Fantasy & Science Fiction - JanFeb 2017
Page 1
Kindle Edition, 2016 © Spilogale Inc.
* * *
Fantasy & Science Fiction
Table of Contents | 213 words
January/February • 68th Year of Publication
NOVELLAS
Homecoming Rachel Pollack
NOVELETS
Vinegar and Cinnamon Nina Kiriki Hoffman
One Way Rick Norwood
Dunnage for the Soul Robert Reed
There Used to Be Olive Trees Rich Larson
SHORT STORIES
The Regression Test Wole Talabi
A Gathering on Gravity's Shore Gregor Hartmann
On the Problem of Replacement Children: Prevention, Coping, and Other Practical Strategies Debbie Urbanski
Alexandria Monica Byrne
Wetherfell's Reef Runics Marc Laidlaw
POEMS
Kingship Mary Soon Lee
DEPARTMENTS
Books To Look For Charles de Lint
Books James Sallis
Science: Brainless Robots Stroll the Beach Pat Murphy and Paul Doherty
Television: Stranger (Yet Oddly Familiar) Things Tim Pratt
Coming Attractions
Curiosities David Langford
CARTOONS: Arthur Masear , Bill Long .
Cover by Charles Vess For "Vinegar and Cinnamon"
GORDON VAN GELDER, Publisher
C.C. FINLAY, Editor
BARBARA J. NORTON, Assistant Publisher
KEITH KAHLA, Assistant Publisher
ROBIN O'CONNOR, Assistant Editor
STEPHEN L. MAZUR, Assistant Editor
LISA ROGERS, Assistant Editor
CAROL PINCHEFSKY, Contests Editor
HARLAN ELLISON, Film Editor
The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction (ISSN 1095-8258), Volume 132, No. 1 & 2, Whole No. 729, January/February 2017. Published bimonthly by Spilogale, Inc. at $7.99 per copy. Annual subscription $47.94; $59.94 outside of the U.S. Postmaster: send form 3579 to Fantasy & Science Fiction, PO Box 3447, Hoboken, NJ 07030. Publication office, 105 Leonard St., Jersey City, NJ 07307. Periodical postage paid at Hoboken, NJ 07030, and at additional mailing offices. Printed in U.S.A. Copyright © 2016 by Spilogale, Inc. All rights reserved.
Distributed by Curtis Circulation Co., 730 River Rd. New Milford, NJ 07646
GENERAL AND EDITORIAL OFFICE: PO BOX 3447, HOBOKEN, NJ 07030
www.fandsf.com
* * *
Homecoming
By Rachel Pollack | 22786 words
Jack Shade is a private investigator, occultist, and shaman—just the sort of man you'd want to turn to when noir shadows conceal the otherworldly. He debuted in our pages with "Jack Shade in the Forest of Souls" (Jul/Aug 2012), and returned in "The Queen of Eyes" (Sept/Oct 2013) and "Johnny Rev" (July/Aug 2015). This latest tale is his most complex and difficult mystery yet.
Readers who are fans of Rachel Pollack know that she is also a renowned expert in divinatory tradition, and may be interested to hear that she is currently working with artist Robert Place to create The Raziel Tarot, a deck based on the three thousand years of Jewish myth, lore, and magic.
We want what is real
We want what is real
Do not deceive us
Bald Eagle Song, from Crow Indians
1.
CAROL ACKER SAT ON THE other side of the table from Jack Shade, her eyes downcast on the smooth mahogany surface as she tried to keep her hands from whatever nervous habit she didn't want to display. This was Jack's office, but really it was just another room in the Hôtel de Rêve Noir, Jack's home for the past twelve years. Carol had come to the hotel because that was the address on the card that began "John Shade, Traveler." The hotel owner, Irene Yao, had brought Jack first the card, and then the client.
