by Graeme Smith
* * *
I kiss her. I kiss me. And I know what I have to do. What we have to do. And it's hard – it's so fucking hard. But I smile. I smile, and I whisper. “No you. No me. Just us, sis'. Just us – always.” I smile again. “So fucking do it, bitch.” And I smile. I smile, and as I hear the shot I kiss me for the last time.
* * *
She kisses me. My sister. My me. She kisses me, and I feel her lips move. She whispers, and I can barely hear her. But I do. “No you. No me. Just us, sis'. Just us – always.” she smiles again. “So fucking do it, bitch.” And I see her smile. Or maybe I see me – and I don't care which anymore, because there is no which. No her, no me. Just us. So I do it. I pull the trigger, my gun against the emerald, against me. I pull the trigger, and the bullet ploughs through her – through me – and into whatever Dad is holding on the other side of my sister's head. I pull the trigger – and I kiss me for the last time.
Chapter Twenty-four
Two...
Washington D.C. - 350 And Down
I look up. There's a pile of shattered emerald at the side of my head. Dad puts something in my hand, and for a moment I can feel it. Feel her. Feel us.
Dad's fingers trace the filigree of the black star. I can't tell if its metal or gem. “To remember by.” Dad doesn't grin. Somehow, it's even more warming than when he did. “To remember her by.”
“And you?”
Dad takes my hand and puts it on a lump in his leather duster. “A present. From... from an old friend.”
For a moment, we're silent. But I can't leave it like that. “Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Do I have to lose you too?”
“Do you want to?”
I want to cry. So fuck it. I do. “No. No, Dad. Not ever.”
My Dad wraps me in his arms. “Me neither, kid. I'm never losing you either.” He kisses me. He grins, but he's not trying to hide his own tears. “So shall we go fix me?”
I look up. “Well, that might be a problem.”
“Problem?”
“You know. Bullet. Brain. Um – twice. Does the second one count? Was it really a bullet?”
“I'm betting not.” Dad looks up at motor-bike chick. “I'm betting I'd know the maker's mark on that piece, right?”
Biker chick smiles. “Could be, Jack. Could be. Anyway. We square, Shadow?”
“Yeah. We're good.”
“Great. Be seeing you, Jack.”
Dad winces. “Not if I can help it.”
Biker-chick winks. “You know how it is, Jack. What's gotta be...”
Dad sighs. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
Biker chick grins. Me, I raise an eyebrow. “Him?”
“Never mind.”
“Er – Jack?”
“P?”
“The second one – it was hellfire, but it was still a bullet. I'm keeping it out of her cortex, but it really needs to come out.”
Dad looks at me. “It's up to you, kid.”
“What is?”
“Whether you trust P.”
“You trust her, dad?”
“Second most in the world, kid.”
“So who's the most.”
Dad blushes. My Dad. My been there, done that, kicked its ass Dad blushes. And I want to cry again, I'm so happy. I look up. “Miss Prowess?”
“Just Prowess, dear. Or P. After all, you're Jack's family.”
“P? I kinda don't wanna die right now.”
“Then let's take care of that, shall we? And....” Now it seems it's a shapeshifting empathivore's turn to blush “... well, would you mind if I gave you a present as well? After all, it's a bit like your birthday, dear.”
“What present, P?”
Prowess smiled. “You'll see. Come here, dear.”
I get up, just, and I walk over to Prowess. She – well, flows is pretty much the only way to describe it. She flows, and she wraps round me like a great, huge blanket. As everything goes black, I wonder how I'm going to breathe.
“Don't worry, dear. I'll take care of it.” The voice isn't in my head. It's in every part of me. And it's not a shadow. It's Prowess. I black out.
I wake, and the notes of Shadow Child are in the air. I touch my head, where CG's bullet killed – fuck it. Killed me, even if it wasn't my head at the time. There's not a mark, and I feel – I feel great! “Wow, P! How did you...?”
“Oh, I stole some of your life, dear.”
“WHAT?” My new pink not-a-Glock is in my hand, and it's pointed at P's head. She doesn't miss a note.
“I stole some of your life. Not anything you were going to miss. It's from a long way off.”
“But...”
“She had a choice, kid. You could be dead now, or dead maybe a bit sooner than forever – but not now. You rather dead-now?”
