“I ... I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “But I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Her name is Jenny,” Will thundered, pounding the reception desk with his fist. The girl jumped, her face going ashen.
“You mean Miss Hansen?” she squeaked. “I’m sorry, but she’s not here!”
“I don’t believe you,” Will snarled, striding past her to open the door to the offices beyond. The girl was on her feet in a moment, wringing her hands.
“Oh no, please! You can’t go in there, I’m sorry—”
But Will had already stormed into the private office of Atherton Hart.
As Will entered, Atherton Hart rose from behind his huge mahogany desk. Seeing him up close made Will hate him even more. He hated his neatly slicked hair, his mirror-polished shoes, his dark horn-rimmed glasses that only seemed to make him more handsome.
“Excuse me, who are you?” Even Hart’s voice sounded pressed and starched and expensive.
“My name is William Edwards,” said Will, taking two slow steps toward him. “And I’m looking for my wife. Your secretary says you call her Miss Hansen. But her name is Mrs. Edwards. She’s my wife.”
Atherton Hart blinked and said nothing for a moment. Then he looked past Will at the receptionist standing behind him. She must have looked terrified, for Hart spoke very gently to her.
“It’s all right, Miss Leydeker,” he said. “Please hold my calls. I will speak with Mr. Edwards.”
Will heard the door being closed behind him. Then he was alone with Hart. He felt in his pocket. The straight razor was still there.
“Your wife is a client of mine, Mr. Edwards,” Hart said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know where she is.”
“I think you do,” Will took another step forward. “You and she have been going around together. Sneaking around.”
“We have hardly been sneaking!” Hart lifted an eyebrow, smiled slightly. “I have taken your wife to lunch once or twice. But it’s only business.”
“Only business,” Will whispered. “That’s what she said to me. Only business.”
“Mr. Edwards, are you all right?”
“No!” Will barked. “I’m not all right. I don’t know where my wife is. It’s not only business. I’m not all right.”
Then, turning, Will slammed the door behind himself hard enough to make the wall rattle.
Will stalked up Grand River Avenue, arms clenched around himself, muttering low. It had grown much colder, and the streets glistened with moonlight, pallid and deceiving. Maybe she was home. Maybe she’d gone home. Maybe that’s where she was.
He didn’t even notice Harley Briar was beside him, matching his hurried stride, calling his name, until Briar grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.
“Will! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Why are you looking for me?” Will snarled. “Are you one of them? Are you one of the Consortium, or the cabal? Were you the one who turned the Earth against us? It’s trying to kill us all.”
Deep concern passed over Briar’s face. “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
“There’s Exunge inside my head,” Will whispered. “Big fat worms of it.”
“Then you need help.” Briar spoke carefully, using the same infuriatingly reasonable tone he’d used with Selvaggi at the Mayflower factory. He tried to take Will’s arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to Dr. Gore’s.”
“No!” Will shrieked, shaking off his hand. “They’re sangrimancers! Who ever heard of sangrimancer doctors?”
“It’s going to be all right, Will,” Briar said. Instead of trying to take Will’s arm again, he just rested a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Just come with me, okay?”
“I have to go home.” Will stared down. The pavement beneath his feet wheeled and spun. He felt dizzy. The moonlight was too bright, too bright. It hurt his eyes. He covered them with a shaking hand.
“You can’t go home like this,” Briar murmured. “You’ll scare your wife. You’ll scare Jenny—”
“Don’t talk to me about Jenny!” Will roared, shoving Briar square in the chest. “Do you think you can just talk about her? However you like?”
“No! I never said—”
“Do you want her, just like Atherton Hart does? Do you want to take her away from me?” Will kept shoving Briar, and Briar staggered back.
“Will, stop it!” Briar finally shouted in a commanding voice. It was so loud that it made Will cringe. He lifted his hands to his head, pressing the heels against his temples.
“My head has been screaming,” Will said.
