Too easily. He had told me not to trust shades after all.

  "Then why fight them? What do you have against Red Hat?"

  The man held his hands behind his back and stood with proper form. He answered the question as if he had expected it, and continued to carry his smooth demeanor throughout. "Their movement is a determined one that has destroyed countless lives. It necessitates the trampling of others. I, unfortunately, have not kept their footprints off my back. I wish to keep it at that."

  It didn't surprise me that he wanted to keep some secrets. I was vague about my own motivations, after all. Our mutual caution was understood. It would be something to work around rather than overcome. In the end, whether I could trust this man or not, it would have been negligent to ignore him.

  "What are they going to do to Soren?" I asked.

  "First they welcome him into the fold. They befriend him, take over his routine, and then they control him."

  "And you want to stop them?"

  "Your friend doesn't concern me. You can worry about him as you wish."

  "Fine, but stop calling him my friend. I barely know the guy."

  "And yet you will be risking your life for his." The man set his walking stick down on the couch and approached me. "There is a private company party on the grounds of the Griffith Park Observatory this Friday night. Soren has been meeting with the promoters and will be a featured act. The choice presented to you is whether or not you wish to watch his back." The man extended a firm hand to me. "But know this. Your curiosity will not be well met. I am trusting that you will not mention my name."

  "I don't even know your name," I said, clasping my hand in his.

  He smiled, and then I woke up.

  Wednesday

  It was only midweek. That left me two days of idle time before the Red Hat party. I spent the morning in my apartment pretending to program but couldn't stop going over the recent distractions in my head. A hat store evolved into a party company run by ghosts? It seemed ridiculous and macabre, but there was something else troubling about it. It was the first time, in my four years of chasing shades, that I had encountered any sort of true organization amongst their ranks. Did that mean that, all this time, I had only been concerning myself with the scrubs?

  I staved off my curiosity and ignored the internet for as long as I could. Once two o'clock hit, I knew I had to do something or risk losing all semblance of productivity. Since I couldn't readily do anything about Red Hat at the moment, I remembered my other little project. So, on the pretense of grabbing a late lunch, I grabbed my Ha
milton pocket watch and jumped in my car.

  Los Angeles, much like Miami, is a driving city. The subway is great if you're going its way, but the sprawling neighborhoods of LA outrun the reach of the tunnels. Besides, it was sunny out and the middle of the day; it would be a fun drive in my Z. So I hopped on the 134 and headed east.

  Eagle Rock is a quaint little place. More residential than anything else, with pockets of business along Colorado Boulevard and such. It's a convenient neighborhood because it isn't as far out as Pasadena, is a quick shot to Downtown, and hosts a damn good pastrami sandwich.

  Before pleasure, however, I pulled my car up to the curb of an office building.

  You're telling me you made a deal with a Red Hat agent?

  I had put off the conversation all morning, but I decided to catch Violet up along the way.

  "It wasn't much of a deal. He just told me about the party."

  You can't just befriend random shades you run into.

  "What, like if I happened to buy a haunted pocket watch in an antique store?"

  That's different.

  I couldn't tell if Violet was jealous or had a valid concern. I would have been the first to admit that I couldn't trust the man I'd met. As far as I could tell, though, he had asked nothing of me.

  "Listen," I said, "you wanted me to follow the lead. Sal knew that Soren was no longer taken. He recruited him into the folds of Red Hat. Soren is the objective, not the shades I dreamt about."

  Shades? Plural?

  I sighed. I didn't want to worry Violet. I had seen how terrified she was the first time it happened. "Nero. He was after me again. The bookstore was my only sanctuary." The man had done me a favor. Surely she couldn't blame me for talking to him. "Besides, I didn't see you jumping out in the streets to save me."

  She didn't answer. I didn't mean to guilt her and I felt bad about saying that. Violet couldn't control what happened to me on the Dead Side. I pulled the key out of the ignition and sat in silence, wondering what to say without sounding cheesy.