“But...” I try to work out what comes after but. Thing is, there really isn't anything that makes sense. “I'm sorry, P. Thanks – I guess.”
“Oh, don't mention it, dear. By the way – that's a really nice gun you have pointed at me. Very – pink.” P looks at biker-chick. “Pink? Really?”
“Never argue with a girl who's got her pink on, lady.” Biker chick twitches her hand, and a long chain slides from her body, whipping round her head. As chains go, let's say it isn't black. Like, very not-black.
Prowess grins. “I suppose not.” She looks at her piano. “Jack? Do you think...? Oh, never mind. We can talk about that later. No, I meant it must be quite difficult to carry a big gun like that round with you, dear.”
I shrug. “Not really. I just keep it in my...” I stop. My gun hand drops, and lifts my skirt. My not-a-Glock slips neatly into the thigh holster I shouldn't have, because CG tore it off me.
“At least there's no demon in this one, dear. It's all – well, it was all – me. It's Shifter skin, dear. Like your old one, but given willingly, not flayed from a screaming prisoner and stitched on with...” Prowess spits. “I'm sorry dear. I knew what it was as soon as I saw that evil little brat tear it off you. Would you mind killing him for me?”
“It will be my pleasure, P.”
“Thank you, dear. Anyway. This one's a gift, so it's rather better part of your – well, your you. You'll heal quicker, and even if it won't stop bullets all over, you won't have to worry about anything that hits it. And it will move wherever you ask it to, if you think nicely at it. And it matches you perfectly, with a direct link to Shifter-space, so nobody will ever see your gun. Oh – and one more thing. Jack? May I?” Prowess holds out a tentacle. Dad drops the filigree star into it. “Thank you.” The tentacle whips over to me, and down between my legs. It caresses my holster. “There dear.”
I run my hand over my holster. I can just barely feel the star under it.
“It will – well, think of it as a memory jogger, dear. I did the same for your father.”
“Dad?”
“Of course.” Prowess smiles. “Where do you think he got that rather nice leather coat? Now. Do run along.”
Dad scoops up the shattered pieces of emerald. “Can you do it, P? He's got to be me, but he can't remember...”
Prowess gives Dad a dirty look. “Do I ask if you can load your gun, Jack? Come here.” A tentacle snakes out, and settles on Dad's forehead. Then another sits for a while on the shattered emerald pieces in Dad's hand. “There. Don't worry. The leather will know what to do. And...” Prowess picks one of the shards of emerald out of Dad's hand “... if you crush this under his nose, so will you. Er – he. Well, one of those. Or is it both?” She looks at me. “Let's try not to do this again, shall we dear?”
I raise one eyebrow. “Again? But this is the first...” I look at Dad. “Er – dad? What does she mean, 'again'?
This time it's Dad giving Prowess a dirty look. I wonder how many times I've died, so I can live at last.
Dad pulls some chalk from his pocket. He scrawls what would be a pentacle on the ground, if pentacles weren't just hokey spiritualist shit. The leopard-m
an appearing in the pentacle makes me wonder if I needed to re-think my views on spiritualist shit as well.
The leopard man looks at Dad. He looks at me. He clutches his head. “Shadow! You can't...” He looks at me again. “Oh. You can. Er – you did. Right. At least we're not going to have to do this again.”
“Er – Mr Leopard? About that 'again'?”
Leopard guy looks at me. He clutches his head again. “Never mind. I mean, really Never. Ow!” He rubs his head.
Dad raises an eyebrow. “Haures?”
“Ow! Yes, you can make a one-time disposable Summoning Pentacle. Yes, it will vaporize as soon as it's used. Yes, it will... OW! YesitwillsummonanythingevenintoaParadoxStorm! OWOWOWOW!”
Dad sighs. “So how do I...”
“Left pocket! It's set for Barbas. And I hope it bloody chokes him, so there! Ow!” Leopard guy clutches his head harder.
Dad takes something out of the leopard guy's pocket. Which is a pretty neat trick, given the pockets leopards don't usually have. Dad scrubs a line of the chalk pentacle with his toe, and leopard guy vanishes. Dad looks at me. “OK. This is where it gets tricky, kid. Timing's everything.”
