by Alex White
“What about their families? Don’t they deserve some compensation?”
“Duke’s driver, a woman named Marie, was shot and is dead in the basement of his cottage. She has a son staying at Gardendale. He’s not crazy.” It was strange to say that about someone else. “Duke had his mom killed, but didn’t want to hurt him.”
“Okay.”
“You have to get him out of there... and send him to a good school. Maybe give him a good job.”
“That might be arranged. We can check him out at the very least. And how am I going to contact you?”
Loxley swallowed, searching for her center. Talking about Marie’s son had made her uneasy. “In a day, you’re going to come to the Hound’s Tail in the eighth ring with my money. You need to bring an extra ten thousand for the owner, Tailypo. Duke gave him some trouble, too.”
“And we’ll do the trade then?”
“Yeah. If you’re not there by midnight two days from now, I’m going to burn the pages without ever leaving the building, and we’ll see if you can unravel the rest of the conspiracy by yourself. Don’t think about doing something to me after you’ve paid, either.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “You couldn’t protect Duke from me, and you don’t look nearly as important as him.”
Then, she left as quickly as she’d come. No one bothered her all the way home, though they almost certainly followed her. As she walked into the relative safety of the Hound’s Tail, she hoped they had. She pitied anyone who tried to enter Tailypo’s domain without his say-so.
At Auction
LOXLEY WATCHED THE dancing dust all along Tailypo’s hallway and swallowed. Jayla didn’t know she was here; no one did. She never thought she’d come up to the third floor of her own free will.
It felt older somehow in the cold corridor, as though many years had passed in only a few days. The lamps with a cold starlight glow, as opposed to the warm flames that had been there before. In their brighter illumination, she saw the half-stripped and rotted boards peeking around the runner rug. Little lines of white followed the wallpaper seams where it had begun to peel, and the high ceilings bore dark stains along the crown molding.
Nausea poisoned her guts. The illusion of life had passed from this place, leaving only a spirit. She glanced back at the stairs. There was life that way. Jayla was that way. Loxley could just go back and get her to help.
She shook her head. This wasn’t Jayla’s world, and Loxley never wanted it to be. She’d have to deal with this on her own. Ants crawled up her shins, and she stomped a foot.
The lamps snapped back to their dim orange, shadows surging forward to smear away the nasty details. The paisleys crawled once more, and she couldn’t see the motes of dust through the gloom. He’d heard her.
She stopped at his door, raising her hand to knock, but hesitated. This was the part where he called out to her, but she only heard the flutter of gas lamps. She tapped his door with a single knuckle, and it opened.
No fire crackled inside Tailypo’s office, and his forested walls had grown blue without its warmth. Loxley shivered as she entered, the dense, humid air fogging her breath.
Tailypo sat at his desk, an all-black suit cutting his form into his enormous leather chair. He scribbled a few notes into a ledger before closing it. When he met her gaze, she found his eyes hollow and red.
“I miss Quentin, too,” she said.
A polite nod preceded, “Say his name again, and I’ll take your fucking tongue.”
She shifted from foot to foot. He was already mad. “I came to make a deal.”
He stood up, resting one lanky arm against his desk and the other on his hip. “Did you now? Why would I want the likes of you?”
“It’s not for me. It’s for money.”
“What makes you think I need that human trash?”
She pointed to his book. “I saw you writing in your ledger.”
“The Devil’s business isn’t a cash affair.”
“You’re still open, even though Quentin is dead.”
He bolted over the desk and bounded forward to the screams of animals before wrapping long fingers around her neck. He squeezed tightly, but not so much that she couldn’t breathe. “You got a short memory, bitch. I told you not to say his name.”
His breath stunk of old meat and rotted teeth, and he pulled her face close to his. She flapped her fingers and looked away, eyes watering. Electricity shot through her neck where he touched her. He was changing, becoming the dead.
“C... Come on,” she croaked. “Come into my head and see what’s there for you.”
He snarled, his frigid drool dripping onto her exposed collarbone. “Maybe I should see what’s inside.”
“There’s a –” Loxley flapped her hands harder, trying to get them back. The animals’ incessant screeching threatened to overwhelm her and cut a rift between her mind and her mouth. Her tongue stuck to the back of her front teeth and she squeezed out the next words. “Za-Za-szaa... Th-There’s a pretty girl that lives there. B-Bet she’d like to meet you.”
“Look me in the eye, bitch.”
He turned her head this way and that, but she wouldn’t look into him. It’s okay to be afraid, pretty baby. Sometimes that’s a good thing. “I can hear you just fine.”
“What’s this fucking deal you came for?”
“Ten thousand dollars. You help me walk out of here.”
He shoved her into the wall, and stars flashed in her vision. She’d told Jayla right – they had to leave the Hole. Loxley wouldn’t be happy without miles and miles between her and this man.
He crouched in front of her, withdrawing a cigarette case from his suit jacket pocket. “How’ve you got ten grand?”
“Don’t light that. I’m going to hit you if you light that.”
