by Domino Finn
"And I have you to thank for bringing that to my attention. Violet never did. But I'm talking about your unique gift. You know how to jump into other bodies."
"At least for a little bit," he admitted. "Finlay had some gangster friends that I worked. They set up my return to wealth."
"And Sal. And who knows how many others. You laid the groundwork through them for this."
"I did. But those were all short-term visits. You are an expert now, no? With my daughter's help, you had better be. Like all others, I can only truly bond with one man at a time. The others are temporary distractions."
"Did you take the lawyer too?"
Alexander raised his eyebrows. "Mr. Glickman? No, no. He is a meek man, but surprisingly strong-willed. You know that this business only works with acceptable hosts. I am afraid our dear lawyer is in the dark about all of this. He respects Alexander greatly. Even more after recovering from a long hospital stay." Ambrose shook his head. "It is going to shake the poor man."
There was something about what he said that threw me. I couldn't conceptualize his whole strategy yet. But there was another plan. The one he didn't know about. The one I was working. The waitress returned with his check and Alexander signed it. After she left, I casually lit a cigarette.
Alexander McAllister raised an eyebrow. "I believe Los Angeles has laws prohibiting smoking in restaurants now. Even outdoors."
"Yeah, I'm always that asshole." I callously blew smoke across the table into his face.
"You do realize that sage won't expel me, Mr. Butcher. I've been at this too long. I know this business too well."
"I don't know that until I try it."
He sat a moment to give me the proof I needed. We both finished the wine. "Well then," he continued, "you certainly are aware that it would be useless to do so, even if it worked. I could just hop into another. Perhaps even Soren."
"Hmm," I said, flicking ash onto the floor. "That's why you sent him away."
"Indeed. And you've let him leave."
I smiled sardonically. It wasn't ideal, but it would do in a pinch. "No doubt the limo driver is none other than your bodyguard, Bedros."
"Ah, then we are both abreast of the situation."
Smoke billowed from my nose and mouth slowly. "And what are you planning on doing with Pam?"
The man grinned. "The same that any red-blooded American would, given half the chance." He must have seen my face darken. "Oh, don't worry. She will be a willing participant. I am not a monster."
I snorted at the appeal. Alexander Ambrose was an old man. He had a century on me. To be doing what he had been doing for so long must have completely broken his sense of morality. A man who could kill his own daughter could justify anything else with ease.
Violet had been quiet until now. Maybe it was her way of avoiding her father. Blocking out the association. But she had been listening. And she was thinking the same thing I was.
My father will convince you he's a good man before you ever change his mind about anything.
Once again, I burned inside.
"How could you do this?" I demanded. "How could you be such a son of a bitch? If not for what is just, can't you think about your daughter?"
Dante... don't.
Alexander didn't even register emotion. His face was stone, and his heart must have been harder.
"You disgust me," I said.
That got a reaction out of him. The man cared more about the respect afforded to him than the lives of others. With a disgruntled look on his face, he wheeled his chair away from and around the table. "If there is nothing else, Mr. Butcher—"
"Where do you think you're going?"
The wheelchair stopped right next to me. Alexander's eyes locked with mine in defiance. "A man is measured by his actions. A lifetime of accumulated behavior bears reputation."
"So?"
"So, sir, I believe you know full well where I am going and what I will do. I also know what you will do."
I swallowed. "What's that?"
Alexander Ambrose settled back in an unnatural comfort inside Alexander McAllister's body. "You will do nothing, Mr. Butcher. We've crossed paths four times before. Four times have we conversed. And four times you have done nothing." He stared dismissively at me. It was as though he didn't even have enough respect for me to harbor contempt. "You are a talker, Mr. Butcher. You play amongst children to feel large, but when you confront a man, you withdraw. You have no piece to play. No viable action to take. This is a game you are not up for."
