Shade City

by Domino Finn

  "To remain on the Dead Side. You can ensure that the dead turn into shades."

  He nodded in confirmation of my statement.

  "And you can return them to the world of the living?"

  "I can hold them back from the Endless Winds. For them to return here is another trick entirely. It must be worked into them like a soldier sent to boot camp. This can take decades. Alexander did it in twelve years."

  "He used the watch?"

  "His daughter did. She was the first of Alexander's deceptions. The girl was never supposed to be killed. Alexander had volunteered himself into my service, not her. He was to commit suicide with a personal item, something valuable to increase the chances of it not being destroyed. The watch was that item."

  I never knew it was important. I had always liked holding it. He let me hold it.

  The picture began to solidify in my mind. "So Ambrose decided to take his daughter with him and gave her the watch. But how did he know that he would ever see her in the world of the dead? You didn't use your Touch on her, did you?"

  Marquis shook his head. "There must be an indignance in death," he answered. "But it is never certain. Not without me."

  "So he took a chance. He gambled and won?"

  "I would say so."

  I thought about it some more. "Unless he knew what he was doing."

  "Impossible. How does a man truly know about death before his own? There would have been no way for him to predict what would ultimately happen to his daughter back then. But this man is long since beyond us. Why are we speaking of him?"

  I looked intently at the Royal. I wasn't getting the desired reaction out of him. "He's still here," I said dramatically. Marquis barely raised an eyebrow.

  "Among the living? Well, if that's true then perhaps he was stronger than I'd given him credit for. I'm still failing to see—" The man stopped himself and rubbed the ebony bald spot on the back of his head. "Ah. You mean to supplant Soren with Alexander."

  "And myself. If I give you Ambrose, you cut ties with the both of us." Emilio chuckled and Marquis shot him a deathly glare.

  "You forget that he was practically more trouble than he was worth. Why would I want him?"

  "You just admitted that you underestimated him. Look at him now. He's here, and he's not even relying on the watch."

  Marquis shrugged dismissively. "A conduit is not necessary. It only helps. It can strengthen the bond with the host. Keep them from being..." He trailed off, as if he didn't want to tell me anymore.

  "Expelled," I said. I knew some spirits were stronger than others, but maybe Ambrose shrugged off the sage because of a conduit. Initially, in his early years, he'd always kept the watch around. Whether he shared it with Violet or her bond had helped him, I wasn't sure, but I did know that he began to carry the watch less and less. He left it behind. He did his own thing. It would fit if he had his own conduit. "What if Ambrose figured out how to make his own conduit?"

  "Impossible," said Marquis again. He was a little heated. First, upset that he had accidentally educated me on a banishment technique. Second, perhaps, because of his ego. He didn't want any others to rival his power. "He is only a man."

  I contemplated his eyes as he said that last part. What did Marquis mean? How old was he? What did he consider himself, if not a man?

  The Royal regained his cool. "No," he said again. "You interest me. I believe we can help each other. Failing that, I will have Soren follow me."

  The car exited the highway and headed northwest on Lankershim. We were in North Hollywood, almost at my apartment.

  "The thing is, Ambrose is after Soren now too." The expressive eyes of Marquis lit up as he finally began to understand.

  "He means to possess him?"

  "If he hasn't already."

  "And he is skilled enough to do this?"

  I gripped the pocket watch securely. "I have reason to believe he is."

  "Well then, that makes the choice easy for you. If Soren has already fallen victim to another, you should have no qualms delivering him to me."

  "You don't understand," I stated decisively. "It makes everything more difficult."

  The Royal glanced at Emilio and then back at me. He was operating on an entirely different set of morals, but he came to understand my dilemma. "You intend to free Soren. Except you are torn because, in banishing Alexander, you no longer have him to give me." He saw the confirmation in my troubled face. "I will make this easy for you. I want Soren, not Alexander. And he's no good to me without free will."

