by Alan Gratz
The street was a river. Only the tops of streetlights and trees stood up out of the water, which poured into the second-story windows of the shops and homes all around her. The hotel she’d put the orphans on was so far away now she couldn’t see it anymore, and when she cried out for help no one appeared in the windows and rooftops around her. With only one good arm, she was trapped here until the floodwaters receded, which could be days.
Or until someone came along in a submarine.
She saw the little two-person worker tug sail around the corner moments later, its periscope swinging this way and that as it searched for survivors.
“Here!” Hachi cried. She waved as much as she could while still holding on with her one good hand, and yelled out again. “Over here! Hey!”
The submarine turned like it was going down a side street, and Hachi panicked that it hadn’t seen her. She tried to climb higher, but her dislocated shoulder shrieked in agony, and she slid even lower, her face buried against the tree bark in pain.
Ding-ding! Hachi looked up as the little sub rang its bell and pulled alongside her, anchoring itself to the tree with the claws it used to grab onto tankers and push them out to sea. The hatch on the top flipped open, and Fergus’s head popped out wearing a white sailor cap.
Hachi laughed through her tears.
“Hello there, ma’am,” Fergus said. “Looks like you could use a handsome sailor to rescue you.”
“I could,” Hachi said. “But you’ll do.”
“Sorry—had to steer around a streetcar under the water. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“It was in perfect condition when I got on board.”
Fergus helped her into the sub, and she settled into the copilot’s seat.
“My shoulder’s dislocated,” she told Fergus. “I’m going to reset it.”
Fergus looked horrified. “Shouldn’t a doctor do that?”
“Do you see any doctors around?”
“Well, no, but—do you even know how to do that?”
“Yes. I’ve done it before. Lots of times.”
“Of course you have. All right. What do you need me to do?” Fergus asked.
“Nothing. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t freak out.”
Hachi slowly lifted her dislocated arm up over her shoulder, sucking in air as she fought the pain, and reached behind her head for her other shoulder. Pop! Her shoulder shifted back into position and relief washed over her. Her shoulder still hurt, but not nearly as badly.
“Oh, crivens,” Fergus said, looking pale. “Telling me about that in advance did not help.”
“Do you think it worked? Flooding the city?” Hachi asked.
“Well, there’s no giant beastie tearing up the city anymore, so at a guess, I’d say yes.”
Hachi nodded. “Thanks for giving me time to get people to safety. I needed it.”
“At MacFerguson Demolition Services, safety is job one. Where to now, miss?”
Hachi had Fergus take them back to Marie Laveau’s store. Laveau had been able to make her way back there before the flood and was sitting up on the rooftop with her two masked assistants and Erasmus Trudeau and his family. Dark clouds still rumbled over the city and rain still fell, but the hurricane winds and constant lightning were gone.
“We see it,” Erasmus told them. “De water hit dat big snake monster and dragged it down, and it never come up again.”
“Let’s hope it’s sitting at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain again, sleeping off its adventure in the big city,” Fergus said.
“I—I’m sorry I ran,” Laveau said. She looked even older than her seventy years now, her drenched Baron Samedi tuxedo clinging to her frail body.
“You should have,” Hachi told her. “We never expected you to fight that thing.”
“But you did,” Erasmus’s wife said. “And for dat, we thank you.”
“All part of the service,” Fergus said, tipping his sailor cap.
“Will you get rid of that stupid thing?” Hachi said. She snatched it off his head and tossed it over the side of the building past Queen Theodosia, who hung in the air.
Everyone gasped. Trudeau hid his family behind him.
“Maman Brigitte!” Laveau said.
The lightning picked up around the rooftop again, making everybody but Fergus flinch.
“You put salt in my mouth,” Maman Brigitte said, landing on the rooftop. “You try to kill me, Baron. But I live. And now I kill you.”
Hachi put herself between Maman Brigitte and the others. “She’s not Samedi, Maman. It was a trick. She’s just Marie Laveau.”
“Maybe Maman Brigitte believe you, maybe she don’t,” she said. The wind began to swirl again, though still not with the force of a hurricane. “Maybe Maman Brigitte kill her anyway, just to be sure. Maybe Maman Brigitte, she kill you all just to be sure.”