Alexander rolled away. He was right about many things but wrong about the reasons. Shades of his caliber were new to me. I hadn't been able to confront him yet because I hadn't known how. His deceptions threw me off and Red Hat was a significant worry. To have rushed into this match without knowing the rules would have invited defeat. Now, I was far from an expert. But I thought I was getting a hang for the game.
I stood up and dug into my pocket. Crap. Soren's ring. I should have slipped it into Pam's purse or something. It didn't matter. It was a long shot. And it wasn't what I was reaching for.
Alexander wheeled himself into the open elevator with the assistance of the young hostess. I weaved my way through the tables and ignored everything else but the bead I had on him. I had tunnel vision. A single purpose. Nothing would let Alexander Ambrose get away from me tonight.
I shoved my hand between the closing elevator doors and they jerked to a halt and reversed. Alexander was only mildly surprised when I stepped inside next to him. He waited until we were in motion and had the elevator to ourselves to speak.
"More following. More watching," he said.
I grabbed the man by the hand. A strong surge of feeling flowed through me. His second shadow was a force worthy of awe that stood out from the dregs I was accustomed to. Its fingerprints were undeniable. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, Ambrose." I wasn't sure if he was going to remain calm or violently strike me, but he never got the chance. A puzzled look crossed his face as he heard the click of handcuffs locking his wrist to the chair.
"What's this?" he asked suddenly.
"Just something I picked up on the way here."
"Steel handcuffs?"
"You know, I've been wondering about why you forced Sal off the top of that building. You saw me after you. If you'd wanted to retreat to the Dead Side, you could have."
Alexander kept his gaze on the cuffs. He raised his hand and pulled against the armrest of the wheelchair to which he was bound.
I continued. "Most of the shades I banish, they're easy to explain. They have a single link to the world of the living that they've fought hard for. Leaving their hosts to run from me would likely mean abandoning this world. Never coming back again. They fight like criminals determined never to go back to prison. It's easier for them to, even, since they can't die. But you and Sal, those circumstances were different."
Ambrose was ignoring my point. "Congratulations, Mr. Butcher. You have succeeded in chaining a wheelchair-bound man to his chair. I do not believe that I have ever witnessed a more useless gesture."
"That's not what I did," I said. It was true that I questioned whether he could walk or not—the man was a liar—but the cuffs had another purpose. He turned to me with curiosity as the elevator door opened.
I smiled naturally at the man standing in the small room. Alexander began to wheel himself out. The armrest he was chained to was close enough to the top of the wheel for him to reach it. He could move himself. But he was slow. And the metal rattled. I impatiently took over his fumbling and pushed him. It would call less attention to the handcuffs.
At the main building elevator, a couple was loitering in the hall. They jumped in with us, so it was a long, quiet ride down. Alexander had a strange expression on his face as he stared at the metal around his wrist. The other two must have felt the hostility because they were examining us closely. Ambrose noticed, and lifted his left hand, casually revealing the cuffs. The girl was shocked.
I put my hands up emph
atically. "If he wasn't tied to it, he'd lose it."
They broke away from us the first chance they got.
Once we were outside, I rolled Alexander through the crosswalk. He broke his silence. "There was very little time to leave Sal," he said, "with you on my trail. A banishment is an abrupt and painful transition, as I'm sure you're aware. A proper retreat would have been too time-consuming. Besides, I wanted to see you up close, with my own eyes. I wanted to see who was following me. That is how I recognized you on the Dead Side."
"And now?" I asked with a cocky grin. "What's keeping you from leaving now?"
The man was silent for a few moments before speaking. "Curiosity, Mr. Butcher."
I sneered at his weak reply. "The answer you're looking for is cold iron, Ambrose. Those handcuffs aren't steel. They're vintage. From an old military store."
"Iron?" he asked, placing all attention on his bound wrist.
"You really don't know, do you? Well, that explains why Violet didn't know. Why I had to figure it out for myself."
"Figure out what?"
