by Lee Roland
Chapter 5
I dodged light traffic as I crossed the street. The air outside Hildy’s shop, filled with exhaust fumes, wasn’t perfect, but I breathed deeply anyway. My first hours in Duivel and the Barrows were already proving interesting. For some reason, the place appealed to me. I had yet to see the ruins—or the king of Drows—but after the years of discipline and pain, it was good to have some freedom. My life did not have to be focused on the next lesson, the next battle. A battle might come in an instant, but right now, this moment, warmed me.
A small sign on the plain, two-story redbrick building across from Hildy’s proclaimed it to be Harry’s Rooms and Apartments. The structure looked steady and solid, even if the brick was covered with years of vehicle exhaust. Harry himself greeted me when I walked into the tiny lobby. He didn’t look nasty. He was short and round with chubby red cheeks and hair as white as mine. A miniature Santa Claus—only he never raised his eyes above my breasts. At least he didn’t stare at the scar.
“Hildy called.” He spoke directly to my chest.
If Harry had any perversions other than a mammary fixation, he hid them from me. He offered me an efficiency apartment, but it cost twice as much as a single room. With my meager funds I could stay in the single room a week and a half—if I didn’t eat. Given the address on the driver’s license, I suspected the Sisters had meant for me to stay with Hildy. I doubted either of us could stand that.
After the minimal comforts of jail and Justice, I liked my new room just fine. The shower was down the hall, but I had a half bath connected to the room itself. It was clean and painted a neutral beige. There was a double bed, a chest of drawers, and a single chair. I ran my fingers across the pretty blue chenille bedspread. Soft from multiple washings, it was the first comfortable bed cover I’d seen in years. The rules said no food in the room. I could work around that.
There was a thrift shop next door to Hildy’s pawnshop where I could get some new-used clothes. I went down the stairs and had started out the door when I saw them.
I noticed the woman first. She had glorious red hair and was pregnant, so pregnant she should’ve carried a basket around in case she suddenly popped out a baby. She laughed with a man, but her body language said he wasn’t her lover. He opened the car door for her and hovered, holding her arm while she climbed in. His touch was caring but not a caress. His hand lingered a few seconds too long, though, as if he wanted to touch her more but didn’t dare.
As he closed her door, he turned, carefully scanning the area around them. An odd gesture; what danger did he watch for? I stepped backward through Harry’s doorway. I could peer through a small pane of glass by the door and see him.
This was the man of a lifetime. Tall, over six feet, his white-blond hair spread over broad shoulders like a sleek silk curtain. The hair framed a perfect face, an angel’s face.
I drew a sharp breath in surprise. I could feel the man’s presence as if he were standing beside me. Close beside me, in my personal space, in my head. He could have been whispering in my ear. I can feel magic, but this was something different. This had never happened to me before. I forced my body not to run. My hands clenched into fists and I jammed my back against the wall near the glass panel to keep my legs from buckling.
He stared straight at where I was hiding. I didn’t think he could see me, but he knew someone watched him. Had he the same awareness of me that I had of him? Impossible. His expression grew tight. He walked toward Harry’s. The woman spoke. He stopped and turned back to her. Whatever he thought, whatever he wanted, she was more important. He hurried around to the driver’s side. His eyes never left my hiding place. I laid my hand against the scar. The skin felt hot and tight. The connection to him remained in my mind like a banked fire, glowing embers, burning deep and slow.
I ruthlessly shoved the feeling down. I recited the control mantra over and over. I can and will control my emotions. Control makes me stronger. Control permits rational action.
The angel climbed in the car and drove away.
I’d never felt this kind of deep emotion. It didn’t seem like desire, but what did I know of such things? My mother and father died just as I was beginning to blossom, and my ordinary and happy life ended. Compelled to vengeance, I had not wanted sex; nor did I want it now. I’d been a virgin at seventeen and remained one to this day, but I was not an innocent. For three years I’d walked streets where all manner of perversions were bartered and sold.
