by Dalya Moon
“Or condo developments? Do you know anything about a new building going up in Chinatown?”
“C-town? I'll be doing the presales for them. Good guys. I've done a few deals with the developers.”
“Are they also involved in a project on Chesapeake Avenue? A renovation on a building for some chain place, Williams-Sonoma?”
“Why the sudden interest in my business deals?”
“Your deals?”
He stretches his arms over his head and yawns, then rubs his stomach and tucks his pearl-buttoned shirt back in over his big belt buckle. This movement is similar to what cats do when they're pretending to be sleepy but ready to attack. If I moved suddenly toward Rudy, I have a feeling he'd punch me, so I stand very still and wait for his response.
After another fake-looking yawn, he says, “Things are going well with my little investment property on Chesapeake. You should have seen the lease on that place made by the former owners—the pawn shop fellow must have signed a deal with the devil himself to get such terms. Because the rent was so far under market value, the property was nearly worthless and I picked it up for a song. I'm sorry to say the poor fellow's bad fortune then became our good fortune, when he passed away. I thought I'd have to wait another twenty years for him to go of natural causes, but we got lucky.”
“You own that building? The pawn shop?”
Rudy squeezes me on the shoulder, making my guts recoil inside me. “It's not a pawn shop, it's a high-end building. And I don't own it. We own that building. My good fortune is all yours someday.”
“Wow, uh, cool.” While I struggle to remain cool on the surface, a tide of dread is pulling up within me. I've found a connection, and I didn't have to look far after all.
“Once the pre-sales for this little C-town deal come in, I'll fly us all somewhere tropical. What do you think? Maui?”
“Sure. Yes. I mean, this is a lot to digest.” I back away slowly. “And tomorrow's the big day. I should let you get your rest.”
“That's an unusual ring you have on,” he says. “Can I see it?”
I'm half-way to the front door. “Got a lot of homework to do,” I call out as I stumble up the first step.
He turns his hands into the shape of guns and goes, “Pow, pow. Catch you on the flip side, kiddo.”
I open the door, get inside the house, and lock the door behind me. Gran's already down the hall, getting ready for bed.
My heart's pounding. Rudy. Stupid cowboy-clothes-wearing Rudy.
I tap on the bathroom door and ask through it, “Hey, is Rudy in some sort of bridge club?”
Gran opens the door, still brushing her teeth. “Uh-huh,” she says, meaning yes.
“He's definitely in a bridge club?”
She spits in the sink and examines her teeth in the mirror. “Yes, Zan, why? Are you suddenly interested in bridge? I hear it's good for keeping the mind sharp.”
I swallow hard. “Never mind.”
She pulls out some dental floss and watches me through the mirror. “You still sick?”
“Just tired. I need some sleep.”
I return to my room and lie on my bed with the lights off but my clothes on. After a moment, I get up and look for a place to hide my ring. The sock drawer is clearly the most obvious choice, so I can't hide it there.
Calm down and think, I tell myself, taking a seat at my desk and turning my monitor back on. There's a new email from Detective Wrong, with an attachment.
She's written: FYI, Ming Lee was also known as Susan.
I scroll down to view the photo. Susan. I'm looking at the face of the woman I met one time, at the herbalist place, when she sold me the tea I used for astral projection. I later found out my encounter with her had been no accident, but an elaborate setup by Heidi and Newt.
I'd love to ask Susan about her involvement in Newt's death and Rudy's business deals, but she's dead, and the dead don't speak.
The dead don't speak, books don't walk away on their own, and I need to hide this ring.
I roll my desk chair underneath my ceiling light, climb up carefully, and tuck the ring up inside the glass of the fixture.
Gran's finished in the bathroom, and calls out that it's my turn, but I crawl into bed and pull the covers over myself. Teeth-brushing can skip a night.
Rudy. What else do I know about him?
The juice. Rudy could have been drugging me with that delicious citrus juice. Is that what's been making me stronger? I'm still strong and I'm not drinking it any more.
