The Neon Boneyard

by Craig Schaefer

  “Yeah, well, Canton’s dead now, like most people who think they can use magic to be a hero. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Power corrupts?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “And more importantly, every system has a flaw, and every set of rules has a loophole. A real bad guy is scarfing up all of Canton’s relics, and he’s hot to get his hands on this wand. If he thinks he can unlock its power, I definitely can. Just have to figure out how.”

  I reached for the remote control and offered it to her.

  “So I’m going to try to hack this thing. Wanna help?”

  22.

  “I’m not sure exactly what the wand is responding to when it decides to work,” I said to Melanie. “It might be something as simple as the sound of someone in distress, or something that looks like real violence.”

  She looked from the remote in her hands to the television. I’d cued it up halfway into a horror flick. On the screen, a hockey-masked killer was frozen in the rain, mid-rampage, holding a machete high over his head.

  “I hate horror movies,” she muttered.

  “You just don’t appreciate classic cinema.”

  “Seriously,” Melanie said. “We are surrounded by literal, actual monsters. All day. Every day. Some of my mom’s coworkers eat people. Why would you want to watch make-believe psychos on top of that?”

  “At the end of the day, the make-believe psychos usually lose. I find it refreshing.”

  I walked over to the kitchen nook and stepped into the first mailbag, pulling it up over my shoes.

  “Okay, when I say go, hit Play. I’m going to try to wake up the wand. If this works—if—I should pop out of the bag right next to you.”

  “Ready,” she said.

  I concentrated, closing my eyes, and felt the smooth mahogany wand under my fingertips. This was a game, at heart—a battle of wits between me and a dead magician. I was good at games. I breathed fast, almost hyperventilating, trying to push my heartbeat. The brain is an impressionable organ, which is why horror movies and roller coasters work in the first place: even when you know you’re perfectly safe, a little trickery can convince your body that you’re in danger and trigger those sweet fight-or-flight chemicals to flow.

  Running out of time, I told myself. If I don’t get over there in the next two seconds—

  “Now!” I said.

  Melanie tapped the remote and a shrill scream burst from the television speakers. I dropped to a crouch and hauled the mail sack over my head, burying myself in canvas and darkness. A pulse of magic jolted along my spine, sizzling down my arm and into the wand, kick-starting it to life. Then I jumped to my feet, bursting from the bag—

  —and found myself standing exactly where I’d started, in the kitchen. On the screen, the machete buried itself in a wayward camp counselor’s skull while sharp violin chords screamed.

  “You’re too late,” Melanie said. The remote dangled from her hand as she gave me a dubious look. “Freddy claimed another victim.”

  “That’s Jason.”

  “I don’t care.” She turned off the TV and tossed the remote onto the couch. “So the wand is smart enough to know the difference between fake danger and real danger.”

  “We learned something. That’s progress. Even if it doesn’t go the way you want, an experiment is never a failure if you learn something from it.”

  Melanie strolled into the kitchen. “Where do you keep your silverware?”

  “Drawer on the left, why?”

  “Got an idea. I’ll stand here. You get into the bag by the TV.”

  While I swapped places, she rummaged around in the drawer and came up with a salad fork.

  “If you don’t teleport over here in the next five seconds,” she declared, “I’m going to poke myself with this fork.”

  I glanced up at her while I pulled the second sack over my feet. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

  “I’m not going to, like, open an artery or anything. Geez.” She put on a face of grim resolve. “But I’m going to poke myself really hard, and it’s going to hurt a lot. So you’d better get over here and save me from this evil fork.”

  “Melanie—”

  “Five. Four. C’mon, stop me. Please stop me? Three.”

  I dove into the sack. I dug deep, down in the stifling darkness, willing myself to move. I waved the wand with a flourish, hurled the fabric back…and hadn’t budged an inch. On the other side of the apartment, Melanie jabbed the fork into her arm.

  “Ow,” she said.

  “Okay. So, self-inflicted harm doesn’t trigger it either.”

