by Mia Strange
I gasped and looked into his green cat—like eyes with surprise. “Holy shit,” was all I could manage.
“You got that right, Skye. Do you feel it? What the hell is that?” Pilot asked the question like it was everyday he fell from the sky and landed next to me.
“Not sure,” I said as my heart continued to slam into my chest.
“Don’t know,” whispered Jin, still feeling the effects of the magic all around us.
Pilot reached over and using a series of snaps, ties, and buckles, undid the heavy leather straps that fit the crossbow snug into his mechanical arm. His nimble fingers flew over a complex array of gears. The heavy weapon let out a burst of steam, and then it clattered next to me as it hit the pavement.
Stretching out the arm that was held together with riveted plates of brass, copper and steel, Pilot moved each metal finger making sure they were in perfect working order. The thumb stuck out at an odd angle. “Damn it,” he said.
“Makes it tough for a thumb war,” said Jin raising an eyebrow. “Plus, it looks weird.”
I shook my head. That’s our Jin. Making a bad situation, worse.
“What?” She removed her hold on me. “It’s true.”
I struggled to my knees and leaned against Pilot. He put his human arm around me. “Dark will fix it,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Still.”
Pilot wore black clothing of mostly leather. His knee—high boots were reinforced with steel in the toes and blades hidden in the heels. Endless rows of razor—sharp buckles rode up the sides. Pilot always said that if The Ignored came after his boots, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. Without Pilot’s brass fingers to aid in the unbuckling, they’d lose one finger after another.
Snug pants of soft worn leather hugged his powerful frame. A long—sleeved thermal peeked out from under a vest lined with hidden knives. A belt with thick rivets circled his slender waist. The buckle of hammered steel bore the image of a silver skull with crossed wings underneath. The small wings looked deceptively pretty and decorative, but in reality? The wings were blades. Blades so sharp that they could slit a throat, glide through a femoral artery, and slice through bone like butter.
Pilot’s mostly brass mechanical arm, as much a part of him now as the heart beating inside his chest, looked like shiny, solid gold.
An indication that he too, came from the show, was the over—the—top cape and the gold glitter laced through his hair. The color of a wheat field at sunrise, his hair lay in golden curls that framed his face. His neck, damp with sweat, made the curls stick to his skin and stay put in perfect little ringlets. A smile tugged at my lips. Pilot was a tough guy. He hated that his hair curled.
White theatrical make—up caked his smooth complexion, while his green, kohl—lined eyes stood out in startling contrast. Long, dark lashes, feathered with glitter, made his remarkable eyes sparkle like emeralds.
Pilot knelt beside me, his crouch defensive and ready, like a large cat ready to pounce. The tip of his tongue played against the surgical steel of his lower lip ring, twirling it round and round while he assessed the situation.
For a moment he let go of me and reached out into thin air. He tried to grasp at what he could feel all around him. He tried to grasp at what he couldn’t see.
Pilot came up empty, his fist clenched. “Do you feel it? What is it?”
He put his arm securely around me once more, pulling me into him. We were close to the same age. Pilot had a few years on me. But when he put his arm around me like this, when he protected me, I always felt like a kid sister who couldn’t fend for herself. I didn’t like the feeling, and yet tonight, if I was honest, I guess there was some truth in that. Tonight, I did feel like I needed protection.
“I so feel it,” said Jin. “So did the Zoms. At least the few that are left.”
“Well, whatever it is, it’s fucking strong. But benevolent in nature.”
“You sure?” Jin asked, skepticism laced through her voice.
“Yeah,” Pilot nodded. “I think we’re good.”
I looked around at the street littered with smoldering Zombie bodies. At the debris of bricks and dust and timber from downed buildings. I looked over at the now furious and getting more furious, Bone Man.
I leaned back into Pilot. He felt solid and warm and safe. “Yeah,” I said. “I think we’re good.”
Jin popped her gum. “Delusional. You’re both delusional.”
“Good to have you back, Skye,” Pilot said ignoring Jin, because sometimes, that’s just what you must do. “No offense,” he looked down at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “But you look like shit. All the blood and purple bruising kind of ruins it, ya know?”