I grin. “Great sex, great comedy and war. Timing's always everything. So what's new, Dad?”
Dad grins too. “New is, this time I don't die.”
“This time?”
Dad shrugs. “It's complicated.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Riiiiight. I bet.”
Dad takes a bottle from his pocket. “We have to get there just before you drag – well, before you drag you out, but not so close you see you. Got it?”
“No.”
“Good. That way you won't try to over think it.” Dad tosses me a flask. We drink – and we're gone.
Sonata
Ricapitolazione – Quinto Movimento
Washington D.C. - 350 And Down
“Did you do it, Lee-Ann?” Shadows don't speak. Not even shadows with nothing to cast them. So this shadow didn't ask Prowess anything at all.
“Yes. I did it. It's in there. But it's not fair! I didn't really steal it! It was just a tiny piece! And I only wanted to know why he... why he didn't want...”
“It's alright, Lee-Ann. She didn't mind.”
“You can't know that!”
“Of course I can.”
“How? How can you know?”
“Because I said so. That's how.”
“Oh. Right.” Prowess fingers wandered slowly over the keyboard. “Is it... is it worth it? Really?”
Shadows don't smile. So this one didn't. “Oh, yes. It's worth it.”
Prowess smiled, and even if the smile was weak, it was real. “Good.”
The shadow that couldn't have been there wasn't there any more – because it was gone. And the room echoed as Shadow Child drifted into Dragon Star – and back again.
Chapter Twenty-five
… into One.
December 1475, Near Bucharest
As we appear, I can feel, well, 'us' leaving. The Paradox Storm is burning over us. Dad's next to me, but he's also slumped over his Barrett, dying. “Dad!”
Dad-next-to-me raises an eyebrow. “Me or him?”
“You. I mean, him. I mean – you're fucking dying!”
Not today, kid. Not today.” Dad runs over to – well, to Dad. He takes the emerald fragments out of his pocket, and lays them on his jacket. The fragments sink into the leather. Dad slips the pentacle he got from leopard guy into his - - well, the other 'his' – pocket. Then he picks up the Barrett. He aims – and fires a single shot. On the battlefield, one man falls. Dad nods, like he's satisfied. He picks up the spent brass, then he crushes the last emerald fragment under 'his' nose.
Fuck. I hate time travel. I have an idea I know why leopard guy gets headaches.
“You ready, kid?”
“What for?”
“To quit your job.”
“To quit my....? Oh, Right.” I check my not-a-Glock in my thigh holster. “Fucking A... er, I mean, damn right, Dad. Where to?”
“Wherever your old holster is, kid. Think you can manage that?”
“Oh, yeah. Ab-so-fucking-lutely, Dad.”
We take out our flasks – and we drink.
* * *
Some-When. Middle-of-Nowhere, USA.
As we appear, I can hear the echoes of CG's scream. I see the gem crumbling in his hand. But it's not enough that's he's hurting. He killed me. And not just me. I pull my not-a-Glock, and I don't even have to aim. I squeeze off a round. It hits his head, and burning fire explodes from the hole it leaves behind as it smashes into the mirror opposite. CG falls, and I know he won't be getting up. It should feel good – but it doesn't. The speaker crackles. “Maya! So good to see you, dear. And I see you brought me a present! You do remember you were supposed to kill him, don't you? Now be a dear. FINISH HIM!”
I look at Dad. He shrugs. I look at the cracked mirror. “Fuck you, Mom. I quit!” I squeeze the trigger. Red fire and white lightning burn each time I hit the mirror. I look at Dad, one eyebrow raised.
Dad grins. “Hellfire. Direct from Hell. With some added extra – from the other place.”
I keep pulling the trigger. “How many loads?”
“It depends. Sometimes? As many as you need.”
I keep firing. The mirror shatters.
“YOU PATHETIC BRAT.”
Long black hair. Burning eyes. A really shitty complexion. Wings of fire and feet of – I look – a chicken. My big- scary Mom has chicken feet. I want to laugh – but I pull the trigger instead. “You need some fresh blusher, Mom.”
