Holidays Are Hell

by Kim Harrison

  “Hurry up! Let’s go!” I shouted, pushing on the man’s back. He stumbled, and I jerked my hands from him, the sight of his bare feet in the snow a shocking reminder of where he had come from. Holy crap, what have I done?

  We found the blocked-off street with an abrupt suddenness. The smell of food grew heavy as the crowd thinned. My lungs were hurting, and I yanked on Robbie’s sleeve.

  His face was tight in bother as he turned to me, but then he nodded and stopped when he saw me gasping. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I bobbed my head, trying to catch my breath.

  “I think they quit following,” I said, but it was more of a prayer than a true thought.

  Next to me, the man bent double. A groan of pain came from him, and I lurched backward when he started in with the dry heaves. The people nearby began drifting away with ugly looks. “Too much partying,” someone muttered in disgust.

  “Poor uncle Bob,” Robbie said loudly, patting his back gingerly, and the man shoved him away, still coughing.

  “Don’t touch me,” he panted, and Robbie retreated to stand beside me where we watched his hunched figure gasp in the falling snow. Behind us, the party continued at the square. Slowly he got control of himself and straightened, carefully arranging his borrowed coat and reaching for a nonexistent hat. His face was almost too young for his short beard. He had no wrinkles but those from stress. Silently he took us in as he struggled to keep his lungs moving, his bright blue eyes going from one of us to the other.

  “Robbie, we have to get out of here,” I whispered, tugging on his sleeve. He looked frozen in his thin shirt with only his mittens, hat, and scarf between him and the snow.

  Robbie got in front of me to block the man’s intent gaze. “I’m really sorry. We didn’t mean to…do whatever we did.” He glanced at the square, arms wrapped around himself and shivering. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You’ll go back when the sun comes up.”

  Still the man said nothing, and I looked at his bare feet.

  Over the noise came an aggressive, “Hey! You!”

  My breath hissed in. Robbie turned to look, and even the man seemed alarmed.

  “We need a cab,” my brother said, grabbing my arm and pushing the man forward.

  I twisted out of his grip and headed the other way. “We won’t get a cab five blocks from here. We need a bus.” Robbie stared blankly at me, and I yelled in exasperation, “The main depot is just over there! They can’t close it off. Come on!”

  “Stop!” a man’s voice shouted, and we bolted. Well, Robbie and I bolted. The guy between us was kind of shoved along.

  We dodged around the people with little kids already leaving, headed for the bus stop. It took up an entire block length, buses leaving from downtown for all corners of Cincy and the Hollows across the river. No one seemed to notice the small man’s feet were bare or that Robbie was drastically underdressed. Song and laughter were rampant.

  “There,” Robbie panted, pointing to a bus just leaving for Norwood.

  “Wait! Wait for us!” I yelled, waving, and the driver stopped.

  The door opened and we piled in, my boots slipping on the slick rubber. Robbie had shoved the man up the stairs ahead of me, falling back when the driver had a hissy about the fare. I stood a step down and fumed while Robbie fished around in his wallet. Finally he was out of my way, and I ran my bus pass through the machine.

  “Hey,” the driver said, nodding to the back of the otherwise empty bus. “If he blows chunks, I’m fining you. I got your bus pass number, missy. Don’t think I won’t.”

  My heart seemed to lodge in my throat. Robbie and I both turned. The man was sitting alone beside a center pole, clutching it with both hands as the bus jerked into motion. His bare feet looked odd against the dirty, slush-coated rubber, and his knees were spread wide for balance to show his bare calves.

  “Uh,” Robbie said, making motions for me to move back. “He’s okay.”

  “He’d better be,” the driver grumbled, watching us in the big mirror.

  Every block put us farther from the square, closer to home. “Please,” I said, trying not to look desperate. “We’re just trying to help him get home. It’s the solstice.”

  The driver’s hard expression softened. He took one hand off the wheel to rummage out of sight beside him. With a soft plastic rustle, he handed me a shopping bag. “Here,” he said. “If he throws up, have him do it in there.”

  My breath slipped from me in relief. “Thank you.”