  “Maybe if it’s lethal harm,” she said, “but I’m not going to cut my wrists to find out.”

  She tossed the fork. It rattled into the sink as she dusted off her hands.

  “Progress, though,” I said.

  I was already putting together what we’d learned, trying to come up with a plan of attack. Melanie watched me as I paced the carpet. Something must have shown on my face.

  “You really get into this, don’t you?”

  I really did. It was nice to have a puzzle to sink my teeth into, a problem I could solve. Not doing it alone was nice for a change, too. Reminded me of the old days, when Desi and I would grab a pizza and a bottle of wine and stay up until two in the morning arguing the finer points of occult theory.

  I stopped pacing.

  “You should probably get back to class,” I said.

  “Heck, I’m in class. This is—” She paused. Her excitement shriveled like a deflated balloon. “What is it? Seriously. All of a sudden you look like somebody ran over your dog.”

  “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. I’ve got no idea what this wand’s really capable of. It’s dangerous.”

  “Well, if you’d teach me…”

  I put my fingers to the bridge of my nose and pinched. I felt a headache coming on.

  “We’re not having this discussion right now,” I said.

  “Come on, weren’t we just having fun? And learning things? We could be a great team!”

  The shrill buzz of my phone saved me. I showed Melanie the screen.

  “Caitlin’s on the line, so unless you want real trouble, don’t make a sound.” I tapped the screen and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “I hope you’re polishing your dancing shoes, pet.”

  Right. The party. I would have been more excited about a trip to the dentist. Filling a cavity would probably hurt less, too. All the same, I tried to inject some excitement into my voice. I knew Caitlin had been putting a lot of work into setting this up, and even if I wasn’t thrilled about my new knighthood, I wanted her to feel appreciated.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” I said. “We’ve still got a few hours left though, don’t we?”

  “I’d like to see you ahead of time. We need to go over some…finer points of etiquette you need to be aware of. This is your first court function and I don’t want you to be surprised. Not by anything that isn’t supposed to be a surprise, at any rate.”

  “You make that sound slightly ominous.”

  “Oh, it’ll be fun. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  “I’ll swing by the club,” I told her. “Let me get cleaned up and presentable. See you in an hour, maybe?”

  “Wonderful. Oh, and one last thing? Put Melanie on the phone.”

  “Oh.” I looked over at Melanie. Her eyes bulged and she fluttered her hands at me. “She’s, uh…I mean she’s not exactly…”

  “Daniel,” Caitlin said. “Are you really going to lie to me right now?”

  I gave Melanie the phone. She held it like a venomous asp as it hovered beside her ear.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “No, but I—yes, ma’am. No, but why can’t—” Her shoulders slumped. “No, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Right now.”

  She hung up and handed me the phone.

  “Busted?” I said.

  “Busted. How does she know these things?�
��

  “Hey, just be thankful she’s looking out for you. You could do a lot worse in the guardian angel department.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Whatever. I gotta go. And hey, Dan?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Thanks,” Melanie said. “For…I don’t know. Being here.”

  “Always.”

  I saw her out, and then I turned a discerning eye to my closet. It wasn’t every day I got an invitation to an infernal shindig, much less one where I was the guest of honor.

  All in all, things were looking up. We’d taken out a Network front and stalled their plans, Elmer Donaghy was in Paris for the moment—I knew he’d be back once he figured out I wasn’t going to chase him, but it bought us some breathing room—and the powder keg of Las Vegas was more or less under control for once. I didn’t have a whole lot to worry about.

  Of course, times like this were when I really started getting nervous. Call it a bad habit, but I always expected something to come out of nowhere and wreck my tranquility. And with a posse of hell’s elite in town, all converging on the same nightclub for a party, I didn’t trust the relative peace and quiet to last.

  But I was apparently a knight of hell now, so whatever happened, it would probably be my fault, my job to fix it, or both. What an honor.

