by Graeme Smith
“He's not my fucki...!”
The piano player coughed. If she'd been wearing glasses, the look she gave me would have been over them.
I sighed. “I mean, he's not my boyfriend! He's only eight, for a start! Anyway. The only way his ass is going to be mine is because I'm going to put a bullet in his head. Which just means I'll have to aim at his fucki... I mean, shoot his dick off.” The look the piano player gave me this time suggested she wasn't sure which she was looking at me for – my language, or my knowledge of anatomy. I sighed. Again. “It's, like, a glamor spell. Without lace and stockings. Blowing his head off wouldn't work.”
The piano player laughed. “I don't know, Jack. You and kids. At least this one doesn't sing. Or breathe fire.”
“What?”
“What?”
The piano player ignored both of us – but her fingers switched to the tune she'd called 'Shadow Child'.
Dad shrugged. I sighed. The piano player – well, I guess she piano-ed.
“So it's her or me?” Some days, the only choices you got are all bad.
“NO. Er – I mean, no. It's neither of you – or it's both.”
“What? Where...?” Wherever the old guy in a white T and red overalls had come from, it wasn't the door.
The old guy in red and white didn't answer. Mostly because he wasn't there. Which meant I could go on trying to believe he'd never been there at all.
“Jack? Don't you think you should introduce Maya to Prowess? I – I mean, she keeps calling her 'the piano player'.”
Shadows on walls don't talk. So obviously the shadow that couldn't be on the wall, because there was nothing to cast it, didn't say a word. Then it was gone. I didn't know if that made things simpler – or more complicated. “Er – Dad?”
Dad sighed. “Kid, this is Prowess. She's a concert pianist. And a shape-shifting empathivore.”
“Empathi...?”
A tentacle wrapped round me – but it felt like a hug. I wondered if Not-Miss Piano was frisking me. “Empathivore, dear. I feed on emotions. They're sort of like life-force, but more important.”
“Er – didn't you have a piano a moment ago, Miss... er, Mrs...”
“Prowess will do nicely, dear. And no. More that I was a piano a moment ago.” The tentacle unwrapped from round me, and went back to being a piano. The notes of 'Shadow Child' filled the room. Or I guess they would have, if the room was actually real. I was starting to get why Jack scared mom. I just didn't get why he didn't scare me.
“Because that bitch isn't your mother. She's... Oh, fuck. Trans-temporal-quantum-irregularities really are a bugger dear. Because he is your father. Well. Or he will be. In a way. Even if he isn't. Because he's... Oh, never mind. Because. OK? Because!” A hand that wasn't in my head didn't reach up and smack the inside of my skull with a metal rod. Which didn't stop my head hurting like fuck. Then the shadow that couldn't have been inside me was gone as though it had never been there. I had a feeling my life would be easier if I could convince myself it hadn't been. I had another feeling my life wasn't meant to be easy. And I had a third feeling. That what Dad was really saying was whether I had a life at all was going to have to be my choice – even if it killed me. Because whatever I chose, I was going to end up dead – or never alive. I sighed. Fuck. I was even starting to sound like Dad. “OK I get it. So what's the plan?”
Sonata
Ricapitolazione – Quarto Movimento
The Paradise Lodge, Mount Rainer
“You want what?”
Rosie sighed. “Heffy. She'll need something. The demon will be gone, and she's not got a soul so – hey, Charlie? How come I've got a soul? I mean, I can ride the Road too, so...”
“No, I get that bit. Not that that link'll be worth shit. That was someone else's penny, an' it's only on loan. No, I'll take your penny, an' hammer it flat. A few elder runes, some ether enriched adamanti...” Heffy sighed. The two blank faces in front of him were clearly not new. “OK. Magic-man makee magic-metal-gem for memories.” He sighed again. “Not that. That's the easy bit. The other thing. I mean – pink?”
Rosie grinned. “Yes, Heffy. Pink. With, like, extra pink.” She grinned some more. “Hey, Heffy? Could we talk about my chain?”
“What? Your chain? No. Not a chance! Absolutely, definitely, categorically...”