  Shoving the bag into a pocket, I exchanged a worried look with Robbie. Together we turned to the back of the bus. Pace slow, we cautiously approached the man as the city lights grew dim and the bus lights more obvious. Thankfully we were the only people on it, probably due to our destination being what was traditionally a human neighborhood, and they left the streets to us Inderlanders on the solstice.

  The man’s eyes darted between us as Robbie and I sat down facing him. I licked my lips and scooted closer to my brother. He was cold, shivering, but I didn’t think he was going to ask for his coat back. “Robbie, I’m scared,” I whispered, and the small man blinked.

  Robbie took his mittens off and gripped my hand. “It’s okay.” His inhale was slow, and then louder, he said, “Excuse me, sir?”

  The man held up a hand as if asking for a moment. “My apologies,” he said breathily. “What year might this be?”

  My brother glanced at me, and I blurted, “It’s nineteen ninety-nine. It’s the solstice.”

  The man’s vivid blue eyes darted to the buildings, now more of a skyline since we weren’t right among them anymore. He had beautiful, beautiful blue eyes, and long lashes I would have given a bra size for. If I had any to spare, that is.

  “This is Cincinnati?” he said softly, gaze darting from one building to the next.

  “Yes,” I said, then jerked my hand out of Robbie’s when he gave me a squeeze to be quiet. “What?” I hissed at him. “You think I should lie? He just wants to know where he is.”

  The man coughed, cutting my brother’s anger short. “I expect I’m most sorry,” he said, taking one hand off the pole. “I’ve no need for breathing but to speak, and to make a body accept that is a powerful trial.”

  Surprised, I simply waited while he took a slow, controlled breath.

  “I’m Pierce,” he said, his accent shifting to a more formal sound. “I have no doubt that you’re not my final verdict, but are in truth…” He glanced at the driver. Lips hardly moving, he mouthed, “You’re a practitioner of the arts. A master witch, sir.”

  The man wasn’t breathing. I was watching him closely, and the man wasn’t breathing. “Robbie,” I said urgently, tugging on his arm. “He’s dead. He’s a ghost.”

  My brother made a nervous guffaw, crossing his legs to help keep his body heat with him. We were right over the heater, but it was still cold. “That’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it, Firefly?” he said.

  “Yes, but he’s so real!” I said, hushed. “I didn’t expect anything but a whisper or a feeling. Not a naked man in the snow. And certainly not him!”

  Pierce flushed. His eyes met mine, and I bit back my next words, stunned by the depth of his bewilderment. The bus shifted forward as the driver braked to pick someone up, and he almost fell out of his seat, grabbing the pole with white hands to save himself.

  “You drew me from purgatory,” he said, confusion pouring from him even as he warily watched the people file on and find their seats. His face went panicked, and then he swallowed, forcing his emotions down. “I suspected I was going to hell. I suspected my penance for my failure was concluded, and I was going to hell. I’ll allow it looks like hell at first observance, though not broken and lacking a smell of burnt amber.” He looked out the window. “No horses,” he said softly, then his eyebrows rose inquiringly. “And you bricked over the canal, nasty swill hole it was. Are the engines powered then by steam?”

  Beside me, Robbie grinned. “He sure uses a lot of words
to say anything.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered. I thought he was elegant.

  “This isn’t hell,” Pierce said, and, as if exhausted, he dropped his head to show me the top of his loose black curls. His relief made my stomach clench and burn.

  I looked away, uncomfortable. Thoughts of my deal with Robbie came back. I didn’t know if he would think this was a success or not. I did bring a ghost back, but it wasn’t Dad.

  And without Dad saying yes to the I.S., Robbie would probably take it as a no. Worried, I looked up at Robbie and said, “I did the spell right.”

  My brother shifted, as if preparing for an argument. My eyebrows pulled together, and I glared at him. “I don’t care if it summoned the wrong ghost, I did the freaking spell right!”

  Pierce looked positively terrified as he alternated his attention between us and the new people calmly getting on and finding their seats. I was guessing it wasn’t the volume of my voice, but what I was saying. Being a witch in public was a big no-no that could get you killed before nineteen sixty-six, and he had clearly died before then.

  Robbie frowned in annoyance. “The deal was you’d summon Dad,” he said, and I gritted my teeth.

