by Kevin Lucia
“True. But we’re human, so we’re bound to try, anyway.”
She held out her hand. “In that case … thank you. For everything.”
He smiled—which, unfortunately, he sensed would happen far less often without Therese around—and returned her handshake, amazed at the subtle strength gripping his hand. “And thank you, also.”
“Well, I’m off then. Like I said … much thinking to do.”
“When’s your flight?”
“Whenever I want, actually. One of the benefits … I run my own flight plans, now.”
“I should think so. Take care, then. Try to avoid destroying the world, if you could. Might interfere with my schedule.”
She flashed him a wide smile, though he saw shades of icy cobalt flickering in her eyes. “I’ll get right on that.” With another nod, she walked away. Three steps later—at that exact moment when a person merges with a crowd —she faded into wisps of whitish-blue vapor and disappeared.
His gaze lingered there. Again, he was as he’d always been: alone.
He thought of Sadie. She wouldn’t have wanted this for him. Not at all. He decided that when he got back to the States, he’d procure copious amounts of absinthe, drink until he couldn’t stand, then while recovering, select Sadie’s finest Jodie collage, frame it, and destroy the rest.
He’d still hurt. No changing that.
He was, however, Hiram Grange. Hurting was what he did best.
Turning back to the bar, he noticed a young lady sitting at his elbow who looked barely nineteen. Hair dyed pitch-black, both eyebrows and her upper lip pierced with emerald-green studs; she was to his eyes like water to a man dying of thirst. She wore tight leather pants hitched low enough to see the top of her lime green thong, and a black mesh shirt over … well, not much at all.
He tipped his head, caught her eye … and saw something flicker there. She returned his gaze and gave him a slow, sensuous smile—absolutely wicked on such a young mouth. She raised a studded eyebrow, but before he could speak, she said, “Name’s Lilith. Share that drink? Or is an old man like you used up for the night?”
As he grabbed a fresh glass from the bar and began to pour, something very tight inside him uncoiled after far too long. “Hiram. My name is Hiram Grange, and I believe my night has just begun.”
Mab entered an office that had no substance in reality. In many ways, its genesis was a mystery to her. That shouldn’t be. She was Mab, Queen of Faerie. Nothing in the universe should be hidden from her.
As she approached what appeared to be a wide, antique mahogany desk, a small part of her quivered. The office’s mystery was the least of her worries. The person sitting behind the desk? Far worse.
She stopped, clasped her hands behind her back, and assumed a regal pose. “It is done. Our contract is dissolved. You have no further claim upon me.”
He Who Walks In White smiled, teeth gleaming. He puttered with a papery-white object—what looked like an origami creature of some sort—and said, “Indeed. You’ve done well, much better than I expected, actually.” Outwardly he seemed congenial, but she knew better. His eyes glittered with a festering blackness that made the little girl inside her—the child she’d thought long since banished with her ascension—tremble.
A few more folds and he made a satisfied noise. “It’s amazing how much of the universe is layered in coincidence. Who would’ve thought that a desperate little girl, who sold her soul to escape an orphanage where she was raped daily, was also a scion who’d someday ascend to Faerie? And who would’ve thought that contract would still be binding after her ascension?”
He chuckled. “I have to admit, that was a calculated risk on my part. Didn’t know how it would play out, or if I’d even have need of such an arrangement. Just goes to show the pleasant unexpectedness of order hiding within chaos.”
Mab’s teeth ground at his dismissive tone, but she repressed her anger. As powerful as she was, this … thing … was an unknown. She’d no idea of his capabilities. Still, she couldn’t repress curiosity. “I don’t understand. You failed. Therese didn’t become The Destroyer, and Hiram appears no worse for wear, back to his irritating self.”
His smile held hidden menace and was all teeth. “Poor Mab. The Faerie know so much, but they still understand so little about human nature. That’s the wonderful thing about humans, Mab: free will. The Faerie have a semblance of free will, but you’re tied to the universe’s natural order; tied to the Veil, tied to your own contracts and bargains. Can’t even lie, can you? Only misdirect and mislead through vague wordplay. Even this betrayal of yours was only possible through the pledge you made with me.”
Reverently, he placed the completed origami, a delicately folded dragon, on the desk, sat forward and folded his hands. “Humans, though … well, there’s an insane beauty in their free will. They break promises, go back on their word, change their minds, whenever they damn well please … if they’re prodded hard enough. Therese? She’s made a decision, yes. That means nothing. Few human decisions remain absolute. And Grange? He died and was resurrected by the Veil itself. That sort of thing changes a fellow … forever.” Something about his manner grew cold, his friendly visage stiffening for a moment into something more predatory. “I should know.”
Mab swallowed, fought to keep her face impassive. “I’m done with this. I’ve fulfilled our pact. You’ve no hold on me, now.”
“This is true, which is a problem.” One hand disappeared and pulled open an unseen drawer. “You’re a loose end now, aren’t you? Can’t have that.”
With a swiftness that surprised even her, He Who Walks In White pointed a pistol of indeterminate design at her. “Luckily for me,” he murmured, “Bothwell’s idea of crafting iron bullets wasn’t all that original. And don’t try to leave. The inner door is also coated in iron, which I’m sure you noticed as soon it closed.”
She bit her lip. She had, of course. Her legs had trembled in weakness as soon as the door swung shut. By then … it had been too late.
“Goodbye, Mab.” He thumbed back the safety.
Mab’s eyes widened in horror.
KEVIN LUCIA is a Contributing Editor for Shroud Magazine. His short fiction has appeared in several anthologies. He teaches high school English, and is working on a Creative Writing Masters Degree at Binghamton University. He lives in Castle Creek, New York with his wife and children. He is also currently writing his first full-length novel.
Visit Kevin online at www.kevinlucia.net.
The Scandalous Misadventures of
HIRAM GRANGE
Book 1
Jake Burrows
HIram Grange & the Village of the Damned
Something wicked walks the streets of the picturesque New Hampshire village of Great Bay—something that has inexplicably risen from the grave to wreak a horrifying vengeance. Only one man can stop it—Hiram Grange—provided he can stay sober long enough to answer the call!
Book 2
Scott Christian Carr
HIram Grange & the Twelve Little Hitlers
Hitler has escaped. Twelve of them, to be precise, each cloned from the original, and hiding in the bizarre American underground. Hiram Grange has been tasked with hunting them down. The only problem: he’s hit rock bottom. His worst binge ever— a mad dance with absinthe, opium and depression …
Book 3
Robert Davies
HIram Grange & the Digital Eucharist
From its global headquarters in Boston, the mysterious Occlusionist Movement is preparing to control the world with its Digital Eucharist, while in the serpentine bowels of the city an ancient demon is unleashed, eager for revenge against the man who imprisoned it years ago—Hiram Grange!
Book 4
Kevin Lucia
HIram Grange & the Chosen One
Hiram Grange doesn’t believe in fate; he makes his own destiny. It’s a good thing, because Queen Mab of Faerie has foreseen the world’s destruction, and it’s all his fault. He must choose: kill an innocen
t or save the universe. It’s just another day on the job for Hiram Grange.
Book 5
Richard Wright
HIram Grange & the Nymphs of Krakow
Hiram Grange was already broken when his world was turned upside down by the horrifying revelations of a beautiful and dangerous woman. Faced with the possibility that he’s been a pawn in a diabolical game, he seeks the truth in the snows of Krakow. But the truth is guarded by ancient, winged things, and the truth has teeth …