“Ruins what?” asked Jin.
“Don’t ask,” I said, knowing full well what was coming.
“Ruins the whole leather mini skirt and corset appeal she usually has going on. You know,” he winked. “I miss Sexy Skye.”
“Oh please, Pilot.” Jin shook her head. “You are such a guy. You make her sound like that vintage Barbie Doll we found. You know. The one with the big boobs? That can’t possibly be Skye.”
I couldn’t help it. I looked down at my chest. My unimpressive chest. Great. “Thanks, Jin.” I sighed. Could this night get any worse? I mean really.
“Come on, Skye. Don’t be so sensitive. You know what I mean. Some have it, some—”
“Jin.” I cut her off. Damn, I was beginning to think dying tonight might be a blessing.
Pilot laughed. “I think you’re perfect.” He squeezed my shoulder.
I winked at him with the eye that wasn’t swollen. “No worries. Tonight, I’m just Zombie—Ravaged Barbie, complete with missing hair.” I lifted some strands and showed them the bald spot.
Jin’s reaction was pure shock. But then in true Jin form, she laughed and pulled out a can of spray paint. The can read Mocha Brown. She grabbed another that said, Brick House Red.
“Nothing a little zap of spray paint won’t hide.” She gave the cans two quick shakes and uncapped them. We’ll just do a little mix of colors to match your henna and—”
I dropped my hair back in place and I leaned away. Fast. “Thanks, but I think I’ll go old school. It’s called, let it grow back.”
Jin, looking disappointed, holstered the cans and shrugged. “Suit yourself, Skye. But it shows.”
“Oh. Thanks, Jin. I feel so much better.” I shook my head.
Pilot turned and knelt in front of me with concern and worry creasing his brow. Even with thick theatrical makeup on, his twin dimples couldn’t stay hidden.
“Tell me. You are not Bite—Marked Barbie.” His voice caught. “Are you? Please say you’re not.” Leaving me to balance on my own, he reached into his vest and pulled out a wicked knife. He gripped the hilt until his knuckles turned white. His hand, usually so steady, so sure, trembled. The blade shook right along with it.
I knew it broke his heart to pull a knife on me. Hell. It broke my heart.
“No,” I shook my head and reached out to gently lower the blade. “I’m only Beaten, Bruised, Stab—Wound—Barbie. Honest.” I looked out over the sea of zombies that looked like arrow pin cushions and shuddered. “This time,” I added.
I heard Jin snort next to us. “Like I would let that happen. Please.”
Pilot bent, holstered his weapon, and touched his forehead to mine. “Thank God. Thank God.”
A cloud of steam engulfed us. Hidden magic reached out in a tropical whiff of island breeze that smelled of coconuts and suntan lotion and sea salt from a breaking surf. For a moment, it fluttered in our hair. Then it was gone. Evaporated. Poof. Nothing.
“This is one strange day,” Pilot said looking around.
“Strange day.” I agreed. “And even a stranger night.”
“What’s next?” Jin rubbed her arms and looked around us.
“Dr. Dark,” I said.
We watched him move toward us. Closer and closer.
“He always finds us,” Jin whispered in awe. “He always comes back. Raw emotion laced through her voice and the sheen of tears welled in her eyes. “Always.”
Jin was right. Dark always returned to us after a journey of dowsing.
But none of us were ever allowed to go with him.
Not once.
“No help,” he would say. “Only I can find the lines. And if you’re caught off the rails too far from the train. . .”
And that stopped us.
It didn’t take much of an excuse for The Gov to snatch a loose and unattended kid.
So, we waited. We watched for him. And we welcomed him home.
But moments like this? These private moments of Dr. Dark’s were so revered, so rare, that right now, right this minute, we all knew exactly what it meant.
The Ley line was here.
Here, with death all around us, amongst the violence of shades and zombies and The Ignored, Dr. Dark had found the Seattle Ley line. This was the ancient line that had brought us to the city in the first place. This was the small miracle that would lead us one step closer to salvation.
