City of Souls

by Vicki Pettersson

  The men below stared at me with hollow eyes, envy warring with their curiosity as they wondered which woman—Diana or Solange—I’d go after first. Mackie remained slumped over on his piano stool, and from this angle I could see the layer of dust coating the instrument, the keys, and even the wide lapels of his dark jacket. The whole room, I thought, looked like a living museum, a reenactment of the Wild West where visitors could pay to walk into the past. The difference? Those people paid with coin, not power…and they could walk back out into their proper reality whenever they chose.

  Bill, ever solicitous, nodded up at me, and Boyd remained granite-faced while puffing on his pipe. I’d drawn the attention of the other half-dozen dealers, and returned their nods as if doing nothing more than taking in the scenery. In reality, as I regained my strength, I surveyed the room like a map.

  The most direct path to the poster board was through the center of all those dealers. I counted the steps it would take me to get from the stairs to the wall of lanterns, then did it again from the poster board across the room. If I could risk the energy, which seemed unlikely since I’d barely made it up here, that would be my next stop in looking for Jacks. I shuddered, though, as my gaze fell on my poster. Its half-inished state made my features appear erased rather than the reverse.

  That was a worry for later. First Tripp, my powers…and Solange.

  I gave the other side of the hallway a cursory glance, needing to know what was at my back. All of the women had disappeared, though their muted voices sounded like cooing doves behind a trio of closed wooden doors. Unlike the red door downstairs, each of these sported only one symbol: a triangle like those on the gaming chips I’d been given downstairs. So they represented powers of some sort…but what?

  I turned back to the solo door at the other end of the hall, expecting—and finding—the fourth triangle. I didn’t know why it was set apart from the rest, or why Solange was either, but it irked me that the very woman who’d told the others I’d come to them in such a husky, self-assured voice was the one I most needed to see. I rapped on the door hard, and, after a few silent moments, pushed it open.

  “Hello?” I strained to see into a surprisingly complete darkness. “Solange? Tripp?”

  I had to brace a hand against the wall to maintain equilibrium in the absolute dark. Everywhere I gazed—up, straight ahead, down—was inky depthlessness so complete I couldn’t tell if I was entering a space spanning the width of my arms or one the size of a state. No way was I letting that door shut behind me.

  There has to be a light switch somewhere, I thought, just as my fingers fumbled across one. It was a flip switch, and when powered on, lit twelve small squares along the remaining three walls. The glow from those palm-sized windows was enough to allow me my bearings…and reveal that this was neither a small space nor vast. It was simply a modest-sized square room, containing only those tiny, eye-level windows.

  And a woman centered in the middle.

  At first I wasn’t sure this was Solange. From the way the men spoke of her, the way the women listened, I’d expected a lethal beauty, and hers was not. She bore little ornamentation, only fragile gold hoops with colored gem drops and intricate scrollwork at her ears. Beautiful, but not ostentatious.

  Her hair was an unremarkable brown, parted simply down the middle to fall past her shoulders in uneven lengths, her attire simple; a fitted silk dress running from neck to ankles, shoulders to wrists, in a dual pattern of chocolate hues that played off the depth of her hair. A lace inset drew the eye to a slashing V-neck that ended snugly at her navel, but the silk was so sheer her every curve was revealed. The eye even strained toward it beneath the fluctuating pattern, and I realized that was its allure. It showed nothing and everything at once.

  “Hello.” She stood before a wooden cart with iron-rimmed wheels. It was lined in unrelieved black silk, pillows and cushions and throws all dangerously soft and smooth. A rope that disappeared into the depthless ceiling hooked to a bar across the middle, and other than the silken interior, the entire contraption looked like it belonged in a mine shaft. “I’m Solange.”

  That she greeted me so openly both eased and alarmed me.

  “Where’s Tripp?” I asked as she perched a hip on the cart.

  She stared at one of the small square windows, studying it with solemn focus. “Did you really come here to ask that question?”

  “Well, it wasn’t for the pleasures of the flesh,” I shot back, jaw clenched.

  Solange sighed, and gave me a quick once-over, pursing her lips in what was either disgust or distaste.

  “I don’t know what to do about the color, okay?” And I chafed at the idea that someone could look at my body—mine, Joanna Archer’s, in its strength and truth and perfect imperfections—and find something lacking. Perhaps I’d once done the same, but that was before it’d been so abruptly taken from me.

  “No, you don’t,” she agreed, and my mouth was already open for a rebuke when she added, “but that’s not what I was observing.”

  She climbed into the cart in a slide of chocolate silk, holding up her shift as she settled. Crossing the room in a much clumsier fashion, I grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at me. There was, I noted, even a glamour to the narrowing of her eyes. I didn’t care. “I want my power back.”

  “Of course you do.” Her voice was unstrained, and she didn’t pull away, just sunk back until she was leaning upon the pillows. Feeling too aggressive against that pretty passiveness, I let her go. “What do you have to barter for it?”

  I started to answer, but Solange tilted her head. “And don’t say money either. The only use we have for that wad of paper is in the lavatory.”

  I knew. Diana had been fucking with me, drawing me upstairs. But why?