Now Jack wondered what Mrs. Yao had thought of Carol Acker. Would this prim, old-fashioned white woman seem as out of place to elegant Mrs. Yao as she did to Jack? Jack's usual clients included seers, sorcerers, dream hunters, even an occasional golem. Carol looked as small-town normal as you could get. Hair cut in a style that was pretty enough but you'd forget it the moment you walked away. Face and makeup the same. She wore a gray wool dress with a round collar, long sleeves, and a hemline that reached a couple of inches below her knees. Her left hand bore an unadorned wedding band and a narrow engagement ring with a small but well-cut diamond, yet Jack found himself looking at a ring on her right hand, silver with an unshaped lump of black onyx set on top of it.
Jack said, "Mrs. Acker, what can I do for you?"
She had trouble raising her head to meet his gaze, but when she did, her gray eyes appeared to have a greater depth than Jack might have expected. He felt a slight relief when she looked away. She said, "I'm—do you think I could have a cup of coffee?"
"Sure," Jack said, and dialed room service. "Milk and sugar?" he asked, and she nodded. When he'd placed the order, he told her "They'll be up in a moment. Why don't you start by telling me what's going on?"
"Well, that's just it," she said, eyes once more cast down toward her hands. "It's nothing, really. It's…just a kind of feeling."
"What kind of feeling?"
"That something is missing. I'm sorry, I know how vague that sounds."
"That's all right. It's a start. Tell me about your life, about what's missing."
"I don't know . I mean, I like my life. I've been married thirty years, I have two wonderful children, and three beautiful grandchildren. I'm active in the church and I enjoy it. Just a couple of months ago they actually gave me a small award. For my volunteer service. It's a good life, really it is."
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of Carol's coffee. Room service was always fast when Jack had a client. After he'd tipped the waiter and closed the door, Jack said, "Let's cut to the chase, Carol. Just what is it that's troubling you?"
Staring down at the cup in her hands, she said again, "I keep feeling like something is missing."
"What kind of something?"
"I don't—just some part of me, something very deep."
"How long have you felt this way?"
"As long as I can remember. And now that I'm getting older it feels more urgent. Like time is running out on something very important. Does that sound…foolish?"
Jack guessed she meant "insane," but all he said was, "Not at all. It's what you feel." Christ , he thought, I'm turning into a therapist .
She sipped her coffee. "I keep wondering, maybe something terrible happened to me. When I was very young. I've read about that. Something bad happens to a child and they send part of themselves away. The part that remembers."
Jack nodded. "I know. It's called dissociation."
"No, no," she said, and annoyance briefly flickered in her face. "That's—that's psychological. I'm talking about something.…" She stopped and looked directly at Jack. "Mr. Shade, do you know what soul retrieval is?"
Jack thought, How do I get into these things ? He said, "Yes, of course. It's when a—when someone journeys— (was that the right word?) —and brings back a missing piece of someone else."
"Yes, that's it." She nodded, with a flush of excitement. "That's what I think I need."
Jack sighed. "Mrs. Acker, I know what it is, but I'm not—I don't specialize in that. I'm sure there are better people. If you like, I could get you a referral."
"No!" she said, with more animation. "My—my husband's cousin said you were the person."
"Your husband's cousin?"
She looked down again. "Yes. I asked him to do it, and he said no."
"Why did you ask him?"
Eyes still down. "He, um, it's what he does. He's an urban s
haman."
Better and better , Jack thought. He said, "Then why'd he say no?"
"Well, I guess maybe I wasn't always as supportive as I should have been."
So, Jack figured, the church lady was a bit scornful of hubby's weird cousin, with his drums and rattles and New Age jargon. Now suddenly she wants his help. He said, "If you don't mind, Carol, how did your cousin know of me? Was he the one who gave you my card?"
She looked up at him now, hopeful. "Yes, that's right. Jerry—my cousin-in-law—he said he couldn't do it, the retrieval, but then he said he knew just the person. And he got your card from a drawer and gave it to me."
Oh shit , Jack thought. Acker! He should have realized. Jerry fucking Acker .