I did not particularly want to dwell on my sudden connection with the man I’d just seen. It was some freak emotion that did not belong in my life.
I left the building and walked toward my potential new job. The shops I passed seemed prosperous enough. I stopped two buildings down at Tony’s Grocery Store and bought a ready-made sandwich and a small carton of milk. And a candy bar. Chocolate. Cheap chocolate that I let slowly dissolve in my mouth. Meals at Justice were nutritious and edible, but we weren’t encouraged to fixate on food. Food equaled fuel, not gratification.
As I walked south toward the Goblin Den, the businesses grew more sordid. I walked past strip bars, liquor stores, and bail bondsmen who offered twenty-four-hour service. Pink Pussy, Boobs and Butts Galore, and Fire-Water Spirits had their front doors open for morning cleaning, letting stale beer and stinking cigarette smoke drift out into the world. Lockout Pawn had a multitude of weapons laid out and chained down behind barred windows.
At night the signs would flash in a kaleidoscope of neon, but this morning the sidewalk was a concrete desert—except for the remains of dissolute living. Used condoms and needles competed with the usual filth of crushed cans and broken bottles near the buildings and in the alleys.
Farther south, occupied shops became progressively scarce and windows boarded with weathered plywood became prevalent. Heavy traffic, mostly trucks, rumbled down the road, spewing carbon monoxide into the atmosphere. Six blocks south of Harry’s, the trucks tended to veer to my right, toward the river.
As I crossed one side street, I stared down it to the east . . . and stopped. There were no cars. A block away I could see a building facade crumbled into the sidewalk. Curiosity tugged at me. I wanted to see more. Hildy had warned me, though, and until I knew the place better I would, as Mother Evelyn strongly urged, take her advice. I passed more side streets on my journey south to the Goblin Den and saw some businesses running for a block east. But beyond that was a barren landscape of ruins. Ruins that, according to Hildy, were ignored by a large number of people in Duivel. Just looking at them told me a wise person would stay away. I’m not wise, but I remained cautious. Someday, I would explore. Someday, I would probably be forced to explore.
I continued to walk south to where the street ended and the river began. The deepwater Sullen River overflowed onto acres of open green and brown marshland that stretched to the horizon. Small islands covered with trees rose above the marsh occasionally. A cool, fresh wind came across the water. I caught the scent of flowers somewhere out beyond the limits of my vision.
The Goblin Den was on my left, to the east. The tall box of a building had a fresh coat of cream-colored paint, a newly paved parking lot, and workers toiling diligently on the roof. The stink of tar filled the air as if the hot black stuff spewed up from hell. The owner was putting a lot of time and money into the place. Better than it used to be. Hildy’s words. What did it used to be?
I entered through double glass doors propped open with concrete blocks. The aroma of hot tar followed, but whispering fans set strategically around the room made a valiant effort to force it back outside. Construction was evident here, too, where men were refurbishing a stage. Everything in the place seemed new. Classy tables and chairs made of oak and upholstered in a shiny copper fabric filled the room. A well-stocked modern glass bar stretched along one wall. It seemed as if the owner had engaged in a courageous but misguided attempt to create an upscale ambience—and instead created the equivalent of the cliché about a sow’s ear and silk purse.
A man sat on a stool at the bar. He wasn’t tall, about my height, with clothes that hung on him like he’d lost fifty pounds and couldn’t afford anything new. His head had a short skimming of brownish gray hair and his eyelids drooped so low, I wondered how he could see. If ever a man could be described as mousy, he fit the picture.
I went closer. “I’m looking for Riggs.”
“That’d be me.” He cocked his head and stared at me so long I expected him to laugh and order me out. Instead: “You know how to mix drinks?”
I shook my head. “Do you have a recipe book? I learn fast.”
He sighed, but he’d do what Hildy wanted. Did she know some secret of his? She had influence over Harry, too.
“Come on. I’ll get you a uniform.”