  The words of the Royal tripped me up for a moment. Maybe I had been an idiot, but I finally realized what Marquis wanted to do with Soren. Just then. "You don't want him for a host, do you? When you told me it would be his decision to follow you or not, you weren't lying."

  Marquis didn't say anything. To him, it was obvious. Considering him a liar was insulting.

  "Except you never get your hands dirty. You're looking for someone to kill themselves and serve you in another life. He's another soldier. Another Ambrose." Marquis was a man of questionable morals, no doubt, but he placed an importance on keeping his word. Even though I felt like I was in the presence of evil, I took some comfort in that. I decided to use his honor against him. "I don't think you realize how much you want Alexander Ambrose. He has deceived you quite a bit. And you've told me that reneging on agreements is distasteful."

  Marquis leaned toward me, ever so slightly. I had his attention, if only for the sake of curiosity. "He paid me my dues."

  "He robbed you blind. He learned how to hop into other bodies, starting with Finlay. He handed over his inheritance to Blush Bonnet Clothiers, then set up an elaborate scheme to siphon the funds back his way using gangsters in your employ. Of late, he's been working for you, without your knowledge. He was the one who possessed Sal. Except Ambrose really only works for himself. He set you up with Soren, but even that, Ambrose decided, would be his. He's become a rich man and has lived freely in this world. Not only in spite of you, but by stealing from you. And he's been right under your nose the whole time."

  Each word filled Marquis with more rage. My knowledge of the details of his business garnered authenticity. He could see I wasn't lying. He could see, at least, that he wanted Alexander Ambrose.

  "Where is he?" he demanded.

  "I'll find him. But you need to give me time. You need to lay off me. And that means no thugs on my doorstep." We passed the North Hollywood Metro parking lot as I said this. My apartment building was in sight.

  The Royal's voice was no longer overconfident and calm. There was a dire edge to his words, though, that still commanded respect. "No games, Dante. I will have one of you. And I am getting impatient." The car stopped and Emilio swung the door open. Our talk was over.

  "Actually," I said, "I'm pretty hungry after the night in jail. Would you mind taking me up the street for a burger?"

  * * *

  I sat in my car eating cold In-N-Out. Marquis hadn't accommodated my request and I hadn't eaten in half a day, so I didn't even bother going inside my apartment. I'd walked straight into the parking garage and drove to the fast food joint. It wasn't until I had been sitting there in the drive-thru, with a moment to myself, that I realized how I could find Soren. Whether he was hidden or not, whether he planned on turning tail or stepping boldly into the limelight—it didn't matter. Alexander McAllister was dead and he had a will that needed attending.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized Ambrose was always planning on killing off Alexander McAllister. It was part of his cycle. His rebirth.

  I had hoped to take a shower, to wipe the stench of jail off me, but I didn't have time. I'd headed straight to Mr. Glickman's office. Once I was sure the lawyer was inside—and Soren wasn't—I had decided to wait in my car and watch. So I ate my single, no cheese, ketchup, mustard, whole-grilled onion, with a cheese fries, well-done, and settled into my stakeout across the street.

  I hate to be the one always warning you—r />
  "No you don't," I said. Violet pretended she didn't hear me.

  But I don't like Marquis at all. He's everything we're against and you're buddying up with him.

  The bad taste in her mouth was moving into mine, ruining my food. "I don't trust him any farther than I can see him. He's just a means to an end."

  A dangerous one. I'm not going to pretend my father was a victim in all of this, but it was Marquis who introduced him to this life in the first place.

  "I've got it under control."

  Do you? You're making a deal with the devil to catch one of his flock. Aren't you afraid you're helping the worse monster get stronger?

  I hadn't considered it, truthfully. "I'm pretty confident Ambrose will never help Marquis again. I think you know that too." Confidence wasn't a hard truth, but I could only handle one crisis at a time.

  I threw the wrapper and napkins into the paper bag, balled the whole thing up, and tossed it to the floor. Then I leaned back into my bucket seat. It felt good to be driving again. Really, anything felt good after spending the night in jail.