It was not long after the death of Jack's wife, and his daughter's banishment to the limbo of the Forest of Souls. He was Crazy Johnny back then. He'd moved into the hotel and had the cards with his new address made, but really, he had no fucking idea what he was going to do. He'd been at some party—couldn't even remember how he got there—and he'd had too much to drink, and some asshole named Jerry Acker was holding forth on his mystical journeys to the spirit world, where he hung out with angels and power animals, and other great stuff. Finally, Jack decided to teach him a lesson. He turned Jerry's cocktail glass into a pair of snakes entwined together. It was quick, and Jack made sure no one else could see it, but as poor Jerry stood there, mouth open as if he couldn't decide whether to scream or vomit, Dumbass Jack stuck one of his brand-new cards in Acker's pocket, and whispered to him, "If you ever need the real thing, Jerry boy, come find me."
And now here was Cousin Carol, who was so fucking nice she figured she must be missing some part of her goddamn soul. And she didn't even know that she had come armed with one of the world's most potent magical weapons: Jack Shade's business card. Because of a self-imposed curse—a Guest , the Travelers called it—Jack could not refuse anyone who had his card and wanted to hire him.
"Can you help me?" Carol asked.
That was the question, wasn't it? Maybe she'd been so pressured as a kid to be a proper young lady that some part of her had said, "Screw this. I'm out of here," and Jack could go find it and bring it home. He said, "If you really are missing something, I can locate it and return it to you."
"Thank you!" she said. Then, nervously, "Umm, can you tell me how much this will cost?"
Of course , Jack thought. That was one way to get rid of her, tell her some huge amount she couldn't possibly pay, and then it would be she who turned away, not him. And it wouldn't be entirely a lie. Jack's fees ranged from nothing to tens of thousands of dollars. Somehow, he could not bring himself to do that to her. He said, "Five hundred dollars."
She gulped, then nodded. "When can we do it?"
"Can you come tomorrow afternoon? Three o'clock?"
"Yes. Yes I can. Thank you."
Carol walked stiffly to the door, her hands clutching her purse in front of her like a shield. At the door she turned her head and said again, "Thank you," then quickly left, as if afraid she might embarrass herself with all that emotion.
Jack looked at the door for a moment after she left. Something felt off about this situation. Was Jerry Acker setting him up in some way? He made a face. Poor Jerry was just too much of a jerk. He couldn't have any idea of the power hidden in Jack's card. Carol herself? Jack was pretty sure her meekness was not an act. Any boldness in her soul was probably the part that left. And yet—
"Ray," he said, "what did you make of that?" Ray was Jack's guardian fox, mostly invisible even to Jack, but always around. Only this time, no golden-haired, sharp-nosed fox appeared. "What the hell?" Jack muttered, then louder, "Ray? Where are you?"
Over the next few seconds Ray flickered in and out of existence, as if he couldn't hold on. Or maybe he didn't want to be there, for when he finally manifested, his whole body was shaking. "Hey," Jack said, and knelt down to put his arms around his friend. "It's okay." He couldn't imagine what this would look like to any Linear person who happened to step into the room. Only Travelers and Powers could see creatures like Ray. "I'll be careful," Jack said. "Really I will." He let go, and Ray disappeared.
* * *
Carol arrived precisely at three the next day. She was dressed more casually, the same proper coat, but under it a light blue sweater, gray wool pants, and running shoes without any brand marks. Jack wondered if she'd read some book on soul retrieval, and it advised comfortable clothing.
Jack was dressed for work, for travel . He wore loose-fitting black jeans, high black boots with his carbon knife hidden in its sheath along the right calf, and a long-sleeved black canvas tunic buttoned to his neck. The tunic had a lot of pockets, and Jack had spent a couple of hours choosing what to put in them. He ended up with charms and small carvings, a bone flute, Monopoly money, a nineteenth-century London Bobby's police whistle, a miniature blow gun with darts, and a couple of (forged) letters of recommendation from high level Powers. Ray's strange behavior had made Jack realize this job might not be as simple as it looked, and he'd better prepare himself.
Carol stared at him, then blurted "You look darker." Immediately she gasped, and actually put her hand over her mouth, a gesture Jack found sweet. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't—I mean—"
Jack said, "I put a line of charcoal down the center of my face, and on my cheekbones."