"The properties of iron. A horseshoe. It can be a deterrent, of course. But it's more than that. A shade can't pass through a coil of iron. It can be on a doorway. Or it can be around a body. I was thinking about how people focus so much on keeping shades out that they never thought about keeping them in. Now, I could be wrong about this, but it's a solid bet that the cold iron around your wrist will prevent you from slipping out of Alexander McAllister." The man yanked against the chain once more. He didn't say a word. "Hate to say it, Ambrose, but I think you're stuck with me."
We entered our final elevator, this one heading underground into the subway station.
* * *
Most of the Metro stations in Los Angeles each have their own theme. Pershing Square Station is no different. As I wheeled Alexander McAllister along the island platform between the tracks on either side, I shuddered under the colorful neon lights. Bands of purple and pink supposedly celebrated the very first neon sign in the country, never mind that the car lot that displayed them was six blocks away. It was a tenuous connection and a strange tribute, and right now it annoyed me.
Alexander had been quiet for several minutes. I wasn't sure how he would react to his capture. He could've screamed for help at the first pedestrian that walked by. He could've claimed that he'd been kidnapped. My plan, if that happened, was to take him to the bathroom and put him in a choke hold until he was docile. But I had a feeling that Alexander was above the need for such theatrics. A century of life will teach a man patience, if nothing else.
As it was, I found a quiet end of the terminal and waited for the next northbound train.
"I suppose I was hasty in my judgment of you, sir," the man finally said. I glanced at the chair momentarily and then continued my vigil of the tracks. I was sitting on a bench next to him but was uninterested in any more conversation. I just wanted to get this over with as fast as I could. When I didn't respond, he kept baiting me. "Do you do all of this for Mr. McAllister? Do you think to save him from his grief? Well, let me tell you that it is too late for him."
I scowled.
"In my experience," he said, "when a man has been other than himself for years, a part of his true being withers. You visited my host when I was not inside. You saw that the loft resembles a crypt more than a home. Didn't you notice that his body was failing him? One foot in the grave. Now, my spirit is like a warm glow, giving his flesh an energy it lacked. A drive. Fingal went mad when I left. Finlay was already ill but quickly deteriorated upon my exit. How do you suppose poor Alexander will fare?"
"He has a chance," I countered. "Finlay was abandoned by you when he went to prison. How long had he been taken by that point? A decade? By all accounts, he was becoming a better person inside. Reforming. You were only in Alexander for four years before being struck down. And the coma may have even helped him. It could have re-acclimated his spirit to his body. Maybe he can live a normal life, after all."
Ambrose kept his face relaxed but I caught something he tried to hide. Was he impressed? I was just guessing. Spitballing. But I had to believe that shades didn't permanently destroy those they inhabited. I had to believe there was hope.
"The man has awoken to a world where his loving wife beat him with an iron and murdered his only daughter. He is broken, Mr. Butcher. Hope is meaningless if it is unrealistic."
My face darkened again. "Do you not feel the slightest remorse for the McAllisters? Four generations of a family were destroyed by you. They lived their lives as automatons, struggled with the reality of living with strangers, or were simply murdered. Only two pieces remain. Catriona will likely live out the rest of her life in Willow Gardens, and Alexander will find himself alone in a similar way. But at least he has money. Maybe he can do some good with it. Maybe he can add something to this world."
Alexander Ambrose was not sympathetic. As I spoke about the hardships of the family, not a trace of sadness or remorse overtook his features.
"McAllister," said Ambrose, letting each syllable play in its own beat. "It means 'son of Alexander.' I have often thought it fitting, if not a bit dry." The man rocked in his wheelchair and turned it to directly face me. "The money is mine, sir. I have earned every penny of it, not that... puppet."
"Think of it as restitution."
"I will not. But our difference of opinion on the matter is academic. As of this evening, the inheritance of Mr. McAllister is no longer his."
I watched the smug expression on his face. He had done it already. He had beaten me to the punch. "Mr. Glickman. Soren."
