Dark Metropolis

by Jaclyn Dolamore

  “Hmm,” the second man said—Valkenrath. He took a step into the room and looked to both sides. “Where is the light switch in this place?”

  “Here, sir.” The guard hurried to switch on more lights. Nan squinted. Sigi was making some awful, unending moan. Nan didn’t look at her.

  Valkenrath approached the cage, frowning slightly. He needed a shave and looked quite tired. Sigi’s hand suddenly caught the leg of Nan’s pants, tugging sharply. “Help,” she said, her voice barely a groan.

  “All right, Nan Davies,” Valkenrath said, and he quickly unlocked the cage and yanked Nan out by the elbow. He slammed the cage door before the Sigi-thing could stir itself to escape.

  “Thank you,” Nan said, before recalling that Valkenrath was to blame for the whole thing in the first place.

  “I remember when they brought you in, cold and dead,” he said. “How did you trick me?” He waved the guard away. “You may leave us. We’re fine.”

  “Are you sure, sir? This is the one who tried to strangle Frederick.”

  “We’re fine.”

  “Who is Frederick?” Nan asked. She had tried to strangle someone? Some of her memories still eluded her, and she felt they must be the most important ones.

  “Never mind that. Is there some substance that can safely mimic death? Did someone help you? Tell me anything you remember.”

  “I don’t remember anything,” Nan lied. “All I know is that I haven’t taken the serum since I arrived.”

  “I made a mistake having your memory wiped rather than questioning you,” he said. “It’s fairly common for the revived dead to be a bit hostile, so I merely assumed you were a particularly violent case. But it’s certainly not common for anyone to truly come back from the dead without…consequence.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “I suppose the first question is, were you ever dead to begin with?”

  When Nan saw his hand move toward his jacket, she rushed him, tackling him just as he brought out the gun.

  He let out an “oof” as she knocked him to the ground, obviously caught off guard. The gun was still in his hand. Nan grabbed his wrist, and for a moment they twisted and struggled. He was much stronger than she was. Could she get out the knife? If she took her hands off him, he’d shoot her.

  It didn’t really matter, anyway. He growled, breaking from her hold, and clocked her in the temple with the butt of the gun. Stars swarmed her vision, but she was conscious enough to hear the shot and feel the force of it tearing through her heart, but there was no pain.

  There was nothing except the familiar thrum of music, drawing her away, away, her soul like a tiny ship on an ocean of sound….

  Gerik was sitting in the back parlor, reading a newspaper, when Freddy came home. On his way upstairs, Freddy had to pass him.

  The paper was folded and cast aside. “Come talk to me, lad.”

  “Surely it can wait until morning,” Freddy said, but he knew Gerik wouldn’t accept that.

  “No, I don’t think it should wait. But it won’t take long.” He motioned to the seat next to him.

  Freddy sat down. He kept reliving, again and again, that moment when he let Father Gruneman slip away forever. Father Gruneman said he had to let all those people die, but he didn’t even know if he could sever a thread of magic without touching the person. He wondered what it would feel like. When he let Father Gruneman go, it was like the snap of a strained cord—both painful and a relief.

  “Tell me what happened with Thea tonight,” Gerik said. “You don’t look terribly happy, so I assume it didn’t go well.”

  “Of course it didn’t. I’m not ready to do this.”

  “You wouldn’t feel that way with the right girl, Freddy. The right girl can make all the difference.”

  “But Thea was the right girl. The circumstance is what’s wrong.”

  “She might be the right girl for later. But not now.”

  Freddy growled. “I can’t reason with you.”

  Gerik cleared his throat and patiently drew his cigarettes from his pocket. Once he had one lit and had taken the first drag, he said, “I’m the only one you can reason with, at this point. If Rory knew how permissive I’d been with you, there would be hell to pay for both of us.”

  “Permissive? Oh, because you let me have a life for—let me count—four nights? So that both of you can get something you want?”