Briar took that opportunity, when Will’s hands were pressed to his head and his eyes covered, to launch himself at him. He tried to pin Will’s arms to his sides just as he had with the screaming man. But something wild and bitter rose in Will, gave him strength and quickness he never knew he had. Lashing out at Briar, he struck him in the face once, twice. Briar went down like a stone, and Will fell on top of him, beating him.
When Briar was finally still, Will stood slowly. He looked at the blood on his knuckles, Briar’s blood mixed with his own. He lifted it to his tongue, tasted its salty richness.
LET’S GO HOME, MOONCALF, the voice said.
Chapter Seventeen
The End of the Beginning
FULL MOON
When he came inside the apartment he knew that Jenny was there before he even saw her. He could smell her.
She sat on the couch facing the door, waiting for him. She was wearing her dark soft fur coat and all of her things were packed and ready for travel. He stood looking at her for a long moment. She blinked when she saw blood on his shirt, but said nothing.
“Where have you been?” he said finally. “And where are you going?”
“I took the overnight train to Washington. I filed the papers for your patent.” She paused. “And ... and I’m not going to tell you where I’m going. Remember?”
“I gave Tesla the Flume, Jenny,” Will said.
“What?” Jenny whispered.
“Gave it to him personally!” He sneered the words with savage glee. “Built a new prototype in one day. One day! It’s his now. I gave it to him.”
“But ... but all that work ...”
“I. Don’t. Care.” Will advanced on her. “I’d rather give it to the richest man in the country than see you get one dime of it, you greedy whore. If it’s money you want, go fuck Atherton Hart. I’m sure it won’t be the first time.”
Jenny stared at him for a long moment, fury draining her face of all color.
“You ... bastard!” Jenny launched herself at him in a storm of fists. But she was small, and she didn’t have the power to hurt him. Her soft, warm violence was little more than a pleasurable provocation. The smell of her brown curls, the tangy pungent perfume of her rage fired him. He seized her, pulled her close. Pushing the fur from her shoulder, he buried his face in the bare place where her shoulder met her neck. He pressed his mouth to her skin, tasting its rich sweetness.
Jenny screeched, and her fingernails found the side of his face. Burning pain seared through him. And with the intense pain came clarity. He saw Jenny through unclouded eyes—her brown curls falling out of their pins, her blue eyes full of hurt and rage.
What was wrong with him?
He staggered back. The clarity brought something else to his mind.
Ben.
He was supposed to meet Ben.
He was supposed to meet Ben but now it was too late and Ben would be gone.
“Oh God, Jenny,” he said. “Oh God.”
Fleeing the apartment, he staggered out into the street. It had begun to snow heavily, and everything was blindingly white, illuminated by the full white moon that appeared and disappeared behind scudding clouds. He looked up at it, and it filled his vision, and he could not take his eyes off its screaming, insane brightness.
Part II: Waning
Chapter Eighteen
The Beginning
of the End
TEN DAYS UNTIL THE NEW MOON
When Will opened his eyes again, he felt horribly sick.
Hunger and thirst were the first things he noticed; then, crashing in behind them—pain. His whole body ached, bruised and scratched, as if he’d just been thrown down a hill of brambles.
He ... was inside. Inside a room. He blinked away confusion. The room was familiar. There was peeling wallpaper that looked like demon faces, and a grimy orange bulb and a window that looked only onto a brick wall. He thought about it, and realized that it was the hotel he’d stayed in with Jenny when they’d first come to Detroit.
The Hotel Acheron.
He was sitting—no, not sitting, crouching—by the door. He rose, unsteady on his feet, stiff muscles screaming. There was a chair nearby, and he had to hold onto the back of it to keep from falling over. Then he noticed that there was something in his hand. Lifting it, he looked at it. It was his straight razor.
There was a small whimper from the corner. Will looked in the direction of the sound.
It was Jenny.