  * * *

  Autumn currents and air pollution worked magic at twilight, painting the sky in streaks of lavender and casting long shadows beyond the russet mountains. It was beautiful, until you remembered the world wasn’t supposed to look like that. Maybe the atmosphere was just trying to get into the game, adding its own razzle-dazzle to the city of illusions. A little warm-up act before darkness fell and the real show got underway.

  I was equally armed to handle illusions and flesh-and-blood threats tonight. Canton’s wand sat snug up my sleeve, nestled in the spring-loaded sheath Caitlin had bought for me. A fresh deck of cards rode in the breast pocket of my Brunello Cucinelli jacket. Style-wise, I’d opted for corporate chic: tailored black suit, crisp ivory shirt, and a tie and pocket square the color of hammered brass.

  Winter, a club a couple of blocks off the Strip, was marked with a single blue neon arrow that pointed to an anonymous set of double doors. If you didn’t know where it was or what it was, you weren’t hip enough to get in. Even so, while the place didn’t officially open until nine—or get roaring until eleven—partygoers were already lining up along the sapphire velvet ropes. I jumped the line, like usual, and one of the bouncers unhooked the rope for me.

  “Mr. Faust,” he said, “welcome. Ms. Brody is up in the DJ booth. She asked if you’d see her before going downstairs.”

  “Thanks. Lot of people on the party list?”

  He showed me his clipboard. A passel of names had already been scratched off. Some I recognized, most I didn’t. He dropped his voice and shot a furtive glance toward the line.

  “You, ah, resolved your situation with the Order of Chainmen, right, sir?”

  “Situation” was a good word for it. Thanks to Naavarasi, I’d earned a price on my head, with demonic bounty hunters from Vegas to Chicago competing to cash in. Caitlin and I dueled her to put an end to it. We’d barely survived, but at least we limped off the battlefield arm in arm, while the rakshasi queen had to be carried off on a stretcher. I’d call that a win.

  “I am officially bounty free,” I told the bouncer.

  “Good, it’s just, well, a few of the Order’s members are on the guest list. Wanted to make sure we didn’t need extra security downstairs.”

  “I’ve got everything under control,” I said. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a knight now.”

  “Right.” He nodded, slow, and made a note on his clipboard. “So, we’ll have extra security on standby.”

  A title and nobility, and I still got no respect. At least he held the door for me. I took one last deep breath and headed in.

  23.

  I was used to pulsating crowds and bone-jarring bass inside Winter’s confines. Instead, I was greeted by the hum of a vacuum cleaner as staff scurried in all directions, getting the place ready for opening. I dodged a delivery guy rolling a steel keg on a lift and climbed the long, circular staircase that ringed the outer edge of the dance floor. Ice-blue runners and bars of light guided me to the top, while the LED screens along the wall hung dark and dead. At the top, a balcony curled like a painter’s palette, up to the edge of a glass DJ booth that hung from steel cables over the floor below.

  “Stop fidgeting, darling,” said a familiar voice.

  “I am not fidgeting,” Caitlin replied.

  Caitlin stood with her arms wide, a vision of designer elegance. Her dress was pure couture, a shimmering gown of silk tailored to her curves, midnight-black, with a quality that caught the light and turned it into a faint rainbow sheen. A ruffled drape drew the eye down to an asymmetrical hem, perfect for a tango under the stars. Fredrika Vinter knelt at her side, dressed to kill and squinting behind a pair of bifocals as she adjusted pins along the fabric.

  “Really, darling. Just another minute or two and you’ll be all set. I’m almost done, I promise.” Freddie looked my way and broke into a grin. “Dahling. You caught me with my glasses on. That’s mortifying. Go away. No. Come here. Come here and hug me once I’m finished making your lover a vision of absolute beauty.”

  I stepped around her, leaned in, and Caitlin’s lips brushed against mine. “Too late, she already is.”