  “Permissive,” Gerik said, lifting his voice into a more forceful timbre, “because I don’t want to tell him where you’ve been going with this girl. But I also realize I cannot let it continue.”

  Freddy wasn’t about to admit to anything until he determined how much Gerik really knew. “So you were following me, I suppose.”

  “Of course I’m not going to let you go without keeping an eye on you! You’re far too important. Thea is one of those antiestablishment rebels, am I right? You sneaked into one of their meetings, where your head was no doubt filled with outlandish theories and plans.”

  “Well, if you know where I’ve been, you’ll know I didn’t stay long. Thea is not a revolutionary at all. She’s just trying to figure out why people keep disappearing and why her mother is bound-sick.”

  “And that’s also why she took you to the home of a rebel leader today, I suppose?”

  “He’s also the priest of her church. Thea was worried because he was supposed to stop by and check on her since her mother is gone, and he hadn’t.”

  Sometimes Freddy surprised himself with how easily the lies came. He had never thought about all the lies he told Gerik. Most of them had felt not so much like lies as ways to keep a part of himself private. Gerik and Uncle could own his magic, but not all of him. Now he had become truly deceitful. And the reasons were still the same.

  “Every lad needs a taste of freedom,” Gerik said. “I’m sorry yours was short. You know I’d rather give you a different kind of life. I’d rather you had much more fun. But it just can’t be. I hope you can at least see the advantages we’ve been able to give you.” He sighed. “Maybe not now. But in time, perhaps.”

  “So that’s it? I’ll never see Thea again?”

  “You can’t see Thea again. She’s obviously wrong for the task. I’ll find you someone who’s right.”

  Freddy stood up, feeling a blinding anger. “Why even loosen the leash if you’re just going to jerk it back? Am I expected to spend my entire life in a handful of rooms?”

  “Not once you have an heir,” Gerik said.

  “There is no guarantee of an heir. You know that as well as I do.”

  Gerik wasn’t meeting Freddy’s eyes anymore. “I don’t know what else to say, lad. It is what it is.”

  “Fine. Don’t answer my questions. Just dismiss me. I get it. I’m just a pawn and it doesn’t matter what I want; I need to shut up and do whatever you want me to do. But this is my magic.”

  “Lad, I know you’re upset. Why don’t you go to your room, have a bite to eat, and calm down?” Gerik got up and moved to the door, avoiding the conflict and the tough questions, and Freddy didn’t know what he could say to stop him. And behind the scenes lurked Uncle, unwilling to even engage with Freddy much of the time, yet in most ways he was really the one pulling the strings.

  The power is still in your hands, Father Gruneman had said. Who really held the strings, in the end? If sending all those people to their deaths was the right thing to do—the only thing to do—then it was his choice.

  But he still wasn’t sure it was right. He had brought back thousands of people and been proud of each one.

  He left the room in silence. The two rooms that were his—a bedroom and a sitting room—seemed so small after he had walked the streets freely. He sat at his desk, where the same clock was still dismantled, and stared for a long moment at all the gears and parts and tools. If only life coul
d be so straightforward.

  A housemaid stopped in at the door. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchens, sir?” she asked. Usually Freddy was hungry when he returned from any outing.

  “Just bread and butter.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yes.”

  He moved to the window, gazing out at the motorcars driving around the square, just visible over the fence from his third-floor view. It reminded him of the balcony of the Telephone Club, where he could see all the people mingling below him—but Gerik kept him apart. Privileged but alone. Until Thea walked in. He would never see her again unless he escaped. But if he escaped, he needed a plan. He could try to get underground, but the only thing he could do from there was to release the spell and kill all the people he’d ever saved from death.

  He needed the serum. It must be made in mass quantities. Vats and vats of serum. And someone would have to keep making more.

  What happened to the dead without serum?

  He looked at Amsel, sleeping soundly on his bed, his breathing slow and deep, his whiskers occasionally twitching with dreams. Freddy had a test subject. Right here in his room.