Riggs led me to a close and uncomfortable storage room filled with drink mixers and bottles of liquor. He dug around in a box and, along with a battered recipe book, drew out two plastic-wrapped articles of clothing and offered them to me. According to the picture printed on the package, my uniform consisted of shiny black stretch leggings and a top made of silver metallic fabric that draped from neck to waist like a glittery handkerchief. The back was left open except for two thin straps that crossed to hold it in place. My breasts would be covered, but I hadn’t shown this much skin in public since I was ten years old.
“Four nights, seven to three,” Riggs said as we left the room. “Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. You get minimum wage.” He lifted his chin and appeared almost hopeful that I’d refuse. When I didn’t say anything, he sighed. “And you keep your tips.”
That sounded like he thought I wouldn’t be getting many.
Riggs showed me to the back door that opened to a parking lot and alley. The surrounding buildings appeared abandoned like the ruins I’d seen up the hill. He told me to enter through the back door.
“Get here before dark, though. You come after dark, you use the front door. You have a ride home tonight?” he asked.
“The bus.”
“Okay. Stay in the light.” Mousy Riggs spoke the words more firmly than I expected. He stood back. “Don’t talk much, do you?”
“No.”
Riggs cocked his head and surprised me by looking like a man rating a woman on a scale of desirability. “Are you for sale? Or do you give it away?”
“Neither.”
Riggs grunted. “Good. You don’t sell or give in the Den. You do and you’re out. Damn Hildy anyway.” He turned and walked away.
I’d been in enough bars to know that waitresses and bartenders sometimes moonlighted as prostitutes, occasionally with the knowledge of the bar owner, who demanded a percentage. I thought it was bizarre; then realized I’d applied that word to a number of things I’d seen since I arrived early that morning.
I rode the bus back to Harry’s. With my near photographic memory, I had Riggs’s cocktail recipes memorized before I climbed off. I went to the thrift shop and purchased a pair of black shoes. They weren’t designed to be sexy like my uniform, but my feet wouldn’t hurt. Since I hadn’t slept much on my journey from New York, I stretched out on the bed to rest. I’d be up most of the night.
I’d had constant nightmares about the murders during the years between my parents’ deaths and my time in jail. They dominated my life and drove me on. Then Justice taught me control. Even the need to kill the third killer eased. Memory of it lingered, ready to explode. It probably would, but I could handle it better now. I hesitated to sleep, but it had to come eventually.
As I slept, I dreamed. I dreamed of my mother, angry, as she’d been so many times when she attempted to give me magic lessons. I heard myself crying, telling her that I’d tried to do the magic, but I couldn’t. I dreamed of Daddy soothing me. Papa loved me as I was.
I dreamed of the angelic face of the man I’d seen earlier in the day. He smiled, and I saw desire in his eyes. A fantasy, yes, but desire rose in me to meet his, desire that had never plagued me before. More important was what I didn’t dream. The final killer’s face did not leer at me, taunting me, telling me that I would never find him. To my surprise, when I woke I found that I’d rested well.
I dressed in my so-called uniform. There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. My body looks good, thanks to daily exercise—and scrubbing algae. Long, lean, and mean, I had shapely legs and a tight butt. The white hair and brutally short haircut added to the effect. I donned the jacket and stuffed the wallet and knife in the pocket. No way would I walk these streets without a weapon of some kind. I started to take the drawing of my mother’s murderer to ask if anyone had seen him along the way, but it was my only one and I needed to have copies made. Better to leave it in the room until I knew my way around.
Now I’d enter my new world. A world filled with miles of deserted ruins I’d seen down the side streets stretching eastward. There would be Drows, vicious gang members, magic—and one big, badass demon. For the briefest of moments, my mind turned to the relative safety of Justice. I rejected it. Safety was not for me. I was young, trained, and experienced. Freedom beckoned. I ignored the nagging, whiny voice in the back of my mind that told me I was a novice in many things.