The juice days did coincide with the times my power wasn't working, and now that the juice is gone, everything seems normal again—as normal as things ever are for me.
Does this mean Rudy's a witch? Or a warlock or whatever they are? He was out of town with Gran the day Newt was murdered, but that doesn't mean he wasn't involved. In fact, being conveniently out of town with a great alibi makes me more sure of his involvement.
What about Newt? He was not a very nice man. He did try to kill me, despite what Heidi says about him not meaning to actually chop me in two with a battle ax. Sure, Heidi, your weird brother was just playing around. I saw the lack of humanity in his eyes that night in the basement. I can't say the world's not a better place without Newt.
So, if Newt was bad, and Heidi tricked me into doing her job for her, in addition to beating the stuffing out of me in the parking lot behind the funeral home, I may have picked the wrong team.
If my pal Rudy is somehow involved with a group of powerful witches, it might be safer for to align myself with him. He may have come by some of his wealth by less-than-admirable means, but I've studied history as well as current events, and since when is capitalism ever pretty?
Detective Wrong will be disappointed if I tell her I've had no insight at all.
I double-check that my window's locked tight and the curtains are drawn all the way, then pull the covers up to my nose. Above me, the scattered stick-on stars on my ceiling glow faintly.
As a kid, you sit in school all day so they can teach you things, and you figure you'll get all the answers, in time. Yet so much in this world is unknowable. We can see the stars, but we'll never touch them. Our teachers barely know more than we do.
The Bridge.
What's that expression?
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Chapter Twenty-One
Today is my grandmother's wedding day, and the sky is holding back, gray and churning. Here in the Hotel Doccione's atrium, the bleak view through the glass ceiling matches my mood, but not that of the family and guests gathered here to celebrate.
I'm sitting in the front row, on one of those metal and vinyl stacking chairs that has the wrong angle of backrest. Who do they make these chairs to fit? I suppose they're optimized for manufacturing and stacking, not for the comfort of actual humans.
Grumbling to myself about the chairs brings me some relief compared to my anxiety about everything that's about to happen.
First, we'll have the wedding ceremony. Then some tables will be brought in for the reception. Chicken Kiev is on the menu for dinner, along with some vegetarian options, but I don't know if we'll get to dinner. Things are about to diverge wildly from Gran and Rudy's carefully-laid plans.
Austin's sitting two rows behind me because she's still officially giving me the silent treatment. She's back there with Julie, and it hurts me to turn and look at her, in a sleek blue dress showing off her curves, plus high heels. There's a hat too, but I can't take my eyes off the shoes and her legs. I hope after everything is done, we can find somewhere to be alone together. She doesn't even need to talk to me if she doesn't want to, but I have to be near her.
Some more people come by to say hello to me, and I do my best to stay in character, playing my role of joyful grandson.
I've had my cheeks pinched by several great-aunts and other relatives, but my only wish is for this next hour to pass quickly. Gran, however, is posing for photo after photo with friends and family, hoping
to make this moment last as long as possible.
Another great-uncle comes by, requesting I stand for a hug. I've had about a hundred hugs, half of them were from Rudy, who practically frisked me for contraband during the last one. He seemed to be testing me, testing my loyalty, and I think I passed.
“Nice to see you, Uncle Max,” I say.
“You're next,” he says, grinning.
I take my seat again, which is next to James. On the other side is his date, good old Facepuncher herself. Apparently they've been calling each other since they met up at the funeral. Facepuncher has dyed chunks of her black hair a bright blue, and she's wearing a sleeveless black leather dress, cut low in the front. I hope Gran doesn't catch sight of her in the front row and stop the ceremony to send someone out for a cardigan and a hat.
Uncle Max is now introducing himself to Facepuncher, asking her name several times and leaning in close to hear better. “Fionnula,” she says.
“Fiona? I didn't catch that,” he says again.