He narrowed his eyes, nausea rising afresh. Jenny was huddled in a ball, knees drawn up to her chest. She was wearing her fur coat, clutching it tightly around her throat. She was just looking at him. Staring at him, her eyes wide and glowing with fear.
“Jenny,” he began, his voice cracking. Speaking to her made the fear in her eyes grow even more intense. He saw that she was looking at the razor in his hand. He looked at it again. Why was it open? Why was he holding onto it at all? He closed it and slid it into his pocket. Then he steadied himself against the chair again, feeling disoriented and miserable. “Hey, Scuff. What are we doing here?”
He saw Jenny’s face soften slightly. But she did not relax.
“William?” she whispered. “William, is it you?”
“Sure it’s me,” he said irritably. “Who else would it be?” He sat heavily in the chair. The act of sitting made him realize how completely exhausted he was. He felt like he could sleep for a month.
“Jenny, something’s gone wrong with me,” he said. “I don’t feel well. I think I’ve been sick.”
“Yes, William.” Her voice trembled. “You’ve been sick.”
“I remember ... I went to look for Ben,” Will said. “I needed to find Ben.”
“You didn’t find him,” Jenny said.
“Why are we here?” Will said. “Why did we come back here? It’s not clean.”
The kind of place where people don’t care if you scream ...
“I followed you. I was worried about you. You said we should come here.” She paused. “You locked the door.”
“Why would I do that?” Then he said, “I’m so hungry, Jenny.”
“So am I,” she said. “We haven’t eaten for five days. I drank water out of the tap.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Will said.
“You locked the door,” Jenny said again, in a queer tremulous monotone. “But it wasn’t you, William. It wasn’t you. You were sick.”
Will didn’t answer. He went to the basin in the corner of the room and turned the spigot. He gulped the cold water greedily, then put his head under the stream.
“You haven’t eaten either?” he asked. The cold water on his head wasn’t helping him think any more clearly. “Why didn’t you go get food?”
“You locked the door,” Jenny said again. “You have the key in your pocket.”
“Why didn’t you just fish it out?” Will reached into his pocket, and his fingers found the key with the bakelite fob on it. As he crossed the room to give it to her, he saw that one side of her face was swollen and purple-yellow.
“Jenny,” he whispered. “You’re hurt.”
And then he saw that the bruises weren’t her only injuries. Her arms were covered with dozens of shallow cuts. Razor cuts. His breathing quickened, and he reached for her, and she screamed. Her eyes went blank with panic and she scrambled away from him. As she did, the fur coat she’d been holding closed around herself fell open. She was stark naked beneath it. And her body was covered with ... signs. Sigils, magical charms, drawn in blood.
Will staggered back from her, heart racing. He steadied himself against the wall farthest from her. Jenny had pressed herself into a corner with her back to him. She had curled her body into a tight ball, head covered by her arms. Will stared at her back, rising and falling with quick shallow breaths, for a long time.
“Jenny,” he said softly. “What happened?”
“You were sick,” Jenny said, her voice muffled and dull, and he realized that she was just saying the same things over and over. “You were sick. But you’re better now, William. It’s going to be all right.”
Will didn’t move. He suddenly remembered the key in his hand. He threw it to her. It skittered on the floor, coming to rest beside her leg. She made no move to take it for a long time. Finally she uncurled slightly, looking down to see if it was really there. When she saw that it was, she snaked out a hand and snatched it, clasping it close to her chest, curling over it as if it were a small animal in need of protection.
“Are you all right, Jenny?”
Her shoulders twitched—with bitter laughter or a desperate sob, he didn’t know which. In one swift movement she jumped to her feet and ran to the door. As she slid past him, it aroused a tingling echo in his memory, something dark and cruelly sweet, whispering to him in the back of his mind, the light of the full moon illuminating falling snow ...
Will braced himself against the wall against a sudden rush of dizziness. He was sure he was going to vomit or pass out, but he did not, he just stood there, holding himself up.