  “The deal was I would do the spell right, and if I didn’t, I would come out to Portland with you. Well, look,” I said, pointing. “There’s a ghost. You just try to tell me he isn’t there.”

  “All right, all right,” Robbie said, slouching. “You stirred the spell properly, but we still don’t know what Dad would want, so I’m not going to sign that paper.”

  “You son of a—”

  “Rachel!” he said, interrupting me. “Don’t you get it? This is why I want you to come out with me and finish your schooling.” He gestured at Pierce as if he was a thing, not a person. “You did an eight-hundred-level summoning spell without batting an eye. You could be anything you want. Why are you going to waste yourself in the I.S.?”

  “The I.S. isn’t a waste,” I said, while Pierce shifted uncomfortably. “Are you saying Dad’s life was a waste, you dumb pile of crap?”

  Pierce stared at me, and I flushed. Robbie’s face was severe, and he looked straight ahead, ticked. The bus was moving again, and I sat in a sullen silence. I knew I was heaping more abuse on Robbie than he deserved. But I had wanted to talk to my dad, and now that chance was gone. I should’ve known I wouldn’t be able to do it right. And as much as I hated myself for it, the tears started to well.

  Pierce cleared his throat. Embarrassed, I wiped my eyes and sniffed.

  “You were attempting to summon your father,” he said softly, making nervous glances at the people whispering over Pierce’s bare feet and Robbie’s lack of a coat. “On the solstice. And it was I whom your magic touched?”

  I nodded fast, struggling to keep from bawling my fool head off. I missed him. I had really thought I could do it.

  “I apologize,” Pierce said so sincerely that I looked up. “You might should celebrate, mistress witch. You stirred the spell proper, or I expect I’d not be here. That I appeared in his stead means he has gone to his reward and is at peace.”

  Selfishly, I’d been wishing that Dad had missed me so much that he would have lingered, and I sniffed again, staring at the blur of holiday lights passing. I was a bad daughter.

  “Please don’t weep,” he said, and I started when he leaned forward and took my hand. “You’re so wan, it’s most enough to break my heart, mistress witch.”

  “I only wanted to see him,” I said, pitching my voice low so it wouldn’t break.

  Pierce’s hands were cold. There was no warmth to him. But his fingers held mine firmly, their roughness stark next to my unworked, skinny hands. I felt a small lift through me, as if I was tapping a line, and my eyes rose to his.

  “Why…” he said, his vivid eyes fixed on mine. “You’re a grown woman. But so small.”

  My tears quit from surprise. “I’m eighteen,” I said, affronted, then pulled my hand away. “How long have you been dead?”

  “Eighteen,” he murmured. I felt a growing sense of unease as the small man leaned back, glancing at Robbie with what looked like embarrassment.

  “My apologies,” he said formally. “I meant no disrespect to your intended.”

  “Intended!” Robbie barked, and I made a rude sound, sliding down from my brother. The people who had just gotten on looked up, surprised. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my sister.” Then Robbie’s expression shifted. “Stay away from my sister.”

  I felt the beginnings of a smile come over my face. Honestly, Pierce was a ghost and too old for me even if he was alive. At least twenty-four, I’d guess from the look at him. All of him.

  I flushed as I recalled his short stature, firmly muscled and lean, like a small horse used to hard labor. Glancing up, I was embarrassed to see Pierce as red as I felt, carefully holding his coat closed.

  “If the year is nineteen ninety-nine, I’ve made a die of it for nearly a hundred and forty-seven years,” he said to the floor.

  Poor man, I thought in pity. Everyone he knew was probably gone or so old they wouldn’t remember him. “How did you die?” I asked, curious.

  Pierce’s gaze met mine, and I shivered at the intensity. “I’m a witch, as much as you,” he whispered, though Robbie and I had been shouting about spells for the last five minutes. But before the Turn, being labeled a witch could get you killed.

  “You were caught?” I said, scooting to the edge of the bus seat as we swung onto a slick, steep road, captivated by his air of secrecy. “Before the Turn? What did they do to you?”

  Pierce tilted his head to give himself a dangerous air. “A murder most powerful. I’d have no mind to tell you if you’re of a frail constitution, but I was bricked into the ground while breath still moved in my lungs. Buried alive with an angelic guard ready to smite me down should I dare to emerge.”

