Dark Metropolis

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “They could help her, you know,” Fritz-or-Franz said in his haughty accent. He’d been rich once but had lost his money right after the war, like a lot of people who’d had extra in the bank. “They have clinics, the government. You don’t have to pay a thing.”

  She worried every day about Mother being taken to one of those clinics. “She—she doesn’t want—” No. Why bother explaining to him? If Father Gruneman was right about the officials taking Mother’s memories, she couldn’t even speak of such a violation. She broke off and ran up the stairs.

  The door to the apartment was open, and a policeman was waiting there, offensive in his mere presence, like a gun in a nursery. He stood with arms crossed, his eyes probing and touching Thea’s life—the mess in her kitchen, the pile of letters from Mother’s friends, and the photographs of Father on the ledge—but they cut to Thea herself as soon as she entered.

  “Are you Thea Holder?” the policeman asked.

  She nodded.

  “I found your mother wandering by the river. Is it true, Miss Holder, that your mother and her husband, Henry Holder, were bound?”

  Thea nodded again. Don’t make a scene. He won’t care, and all the neighbors are downstairs….

  “I’m sure you are aware that such magic is against the law,” the policeman continued. “Moreover, we have cures nowadays. It isn’t really fair to your mother, to lose her mind over a spell.”

  Thea was still nodding. No use saying Mother didn’t want to go. No use begging or pleading. Thea steeled herself. They would take her memories away, and maybe—god, maybe it might even be for the best for Mother to be free of those memories. What kind of life did she have now?

  Mother walked out of her bedroom just then, dragging along her traveling bag. Her eyes were angry and lucid. In rare moments, the real Mother was there. “He’s alive,” she said. “I’m sick because he’s alive and I can’t find him.”

  “Mrs. Holder, I know you think he is alive. It’s only because the crude spell placed upon you at marriage has corrupted. He is deceased, I assure you, and I’d imagine your daughter has suffered because of your madness. I will take you to the doctor, and everything shall be made right.”

  “He is alive. You and your doctors can go to hell!”

  “Shh! Shh!” Thea flew to Mother, pulling her back as she took a step closer to the policeman. “Mother, please. She doesn’t mean it, sir.”

  The policeman’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, I know she doesn’t mean it.” He was going to get what he wanted. It wasn’t like Thea or her mother could do a damn thing about it.

  “Mother, just think, when the spell is broken, it will be like old times with us,” Thea said, trying to smile, although she knew it would never be like old times again.

  Mother straightened. “Before I go, let us have a moment to say good-bye.”

  “A moment.” The door shut behind the policeman. Thea didn’t hear the footsteps creak any farther, and she would have bet money he was listening at the door.

  “I know he is alive!” Mother said, too loudly.

  “Well, where is he, then? What can I do about it?”

  “Nothing.” Mother took Thea’s hand and squeezed it. “Just know it. Remember it.”

  If only Mother were right. Thea used to believe her, but as the years passed, the hope fell away. She thought again of her vision at the Telephone Club: Father waking up in his military uniform. It was scary just to think of it, to allow any hope back in. She took a deep breath. “I will.”

  Mother pulled her into an embrace, and Thea soaked up the feel of her, as if this might be the last time.

  The tears were coming now. No. No. She battled them off. My good little soldier, she could almost hear her father say. She could almost see him, too, when she held Mother so close. Mother was full of confusion and panic, but also memories—and when Thea let her go, the memories would go with her.

  She drew away from the feel of Mother’s coat on her cheek, the smell of her perfume and soap, and opened the door.

  “How long will it take to remove the spell?” she asked the policeman.

  “It can take a year, I’ve heard, if it is a bad case.” He was already heading down the stairs, glancing back sharply every time Thea’s mother lagged.

  “A year? Where will she be? Can I visit her?”

  “She will be at the city asylum for magical disorders. I believe visits are frowned upon. They can disrupt the treatment. I’m sure she will be well cared for.” He marched to his car and opened the back door. Thea’s mother looked tenderly at Thea one last time. Then she climbed inside. The door slammed shut, and the car drove away.

  The neighbors were all gathered around watching. Thea didn’t speak to any of them; she just bolted for the stairs.

  All the forced smiles and lies to Mother’s friends, all the nights she’d rushed home to keep Mother from wandering off or hurting herself…and now Mother was going to the asylum anyway.

  Thea climbed into Mother’s bed and cried. She wished, more fiercely than she had in years, for her father to walk through the door. Occasionally, a creeping tendril of relief would reach her: I’m free. I can go out with Nan after work. Go to the pictures. See boys if I want.

  But how horrid to be glad, even for a moment, that her mother was gone, just so she had time to try on new hats.

  Mother’s words haunted her. I know he is alive! Suppose she was right all along. Suppose Father had lived through the battle, and the vision was a sign? If there was any chance at all, she had to find out. She owed it to Mother, who was now trapped behind the asylum walls, losing her precious memories.

  Thea knew going to work could only help her feel better. Distract her. But it was still hard to drag herself into the world on Monday.

