Gods of Manhattan

by Scott Mebus

  And out came the prettiest three-part harmony Rory had heard in a long while. Rory’s heart lifted at the sound. There weren’t too many people on the subway car, but the Troubadours held everyone’s complete attention until the song ended with a lovely, long chord.

  “Thank you, my fellow New Yorkers. You are too kind. So don’t be shy ’bout provin’ it!”

  They launched into a bouncier tune while they walked down the car collecting money. The smiling man held out his hat, a beaten-up fedora that quickly filled with an impressive number of bills. Eventually, he stopped in front of Rory and Bridget. Bridget pulled on Rory’s arm, wanting him to toss in a dollar. Rory reached into his pocket and snagged one. He was about to drop it in the hat when the man grabbed his wrist. Rory looked up to see the man staring at him intently.

  “Don’t you worry ’bout that. Put your money back in your pocket. We don’ take dollars from the likes a’ you.”

  Rory pulled his hand back. The man still stared at him, with the other two coming up behind him. They all looked down at Rory knowingly. He shrank back.

  “What are you talking about?”

  The man with the grin winked.

  “What do you dream ’bout, I wonder. I bet I know.”

  Rory started. “Who are you?”

  The smiling man made a soothing sound. “Don’ you be frightened, boy. We mean you no harm. The Troubadours are your friends, you can count on that. And maybe one day you can be our friend, too.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “It’s all in the eyes,” the smiling man said. “Anyone can see it, if they’re looking for it. You’d do well to remember that. I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure. After all, you can’t hide. Not anymore.”

  He poured the money from his hat into a little bag at his belt and placed the hat back on his head. He gave a little mock tip of the cap and then turned to walk on. The other two Troubadours followed suit, tipping their caps. They began to sing a catchy tune about the city, snapping their fingers as they disappeared through the door at the end of the car.

  Rory didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride home. He kept picturing the singer’s eyes as he told Rory he couldn’t hide. Shuddering, he pulled at his bracelet. It was okay. He was safe. For now…

  They reached their apartment without any more adventures. Night had fallen, but Mrs. Hennessy still hadn’t come home from work. Rory immediately locked himself in his room, leaving Bridget to talk to him through his door. But though she tried to needle him into telling her what he was going to do, she was met with silence.

  Giving up, Bridget skipped over to the bathroom. She washed her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. Hex’s plan seemed pretty simple. They’d break into this bank where the belt was being held. Hex said he knew where the other items were, the key and the lock, and he’d pick them up on the way. When everything was brought together, Rory would put on the belt, turn the key, and let the Munsees free. Then no one would want him anymore and he could go back to his normal life. Easy as pie. If it was up to her, they’d already be on their way to that vault, off to the rescue. She pictured those poor frightened Indians waiting to be freed. They’d be staring at that blue shield, wishing it would fall. Then suddenly there’d be a rumble and a loud flash. When the smoke cleared, lo and behold a huge hole would appear right in the center of the Trap. And standing in the middle, smoking megagun in her hand, would be the most beautiful girl in the world: Bridget the Brave.

  She smiled at this mental picture. She wondered where she’d find a megagun. Hex probably had one. You didn’t go on a rescue mission without a megagun. That’s just standard operating procedure. She’d better be allowed to fire it. It was what she was good for, after all.

  Sure, she was jealous. Rory had these great powers. And she couldn’t even move when her brother was attacked. You always rush to help your companions when they’re in danger. Once again, it’s standard procedure in the hero business. She’d seen all the sword and sorcery flicks like The Lord of the Rings. She loved space epics like Star Trek and even ancient classics like Star Wars. But her absolute favorite was Charlie’s Angels. Pretty and butt-kicking at the same time. Just like her.

  Bridget did a karate chop with her hands. She let out a blood-curdling yell and swung a death blow through the air. The yell turned to a whimper of pain as she accidentally slammed her palm into the electric-toothbrush holder. She hopped around the bathroom, waving her hand frantically. Stupid.