  Freedom is easy to take for granted. It comes crashing to the forefront of your mind when you realize you can't take a crap without gawkers. Plus, there's no internet. But driving is especially nice. Lots of people hate the car culture of Los Angeles. People like being able to walk everywhere. Not me. This is my element. Back in Miami, the neighborhoods and hot spots have a similar sprawl. Being able to check out every corner of the large city, becoming intimately familiar with the quirks of every street, is a great coming of age ritual. It says the city is your home. Your place.

  A stretch limousine pulled up to the curb and parked. It was black and longer than the ride I was in earlier. I couldn't see the driver through the dark tint but the door opened and Soren stepped out.

  "Damn, does everyone have a limo these days?"

  I wasn't afraid of him seeing me. I had dark tints on my windows. It wasn't legal but neither was speeding. I considered the tickets a tax and kept doing my thing.

  Soren was dressed more formally now, with a suit and a bowtie. Alexander's influence on him was quick. There was little doubt that Soren was now taken. As he walked inside the office building, I waited, thinking he might only be a few minutes.

  So what's the plan?

  I didn't really know. "Well, I don't have my handcuffs anymore so I can't hold him." The words hung in the air on a sinister thread, like a silkworm waving in the night wind. The thought twisted into a darker meaning.

  You don't mean to kill him?

  "Of course not," I exclaimed. "That's how shades think. I may make mistakes once in a while, but I don't lose sight of what's important. Your father, Marquis—they're only concerned about personal gain. They shove everything from their path that doesn't help them. Life has no value to them. Once you go down that road, you're irredeemable."

  Violet didn't say anything. I thought I heard a sniffle, as though she was crying. Then I realized: in condemning Marquis and her father, I did the same to her.

  "What's wrong now?" I asked, a little too harshly.

  Not all shades are the same.

  The hurt in her voice was palpable. She didn't only want redemption, but friendship. She wanted to be past this. To be normal. I felt like scum all of a sudden. It hurt me that she had lied to me about who she was. It hurt that I had to find out from her father, of all people. But did she deserve to be hated? Dismissed?

  "I'm sorry, Violet," I finally said. "I didn't mean that. I know you're trying to make up for your past. I get that. But Marquis and your father, they're not twelve-year-old children listening to their parents. Don't equate your situations." Her crying slowed. She must have known how difficult it was for me to say as little as I did. It wasn't my thing. "You know, your past, it's not as important as your present. The here and now is what matters."

  Thank you, Dante.

  Her crying halted with a whimper.

  I'm sorry I wasn't letting you be happy with Eva. I just want you to be careful. Don't fall into the same trap I did: caring for someone you can't depend on.

  "I know," I said softly. "It's just that girls are hard to get away from."

  So is family...

  Now it was my turn to be silent. She was right. Again.

  After a decent childhood, I spent my teen years having problems with my burgeoning abilities. Having problems with my parents. They were always fighting. Either they were blaming me for their discord or using me as ammunition in their arguments. I was just a burden to them. Like Violet, my circumstances shaped me. Unlike her, I had managed to escape. I moved out when I was seventeen. Slept on some couches. Crashed with some friends who built computers. Had a few places of my own for a couple of years. I learned how to program. I played games and made some mods. When I was twenty, I was all too glad to leave Miami. I missed my friends, sure, but the city was too old-fashioned. Lawyers and bankers and bars. Los Angeles was a place where I could get a good job with my skills. Reinvent myself. Maybe Violet needed the chance to do the same alongside me.

  Thinking of how the little girl had kept her past from me, I realized I had been no different. It wasn't sinister, but I had been a closed box. Hard to read. My past has been just as much of a secret.

  "I needed to get away from my parents too," I told her. "It's easier than you think, once you make the leap. Once you understand you have the final word." It wasn't a lot. Yet it was freeing. It was a step.

  She sniffed again.

  Do you ever remember the good times?

  "I never forget them."