  “I can tell you’re not stupid, honey, so don’t make me treat you as if you are. You now know what we trade in here.”

  I finally nodded.

  Solange crossed her legs at her knees. “Tripp doesn’t like you. He told me you’re not to be trusted.”

  “Tripp and I are natural enemies.”

  “So you’re of the Light.”

  “Not exactly.”

  She tilted her head. “Come,” she said after a bit, and motioned for me to join her. “I have something to show you.”

  “Is it a poker chip embossed with my powers?”

  “You are persistent,” she said, shifting to make room. “I’ll give you that.”

  And that was it. No asking, begging, threats, or yelling. She just watched me expectantly with those great dark eyes. Seeing no other choice, I climbed in. Whatever she wanted to show me couldn’t be more shocking than everything I’d already experienced.

  I hoped.

  I’d expected to be nestled snugly beside Solange, but the interior of the cart expanded as I settled in, and I found myself sinking backward on a sea of smooth, limitless silk. Every muscle in my body relaxed, fatigue dogging me after the heat from downstairs. If I could just close my eyes…

  Solange struck a match, the small sound an exaggerated zip that had my eyes flipping back open, but she was only lighting a small tea light in a cutout obviously designed for the purpose. She then pushed a button, leaning back as machinery above us kicked into gear. We rose in a slow wave, the light from the twelve tiny windows dropping away until they sparked out altogether. The pitch-dark coupled with my fatigue to make me feel stationary, so the sound of those grinding gears drawing closer was all that let me know I was still rising.

  Our halt was jarring, and my melting limbs flew outward involuntarily. Solange murmured an apology. The light from her tea candle continued to burn stick-straight, as it had on our entire ascent, as if the flame too was being pulled upward, but other than that, and her delicate outline, there was nothing more to see.

  Of course, maybe that was the purpose. Because the more I stared at Solange, the prettier she appeared. Some women were like that. I knew from living in Olivia’s skin that her effect on othe
rs was also instantaneous. However, Solange’s growing appeal was different. It was like the removal of blinders, or scales falling from the eyes. Even in the continual dimness her beauty grew more defined. She had delicate fingers and wrists, poised now over a tiny wheel, and her hair glowed softer than the silk surrounding me. Her half-lit silhouette was honeyed, her long neck as smooth as fragile ceramic. I suddenly found myself wondering how I ever could have believed her plain, and the thought that she’d need any ornamentation was so laughable I actually snorted.

  Gripping that small steel wheel, she began twisting it. I felt like I was levitating. I’d once seen a man thrown into a black hole—a created one, sure, but a black hole nonetheless—and I felt as he’d looked then; rotating, softly spinning in space, my body pulled in unnatural and strange directions. I leaned my head back and couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed, and just as I decided I didn’t care, hundreds of stars burst to life around me.

  I sat up on an awed exhalation. My rational mind told me I was at the center of a hollowed-out sphere, that the heaven engulfing me, embracing me as if I’d long been lost, was actually a metallic ceiling, and a bevy of mechanisms worked behind the scenes. But the sensation of being cradled in the pinpricked firmament was like a clap of thunder in my breast.

  My God. Did I really identify this closely with the constellations? Because it felt like bloodline and lineage were rearing their heads, letting me know that for all my careful control, I was still very much at the mercy of the planets. I let my gaze wander, mentally crisscrossing lines to link the stunning little orbs into patterns of familiar constellations. It was a perfect diorama of the night sky. And yet, the stars…

  “Are those…?” I leaned forward, squinting as I focused on the constellations winging overhead.

  “Yes.” She sighed, like she was window shopping at Tiffany’s. “Minerals and some organics. No synthetics.”

  “Gems?” There had to be millions of dollars worth splayed out above me.

  “Jewelry befitting the sky,” Solange confirmed. “I’ve been collecting them for years.”

  Unlike the others in my troop, I hadn’t been raised observing and adoring the natural night sky. Sure, I’d thought it cool and all, but pretty much the only thing I could pick out with any certainty was the Big Dipper, which I did now. “There are some missing,” I said, noting that the Little Dipper was shot through with pinpoints of light, but had no gems.

  “Typical of someone with your coloring. Missing what is there and finding fault with what’s not.”

  Surprised, I drew back at the venom in Solange’s voice. “No, I was just—”

  “It doesn’t matter!” she snapped, eyes suddenly as fiery and fierce as the jewels above. “I’ll fill the entire sky soon enough, and then I’ll be the First.” She tilted her head sharply. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  “What?” I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I was taken aback by her sudden anger. “No.”

  Leaning back, she resettled silk over her knees. “Good.”

  I tried to relax or at least look like I was relaxed. I didn’t trust her, especially after that little outburst, but I had a hard time pushing back the peace I felt amidst all this beauty. The cloud of pillows was soft at my back, and still spinning, the air a mere whisper against my skin. I wished I could undress just to feel more of it. My eyes began fluttering shut again.

  “In the past, the constellations were what brought people the nightly news.” Solange’s voice arose beside me, closer than I thought she’d be, but I didn’t open my eyes. “A person ignored the heavens at their own risk.”