  Still rubbing her palm, she left the bathroom, went into her bedroom, and closed the door. Flopping on her bed, she reached over and picked up her only Barbie doll. She normally didn’t play with such girlie things, but her brother had given it to her for Christmas and so she’d decided to keep the doll but give it a Bridget-style makeover. She’d wrapped a bandanna around the Barbie’s head and taped a huge double-edged sword from one of Rory’s old toys to her hand. This was Malibu Death Barbie. A fashion-conscious dealer of justice. The last thing her enemies saw before their horrible dismemberment was a flash of pink lipstick and a really big knife.

  Why couldn’t she be like Malibu Death Barbie? If only she could see what Rory saw without his help. She wouldn’t be any help if she couldn’t even see what was coming until it was too late. She scanned the room intently, peering into every nook and cranny. Nothing. Not even a pixie.

  She dropped her head to the pillow. She was useless. No wonder her dad had left. He probably looked down at her crying in her crib and decided that he couldn’t take being around such a useless, stupid baby. But she really didn’t believe that. She could see him smiling in his photos and she knew he’d never just abandon them. She turned onto her back, thinking. She’d always believed that he was out there fighting to get back to them.

  And now there was a whole world of danger and magic around them. Maybe he was caught up in it! Maybe he was just like Rory, with special powers and a need to do what’s right. Maybe he was out there right now, fighting down in the subways and through the alleys, trying to make sure justice was done. Her eyes shone at the thought.

  She’d be strong, like her father and Rory. Her brother was going to need her, she knew it, and when that day came she’d be ready. She wouldn’t let him down again. She would come through, just like Malibu Death Barbie would. She’d come through and then some.

  That night, Rory dreamed of his father. As always, his dream was vivid, almost more like a real experience than a dream. Mr. Hennessy towered over him, tickling him to make him laugh, though Rory squirmed as he tried to get away. A younger Mrs. Hennessy sat at the table in the corner, baby Bridget laughing in her arms. Bridget loved to laugh as a baby. But Rory didn’t feel like laughing. He knew something was happening.

  Mr. Hennessy stood up and pulled his jacket over his big shoulders. Mrs. Hennessy looked up from feeding and asked him to pick up some cheese and juice while he was out. He smiled and promised that he’d be back in a jiffy. The smile never reached his eyes.

  Mr. Hennessy made a face at baby Bridget. She laughed, taken in by him as always. He looked down at Rory sitting on the floor and threw him a smile, too. He’d be right back, he promised. With gummy worms from the store just for his little soldier. But Rory suspected that this was a trick. He’d learned from a young age that Mr. Hennessy loved to play tricks—on Mom, on Rory, on everyone. Mr. Hennessy was the king of tricks, and Rory expected no less this time around. What kind of trick this new one would be, he had no idea. He’d have to wait and see the big finish.

  But then something else caught his eye, down on the floor, by the heating vent. A cockroach, standing up, waving at him. He waved back. Mr. Hennessy’s smile slipped a little. Rory laughed as the cockroach waved again, its tiny antennae wiggling. His smile gone completely, Mr. Hennessy gave Rory one last strange look before opening the door and striding through it, closing it behind him firmly with a dull thud. Rory knew he was gone for good. His daddy’s last big trick was a disappearing act. Rory didn’
t even cry. He felt anger, so much anger. He ran up to the window and called for his secret friend at the top of his lungs. He called him to make it all go away….

  Rory awoke in a cold sweat. The moon still shone through his window, and his clock informed him it was the middle of the night. Mumbling to himself, he turned over and fell back asleep, never noticing the small form on the windowsill, watching him from the darkness.

  7

  THE GHOSTLY SHIP

  The moon shone down as Alexa hurried up the walk to the little town house with the small, gated lawn that sat at the end of the alley, hemmed in on both sides by soaring skyscrapers. She pushed through the gate and knocked on the door, glancing behind her to make sure no one was watching. Eventually, she heard a latch turn. The door opened to reveal Councilor Whitman, God of Optimism.

  “Alexa! What a magnificent surprise!” he exclaimed, showering her with exclamation points, as usual.