Maman Brigitte raised her hands, and the storm intensified.
“I still have the voodoo doll!” Laveau said, pulling it out of her jacket.
“But where you get the salt?” Maman Brigitte said.
“The water!” Fergus said. “The floodwater is all seawater!”
Hachi dove for Maman Brigitte, driving her back to the edge of the rooftop. Fifteen feet below them, the floodwaters surged. Hachi pulled her knife.
“You kill me, you kill your queen!” Maman Brigitte said.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Hachi said, her injured shoulder burning. “I’m just going to hurt you!”
Hachi stuck her knife in Maman Brigitte’s arm, and the loa howled. Lightning flashed and thundered right on top of them, making Hachi flinch, and Maman Brigitte kicked her off. Another bolt exploded in the air above them again, and Hachi saw Fergus absorb it like a lightning rod through his outstretched hand. Laveau, her assistants, and Trudeau and his family cowered at the far side of the roof.
“I got the lightning!” Fergus yelled. “Get her into the water!”
Hachi went for Maman Brigitte again, and they grappled by the edge of the roof.
“You drive me out, girl, and you never find out what happened to your daddy!” Maman Brigitte said.
“What do you know about it?” Hachi said. Her shoulder throbbed with pain as she deflected an attack from the loa.
“Maman Brigitte don’t know nothing,” Maman Brigitte said. “But that body Samedi was riding, she know. And Maman Brigitte, she have the same power her husband does to make the zombi.” Hachi jabbed her knife at Theodosia’s other arm, but the loa caught Hachi’s wrist and leaned in close where no one else could hear. “You let Maman Brigitte go, and she bring that woman back and make that woman tell you her secrets. You drive Maman Brigitte away, you never ever find out.”
Hachi paused. Bring Blavatsky back as a zombi? Could Maman Brigitte really do that? If she could—if she did—the secret of Chuluota didn’t have to die with the bokor. Hachi could finally learn what Blavatsky was doing there, and who else was with her.
That moment of indecision was all it took. Maman Brigitte wrenched the knife from her hand and plunged it into Hachi’s stomach.
Hachi sank to her knees.
“No!” Fergus cried.
Maman Brigitte smiled and turned to the rest of the people on the rooftop.
Bwaaaat. A purple raygun beam lanced out, hitting Maman Brigitte square in the chest. Queen Theodosia’s dead body toppled over the side of the roof and into the water below.
Erasmus Trudeau lowered his aether pistol. “Dat loa not going to hurt my family. She not going to hurt nobody no more.”
Fergus rushed to Hachi and put his hand to her bleeding stomach. Marie Laveau and her assistants were close behind.
Hachi grabbed Fergus’s arm, her hand slick with her own blood. “She told me—she told me she could bring Blavatsky back. Get answers. And for a moment, I—just for a moment, I—”
“Hush,” Fergus told her. “You’ve just been stabbed.”
“Been stabbed before,�
�� Hachi said. “Lots of times.”
“Of course you have,” said Fergus.
Laveau pulled back Hachi’s shirt to examine the wound. “I can open her up when we get back downstairs,” Laveau said, “see if anything has been damaged. But we must stop this bleeding.”
“I’m going to cauterize your wound,” Fergus told Hachi. “I just wanted to let you know so you don’t freak out.”
Lektricity crackled between Fergus’s thumb and forefinger, and he held it to the inch-and-a-half cut on Hachi’s stomach. She arched her back as the lektricity coursed through her, and Fergus yanked his hand away.
“Telling me … didn’t help,” Hachi gasped.
Laveau examined the wound. “The bleeding’s stopped.” She turned to her assistants. “Go back downstairs. See if the water’s gone from the second floor. We need my medical things.”
“Last chance,” Hachi murmured, slowly losing consciousness. “Last chance to find out … what Blavatsky was doing in Chuluota.…”
Marie Laveau took off her jacket and folded it into a pillow for Hachi’s head. “Oh, my dear chère, but of course it isn’t.”
31
Everything moved in slow motion for Archie.