  “Couldn’t be any less accurate than modern-day meteorologists,” I murmured before catching myself, but when I looked at Solange, she only nodded. I sighed. She might not know where I was from, but surely she knew when I was from. My dress, my speech, even my hair and deportment, all modern. Her, however? She could have been from just about anywhere, any place. Any time.

  “Because meteorologists study maps and currents and calculations. They neglect to look up. They forget that the word cosmos means ‘harmonious order.’” Her dark eyes glittered. “The heavens are as ordered as the western calendar. Vikings sailed by it. Pilots used it to train in night navigation. If you read the skies correctly, you can even anticipate what will happen next. Nothing drawn upon the sky is by mistake.”

  I tilted my head back to the ceiling, quietly sharing her awe if not her knowledge. “Are you like Bill or Boyd?”

  What else could she be, I thought, but some sort of supernatural being? A phenomenon, I thought, looking at her. One as breathtaking as a shooting star. “No. I am my own.”

  Her pursed lips and flat response made me feel like I’d failed a test.

  She sat back, nearly disappearing into the shadows. “You’re looking for Jaden.”

  That brought me to full alert. “You know him?”

  “You could say.” The shrug was in her voice. “Is he still a romantic at heart? Belief in the individual, in choice, etcetera and so on?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know him at all.”

  Solange shifted her attention away from the sky. “Then why are you looking for him?”

  “I broke something. That Shadow knows how to fix it.” Except that he hadn’t fixed the changeling, I now knew. Jacks had killed him.

  “He is good with his hands,” she said wistfully, and it was clear she wasn’t talking about tools. “But I haven’t seen JJ in years. Your lantern’s been locked.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t have any problems getting in.”

  She shrugged. “Then someone unlocked it.”

  “So…” Jacks wasn’t in Midheaven? I’d lost power, and he’d been in Vegas all along? “Well, do you know where he might be?”

  “Is Warren Clarke still the leader of Light?”

  That surprised me into momentary silence. “Yes.”

  “Then I suggest you ask him.”

  “How would…” I never finished the thought. My mind raced, searching for a time when a manual or even Warren had mentioned Jacks and Shadow agent in the same sentence. Coming up blank, I realized I had just assumed, and Warren had let me. “You mean…”

  “Jaden is Light, dear.”

  My dizzy-headedness wasn’t due to heat or drink or spinning stars. Everything I’d believed had just realigned into a different, unrecognizable pattern. I could understand Zane not telling me—he was the record keeper and had a cosmic obligation to remain a neutral force between Shadow and Light—but Warren…

  All this time he’d let me act on the assumption that Jacks was a Shadow. “This is making me sick to my stomach.”

  Solange immediately sat up, pushing the button so our slow spinning came to a stop. The heavens above ceased their movement.

  “It’s that god-awful drink,” she muttered, and bent over, returning quickly with a simple gold flask. “Here. Wash it away.”

  I sniffed. Water. I took one sip, then found myself guzzling it. The cloying finish of the drink downstairs disappeared, and my head cleared. Sheepish, I pulled the flask away before I emptied it. Solange smiled and waved at me to hold onto it. “It’s okay. I have more.”

  By the time I finished the water, the nausea had faded.

  “Warren hasn’t told you anything, has he?” she said softly as I closed my eyes. “He just sent you into a whole new world without even mentioning what this place is and does.”

  I whimpered. She leaned me back again, like I was a child.

  “You’ve spent many years at war with yourself. That’s why you’re gray.” She pressed a finger to my skin, looking at it like she expected to come away with soot on the shiny tips. “Toxins ooze from your pores. You doubt who you are and your place in that world. But here, you can embrace all your contradictions.”

  “Like you do?”

  She nodded as she leaned back, shutting her eyes, beautiful in repose. “I choose to be. Myself. In the
moment. With the person I’m with. It’s simple, really. Anyone can do it.”

  And there was something about Solange that was authentic. Maybe that’s why she was so beautiful. Maybe I was looking at the best her, the most her. That sort of comfort with oneself was rare.

  I certainly wasn’t there yet.

  Which reminded me…“I need my power back.”

  “Why?” To her credit, Solange only cracked an eyelid. “No, really. Why?”

  “Because it’s a part of me. I entered the world wholly and I want to leave the same way.”

  “Nobody can walk through the world unchanged.” She nestled farther into the inky darkness. “Besides, the moment is all that matters. Control that and you control all. That’s true power.”

  I found her lack of sentiment unnerving, and her dismissal of the people and events that marked and made a person was ruthless. Yet her eyes were soft when she turned her face back to mine.

  “You look tired,” she said, voice honey-rich. “Maybe you’re coming down with something?”

  That’s certainly what it felt like. My head pounded and my limbs were heavy. My skin ached and the nausea from before threatened again. Even Solange’s soft hand stroking my forearm was an irritant. Only the enveloping silk was welcome. A thought visited me: But superheroes don’t get sick.

  “The water…”

  The water…drugged…too late…

  My eyelids were heavy, my limbs numb. “Oh, no…”

  “Oh, yes.” Her words were sharp, her fingertips silken as she stroked my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut.

  “I drank…”