  After his breakfast the next morning, Amsel followed his usual schedule of sitting in the window and staring at the birds that flocked in a nearby tree, and then curling up against Freddy’s pillow and falling fast asleep. Amsel had not been a young cat when he died, and he was not very active in his second life.

  Freddy, meanwhile, did not have his usual schedule at all. No one woke him in the morning to go to Uncle’s. Gerik didn’t come around until well after breakfast.

  “No revivals today, lad,” he said, lingering in the doorway uncomfortably. “I told Rory you ought to have some space today, since things didn’t work out with Thea. He only had two anyway, so you can do them tomorrow. Just get some rest. Work on your clocks.”

  Freddy didn’t respond, but Gerik didn’t stay long enough to notice.

  Freddy was certainly not interested in clocks at the moment. He wanted to see the people he had brought back. Maybe he could find a way to save them, if he could get down there. There must be an entrance beneath Uncle’s house where the guards took the revived people away. But there were always so many eyes on him.

  The sun was beginning to set when Amsel suddenly lifted his head from sleep and began to sniff the air.

  “Amsel?” Freddy went to him, and Amsel started grooming Freddy’s hand. Freddy stroked Amsel’s back, noticing that his fur seemed dull and he no longer felt so nice to touch. He felt sort of dried out, somehow. His eyes, too, looked odd—his pupils were dilated with excitement, but his eyes looked sick. Freddy couldn’t pinpoint it exactly. He didn’t look dead. But—wrong.

  Amsel’s jaws suddenly clamped on Freddy’s hand, and when Freddy jerked away, he was bleeding from several deep gashes. Amsel often nipped at Freddy in play, but he never bit or scratched. Amsel’s jaws reached for another bite, and Freddy shoved the cat into the pillow reflexively.

  “No!” Freddy shouted, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to catch the blood. Amsel suddenly bolted under the bed with a low growl.

  Freddy got on the floor, seeing Amsel’s eyes gleaming in the shadows. He hissed when Freddy reached for him. Freddy drew back, reaching instead for the thread that connected him to Amsel.

  Amsel was scared. Freddy felt it. He hadn’t felt Father Gruneman’s feelings like this, but maybe, he thought, because of his years spent so close to Amsel, or maybe because his animal mind was unguarded, Freddy understood that the cat was confused—he didn’t want to hurt Freddy, but he was hungry.

  And Freddy was food.

  Freddy yanked open his desk drawer and took out the serum. He opened the bottle and held it out. “Come on, boy. Medicine.”

  But plain old serum offered no temptation to the cat.

  Freddy put the bottle away and yanked the bellpull. The maid appeared in a moment. “Yes, Master Linden?”

  “Can you just bring me some bread and pâté?”

  She didn’t even blink at the idea that Freddy might want food at this hour. Nothing he ate ever stuck with him for more than an hour or two. “Of course.”

  He sat on the bed. It looked empty without Amsel curled up on it. He kept remembering Amsel’s fear and confusion.

  He wondered if people felt that, too, without the serum.

  Forgive me.

  This was wrong. He felt the wrongness of it now. He understood how the people in earlier generations with reviving magic would have known not to hold a person to the earth—even if they were tempted, the sickness and the hunger would have forced them to cut the thread.

  No one was supposed to live beyond death.

  The maid brought the plate, and Freddy mixed the serum into the pâté. He slid it under the bed and Amsel gobbled it hungrily. When he was done, he licked his lips and his paws, and then he came out and pressed his head against Freddy’s leg.

  Freddy gathered him up. The cat’s fur still felt a little strange, but he was purring and content now. He held Amsel against him, close enough to feel his heartbeat. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you—for being here. I was never alone with you here. Amsel…”

  In his arms, Amsel sighed—tired, but content.

  Freddy cut the thread.

  Late that night, a rough hand shook Freddy from sleep. He rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to see Uncle looming over him in the moonlight.