A major puzzle piece was here. A clue. And this one also lived and breathed, just like Darius.
As Dr. Dark drew nearer, his bent frame looked frail and weak. His wire spectacles perched on the edge of a nose that had been broken too many times. Elaborate brass goggles hung around his neck, tangled in his long gray beard.
His gray military coat, trimmed in burgundy crushed— velvet, almost touched the ground. The garment tapered around his waist, then flared out, sweeping around him as he moved. The coat hid his ankle length boots. Boots that would be polished, spotless, perfect.
His coat, left open to the elements, swept out behind him in the wind. Pinstriped trousers were revealed, along with a pearl—gray brocade vest buttoned over a crisp white shirt. Buttons, made with small, highly polished brass gears, a gift from a female Tinker, lined the left side of his coat. An exquisite silk tie knotted at Dark’s thin, aging neck.
So. Dr. Dark too, was dressed for the stage. His burgundy, Prussian wool Bowler sat low on his head, casting his ancient features in soft shadows. All the while his long gray hair, whisper thin and flowing, trailed behind him until the strands became one with the surrounding fog.
Flanked by Dagger, his Great Dane, Dark made his way out of the steam and mist. Dagger, the color of the deepest part of midnight, sniffed the night air. The dog’s magnificent ears were alert and stood in perfect high points. His long, graceful strides were in sharp contrast with his raised hackles and bared, wicked—sharp teeth.
Dagger’s sleek coat, sprinkled with silver glitter, glistened like thousands of tiny diamonds under the light of the full moon. His thick woven collar was blood red. Thinly hammered plates of brass adorned all four legs. The shin guards were engraved with the Academy shield, kind of like as Jin had pointed out, ‘a really cool doggie license.’
But just in case someone wanted Dagger on a spit roasting over a fire, a tiny protection ward made up of coral and turquoise and silver star charms, hung from the dog’s right ear. Dru may not be with us right now, but her handy work, her magic, in the form of this small piercing, was.
Dagger carried with him the protection of one of the most powerful witches in the world. A witch that was only twenty years old. Try and harm the dog? And the ward harms you.
May God help the person, or monster, that wanted to turn Dr. Dark’s beloved Dagger into a hotdog.
The image of two lethal daggers, were shaved into the dog’s fur on either side. With the right magic, our magic, the knives would solidify and could be called into use.
Dagger growled low and flashed his teeth. Sensing evil afoot, he would not leave Dark’s side this night. The dog knew the dangers only too well. Unlike Onyx, Dagger was the real thing. Flesh. Blood. Canine. And just like the rest of us, the dog was magical.
When you belong to Dr. Dark, you learn to accept the danger. You learn to embrace it. It’s all in keeping your enemy close. And Dark was not the only one who lived the code. We all did.
Unlike his Dane, Dark did not move with elegance and grace. Movement did not come easily, but rather he moved slowly, almost decrepitly, as only the aged do. He took care, even in his extreme concentration, not to slip or fall. “One cannot risk a broken hip in this world,” he would say to our audience. “One cannot be too careful.”
Dark passed by us, his piercing blue eyes watering from the steam and burn of acid—rain. Tears ran down his wrinkled, withered face.
Whining, Dagger paused and licked my cheek. The giant dog ignored Jin, turning up his magnificent nose to the girl as he trotted off to once again melt against Dr. Dark’s side.
“Guess he still remembers when you sprayed him up as a zebra,” I said, wiping my damp cheek with the back of my hand.
“Come on,” said Jin. “We’re talking Halloween here. I did Dagger a doggie favor. He was the only one without a costume.”
“Yeah, said Pilot. “But he was the only one that had to wear his costume for over a month.”
“Water—based. It was supposed to be water—based.”
“Get a refund?” I asked sweetly knowing full well she stole every can of paint she owned. I got paid back by a sharp jab to the ribs that made me gasp.
“Jin.” Pilot’s voice was laced with warning.
“Oh. Sorry, Skye,” she said just as sweetly back to me. “Did that hurt? Oops.”
I wrapped my arms around my ribs and shook my head. I couldn’t fight her now. Hell. I couldn’t fight her ever. My vanity wouldn’t let me.