“MOM? HOW DARE YOU! I AM LILITH! I AM THE NIGHT-OWL! BRIDE OF SAMAEL, MISTRESS OF ILLUSIONS! I AM THE ONOKENTAUROS, BUT IF YOU TELL ANYONE THAT ONE, I'LL BLOODY WELL SUE! AND I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING MOTHER, BITCH! I KILLED YOUR MOTHER AND STOLE YOU, FOR I AM LILITH, THE STEALER OF...”
“You're a loud-mouth.” Dad isn't pissed. I think he'd be less scary if he was. His voice is flat, and he's calm. And he's loading his gun. “And I killed Vlad. So don't bother looking for him.”
“YOU KILLED – MY TALTOS? MY LORD OF WAMPYR? I SHALL REND YOU! I SHALL FLAY YOU! I SHALL – FUCK! THAT HURT! STOP BLOODY DOING THAT!”
Dad isn't loading his gun any more. He's firing. And his bullets burn red and white too. And he doesn't miss. Not-mom starts to bleed – smoke black and icky green. I start aiming for the holes Dad's slugs have left.
“LOOK. I SAID STOP BLOODY DOING THAT! I OFFER YOU POWER, SHADOWS! POWER OVER – I SAID STOP THAT!”
I want to grin. I want to laugh. I want to cry, for the Mom I thought I had, and the Mom I did. But I don't do any of them. I just pull my trigger.
“YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE LAST OF ME, SHADOWS. EQVAM ITUL-QAT ATKIOS!” Not-mom scrawls a pentacle on the wall behind her. She steps through it. Or she would, if she didn't mash her nose on the wall. “I SAID FUCKING EQVAM ITUL-QAT ATKIOS! NOW OPEN THIS BLOODY DOOR!” She sighs, and looks at us. “YOU JUST CAN'T GET THE BLOODY STAFF THESE DAYS. WHERE WAS I? OH. RIGHT.” Not-Mom spits. “YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE LAST OF ME, SHADOWS! NOW EQVAM ITU... OH. AND ABOUT TIME TOO.” Not-mom steps through the wall – and she's gone.
Dad shrugs. “Oh, well. Next time.” He looks round the shattered mirrors, the burning walls. “You quit pretty good, kid.”
I grin. But I know my heart isn't in it. “I guess. Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Who was my Mom?”
Coda
Secondo Movimento
1971, Washington D.C.
The White House is one of the most secure residences in the Western world. That had become even more so under Richard Milhous (‘Lucy’ to her friends – not that she had any) Nixon. There wasn’t a door could be unlocked, never mind opened, without lights somebody was always watching starting to blink, and alarms someone was always listening for starting to ring. Which didn’t seem to bother the owner of the hand unlocking this one. He twisted the pick – and the lock released. Somewhere in a distant r
oom, lights didn’t blink and alarms didn’t ring. He might have grinned, but he wasn’t big on grins. This wasn’t fun. And this time – it wasn't just another job.
He stepped into the room, followed by the figure behind him. The sleeper was extremely well trained, her senses fine-tuned and her reactions hair-trigger. She was good. Better than good. But the man wasn’t just good. He was the best there was. He stepped silently over to the sleeper’s bed. His hand didn’t seem to move, but now it had a gun in it. From behind him something wrapped tight round his arm, pulling it down. Or trying to. “Do we have to? There’s got to be another way…“
The man shrugged. “Only two, P. Only two.” He waited.
The tentacle released from his arm. Not that it would have made any difference. The gun hadn’t moved from its position over the sleeping woman’s mouth. The second figure sighed. “You’re a bastard. I hate it when you’re right.”
Jack Shadow’s gun settled on the woman’s lips.
“If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it already. So I guess you want something from me. And since I pressed the silent alarm, but the room isn't full of men in grey suits and sunglasses firing guns, I guess you know more about this place's security than the guy who designed it.” The woman didn't open her eyes, or try to get away from the gun. “So what do you want?”
“I...” the man in the black leather duster blushed. The shade of red showed he hadn't had a lot of practice. “I want to get you pregnant.”
“You – what?”
The door opened again. A young girl came in, about sixteen. “Hey, mom.”
* * *
“So let me get this straight. You're going to – we're going to – you know, I think I'm getting a headache.”
The girl grinned, half sad, half happy. “Yeah. Dad does that to people. Well, and not people too. There's this Fallen Angel...”