I don't trust the girl, so I haven't breathed a word of my plan to James or Julie, and especially not Austin, who wouldn't let me if I tried. The only good thing about today is Austin's wearing the necklace I gave her to celebrate our four-month anniversary, so she must not hate me. .
The wedding is a small affair, with less than a hundred people, and because Rudy's not religious—at least not Christian, that is—the service is being performed by a member of the hotel staff who has been ordained. The guy's young, with more pimples than me, and I wonder if his other official role is as bus boy.
The lights change and the sides of the large room disappear into dimness. Other lights, tiny halogens mounted along tracks under the atrium's glass ceiling, shine as bright as tiny suns down on the aisle and the decorated platform.
The din of conversation tapers off as people take their seats and await what's next. A song pipes out of the speakers, the volume gradually rising, and people completely stop talking. Somebody clears his throat and someone else coughs. The song ends and the next one, the real start of the ceremony, begins.
As much as I want everything to move along quickly, now that it is, I'm nervous, and the tops of my suit pants are damp from wiping my hands on them. I'm wearing my vintage suit again, with a copper-colored shirt Gran bought for today.
Rudy takes his place on the platform, wearing a copper shirt that matches mine. Chairs squeak as everybody turns to watch Gran walking down the aisle. Her best friend, Eva, is holding her elbow. Gran asked if I wanted to walk her down the aisle, but we agreed it would be a nice way to involve Eva, since they weren't planning to have any bridesmaids or groomsmen standing with them.
As she reaches the platform, I dig into my jacket pocket to check on my ring.
It's gone.
Where's my ring?
Didn't I grab it from my sock drawer this morning? Or, wait, from my ceiling lamp? I remember wobbling on my rolling chair, nearly falling off. I did get the ring, though, didn't I? My mind's a blur.
What am I doing again?
I check for the ring in my pocket.
It's gone? Same thought loop. I'm looping, how am I looping? Is this a nightmare?
The ceremony keeps going. To my right, James leans his head on Facepuncher's shoulder as she takes his hand.
The young-looking minister asks if anyone has any objections. Someone in the back row laughs—Eva. Gran turns back and jokingly waves her first at her friend.
The minister continues with the next part, which is the exchanging of the rings. I see my ring. Rudy is sliding it onto my grandmother's finger.
How can this be?
I'm in the front row, barely an arm's length from them, and my vision is good. I know that is my ring, and now Gran is wearing it. I'm so confused.
I pinch myself on the arm. Don't get confused, Zan. Don't get distracted. Stick to the plan.
There's commotion behind me, and I turn to see Austin standing in front of her chair, then turning, and slowly shuffling past people in her row without so much as excusing herself. She walks up the aisle and out of the atrium. I don't know what's gotten into her, but if she's as nauseated as I am right now, I don't blame her for sneaking out for some air.
My breathing is shallow, my stomach contracting, and the smell of perfume and cologne in here is making my throat close up. I focus on feeling the seat of my chair under me, and the floor beneath my feet. I wiggle my toes inside my shoes.
Without the ring, my confidence has drowned. Doubt. Shame. Now Moira's vision casts over me, like a shadow on a grave, with other visions equally unwanted. A man falls from the sky and his family mourns. Fear, hope and pain blend together. Nobody believes me. Nobody's protecting me. Thoughts that are not my own are in my head. You have to hurt them before they hurt you.
The room darkens, and several people look up at the glass ceiling and mutter comments. Overhead, the darkening was not caused by a gold-fringed cloud passing in front of the setting sun, but by birds. Black birds dot the glass ceiling, blotting out the view.
In front of me, the young minister announces, “You may kiss the bride. And you, sir, you may kiss the groom.”
At this, people around me titter. They're all so damn happy.
Rudy pretends to lift an imaginary veil from Gran's face and the sound around me grows to laughter. She's not wearing the traditional white dress, but a simple pale blue suit and matching shoes. She is beautiful, and I have a double memory of this moment. I saw this very sight earlier this year in one of my visions: radiant in blue, Gran on her wedding day, looking so beautiful and happy.