Chapter 6
When I left the boardinghouse, I wanted to go to Hildy’s and ask questions about the ruins behind the facade of River Street. She’d told me about the spell, why no one noticed them, why no one talked about them. But what had caused the devastation? I’d slept too long and a CLOSED sign hung on her door. I wanted to be, as Riggs ominously warned me, at the Goblin Den before dark.
I wished the Sisters had been more specific about the things they called Drows and their appearance and weapons. I wished Hildy had been more specific about the badass demon. Of course, asking the Sisters to be specific was like asking a statue to talk. I’d spent a lot of time scrubbing algae off of the stone walls of Justice for asking questions. But the reasons for Hildy’s vague answers remained unknown. She was supposed to be my mentor.
The morning had been cool, almost chilly, but the sun had warmed the asphalt and concrete and the coming evening promised to be pleasant. A soft breeze off the river brushed away the stink of exhaust fumes. I walked south again as the day rolled on toward twilight.
The legitimate shops had closed and the others began to stir. As I walked through more disreputable areas, I passed a few early-rising prostitutes, male and female—some so young it amazed me that they walked openly and obviously on a well-traveled street. The young had an air of quiet desperation that time had not yet hardened into aggression. I’d walked among their kind once at seventeen, not to solicit sex, but to lure the first killer to my knife.
I passed the Lockout Pawn as a weary-looking man checked the locks that held the guns on display in the shop window. If I had money later, I’d consider one. I could shoot. Twice a month, two of the Sisters escorted me to a gun range and watched as I learned. They also led me into the woods around Justice and had me practice firing in various situations and positions. I was the only student trained that way. As usual, there was no point in asking why.
The next shop was called Took’s Serpent City. A sudden spike of extrasensory power jolted me. It hit hard and I stumbled. I looked in the large window that formed one wall of a long glass cage. On one side of the cage was a snake. A boa from the markings, gray and black, long and thick, it had coiled into a tight ball. On the other side was a . . . lizard? It appeared to be a gray-green miscegenation of a gecko and an iguana. Maybe two feet long, but much of that was tail. It had two hard curved ridges down its back that ended at the tail. And teeth it flashed in the direction of the boa. It looked a bit like a miniature dragon.
A man stood between them, brandishing a stick. He poked at the lizard. The lizard jumped out of the way. The snake didn’t move. I do love animals, but I didn’t have time to stare. Until . . . the lizard turned and stared at me. It actually saw me. It made contact on a level much like another human being. It had to be a familiar, one
of those semi-sentient creatures that the Earth Mother occasionally sends to aid witches. My mother had a raven. It was her constant companion. It hated me. It would shit on my head and peck me hard enough to draw blood. I found it dead in the laundry basket a few days after she was murdered. It had wrapped itself in a garment she had worn and died, probably of a broken heart. Not being a witch, I didn’t need a familiar. But for my mother’s love of her raven, I would attempt a rescue. I entered the store.
“What are you doing?” I asked. I tried to sound curious, not angry.
The man glanced up at me. His brow furrowed in a frown. He was a thick, solid man and appeared a bit brutish. He sneered at the cage.
“Trying to feed my fucking snake.” His voice was higher pitched than I’d expected.
I glanced around the room. The glass cages holding the reptiles were lit, and some near the floor had heat lamps in them. The place was ripe with the fecund smell of reptiles, but there was nothing to indicate abuse. The man obviously cared for his snakes, if not this lizard.
“What are you feeding him?”
“Something I caught in the live trap last night. Rats been scarce lately.” He glared at the lizard. “Couldn’t sell it so I decided to make it Vickie’s dinner. She don’t want it, though.” He suddenly grinned. He looked me up and down and studied the scar as if fascinated. “You wanna buy a snake? I got plenty.” The last words came out as an obscene suggestion.
“No, I want the lizard.”
His eyes narrowed. Now a bit of greed peeked through.
“He’s pretty rare.”
“Then why didn’t you sell him?” I reached for the lizard. It didn’t wait. It leaped onto my arm, then onto my shoulder. I forced myself to stand steady as it wrapped itself around my neck and stuck its head under my collar.