  “It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, smiling wryly at the god’s enthusiasm.

  “Come in, come in,” Whitman said, ushering her through the door. He led her to his small study, where she plopped down on an overstuffed chair. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Father would always stay with you when he went to council meetings. He’d often say that you and Caesar Prince were the only two councilors he trusted, and with Caesar it was more of an understanding than trust.”

  “Well, Caesar is an odd bird,” Whitman admitted. “But he was the only one besides your father on the council who maintained that the First Adviser was up to no good. Without any proof, of course.”

  “You can’t tell me you think Kieft had nothing to do with my father’s death!”

  Whitman sighed.

  “Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn’t. But bringing it up again and again will only close people’s ears to your warnings. Kieft bound a lot of people to him when he sprung his trap on the Indians. I think deep inside their hearts many knew it wasn’t right, but they were frightened of the Munsees and so they went along with it, and not reluctantly, either. To believe that Kieft is an evil murderer now would be to admit that they did a horrible wrong back then, and no one is prepared to do that. Not yet, at any rate. But I’m not blind. I can see that more and more longtime councilors are being replaced by low-level lackeys. Johnny Randel Jr.? It’s an outrage, a disservice to your father’s memory. But you need proof, not baseless accusations. And the fact that no god can be a party to another god’s murder is a strong mark against your case. But that being said, I know everything will work out swimmingly, you just wait and see!”

  Alexa almost snorted. The irrepressible god just couldn’t go more than a few minutes without looking on the bright side. It was more than a little annoying.

  “Father once told me that he stayed with you so often, he began leaving some of his books here,” she said. “I was hoping to go through them.”

  Whitman pointed to the stairs.

  “He left scores of books in his room upstairs. You’re welcome to them. I’m sure you’ll find something helpful!”

  Rory hadn’t slept well, and so he had no patience the next morning when Bridget burst into his room.

  “We can be there by noon if we hurry!”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Rory said. “And neither are you.”

  “But the Munsees…you have to do it!”

  “I don’t have to do anything. They’re not family. It’s sad, but that doesn’t mean I have to risk your life and Mom’s life and mine for them.”

  “But the balance.”

  “How do we even know Hex is telling the truth?” Rory asked. “We don’t know him. Anyway, he said there will be other Lights. Let one of them grow up and take care of this.”

  “They won’t grow up! They’ll be taken.” Bridget was hopping up and down she was so mad.

  “I wasn’t taken by anything. If I survived, they can survive.”

  “But…”

  “Look, I haven’t made up my mind yet. Maybe I will do it. Maybe I’ll go risk my life and our family’s future based on some crazy magician telling me I have to save some Indian tribe I’ve never even heard of before. Who knows. But Hex doesn’t need you either way. The last thing I want to do is explain to Mom why another member of the family is never coming home. So no matter what I decide, you can just forget about coming along.”

  Bridget got right in Rory’s face.

  “If it were me—”

  Rory exploded.

  “Well, it’s not you. It’s me. And you’re not going anywhere near Raisin Street. That’s the way it’s going to be.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” Bridget replied. “You’re not my father!”

  “Well, the next time you see Dad, you ask him what he thinks you should do! Until then you do what I say!”

  Bridget burst into tears and ran out of the room. Rory felt bad, but he couldn’t risk her. It was too dangerous.

  Even Mrs. Hennessy noticed something was wrong. At breakfast she sat through the silence between her two children. After trying in vain to get a conversation started, she made an attempt to get to the bottom of it.

  “Is something going on between you two?”

  Rory shook his head while Bridget glowered.

  “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “I could store frozen turkeys in here, it’s so frigid. Did you guys have a fight?”

  Bridget looked sideways at Rory.

  “Rory won’t take me out. I want to go…”

  She trailed off, remembering her vow of silence.

  “Where, honey? Where do you want Rory to take you?”

  Trapped, Bridget thought quickly.

  “Shopping. I wanted to go shopping, and Rory wouldn’t take me.”