Rosie smiled. She'd always liked winsome – it was much better than lose-some. “Heffeeeeee?”
Chapter Twenty-three
... Pact
Washington D.C. - 350 And Down
“Ready?”
I grinned. I didn't mean it, but I didn't have anything else. The easiest kill of my life was going to be the hardest – and I still didn't really know if I could do it. I just knew I had to. “Ready, Dad.”
“Jack?”
“Yes, P?”
“I still don't understand. The Paradox Storm is already raging. So nobody can get in, and nobody can get out. Well, unless... but that's a summoning! So how are we going to get there?”
“I don't have to get in, P. I'm already there. So's Maya. And you're not going. You're staying here. I'm just taking 350 with us. OK?”
“I suppose so.”
Dad shrugged. His black leather duster settled on his shoulders. I could feel him concentrating. He took a flask from his pocket and uncapped it. I opened mine. The god-awful smell of Unicorn Horn filled the air.
“Let's do this, kid.” We drank.
* * *
December 1475, Near Bucharest
“Why can't I kill him, dad?” I could feel the Shadow wrapped tight about us, and the tunnel stretching back to Dad's place. “I want to fucking kill him!”
Dad shrugged. “OK. So kill him.”
“And then what?”
“Then you're a lump of rock forever, I'm dead, and your mom, who isn't your Mom and we really should talk about that, wins. Or maybe you never exist. It's kind of a grey area. I could ask Haures, I guess – but he'd probably say he had a headache.”
“Haures?”
“Oh, right. You didn't meet him yet. Fallen Angel. Well, not really Fallen. It's complicated. He knows everything that ever happened. Says I give him a headache.”
“A Fallen Angel.”
Dad shrugs.
“My Dad. And you know, like, Fallen Angels. Like, Servants of Satan. Who everybody knows...”
Dad sighs. “Doesn't exist. Right. We should....
I grin. “We should talk about that. Right. Like we should talk about mom.” I shake my head. “And you give this Fallen Angel headaches. Yeah. I bet.” I sigh. “So I can't kill him.”
“Sure you can.”
“But you said...!”
“You just can't kill him yet.” My Dad smiled. This time I didn't have to worry about sharks. This time, if Mom saw it, she'd be screaming. “You ready?”
“Ready.” I watched – well, I watched me. I watched me step from behind the tree. At the last minute, the guy in a black leather duster looked up from the Barrett he was aiming, and turned, his eyes locking on my other eyes. Not that it made any difference. My - her - trigger finger tensed – and a 357 slug hammered into my Dad's head.
The Barrett fell, Dad slumped over it. The me-who-wasn't-me slipped her Glock back into her thigh holster. She moved in, to clear the site. She looked up as CG stepped from behind a rock, a gun in his hand. “Hey, CG! I didn’t know you were riding shotgun!”
CG looked round. He shrugged. “It's a good job I am, I guess. We've got a problem.”
The me-who-wasn't-me looked puzzled. “What problem? I don't miss. Like, ever. He's dead, CG.”
CG shrugged. “That's the problem, M. Or rather, you are. See, you're supposed to be dead now too. Or gone. Or never here. One of those. But we can fix that.” His gun came up. There was a single crack, and the me-who-wasn't me slumped to the ground, surrounded by a red mist.
Dad concentrated, and stretched the Shadow tunnel so it just touched the me-who-wasn't-me. He called back to 350. “No
w, P!” A long tentacle flew down the tunnel, and settled on my head. Another tentacle flew past me, and settled on the other-me's head. The shadow tunnel kept it from appearing in the real world. I could feel the – what? Emotion? Life? Me? Whatever it was, I could feel it, running out of me, and into, well, me. The other me. Keeping me not-quite dead.