"Oh," she said, not sure if she should be relieved, or more embarrassed. She let her attention shift to the room, where a single wooden chair stood in the center of a wide ring of rose petals. "Is that for me? Am I supposed to sit there?"
"Yes."
"It's…it's lovely. Thank you."
What it was, Jack thought, was a pain in the ass. The petals came from a pair of bushes that grew on either side of the Manhattan Gate of Paradise. They were probably the only roses outside a florist's shop in late November, but even if it had been July it wouldn't have made a difference. In New York, if you wanted to form a Whisper of Protection, as the circle was called, the petals had to come from that one Gate. And unlike the five Gates of Paradise in the other boroughs, the Manhattan Gate moved . It had taken Jack nearly three hours to track down its current location, in a nondescript stone archway at the eastern end of Broome Sreet. The whole time he was searching he told himself how ridiculous it all was, he was overdoing a very simple job. But then he thought of Ray and kept at it.
Carol asked, "What do we do?"
" You don't have to do anything, but sit in the chair. Though you probably should take your coat off and set down your purse." As Carol moved to the table, Jack said, "Do you have the fee ready? You might be emotional later and want to go straight home."
"Yes, of course," she said, and reached in her purse for a check, which she waved in the air, as if to say, "Ta da," before laying it on the table.
"Thank you," Jack said.
"And now I sit?"
"That's right." Jack watched her step carefully over the rose petals to take her place, back straight, hands folded in her lap. Jack suddenly hoped that whatever he returned to her would make her as happy as she seemed to expect. He noticed again the onyx ring on her right hand and thought how it might help, how the missing piece might appear as someone wearing the same ring. He said, "How long have you had that ring with the black stone?"
She opened her eyes to look at it. "Oh, this? I don't know, a long time. I found it in a thrift shop when I was just in high school."
Jack nodded. "We're going to start now." He stepped inside the circle.
"I'm so excited," Carol said, and closed her eyes again. "Should I meditate or something?"
"No, you just have to sit there." That sounded kind of dismissive, he thought, so he added, "I'll tell you what. Keep your eyes closed and breathe deeply, and, um, focus on welcoming home the missing part of yourself. Imagine a joyous reunion party. With a cake and candles."
Carol smiled. "That's lovely."
Jesus , Jack thought, there are people who make a livin
g saying shit like that?
Eyes closed, Carol said, "Are you going to drum now?"
"No, I don't do that. No natural rhythm."
"Oh," Carol said, and blushed.
Enough , Jack scolded himself. It was time to stop screwing with the client and get serious. He said, "Carol, it's best that we stop talking now. I won't be able to answer soon." Carol nodded, and Jack added "And if you hear or even feel anything a little strange, it's okay. Just keep your eyes closed and breathe naturally." Another nod, a little more tentative this time.
Jack began to circle her, slowly, bent toward her—and sniffing. He tried to keep it quiet but it was the only way he could find the place where the soul-piece had left the body. Carol tensed, but didn't move or speak. Jack really hoped it wouldn't be anywhere too embarrassing. Once—
Focus , he ordered himself.
Most of Carol just smelled suburban. Cheap perfume, deodorant, kitchen aromas, air freshener, body waste, and traces of male sex, but not female. Her husband had probably screwed her a couple of days ago and she'd faked orgasm. But there wasn't—there! It was just a faint acrid smell at the opening of her left ear, like a long ago cut that looks fine but has never really healed. She must have been very young, Jack thought.
He stood up, took a breath, then blew his police whistle, softly, into Carol's ear. Once, twice—
—and he was falling. He passed through layers, places, unable to hold onto anything. A café in Brooklyn where people laughed and applauded as he went by. A cheap hotel room that stank of illegal surgery. A cowboy town that might have been a movie set. A lecture hall where a group of professors were shouting at each other but turned and stared at Jack as he passed. He fell through rock walls covered in lichens as sharp as barnacles. Finally, Jack discovered he still had the police whistle in his hand. Fuck this shit , he thought, and blew the whistle as hard as he could.