"Correct, Mr. Butcher. Soren is in control of my estate now. He will forever believe his benefactor was an old friend of his father's, but it matters not. Whatever you tell him, he will cling to the money. It is human nature. But you and I both know that a fortune will not sate him. He will fall into his destructive cycle again. That is his nature. He will always be waiting for another shade, if not me."
"How long have you been watching Soren? How long have you wanted him?"
Alexander raised his eyebrows softly. "Soren was only one possibility. There were others. I kept a close watch on all of them. I looked for any opportunities."
"But why didn't you just do what I did? Why didn't you blow him full of sage and take over?"
Ambrose released a rare laugh. Not too loud. Not too long. But it was mirth all the same. "Mr. Butcher, for as much of an expert in these matters as I am, I must concede that banishment was never my priority. Like the iron loop. Simply said, I didn't know how to do it. Until you showed me."
"But Violet was the one who taught me—"
"She's a smart girl, my Viola. Extremely talented. She visited the living in that watch before I ever did. I needed her as a crutch in the beginning. She must have learned about the sage after we parted ways. Or perhaps she had always known and kept it from me. I cannot say. For my part, I have discovered how to bind with a man while firmly rooted in another. It is not an easy process. It requires some time close with the prospect. But it can be done. As can anything. This world of ours, Mr. Butcher, is a fickle one. There is wonder and disappointment, but most of all, there is the unknown. It is a frontier wrought with mystery. For all I can do, there are others who can do more. Yet they marvel at my knowledge. My ability. Even you," he said, again with a hint of admiration, "you have gifts that confound me. You can see us in this world where no other can. It is a delicate web that we tread upon, never knowing where the next strand will take us."
I had always known I was different. That I was special in some way. That was undeniable, especially after Violet enlightened me. But I had never thought about it. I didn't care why. Just as Ambrose had stated, the workings of life were a big mystery. In my book, the what was more important than the why.
As the lull in our conversation lengthened, I began to wonder what strange abilities were out there that I didn't know about yet. Could Violet do anything? I remembered seeing her on the Dead
Side rendering Soren's shade to light. Ambrose had seen it too. Was that a power? Was that special? Then my thoughts took a foreboding slant. I thought about Bedros and Eladio and Emilio. Even Marquis. Here was a man that was undoubtedly dangerous, maybe even more of a monster than Ambrose. What could he do that the others couldn't? What made him special?
As if reading my face and sensing I was on another topic, Alexander picked my brain. "What are your intentions here? I don't want to hear about your lofty ideals. I don't want your world view. I mean here. Now. What are we doing?"
I looked up at the station monitor and checked the time on my cell phone. I was purposefully keeping the pocket watch put away, keeping Violet from the company of her father. We still had a few minutes and I exhaled a heavy breath. The bench didn't have a backrest so I leaned against both my hands behind me. "My primary concern is protecting Alexander McAllister and Soren."
"Only one of which is currently under your watch."
"I'll find Soren next."
"If you think he'll be easy to find, you're wrong. And even if you knew where he was, he's not alone."
"Don't place too much faith in Bedros. I've tangled with his sort before."
Alexander nodded. "And how do you plan on tangling with a true ghost? With a man that can jump bodies?" He lifted his arm and the cuffs rattled against the wheelchair. "This is only temporary, Mr. Butcher. Your actions have longer ramifications. By now you must be aware that I have bound myself to Soren. The seed is planted. He is mine." Alexander looked around Pershing Square Station. "It is much like this rail. Or better yet, like the Southern Pacific that had a hold on me in another lifetime. The train is barreling ahead. It is an iron horse with the momentum of a giant. Fingal, Finlay, Alexander—they were all stops, not destinations. You can raise trouble. You can slow the titan. My acquaintance with Soren may meet a delay at your hands but it will surely happen. It is a guarantee. You are merely changing the timeline."
I nodded in resignation. "You're right. I don't know how to stop you. But it's not me that's going to."
Suspicion immediately clouded Alexander's face. "What? Where are we going?"