  Rory stepped in quickly.

  “We don’t have the money right now.”

  Mrs. Hennessy looked pained.

  “What do you need, honey? Maybe I can pick it up for you on the way home from work.”

  Bridget shrank, hating that money had come into the conversation. Rory felt ashamed for his part in bringing it up. There was never enough money. They all knew it, and they never mentioned it.

  “It’s not important,” Bridget said.

  Mrs. Hennessy wouldn’t have it.

  “We can go shopping today. I’ve barely taken a vacation in two years. Mr. Corgin can give me a day. I’ll get you whatever you want. My treat.”

  Bridget smiled bravely, caught. She couldn’t say no now.

  “Sounds great.”

  “It’ll be just us girls. It’ll be fun!”

  Mrs. Hennessy went back to eating. Bridget and Rory exchanged a glance, feud momentarily forgotten in their concern. They’d have to be more careful from now on. No matter what happened, their mother was to be left in the dark.

  Mrs. Hennessy got her day off, though it didn’t sound like her boss was happy about it, which made everyone nervous. But she never wavered, rushing Bridget through breakfast to get them on the subway and downtown before the morning slipped by. Rory watched them go, glad to get his sister out of the way. He sat in the empty apartment for a while, trying to figure out what he should do. Not getting anywhere, he pulled on some old sneakers, grabbed his basketball, and ran out the door into the brightening morning.

  The basketball courts where Rory played cut into Inwood Hill Park, which was right around the corner from his house. A lifelong resident of Inwood, Mrs. Hennessy loved to point out that Inwood Hill Park was home to the only primeval forest still left on the island of Manhattan. Only here did anything remain from the beginnings of New York; the rest had been cut down and paved over long ago. The trees grew tall and dense along the cliffs of Inwood Hill Park, where small paths led toward the top, looking down on the two rivers bleeding into each other far below. Rory had wandered along the trails a few times as a boy, but he never liked the way it felt under the ancient trees. It was as easy to lose your way on the ancient paths as it was deep within the windi
ng streets of Greenwich Village. There were many stories of young lovers getting lost and being led astray. First they’d hear strange sounds, then far-off laughter. The trees would rustle above them, limbs bending under the invisible weight of something stalking them from up high. Frightened, the couple would bolt, heading for safety. Thinking they were running back toward the tame park around the pond, they’d instead find themselves bursting out of the trees into the nothingness high above the Hudson. They’d grasp in vain for the cliff face behind them, and no one would hear them scream as they fell into the raging river below. This forest was small but mean, like a tiny pit bull on a leash. Admired from a distance, but approached at your own peril.

  The area at the base of the cliffs by the river had been cleared to make room for several playing fields, including a section dedicated to basketball. Rory grabbed a court with an old rim at the end. It had been bent from a few too many hanging dunks, and he had to adjust his angles to make his shots. After fifteen minutes or so, he was hitting baseline jumpers and kisses off the glass like always. He sure could shoot, if he did say so himself. Even the homeboys from Washington Heights were impressed by this little white boy knocking down fifteen-foot jumpers like nothing. He worked on that jumper as his mind ran through Hex’s proposition.

  The plan seemed pretty dangerous. They’d break into this bank where the belt was being held. Hex said he knew where the other items were—the key and the lock—and when everything was brought together, Rory would put on the belt, turn the key, and let the Munsees free. Then no one would want him anymore, and he could go back to his normal life. A little danger in exchange for his life back. Was that so bad?

  He set himself to take another shot, but just as he launched the ball into the air, a horn blared loudly nearby, startling him into sending the ball over the backboard and into the trees. He looked around, but no one else seemed to have noticed. He’d heard that horn before, back when he first saw the Indian in the trees. But he didn’t see any Indians now. Shaking his head to clear it, he walked over toward the trees to grab his ball. He bent over to pick it up but almost dropped it again when another horn note sounded, this one almost in his ear. Rory straightened up quickly to look around, but he didn’t see anyone with a horn. He turned toward the river, and what he saw through the trees drove the horn right out of his head.