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands to keep myself still.
This next part will take some nerves.
It's not going to work, I tell myself.
Shut up, it has to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The November wind wails as it skims the roof of the Hotel Doccione. Twenty stories below, I can see people mingling under the glass atrium. There's no sound up here but the wind, but I imagine the music and conversation and warmth. I wrap my suit jacket around me tighter.
I'm on top of the highest building in the city, and I can see for miles, but all I should be watching is the door, waiting for Rudy.
I take a seat on a metal bench, cold beneath my legs. To my left is a small sign placed up here by the hotel management, apologizing for the lack of greenery on the rooftop garden due to delays in landscaping. Near my feet is a pumpkin-sized plant pot filled with dirty water and cigarette butts.
The rooftop space has hexagonal-shaped paving stones, lounge chairs, and folded-down umbrellas, still in their plastic packaging. In the summer, guests will be sunbathing out here, but today is cold, the early evening sky blue, pink, and purple. As I wait for Rudy to show up, shadows lengthen and the city around me is bathed in gold light. It's the golden hour, the magic hour—that special time for photographers. Blue light scatters, and all becomes red. Once the sun sinks, before darkness, we'll have blue hour—the name misleading because it does not last anywhere near an hour.
The sky around me becomes a rich violet, but still I keep my eyes on the door, which is flanked by planter pots that could hold enormous potted trees when the landscaping is completed.
My pulse quickens when the door opens and Rudy steps out, alone.
The wind picks up, stinging my eyes. “You stole my ring,” I say.
Rudy's eyes are as cold as the metal bench I'm on. “Leave the grown-up things to the adults,” he says. “Come downstairs. Hang out with your friends, relax and enjoy being a kid.”
“I can't relax, knowing you're involved in criminal activity. I don't know how you did it, but you had that man, Newt Steadfast, shot. Murdered.”
“To make an omelet, you have to crack some eggs. Sacrifice a few pawns, whatever. Don't you want the finer things in life? Don't you want college tuition? A future?”
“I'll work for what I deserve.”
He laughs. “In this world, nobody
gets what they deserve. They get what they take, and on their death bed, they pray for forgiveness.”
“Hurting living souls is wrong.”
“Tell that to the animals we're serving for dinner. Their sacrifice is our gain.”
“Shooting people is evil.”
Rudy holds his arms out and steps toward me slowly. “I didn't shoot that man.”
“No, but you paid someone else to. Or you used witchcraft, a spell. I don't know how, but you hypnotized an innocent person. You're ruining her life!”
“Is your girlfriend, Austin, innocent?”
I stand, trying to keep my legs from shaking. “Leave Austin out of this! Don't you dare touch her!”
He steps closer still, and to keep my distance I step off the paving stones and onto the gravel, near the edge of the roof.
“I haven't touched your girlfriend,” Rudy says. “Of course, it was someone named Rosemary who was supposed to wear the necklace and do the next part of the job. It was you who screwed everything up, when you bought the necklace instead of that tall boy. But that's fine. Austin will do. She'll do just fine.”
Austin's in trouble. I reach for my phone, but my pocket is empty.
“Looking for this?” Rudy holds up my phone, then tosses it to the side, over the edge of the roof opposite the atrium side, facing the street. The phone disappears, down the side of the building to the sidewalk below.
What does he mean?
Austin got up during the ceremony, but she's not simply avoiding me—she's … she's not even here. The vision of her with the gun. It's not from the past, but from the future. From right now. Austin's somewhere with a gun, at this very moment.
Rudy stands near the railing with his hands on his hips, waiting for a response.
I'm not going to argue with him. I'm strong, and he's going to be sorry. I run at Rudy, tackling him in the middle.
He lets out his breath with an oof sound, surprised, but he doesn't go down. He stands, as steady as a stone statue.
I've made the first move, but he's much stronger than I expected. I try to punch him, but he keeps catching my hands, as though we were play-fighting. He grabs my arms and shakes me.