The dark, cold seawater swallowed him, air bubbles hanging suspended right before his eyes. Sunlight glistened off the top of the water, like the light filtering down through the quartz ceiling in the Great Bear’s cave in Nova Scotia. The chaos of a few seconds before was gone, and everything was quiet and still.
Then Archie sank.
He flailed his arms and legs, trying to get back to the surface, but he dropped like a rock. Because he was a rock. A rock in the shape of a boy. Archie stopped struggling, but his hands still reached for the surface, still reached for Clyde and Buster and Kitsune and Mr. Rivets.
And Sings-In-The-Night.
Archie bumped to a rest among plants and corals. He put a hand to the seafloor to right himself, but it wasn’t sandy. It was soft and squishy. Slick, like sharkskin. The whole floor of the sea was made of the stuff. He poked a finger into it, and it bounced back.
Beside him, a giant eye opened. Just a crack. It was glassy and black and twenty feet tall and full of stars, just like in his dream of Enkidu.
JANDAL A HAAD, Gong Gong’s deep voice-song murmured in Archie’s head. JANDAL A HAAD, LET ME SLEEP.
The seafloor tilted, and Archie tumbled slowly down it through the rough coral and slimy plants. He came to the edge of the tilting reef and fell off, barnacles scraping at him. He sank another few feet and hit bottom again—a sandy bottom this time, barren and dark. Above him, the giant fin he’d thought was the ocean floor settled again, and the giant eye closed. Gong Gong the Mangleborn wanted to sleep, and Archie was more than happy to let him.
Archie looked around, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. He panicked—how long had he been holding his breath? He was going to drown! Then he realized: He hadn’t been holding his breath at all. He’d forgotten to as he sank, maybe because he hadn’t needed to. Archie put a hand to his throat. He wasn’t breathing in water. He just … wasn’t breathing at all. He was so inhuman he didn’t even need air. Maybe he really was indestructible. Archie didn’t understand how that was possible, but nothing about who he was or what he was made sense to him. He should be dead, again, but he wasn’t. Again.
Unlike Sings-In-The-Night, who shouldn’t be dead, but was. Sings-In-The-Night, who’d been a part of the League of Seven for barely a week. His League of Seven! Archie sat on the cold, dark ocean floor and watched it all replay in his mind. Philomena Moffett catching her, Archie trying and failing to get to her, Mrs. Moffett snapping Sings-In-The-Night’s neck. No. No no no no no. It was all Archie’s fault. He’d messed everything up. He’d led his friends to Alcatraz Island without a plan, and then he’d lost control. Lost himself. Kitsune and Clyde might even be dead, for all he knew. He’d abandoned them in his rage. He hadn’t been there to fight alongside them. To protect them. And now Sings-In-The-Night was dead, and Mrs. Moffett had the lantern.
Archie put his head in his hands and wished Hachi and Fergus were here. They would understand. They could help him. But they weren’t here. He wouldn’t see them again until Houston. And maybe not even then, if he couldn’t swim out of the bay.
Archie stood, the sand of the seafloor swirling around him. Even though he was indestructible, it was scary down here. He wanted to get back on land. He jumped off the sand, kicking and waving his arms, but he quickly sank right back to the bottom of the bay.
He was made of stone, and stones didn’t float.
Panic seized him. What if he spent the rest of his life down here? And how long was the life of a boy made out of stone? Archie had never thought about it before, but now he wondered if he would live forever. If maybe he would be stuck here, on the ocean floor, forever. He spun around in the water, sand kicking up around him again, and he flinched as a giant crab worked its way up out of the sand and scurried away on its gnarled crab legs.
Stop freaking out, you blinking flange, Archie told himself. Even if you can’t swim, you can still walk. He tried to calm himself. Like the crab, he could walk along the ocean floor. But which direction? The last thing he wanted to do was walk out of the bay into the ocean and come up a year later in the Japans.