  As usual, the floor of the streetcar was scattered with pamphlets. They were underground publications, often written badly and peppered with capital letters and exclamation marks, warnings of doom and gloom. MAGIC MAY BE FORBIDDEN, BUT IT IS NOT WRONG! THE GOVERNMENT IS FEEDING YOU LIES! MAGIC IS THE TOOL OF THE PEOPLE.

  An old woman settling onto the car kicked several of the pamphlets under her chair with a look of disgust. She glanced at Thea with disapproval, as if merely being a young person made her complicit, and Thea shook her head. The last thing she wanted was a revolution, when everyone finally had food and coal, and even hats and chocolates and hair curlers and everything else. Had people forgotten standing in breadlines so quickly?

  “Good, you’re here,” Elsa said as Thea walked into the club a few minutes late. “Nan’s late, too.”

  Thea’s face fell. She needed a friend right now. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” she said, reassuring herself as much as Elsa. “She’s never missed a day.”

  “I hope she’s not sick.”

  “Nan is never sick.” Nan seemed like the type who could repel germs by force of will. But other things could happen. Thea had seen less of Nan in the past couple of months, and Nan talked of politics when she used to not care. People disappeared sometimes, Thea heard, if they read the wrong papers and spent time with the wrong people in the wrong places. But it wasn’t like Nan was a revolutionary just because she was more informed than Thea.

  All this worry, and probably Nan’s streetcar was just late. She’d be here soon, and they could go to Café Tops for coffee after work and have a good, long chat.

  Mr. Kortig had Thea handling the private rooms tonight, the only tables without any view of the show. They were as exclusive as the balconies, being few in number, and the best tips often came from these privacy-seeking groups. Right now it hardly seemed to matter. She just had to get through the night. Would she see Freddy and Gerik again? she wondered.

  When the first performance ended, she began to lose hope on that account. Last time they had come early. Anyway, it was Monday. They might appear next Saturday. She had
a table of military officers who lingered awhile and got quite drunk, and a large, jolly group. They were, at least, very polite and left plenty behind for her. Thea would be glad of the money later, she knew, but money couldn’t buy her mother back.

  And there was no sign of Nan. Thea kept looking for her, asking if she’d turned up, but no one had seen her. What if she was sick? Thea thought of a classmate who had died from influenza when she was a girl; one day she wasn’t at school, and a week later they were burying her. She ought to check on Nan, really, except she didn’t know where she lived. Thea had never been able to pay a visit, on account of the need to get home to her mother.

  Her night was half over, the second performance of the revue in its opening number, when she approached an older couple in the smallest of the private rooms. “Welcome,” Thea said. “How are you this evening?” Then she almost did a double take; the man looked so much like Father Gruneman in the soft light.

  No—it was Father Gruneman, she realized, as he gave her the briefest shake of his head, a gesture that said, Here you don’t know me.

  “Hello,” the woman said. “Nan isn’t here tonight, dear girl?” She was looking down, searching inside her purse and then snapping open a cigarette case.

  “Not tonight,” Thea said.

  “Well, can you get me a gin cocktail?” She was wearing clusters of carved ivory bangles at her wrists, diamonds at her ears, and a fur stole around her graceful neck. Such an elegant woman didn’t look like she belonged at a table with humble Father Gruneman.

  But then, the Father Gruneman she knew would not be at the Telephone Club, wearing a plain dark suit instead of church robes. “What about you, sir?” Thea asked him.

  “Just a glass of port.” He handed the menus to her before she could even gather them, his expression almost apologetic. It was a clear signal that she should leave them alone, so she did.

  She felt as if the world had turned on its head, and she was the only one who noticed. Mother gone, Nan absent from work, and now Father Gruneman at the Telephone Club with some rich woman?

  She brought the group in the next room the fresh fruits and cheeses they’d ordered, and then got the drinks. Onstage, the moon was singing her big star-crossed number about how she could never be with the sun, spreading her arms so that her spangled cape glinted in every direction. The Moonling chorus in white sang softly behind her on the stairs. Thea paused outside the curtain. Mr. Kortig would have her head if she were caught trying to eavesdrop on customers, but she had to know what Father Gruneman and the woman were talking about.

  “She knew he was alive,” the priest was saying. “That’s why they took her away.”

  Was he speaking of Thea’s mother?

  “I think it’s gotten too big for them,” the woman said. “They’re stretched thin, trying to keep up with all the loose threads. It’s time to kill the witch. Cut them all in one blow.”

  “But we can’t be hasty. We’ve already lost too many people by being hasty. If we act without enough intel and none of the workers can escape, they might cover up the entire operation.”

  “It’s better than just sitting around talking while they take more people every day!”

  “Don’t you want to see your daughter again?” Father Gruneman said, more gently.

  “You know I do,” she snapped. “Don’t say such a thing. But I need you on my side. Like you used to be.”

  The response was too soft to hear over the music. Thea’s ears were already straining to piece the words together, and she didn’t dare stay there any longer. She lifted the heavy curtain aside. Father Gruneman sat back.

  “You know it’s gone too far for mercy,” the woman said.

  Father Gruneman looked uncomfortable. Thea suspected she was part of the reason for that. “Nothing is ever too far gone for mercy,” he said.