Jenny paused by the door, watching him fearfully. She was clutching the key so hard her knuckles were white. It was as if she was waiting for him. Waiting for him to do something.
“Should I go with you?” His voice sounded plaintive even to his own ears; he was so confused and he didn’t want to be in this place. He knew it was a bad place. Bad things had happened here and he did not want to stay here with them.
“No,” Jenny said softly. “No, William. You have to rest. You have to stay here and rest. I will go and get food. I’ll get lots of food. I’ll get lots of food and come back.”
“All right, Jenny,” he whispered. “You go.”
It was as if she had required his permission to actually move. Even then, her hand touched the doorknob hesitantly. She brought the key to the lock, but did not put it in. He could see that she was turning a question over in her mind, some deep uncertainty playing itself out on her face. Then, instead of putting the key in the door, she seized the doorknob. She turned it with a jerking movement. The door opened, creaking.
Jenny’s face drained of color, and he almost thought she would collapse.
“You never really locked it.” Her voice was a strangled whisper. “It was never locked.”
And then she was gone, slamming the door behind her. He heard her footsteps moving swiftly down the hall, then breaking into a panicked run.
Will barely made it to the bed. There was blood on the sheets. There was a lot of blood on the sheets. But there was nothing he could do about that. He fell onto the bed. And despite his hunger, despite everything, his body crumpled into sleep.
Will was woken by rough hands pulling off the thin blanket that covered him. A destroyed face, half of it swallowed by swollen slimy black flesh, thrust itself close to his.
“Rent’s due,” the night-man said, feeling through Will’s pockets, turning all of them inside out. Finding the straight razor, he withdrew it—but when he saw the blood crusted on the blade, he shoved it quickly back into Will’s pocket. He straightened, the heavy brace on his leg making him stand at a queer angle. “You got the money?”
“I don’t think so,” Will said softly.
“That girl you had up here ... she threw money at me when you two came in here, so I didn’t bother you about it. But it’s been more than a week now, a
nd what she gave me don’t cover it.” He paused. “What happened to that girl, anyway?” His tone was both harsh and insinuating. “The two of you were making a hell of a racket.”
“What happened?” Will staggered to his feet, seizing the man by his worn lapels. “What did you hear?”
But the night-man was quick, and much stronger than he looked. Breaking Will’s grip, he threw him to the floor.
“People do what they like at the Hotel Acheron,” the man sneered down at him. “I don’t make it a point of listening too close.”
Then, seizing Will by the back of his coat, the night-man lifted him and threw him out the door. Will tumbled, and the man followed, grabbing him again, throwing him down the stairs this time.
Will landed in an aching heap.
One last lift, and the night-man threw Will down the cement front stairs and into the street. Will rolled against the cold pavement, landing on his back, looking up at the waning moon. It was a bright cold night, snow swirling.
“Merry Christmas, you bum!” the night-man yelled, kicking the door shut behind him.
Will did not move for a while, the chill of melting snow seeping up through his coat. He squinted against the brightness.
It can’t be Christmas already, he thought. That would mean eight days had gone.
Why hadn’t Jenny come back for him?
Rolling onto his knees, he climbed to his feet slowly and unsteadily. The cold seemed to reach all the way down into his gut. He wrapped his arms around himself and walked. Probably Jenny was back at the apartment.
He stumbled through the cold streets, feet slipping on ice. He didn’t even have the nickel he needed to get on a streetcar. He was starving, weak as a newborn lamb. All the restaurants along Woodward Avenue were closed, but he could smell festive dinners being laid on tables in faroff homes, and just the smell made him feel weaker.
He could not walk, he kept stumbling and falling. Finally, he didn’t want to try anymore. The next time he fell, instead of trying to get up he just sat there, head down over his knees.
He had been sitting like this for a while when a concerned voice broke into his thoughts. “Is something the matter, son?”
The Warlock's Curse Page 28