Jin had been with us about a month when we tangled. We were both young, it was a silly fight, but, being older, I had gotten the best of her. Or so I thought. Later that night, she tiptoed into my railcar, and shaved off one of my eyebrows. The very thought made me reach up and smooth my eyebrows. Jin saw me, giggled, and started to hum an old, annoying song she learned at karaoke called Memories. I scowled at her. The words ‘playing fair’ were so not in her wheelhouse.
The three of us went back to watching Dark. He continued, moving as if possessed. In a way I guess he was. For only through dowsing could Dr. Dark find the Ley line. A line only he could follow.
Until tonight.
The Seattle Ley line ran right in front of me, in front of Jin. It ran right in front of my nose.
I tried to register what my mind was telling me. Yes, Dr. Dark could find the line, but for the first time ever, I was the one that could see it.
This was a game changer.
Dr. Dark’s solo trips into the Ash Lands and places beyond, were over.
After tonight, he’d have a partner.
That would be me.
Dr. Dark approached the entrance to the morgue. Just a foot before he reached my wall of magic, magic that had been sewn together between chaos and magical steam, Dark stopped. He turned to stare at me. Carefully holstering his pocket watch inside his coat, he stroked his long thin beard. He looked at me completely lucid, alert, and well, pissed.
A wild gray eyebrow rose in question.
Okay.
Guess now was a good time to let The Bone Man out. I looked over at Jin, who stood up, crossed her arms, tapped a zombie—goo stained sneaker toe at me, and cocked her head striking that perfect urban girl pose.
“Skye? After you let The Bone Man out, don’t forget your boyfriend.”
I frowned at Jin, while Pilot helped me up. “Boyfriend?” he asked. He looked over at where The Bone Man and Zombie Phil were trapped. Phil was licking the invisible wall. Pilot shook his head. “What’s Phil got that I don’t?” Amusement flared in his eyes.
Damn it. I shook my head. Using Pilot as a crutch, I leaned on him while I gingerly stepped on the Ley line. I knew exactly where the line was, it would be hard to miss the sparkles after all. An electric jolt shot through me and I gasped. I nearly tumbled off the line into Pilot.
“What is it?” Pilot asked alarmed.
I tried my best to focus, to pull up just the exact slice of magic I needed, the way Dark had taught me. I could feel the familiar tingling and burning in my core. My heartbeat soared. Blood pumped through my veins hard and fast. The pressure would have killed a normal person. But I was far from normal.
My magic was here, so close to the surface. And suddenly, I had help.
The steam rolled in, covering me and the others, hiding the flash of brilliant magic that flew down the line, smashing into the wall that held The Bone Man. I could just make out the look of shock on Dr. Dark’s face as the magic passed under his booted feet. Of course, he felt it. He was too powerful not to. He stared at me. Questions hung in his eyes.
The wall melted, turning into a liquid jumble of slush and ice.
Phil pushed forward, shoving, grunting. The Bone Man lost his balance in the mess underfoot and went down hard. Once again Phil tumbled with him, and in a summersault of gray and slush and water, the zombie landed smack on top of The Bone Man.
Dead weight. All. Over. Again.
Boy. Was I ever going to hear about this.
12
The Madison moved slowly through the crumbling and decaying side streets of Seattle. The chill of darkness and despair, of hopelessness and fear, seemed to permeate our iron walls. Even The Madison, as well built as she was, couldn’t keep out the stench of death, or the pressing, claustrophobic feeling of a city dying all around us.
Once called the Emerald City, and located on the now not so sparkling shores of Puget Sound, Seattle was a mere shell, a shadow really, of its former, beautiful self. Dank, dark and dangerous, the city joined the fate of others all around the world. And like all the rest of our urban landscapes, Seattle, in the now defunct State of Washington, was crawling toward a slow but oh so sure death.
Strangled by a corrupt system of government, The Gov, ruled with a fist of iron and a heart of cold, unforgiving steel. Cities across our nation, the last strong holds of civilization, were folding in upon themselves.