CG walked over to the not-me, and looked down. He lifted her skirt and ran his hand up her thigh. He sighed. He found what it was looking for and pulled. My – her - thigh holster came loose from my – her - leg, dripping blood. He drew a crystal dagger from the sheath on his leg and kissed the blade. For three minutes his lips moved, his words a harsh whisper on the wind. When he was done, the dagger blade glowed a sickly yellow. He cut into the thigh holster, slicing it open. Red gem fragments fell into his hand. He put them in a box. He looked over at the dead version of Dad, and shook his head. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, and wrote on it in thick black marker. Then he pulled a red gem, filled with a dull red glow, out of his other pocket and held it tight. He began to chant again – then to scream. As he screamed, the red gem began to glow brighter. Eventually he stopped screaming. I could see his eyes were dull and dead. He took a flask from his pocket. I could smell the Unicorn Horn filled the air. He drank – and he was gone.
“Now!” I grabbed me. I grabbed, and I held me like I'd never let me go. As Dad let the Shadow tunnel collapse, I heard the sound of a motor-bike, roaring like a demon from hell.
* * *
Washington D.C. - 350 And Down
“Fuck!” I staggered. I could barely hold me. Maybe I should go on a diet.
The floor of 350 squealed as the woman on the motor-bike wrenched it into a suicide turn before she hit the wall. She looked at me. “Hey, kid. I'm Rosie.”
“I don't know how long I can keep this going. Can we skip the formalities?” Prowess was gasping, her tentacle twitching on my head. For a moment, everything blurred, and I could see the same tentacle wrapped round an emerald Dad was holding against not-me's head.
“You're going to need this.” Whatever a Rosie was, this one tossed something to Dad.
“And you're going to need this.” She threw something towards me.
I didn't waste time trying to work out how a rock could catch it. I caught it anyway. It slipped into my hand like even my Glock never had. “Damn! That's a neat piece! This is what my Glock wants to be when it grows up! And pink! What's it load? What the fuck is it? Where can I get one?”
Rosie blushed. “Call it a birthday present. I got a - a friend of mine to make it for you.”
Dad reached over, and he held my shoulder. “It's now or never, kid.” he held whatever Rosie had thrown him against the far side of not-me's head.
I put the gun Rosie had thrown me against my side of her. My finger tensed on the trigger. Then it stopped. Because like it or not – it was me. And I could kill anyone in the world – but not me. I looked up. “Dad! I – I can't!”
* * *
December 1475, Near Bucharest
My trigger finger tenses – and a 357 slug hammers into the guy in the black leather duster's head. The Barrett falls, the guy slumps over it. I slip my Glock back into my thigh holster and I move in, to clear the site. I look up as CG steps from behind a rock, a gun in his hand. “Hey, CG! I didn’t know you were riding shotgun!”
CG looks round. He shrugs. “It's a good job I am, I guess. We've got a problem.”
I'm puzzled. “What problem? I don't miss. Like, ever. He's dead, CG.”
CG shrugs. “That's the problem, M. Or rather, you are. See, you're supposed to be dead now too. Or gone. Or never here. One of those. But we can fix that.” His gun comes up. He fires. I feel the slug plowing into my thigh holster – then another in my head. I fall. I know I should be dead – but somehow I'm not. I can feel something wrapped round my head, and it's like there's just enough 'me' flowing out of it, and into, well, me, to keep me alive. CG walks over to me, and looks down. He lifts my skirt and runs his hand up my thigh. He sighs. Fucking guys. I bet I know what he's thinking. He finds what he's looking for, and pulls. It hurts like fuck as my thigh holster comes loose from my leg, dripping blood.
And I feel it. I feel it because, for the first time since I remember, if I even remember anything at all, it isn't there. It isn't there, and it isn't whispering to me, back in my skull where I don't even know I'm hearing it. The fucking demon my Mom – no. not my Mom. The fucking demon She put in me, so She could own me, control me – use me for the one thing She couldn't do. Kill my fucking father.
Then CG draws a crystal dagger from a sheath on his leg and kisses the blade. For three minutes his lips move, his words a harsh whisper on the wind. When he's done, the dagger blade glows a sickly yellow. He cuts into my thigh holster, slicing it open. Red gem fragments spill into his hand, the ump Mom said would be the last thing I’d ever need. He puts it in a box. He looks over at the dead guy and shakes his head. Then he pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket, and writes on it. He pulls a red gem, filled with a dull red glow, out of his other pocket and holds it tight. He chants – then screams. As he screams, the red gem begins to glow brighter. He stops screaming, his eyes are dull and dead. He takes a flask from his pocket. I can smell the Unicorn Horn in the air. He drinks – and he's gone.