Tailypo chuckled and licked his lips, before returning the smokes where they came from. Once he’d secured the case, she told him everything: about Dracula, the Consortium, her deal. She’d wanted to withhold something, but she couldn’t figure an angle. The Hound’s Tail was the only place she could stay, and if he sensed she was lying, he might throw her out.
“Not bad,” he grunted, standing. “Not fucking bad at all.” He strode to his desk and leaned against it, folding his arms and laughing. “You just walked in there and told the guy to pay up? Unbelievable.”
With him further away, her heartbeat settled. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re chickenshit.”
She cocked her head. “I did it. Do you want the money?”
“I think you could’ve gotten more... But yeah, I do.” He walked behind his desk and hefted a case – Loxley’s poplar beauty, its faux leather dinged across the front where she’d slammed the lid times beyond counting. “So then we come to your fiddle. You want your fiddle? It’s not free, you know.”
A jolt ran across her skin, and she stomped her feet. “You...” She smoothed out her next few words with a toneless note.
Tailypo sniffed. “Quit your humming and name a price.”
“That’s mine.”
“I bought it – with my money. Let’s try again.”
“Quentin gave it to me.”
He sat down, leaning back in his chair. “Wasn’t his to give... And don’t bother thinking up ways to steal it off me. Never forget that I always get back what’s mine.”
There was no way around it: if she wanted her treasure, she was going to have to pay. Her eyes flicked around the office, as though she’d see something that would clue her into what she should offer him. What was a voice worth?
“I’ll give you a thousand dollars… plus the ten thousand,” she said, and he began to laugh. She guessed again: “Two thousand?” He laughed harder until his face turned red.
“Yeah, hey listen. That’s great, sweetness, but we’re not doing that. Let me lay this all out for you: you got nowhere to go, no one who will broker this deal for you, and because of you, my...”
He stopped and sucked his teeth, “my friend is dead.”
“Hiram shot him. Duke ordered it.”
He swept the taxidermied mice from his desk. “And you brought it into my house!”
She had to stand her ground. She couldn’t back down. She’d slapped him once, and she might have to do it again. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you gone,” he growled. “Along with ninety percent of the deal. It’s being brokered with my club, my men and my guns, so you ain’t worth shit. I don’t even want you here when the deal goes down, in case you make someone trigger-happy.”
“How would that work?”
“You sell me the book right now for ten-thousand, and I put you on the midnight train out of here, anywhere you want to go.”
“And my violin?”
“All yours, honey,” he cooed, pushing the case forward.
“Ten won’t buy me a farm.” Even as she said it, she knew the dream of her own farm was dead.
He gestured to her. “Loxley, I want you to know that I care about that. I genuinely give a shit. I care because I know you can’t be set with this. It won’t even get you through one year. I care because this was the one chance in your miserable fucking life to see some real success, and this is my one chance to ruin it. When I met you, I think it’s safe to say I was in love.”
He rifled through his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of bills. It was thinner than she thought it’d be, but she could see the markings: one-hundred dollar notes. He then picked up the instrument case and brought them to her. “But now, I see that you ain’t nothing but trouble. You hurt me, baby: when you rejected me, when you distrusted me, when you got Quentin... when he followed you. Just like them farmers from forever ago, you got to come in here and change everything so it suits you.” He held up her prizes, the money and the fiddle, and smiled. “So why don’t you take your shit and get the fuck out of here before I decide you’re better off dead?”
It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was a way forward, and she’d made do with worse. Maybe the column of steam wasn’t the only way out of the Hole.
Caller
“HELLO, MISTER CALHOUN.”
“Hello, Miss Fiddleback. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I gave your book to Tailypo. He’s going to sell it to you. Same time and place.”
“That wasn’t the plan. Are you in distress? Say, ‘I’m fine,’ if you’re in distress.”
“No, sir. I’m leaving town.”
“Where are you going?”
“Goodbye, Mister Calhoun.”
“Safe travels, Miss Fiddleback. We’ll find you if we need you.”
The Midnight Train
CLOUDS MISTED OVERHEAD, impregnated with dust from the rising plume of ash. Drops of water clung to Loxley’s cheeks like cold freckles, almost undetectable under her thick layer of makeup. Eyes, cheeks and (most specially) lips had been expertly coated in preparation for this journey. It was almost too much – almost – but she could bear it for a little while. Jayla squeezed her hand as they ascended the steps into Edgewood Station and opened the doors.
The sprawling platform before them took Loxley’s breath away. Fancy restaurants, all closed up for the night, clustered near each entrance, and newsstands hawked magazines she’d never seen before. A lone liquor store buzzed with a small neon sign, and very few people occupied the rows of polished, wooden benches laid out before her. A single, bored rail agent stood watch behind a row of brass cages under the ticketing sign. Iron girders crisscrossed the ceiling in the most delightful pattern, vibrating subtly as Loxley regarded them sidelong. She comfortably slid her eyes along them, forward and back, up and down.
“Not now, baby,” said Jayla, gently touching the back of Loxley’s hair.
She hadn’t realized she’d been shaking her head to push the lines around, but as soon as she stopped, her heart jumped. Loxley nodded, biting her lip as her eyes dropped to the ground. Jayla’s fingers slid down her neck to her shoulder, and pulled her close, the deep pressure and warmth calming her aching chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here, and you know that.”