  “You were murdered!” I said, feeling a quiver of fear.

  Robbie chuckled, and I thwacked his knee. “Shut up,” I said, then winced at Pierce’s aghast look. If he’d been dead for a hundred and forty years, I’d probably just cursed like a sailor.

  “Sorry,” I said, then braced myself when the bus swayed to a stop. More people filed on, the last being an angry, unhappy woman with more of those fliers. She talked to the bus driver for a moment, and he grumbled something before waving her on and letting the air out of the brakes. Leaning back, he shut his eyes as the woman taped a laminated flier to the floor in the aisle, and two more to the ceiling.

  “Take a flier,” she demanded as she worked her way to the back of the bus. “Sarah’s been missing for two days. She’s a sweet little girl. Have you seen her?”

  Only on every TV station, I thought as I shook my head and accepted the purple paper. I glanced down as she handed one to Robbie and Pierce. The picture was different from the last one. The glow of birthday candles was in the foreground and a pile of presents in the back, blurry and out of focus. Sarah was smiling, full of life, and the thought of her alone, lost in the snow, was only slightly more tolerable than the thought of what someone sick enough to steal her might be using her for.

  I couldn’t look anymore. The woman had gotten off through the back door to hit the next bus, and I jammed the flier in my pocket with the first one as the bus lurched into traffic.

  “I know who has her,” Pierce said, his hushed, excited voice pulling my attention to him. The lights of oncoming traffic shone on him, lighting his fervent, kind of scary expression.

  “Driver!” he shouted, standing, and I pressed into the seat, alarmed. “Stop the carriage!”

  Everyone looked at us, most of them laughing. “Sit down!” Robbie gave him a gentle shove, and Pierce fell back, coat flying open for a second. “You’re going to get us kicked off.”

  “I know where she’s been taken!” he exclaimed, and I glanced at the passengers, worried. The driver, though, already thought he was drunk, and everyone else was snickering about the peep show.
r />   “Lower your voice,” Robbie said, shifting to sit beside him. “People will think you’re crazy.”

  Pierce visibly caught his next words and closed his coat tighter. “He has her,” he said, shaking the paper at Robbie. “The man, that…beast that murdered me to death. The very creature I was charged to bring to midnight justice. He’s taken another.”

  I could tell my eyes were round, but Robbie wasn’t impressed. “It’s been almost two hundred years.”

  “Which means little to the blood-lusting, foul spawn from hell,” Pierce said, and my breath caught. Vampire. He was talking about a vampire. A dead one. Crap, if a vampire had her, then she was really in trouble.

  “You were trying to tag a vampire?” I said, awed. “You must be good!” Even the I.S. didn’t send witches after vampires.

  Pierce’s expression blanked and he looked away. “Not good enough, I allow. I was there on my own hook with the belief that pride and moral outrage would sustain me. The spawn has an unholy mind for young girls, which I expect he satisfied without reprisal for decades until he abducted a girl of high standing and her parents engaged my…midnight services.”

  Robbie scoffed, but I stared. Figuring out what Pierce was saying was fascinating.

  Seeing Robbie’s disinterest, Pierce focused on me. “This child,” he said, looking at the paper, “is the image of his preferred prey. I confronted him with his culpability, but he is as clever as a Philadelphian lawyer, and to pile on the agony, he informed the constables of my liability and claimed knowledge of the signs.”

  Pierce’s eyes dropped, and I felt a twinge of fear for the history I’d missed by a mere generation. Liability was a mixed-company term for witch—when being one could get you killed. I suspected spawn was pre-Turn for vampire. Midnight services was probably code for detective or possibly an early Inderlander cop. Philadelphian lawyer was self-explanatory.

  “Truly I was a witch,” he said softly, “and I could say no different. The girl he murdered directly to protect his name. That it was so fast was a grace, her fair white body found in solstice snow and wept over. She could no more speak to save me than a stick. That I showed signs of liability about my person and belongs made my words of no account. They rowed me up Salt River all night for their enjoyment until being buried alive in blasphemed ground was a blessing. This,” he said, shaking the paper, “is the same black spawn. He has taken another child, and if I don’t stop him, he will foul her soul by sunrise. To stand idle would be an outrage against all nature.”