The ocean is down; Don Francisco is up, he told himself. He walked in a broad circle until he could get his bearings, and then started up the sloping sands toward the city. After what seemed like an eternity, he saw the enormous round pilings that supported the city’s wharf growing out of the sand. A big metal cage filled with Dungeness crabs stirred and began to rise from the floor of the bay, and Archie climbed on top of it, riding it like an elevator. He stepped off as it came up to Fisherman’s Wharf in downtown Don Francisco, much to the wonder and amazement of the tattooed Ohlone fishermen working the winch.
They were even more surprised when the giant brass steam man came loping and whistling at them down the pier. The fishermen scattered and ran as Buster barked and danced around Archie, knocking barrels and crab cages into the sea.
“Okay, okay!” Archie said, trying not to get knocked back into the ocean himself. “Hello, Buster. Hello. Clyde? Are you in there?”
He wasn’t. Buster picked Archie up in his mouth and ran with him back along the wharf, depositing him near a group of Don Francisco police and ambulance workers who all stood talking with Clyde.
Clyde saw him and hurried over to shake his hand. “We thought we’d lost you,” he told Archie. “But I told them you were … pretty indestructible.”
“Yeah,” Archie said. “I fell into the bay and had to walk back. How did you get Buster back?”
“Hitched a ride with a whale oil tanker,” Clyde said.
Buster left them to go sit at the far end of the pier, smokestack wagging, where he watched Alcatraz Island floating in the distance.
“He’s been sitting there ever since we got back,” Clyde said. “Waiting for you and Sings-In-The-Night.”
“Could she be—?” Archie asked.
“No,” Clyde said. “I saw her die. Kitsune saw it too.”
Archie closed his eyes. He’d seen it too, but he’d hoped that somehow maybe he’d been wrong.
“Where is she? Kitsune, I mean.”
Clyde led Archie to a small beach at the end of Fisherman’s Wharf, where Kitsune had arranged thousands of little white seashells on the wet sand in the shape of a bird, its wings spread wide.
“I robbed an Illini chief’s tomb near Shikaakwa once,” she said, laying the last shells in her design. “He was lying on a bed of seashell beads in the shape of a giant bird. Figured she deserved a hero’s burial too.”
“When the tide comes in, all that’s just going to get swept away,” Archie said.
“Good,” Kitsune said, rubbing the sand off her hands. “Then they can fly to her in the sea.”
They were all quiet for a moment. All Archie could see was Mrs. Moffett breaking Sings
-In-The-Night’s neck and dropping her into the ocean while he hung there helpless and watched.
“You went crazy,” Kitsune said at last.
Archie flushed. “I’m sorry. I kind of—I kind of do that sometimes.”
“You threw a prison door at Sings-In-The-Night,” Kitsune said. “You threw things and smashed things while Sings-In-The-Night went for the Dragon Lantern, and Mrs. Moffett killed her for it.”
Archie closed his eyes and hung his head. “I’m sorry. When I get like that, I can’t think,” Archie told them. “I lose my mind, and I become … I become a monster. I’ve been trying to control it. My friend Hachi, she’s been teaching me to focus. But they get inside my head. Start telling me things. Make me mad.”
Neither Clyde nor Kitsune had anything to say to that.
“Everything on Alcatraz was destroyed,” Clyde said finally. “Most of it ended up in the harbor as the island turned.”
“Because it wasn’t an island,” Archie said. “It was a Mangleborn. That’s what was making me crazy.”
“So what do we do now, boss?” Kitsune asked Archie.
Archie didn’t know. Everything was lost. Sings-In-The-Night, Mrs. Moffett, the Dragon Lantern.
“We go east,” Clyde answered. The League’s leader, leading. “That’s the direction Mrs. Moffett went.”
“Back to New Rome?” Archie asked.
“No. Paiute country,” Clyde said. “Where they’re bringing the Transcontinental Railroad together next week. Kitsune followed her to the train station. She bought a ticket for it, special.”
“Why? What’s she want to do there?”
“Make trouble,” Kitsune said.
“What about the men she turned into monsters?” Archie asked. “Her ‘Shadow League’?”
“They didn’t go with her,” Kitsune said. “She left alone.”
“The rest of them disappeared into the countryside,” Clyde said. “They’ve got police out looking for them. With Buster’s help, we could probably get them all rounded up in a couple of weeks.”