Hours before, though, Loxley had stood outside her bedroom door at the Hound’s Tail, wondering what her lover would say. Jayla had said she’d come, but what if she’d been lying? Loxley pressed her hand to the wood, sensing its weight. She’d opened it many times before, but she almost couldn’t push it then. It wasn’t her room anymore, because she was leaving. She trudged through the dozen scenarios once again, searching for what she might say.
She ran her thumb over the stack of bills in her left hand, taking comfort in the toothy texture of the paper. She opened the door.
Jayla sat on the bed with two enormous suitcases and a smile. “Are we leaving yet? I saw you going up to talk to Tee and I thought –”
All of her words fled, replaced by sobs. She only shook her head and held up the money. Her lover rushed to her, enveloping her, showering her with kisses. Their embrace lasted forever, and when Jayla let go, it was as though warm blankets had been pulled away on a frigid morning.
Loxley easily hefted their luggage downstairs, and they retreated into the green room, where Jayla convinced her they should both be made up before venturing outside. She said they might fool even the Con men looking like that – didn’t want to be followed. Loxley had let her, thinking of the fiddler in the mask the whole time, wild and confident.
Hours passed and night fell, but the club wouldn’t open today – not with Quentin’s death so close. When the time came to leave for the train, Cap appeared in the doorway. He led them down through a tunnel that lead to his woodworking shed in the back. Loxley emerged through a trapdoor, surrounded by his many wonders – beautiful, half-completed toys of every shape and size – and said nothing. Tools lined the walls, and a bright stockpile of oak wood stood vigil in the corner, awaiting a master’s hand. This was Cap’s garden. He was safe here.
She hadn’t been jealous, but glad of a chance to visit it. Her world had gone all into ashes, but he still had his. Somehow, it was a comfort to see a reflection of what she’d lost, even briefly, like a passing dream.
Together, they made their way into an alley, where a vehicle waited for them – a shiny, black car, almost indistinguishable from a Consortium car at a distance. Cap opened the door to let Loxley and Jayla into the back, then climbed into the driver’s seat. Their vehicle quietly rolled around the corner, and the buzzing sign of the Hound’s Tail came into view.
“Slowly,” Jayla had told Cap, watching it pass them, its pink neon dancing over her lips and dark eyes. “See you later, Quentin,” she whispered.
It slipped out of sight, becoming a coruscating haze in the darkened Hole streets, then nothing at all. Loxley wiped a tear from her partner’s face and pulled her close. Jayla kept looking in the direction of her old home until it was far out of sight.
The rest of the journey was measured in breaths and heartbeats. Loxley didn’t look out the window, except to occasionally check behind them to see if they were followed – no one there, except folks headed into the night shift.
She imagined the car as a carriage in a shadowy wood. She knew wolves padded about outside, but as long as the car didn’t stop, it wouldn’t matter. Let them keep their knives and claws. Forget about their guns and teeth. On the other side of this forest lay a warm bed, a loving hug and a home. They could track her through the trees, but only watch as she crossed from their world into hers. Her world – a place that, for better or worse, she would create for herself. A few days ago, she’d lain on the border between the living and the dead. Now, she would cross between the living and the truly alive.
And what was this new world going to be? As Loxley stood on the platform awaiting the midnight express, she considered the possibilities. The fact that she even had possibilities at all amazed her. The train was bound for Atlanta, but only because it was the most attractive of her three choices. The other two destinations were
Jackson and Nashville. If she had to pass through one of them, it stood to reason that Atlanta was the safest. After all, Duke had wanted to send Nora there because he couldn’t control it. From Atlanta, she could head up the eastern seaboard or down into Florida.
Jayla interrupted her thoughts. “Going to get our tickets, okay, baby?”
The ticket counter lay several hundred feet away. “I’ll go with you.”
“Don’t be silly. No need to haul those suitcases all the way over and back.” Jayla leaned in close and whispered. “We don’t want to look scared. Let’s just do this how other folks do.”
Loxley nodded, and the woman strode toward the counter. Jayla’s hips swayed pleasantly under her dress, reigniting a warm memory in Loxley’s breast. For a time, at least, the two of them might belong to one another.
The time is now eleven forty-five. The Midnight Express to Atlanta, Georgia will be arriving in two minutes on platform three, came a voice over the loudspeaker.
“Miss Fiddleback?” Robert Calhoun stood about ten feet away from her, looking just as clean as he had in his office.
Perhaps her carriage had stopped in the woods a little too long. Maybe she’d traded Tailypo for a different wolf. “Yes?”
“I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket.
She didn’t bother trying to move. If he gunned her down right here, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. The Consortium did whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted.
It was a business card.
He held it out for her. A phone number glistened in the middle in raised gloss ink. Flat, orange and black lines ran across the top and bottom; No other name or label of any kind.
“We sent some men to Bellebrook,” he began, “and do you know what we found?”
“Everything I said you would.”
“After a thorough questioning, Missus Wallace gave indicators of Duke’s activities. His bank transactions corroborate some of your claims.”