“Now!” I hear someone shout. Someone grabs me. I hear the sound of a motor-bike, roaring like a demon from hell – and I black out.
* * *
Washington D.C. - 350 And Down
Someone's got a gun to my head. Which is kind of funny, because I'm dying. So why shoot me? I want to laugh, but I can't.
“Dad! I – I can't!”
I look up, to see who it is who can't kill me. I want to tell them all they have to do is wait. It'll take care of itself. Then I see. I see who's holding the gun. And it's me. Which is when I know it can't wait.
* * *
I could kill anyone in the world – but not me. I look up. “Dad! I – I can't!”
“Fu... fucking wimp.” I – not-me – she – Maya opens her eyes underneath me, and she smiles! She fucking smiles!. “It’s getting louder. Can you hear it, sis?”
I'm not even used to having a Dad yet. A sister? But she's right. What else can we be?
* * *
I know I have to make her understand. And I know we don't have much time. I want to cry, because I want to know her, to tell her – fuck. To tell her what? What can I tell her she doesn't know already? Where have I been that she hasn't already gone? Then I realize. That's it. Because it's not where we've been. It's where we have to go. It's not who we are, what we were – it's who we have to be. Or the bitch is going to win, and that's not going to happen. So I smile. And it's hard to talk, but talking's all I got now. ““Fu... fucking wimp. It’s getting louder. Can you hear it, sis?” Sis. I never knew my Dad – not until I killed him. And now I've got a sister, because what the fuck else can she be, this Maya leaning over me? And it's loud. It's so fucking loud. I wonder if she can hear it. I wonder if she can hear me, because I'm not sure I can – not sure how long I've got to tell her. And what do I tell her? Do I tell her what the bitch is? Who She is? Do I tell her I wish things had been different? Do I tell her... “Damn, girl. I love you.” And the best I can manage is a whisper, but I hope it's enough.
* * *
And she looks up at me, this Maya I'm not – this Maya I might have been. She asks me if I can hear it. She tells me it's getting louder. And I know what it is. I know what it is, and I know she knows – and I can't tell her, because all I want to do, me the kick-ass assassin, is cry. And she looks up at me, and she smiles. She smiles, and her lips move. I can barely hear it – but it's there.
“Damn, girl. I love you.”
* * *
And I lie here. I lie hear, and it's hammering. My heart. And I want to laugh again, because it's like a fucking bad movie – the assassin with a heart. But I can't. I try, and all I get is the taste of blood. My blood. My hearts
hammering like an AK on full auto, and every round brings it closer. The silence. So I lift my hand, and I put it over hers – my other heart. My sister's heart. And it's hammering too, like mine. And her hand closes over mine.
* * *
And she looks up, and she tries to laugh. But she can't, and all that happens is the blood seeps faster from her lips. the blood is starting to seep from her lips. And she lifts her hand, and she puts it over my heart. And I put mine over hers – my hand on my sister's.
* * *
I can feel my hand. It's getting cold. And I can feel my sister's. And it's so warm. And I can see now. I can see it all. Who we were. Who we can be. And the bitch who... I cough, and I know it's red. But there's so little time! And I know I have to tell her, but I know she can't know. Not yet. And if I talk, it'll just be more red. So I don't. I take my hand from hers, and I reach up, and I wrap it round her neck. Then I pull. I pull, and I do it. I kiss my sister. And I whisper again. “I love you.”
* * *
Her hand is getting cold. I wrap mine tighter round her, willing her my warmth – my life. But she pulls her hand from mine, and reaches up to my neck. She reaches – she pulls me down – and she kisses me. Not a Sven and Maria kiss. Because she kisses me – and it's me. She kisses me – and I hear her whisper. ““I love you.” And I can taste it. Her blood on my lips.