  “You know my policy: all women are beautiful, but a House of Vinter gown can improve even upon perfection.” Freddie stood up, took a step back, and looked Caitlin up and down with a dubious eye. “Maybe the hem isn’t exactly right—”

  Caitlin laughed. “Dances, you’ve been fussing for an hour. Enough. It’s wonderful, I promise.”

  “Well, if you say so.” She slipped off her bifocals and yanked me into a bone-crushing hug. Her lips felt like chips of ice against my cheek. “And you. Look at you. You’re moving up in the world, darling.”

  “That’s what they tell me. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. I mean, you’re not part of the courts.”

  Freddie trailed her fingertips across her emerald décolletage. “No, but I am nobility. I’m the Queen of Chicago.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not a real thing.”

  “I wanted to wear something special tonight,” Caitlin told me. “And seeing as Dances has been asking me to model at one of her shows…”

  “Quid pro quo,” Freddie said. “Caitlin gets me tonight, I get her in Chicago next month. This party is a test run for my new design. And I’m still not sure about that hemline. Maybe another tenth of an inch?”

  “Perfectionist.” Caitlin offered me her arm. Tailored suit or not, I felt like a dumpster fire standing next to her. That, and the luckiest man on Earth.

  “Guilty.” Freddie fell in on my other side as we walked to the stairs. “Also, my always-wise BFF thought you might want another friendly face in the room. And while you are now obliged to follow the rules of demonic high society—”

  “You give no fucks,” I said.

  Freddie put her hand over her mouth and gasped. “Darling. Such coarse language. But no, I left all my fucks in Chicago for safekeeping. So point out anyone who dampens your sunshine, and I’ll be happy to eat them for you.”

  “You will not,” Caitlin said. “You’re here as my guest. Please remember that.”

  “I’ll eat them outside, of course. Clearly I wouldn’t do it here.”

  “Okay,” I said, “what do I need to know?”

  Caitlin contemplated the question for a moment as we descended the winding staircase.

  “Obviously, be on your best behavior. And then some. Decorum is everything. Now, throughout the evening people will be giving you gifts; that’s the traditional method of honoring a new inductee to the infernal courts.”

  “I like presents,” I said.

  “Also, the gifts are all cursed.”

  I gave her the side-eye.
She shrugged.

  “That is also tradition,” she said. “Everything is lethal and will most likely kill you. Sort of a…welcome to demonic politics. Poison in every gift, a dagger behind every smile. It’s all meant in good fun, really.”

  “And at the end of the night, I have a big pile of cursed junk.”

  “Well, that’s the second part of the tradition,” she explained. “Now that you’re one of us, you’ll get invitations to other parties, where you’ll be expected to pass on the gifts you received tonight. Some of these tokens have been circulating for centuries; they accumulate little stories, a legacy of sorts. Passing along a cursed gift that was given to you by someone in high esteem is a sign of great respect to its new recipient.”

  Now Freddie looked genuinely shocked. “You…regift? You all regift? Caitlin, darling…there’s evil, and then there’s just simply unacceptable.”

  “So be on my best behavior, and don’t touch anything,” I said. “Got it. Fun city.”

  Caitlin gave me a long, almost wistful look.

  “I really am proud of you, you know.”

  I knew. And even though I wasn’t feeling it, I mirrored her smile and gave her arm a squeeze. I didn’t know why Prince Sitri had knighted me—beyond his usual deranged sense of humor—but it was a big deal to Caitlin and her people. She wanted to celebrate. So we’d celebrate.

  * * *

  While Winter prepared to open its doors to the public, the party down below was in full swing. Past a code-locked door, down a sweeping staircase, the second level of the nightclub was by invitation only. It was a maze of honeycomb-shaped rooms, onyx lit with pipes of golden neon. Tonight the central chamber had a fresh addition: an open bar and long tables piled high with catering dishes.

  “Don’t eat anything from the table with the red cloth,” Caitlin murmured in my ear. “It’s…not for you. The food on the table with the black cloth is human food.”

  “What’s on the red table?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  On my other side, Freddie sniffed the air and grinned.