  His first thought was that Gerik had told him about Amsel. Gerik had been angry and suspicious about the cat. “We’ll discuss it later,” he had said, but now it was the middle of the night. Something else must have happened.

  “Beg your pardon, Freddy, but this is important,” Uncle said in a tone that did not seem to be begging any pardon at all. “I want you to revive someone right away. Get some shoes on and meet us in a moment. Don’t dawdle, please.”

  “Who am I reviving?”

  Gerik was standing behind Uncle, tugging thoughtfully at his sideburns. “We’ll talk about it when we get there, lad.”

  A few minutes later they were in Gerik’s car, whipping down the empty street behind Uncle’s chauffeur. Once inside the house, Uncle led the way, not to the workroom but to what appeared to be a guest bedroom, blandly furnished with heavy drapes and antique furniture. A body awaited on the bed, partially unwrapped from a swath of blankets.

  Why would they need to bring him to a different room? He didn’t see any guards around, and Uncle seemed a little rattled. Whatever had happened, it seemed he didn’t want anyone to know.

  Nothing had been done to clean up the body—there was blood on its drab one-piece work suit, and even on the floor. Uncle was frowning at…her—Freddy was close enough now to see it was a girl, and not just any girl.

  It’s Nan, damn it—it’s Nan. What did they do?

  The last time, she had been unmarked, and her face had been like that of someone sleeping. Now there was blood everywhere, and her expression remained one of shock. When he got closer, he saw there was a wound in her chest, like she’d been shot in the heart.

  He looked at Uncle. “What did you do to her?”

  “Who said I did anything to her?” Uncle’s eyes moved to the wound, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. “Remember how she tried to attack you? Well, she tried it with me. One of the guards shot her.”

  “Where did this happen?”

  “Just revive her, Freddy, and we’ll talk about it later,” Gerik said impatiently.

  “Why do you even want me to revive her again if she attacked me and then you? There’s more to this, isn’t there?”

  “It isn’t your concern.” Uncle sounded angry. “I only ask this one simple thing. Revive the girl.”

  Freddy’s magic felt as itchy and urgent as ever. He took her hand, trying to see if he could sense anythin
g strange. A current of discomfort passed through him. He had never tried to revive the same person twice. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to do such a thing.

  “I need privacy to concentrate,” he said. If this worked, he didn’t want to talk to her with Gerik and Uncle in the room.

  “Why don’t you try doing it with us here,” Uncle said, pushing Freddy toward the bed. “After all, she tried to kill you last time, so I’d rather not leave you alone.”

  Magic tingled in his hands. No, not yet. He forced his magic to stay back. He could feel it beginning to work, and jerked his hand away from Nan.

  “The magic is making him sick,” Gerik said. “Look how pale he’s gotten. Come on, let’s just step out for a minute. It’s all right, Freddy. We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

  “Why don’t you let me handle this?” Uncle snapped. “Your soft approach has caused far, far too much trouble as it is. Freddy…you remember. The welfare of your family depends on your cooperation. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  They slipped out the door. Freddy knew he had only moments, but if he could get Nan out of here, bring her somewhere safe…

  He noticed the fireplace behind him. Quietly, he drew the poker out from its stand. His hand clenched around it. He would have only one chance to strike at Uncle and Gerik. One chance without a guard at the door.

  He hurried over to Nan and grabbed her hand. A warm rush of magic flowed from his hands, and he exhaled with relief.

  Her fingers stirred beneath his touch while a wave of nausea rippled through him. His ears filled with a resonant thrum like a bow drawn slowly over the strings of a giant cello. The sound was beautiful, like the very sound of magic itself, and he felt as if something were taken from him and given, both at once. As if some greater force than his own magic worked through him. “Nan—” His eyes filled with stars, and he kept clutching her hand, even when he couldn’t see, reeling under the waves of power sweeping through him. It had never felt like this before.

  She coughed, sounding weak.