  She put the drinks down and smiled at them, trying to act casual and happy, as if she hadn’t heard a word and didn’t find Father Gruneman’s presence at the Telephone Club unusual in the least. “Did you need anything else? A bite to eat?”

  “No, dear,” the woman said.

  “I’ll come back in a bit to see how you’re doing, then.”

  “Actually, would you bring us the check now?” Father Gruneman said.

  “Why do we meet at all if you’re going to be so eager to get rid of me?” the woman said.

  He didn’t answer her, just nodded to Thea. As the curtain closed behind her, she heard him say something about his congregation and guessed it might be about not wanting to speak freely around her.

  “Fine, we’ll speak at the Rouge,” the woman said, sounding cross.

  The Rouge. Thea had heard some of the revolutionaries talk about meeting at the Café Rouge.

  Was Father Gruneman a revolutionary? She’d gotten the impression, from her childhood memories, that his life outside of church was nothing but cups of tea, books, and a dog sleeping at his feet.

  Then again, his sermons did touch on rebellion and freedom so often, especially before the censorship rules. And he’d been visibly angry the Sunday after the church raids, when the government officials took all the hymnbooks away and replaced them with the “approved” ones. Anyone would be upset about that, of course—all those familiar, lovely old songs, and yet…

  If he did know something about her father and didn’t want to tell her, that could explain it. Her father could have been involved with the revolution.

  Of all the nights for Nan not to be here! If anyone would know what to make of it all, Nan would.

  How could Thea not know where her best friend lived?

  At least she could visit Nan now, once she came back to work. Now that Mother—

  Mother was gone. The thought of going home to an empty apartment crashed back into her mind.

  Nan will be back tomorrow, she told herself, and plunged into work, trying not to let herself think.

  Tuesday came and went, and Nan still hadn’t turned up. Mr. Kortig didn’t know where she lived, either.

  “She probably got another job,” Mr. Kortig said.

  “But we were friends. She would have told me.”

  “Girls come and go all the time. She probably doesn’t want to come around because she feels bad for cutting out without giving notice. I bet she has no idea you’re fretting over her.”

  His lack of concern was probably meant to ease her worries, but it only made them worse. Mr. Kortig didn’t understand. Nan wasn’t the type of girl to abandon friends and leave her fellow waitresses scrambling.

  Something must have happened. Nan always seemed so strong. But no one was invincible.

  Thea thought she could try going to Father Gruneman. She ought to tell him what had happened to her mother anyway. But after the other night…

  She was emerging from the kitchen with a tray of eels in wine sauce for table 72 when she almost collided with Freddy.

  “Freddy!” she exclaimed. “You shouldn’t hang around the kitchens. Someone might spill their tray of eels down the front of your suit, and I’d hate for that someone to be me. Can I bring something to your table?”

  “Gerik’s over by the stairs, talking to some old friends,” he said, glancing at the balcony. “I was just looking around when I saw you duck into the kitchen. I hope I’ll be seeing you again tonight.”

  “If you asked for me.”

  “I asked for Trouble.” He crossed his arms. “Oddly enough, the hostess didn’t recognize the name.”

  “It’s Thea.” She felt her cheeks warm.

  “Thea,” he said. “Sounds very modern. I imagined you as more of a Rosamunde or an Adelaide.”

  “Oh, no, no. I’m a very modern girl.”

  “Thea is a nice name, too.”

  “I detect a hint of disappointment. You’re more of a three-syllable kind of gent?”

&
nbsp; He laughed. “Maybe I just have provincial tastes. My parents were rustics from Irminau.”

  “Mine too.” So he really hadn’t meant it as an insult last time, when he’d called her a rustic. But it still didn’t make sense. “Then Mr. Valkenrath is—”

  “The city uncle,” he said. “Really a third cousin or something.”

  “Very kind of him to show around a nephew from Irminau,” Thea said. “I’d think he wouldn’t want anyone to know he had rustic relatives.”

  “I suppose he feels bad that I don’t have a father figure around,” Freddy said. “But it’s true; he doesn’t like me to mention my background, so I wanted to say so when he wasn’t here. You don’t see the Irminau blood in me?”

  “A—a little.” She felt flustered. Wooing her with talk of lowborn lineage was certainly a new one, but she had to keep her wits. She couldn’t let him leave here twice without finding out if he had any connection to her father, and that meant she had to keep control of the conversation. “Well, that’s a surprise, but I guess it explains why you don’t seem like most of the other boys who come in here.”

  He smiled. His teeth were just a hair crooked, but she rather liked that; after all, she had that stupid tiny gap between hers. “In a good way, I hope.”

  She smiled back. If I could just touch him and see if it happens again…

  “Well, look,” he said, “I’d better get back. Gerik will think I’m showing poor manners coming down here, but…if I asked you to have coffee with me after work, what would you say?”

  “I’d consider it.”

  “I hope so.”

  She let her smile fade, so as not to seem too eager, and started walking with her eels. It was a good thing the regulars who’d ordered them wouldn’t care that they were getting cold.

  She had never before agreed to meet a boy after work. She had her reasons this time, but he didn’t know that. He might think this was a real date. And she had to be careful, certainly.