  The minutes ticked by and the car heated up. I ran the engine again to kick up the AC. I played the last Silversun Pickups album and we listened, not bothering with small talk. To me, good friends can be comfortable with each other without saying anything. It felt good.

  When the album was half over, Soren reemerged and got back in his elongated car. As it pulled away, I followed, maintaining two car lengths between us. We couldn't hurt Soren, I kept thinking, but Ambrose needed to be stopped. What could make that happen?

  "Let's pretend that some of these shades—Ambrose, Marquis—are too strong to be affected by the sage. Even if they were rendered unconscious. How else would I be able to dislodge them from their hosts?"

  It was a question spurred by Ambrose's taunt. He was too experienced for me to take him on. Which pointed out the obvious problem. I had a very limited skill set: sage and salt. The latter only worked on animals. It was weak. The hold of the dead on creatures was tenuous and easy to slip. I also thought about iron and checked my pockets. I still had the ring that the Soren wore. I wondered if that could be helpful. Then I tried to imagine what Marquis would do if he managed to get his hands on Soren. Did he know of another tactic? Or did he rely solely on his Touch?

  I don't know. I'm new at this too. I only heard about the sage a long time ago. I never even saw it in action until I had you try it.

  "What? You never told me that before. You're saying that I put my ass out there on unfounded speculation?"

  ...You had it under control.

  I scoffed and I smiled. "Your father was right. You really can't trust shades." She laughed deviously.

  The moment of levity helped, but only a little. It also served to emphasize the mismatch between us and our opponent. We were out of tricks. Out of tools. But the job wasn't done yet. There had to be a way to coax Ambrose back to the Dead Side.

  The limo drove down Eagle Rock Boulevard until the entrance to the 2. After a short stint, they merged onto the 5 South. It was Sunday so it only took ten minutes to get to the 110 heading into Downtown. The limo exited on 6th Street, drove to Hill, and made a right. Past 8th. 10th. To an area of the city beyond the central hub. This was a sad, desolate stretch of road with buildings that looked set for demolition. It wasn't that the neighborhood was overly trashy; it just looked like a downtown that belonged in a smaller city. The area was outdated. A far cry from the revitalized urban epicenter a
few blocks behind us. There was no need to drive this far down Hill Street unless you were headed somewhere old.

  As if on cue, the stretch limo slowed and pulled to the sidewalk, parking next to an identical limousine. At first I was confused. There was nothing here. But then I saw it. You would be forgiven for passing it completely: the facade of the Belasco Theater was nice enough in its own right, but grand it was not.

  "There's something going on here," I said to Violet. "Some kind of party." One limo was a lark. Two was an event. There were no lines or crowds gathered on the pink sidewalk, however. Whatever was happening, it was small.

  Soren climbed out and rapped on one of the parking meters with his walking stick. Ambrose's walking stick. The bowtie and suit weren't enough. The man needed to press his sense of fashion no matter how anachronistic it was. I didn't know if it was ego or appearances but, somehow, that would be his undoing. In step behind him was Bedros. No one else exited the vehicle.

  As the two approached the entrance, a guy walked out and patted Soren on the back with a tattooed arm. It was his best friend, Greg. Poor guy had no idea that he was greeting a complete stranger. After a quick discussion, they disappeared indoors.

  I let a few minutes pass. I needed to get in the building but was hoping the limo would leave. The driver was still inside. He could be a problem. If he was just going to wait out the show while parked, then I would need to sneak in without him noticing me. I figured if I gave him some time to relax, there was a good chance he'd have his eyes closed.

  When the time came, I turned off my car and got out. No one else was on the street except for another car coming by. Instead of passing, it stopped in the middle of the road. It was an old-timey Cadillac, peach-colored and fancy.

  Another limo. All I could think about was the Rule of Three. Maybe it didn't apply here, but something was going on. I ducked behind my car.

  The far door opened and two girls in yellow dresses hopped out. Was one of them familiar? They reached their hands into the Cadillac and helped another girl out of the backseat. It was Pam. And she was wearing a white wedding dress.