Seraph of Sorrow

by MaryJanice Davidson

  He tried to keep up with what Wendy was saying. A plot to twist the universe? And the brat-beast stopped it? How? Why? “Who was in on the plot? Who was responsible?”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “The Quadrivium, of course. What other plot is there?”

  Skip Wilson’s aunt had used that word, and Wendy seemed to know about it. It burned Hank that he didn’t. “Back up. Is this Quadrivium just Edmund Slider, or are there more?”

  “Yes, Edmund Slider, Otto Saltin . . .” Then Wendy frowned. “You don’t know this? But Lizzy already sent Mother a letter explaining everything. Mother didn’t talk to you?”

  This, Hank wasn’t ready for. I should have been ready for this, he chastised himself as he braced his white knuckles against the slick, dark wood of the bar. I mean, she sold my secrets to spiders. Kept the truth about the Scales family from me. Allows creatures like them, and Slider, and heaven knows what else to live in this town. Why wouldn’t she keep news of a genocidal plot from me, as well? It’s not like she respects me, does she? “No,” he finally managed.

  Wendy paused, and Hank watched his chance to win her back slip away. “Maybe you should talk to Mother . . .”

  His composure disintegrated. “I’m not going to grovel to Glory for the tidbits of information she’ll scrape off her plate! Wendy, the Seras want to know where their daughter is. They want her back! If you have information . . .”

  “Tell them to talk to Mother. They’ll understand.”

  Hank searched the bar for an idea that would keep Wendy here, keep the Seras from going to Glory, keep him calling the shots. “Wendy, I’m on the council. That information is mine to have! You’re my wife and it’s your duty to help me!”

  Her voice cooled. “Don’t worry about marital duty. I won’t be your wife for long.”

  He slipped off his stool. “You’re still wearing your ring. I’m still wearing mine—”

  “You and your things! Your rings, your swords, your bundles of information, your wife and son. Your possessions.” She was spitting the words out, getting the taste out of her mouth. “All tools to you, to enhance your legacy. To promote the Blacktooth name. This cause, this girl—that’s just more of the same, isn’t it? You don’t care if you actually help her. You want to be the one who’s in charge, who knocks the heads together and finds the girl, or her body—all the same to you—and then uses whatever you find out to make yourself look better. If she’s alive, you’re a savior with the Sera family in your debt. If she’s dead, you’re the one to rally the outrage . . .”

  She went on, but Hank had stopped listening. He could only watch her pretty face, with her pretty blue eyes glaring and her pretty vermilion lips curling, her pretty white teeth grinding and her pretty dark hair shaking. It was never going to smile at him again. It was never going to invite him to bed with a wink, or ask him if he wanted a cool drink out of the refrigerator, or thank him for fixing the porch light so it didn’t attract so many bugs. In fact, it was never going to do anything for him at all again. Ever.

  So he slugged it.

  “Go back to your lizard lover,” he spat at the top of her head as she tried to pick herself up off the floor. He swung his leg and knocked her arms out from under her, causing her to collapse to the ground again. The back of her shirt rode up a bit, revealing her bandages. “Go back to your pathetic life, with your pathetic son, and your pathetic friends, and your pathetic—”

  Wendy’s foot swept through his calves, knocking him off his feet. His head slammed into the bar and he blacked out.

  He woke up to three unpleasant truths. First, his skull felt like it had been split and then reassembled by elves—sloppy, drunk elves. Second, Wendy was gone and instead he was surrounded by many patrons of the bar, all pretending to be concerned about his health when he knew what they really wanted was to get the dirt behind why the two of them had been arguing, so they could spread it to their friends, who would spread it to their friends, who would spread it to Glory. Third, there was a large, foreign object stuck in his right nostril.

  He got to his feet with a growl, shooed the crowd away, and stumbled into the men’s room. There, in the quasi-privacy of an enclosed, tiled space reeking of urine, he poked into his nose and pulled out the thing Wendy Blacktooth had crammed in there. It was her wedding ring.

  Hank dipped his head in a perfunctory nod. “Mayor Seabright. You called for me.”

  Glorianna pointed at the newspaper on her mahogany desk. “Explain this.”

  He didn’t need to look at the Winoka Herald; he knew the headline. Trying not to betray satisfaction, he replied as calmly as he thought his mother would have, years ago. “Nothing I can’t imagine you don’t already know, Your Honor. It says some spiders—”

  “I don’t mean the story. I mean why it’s plastered on page one of the Herald!”

  “I would assume someone talked to a reporter.”

  “Obviously. Who?”

  Clearly, Glorianna suspected him. He didn’t care. First of all, she was right: He had leaked the story, or as much as he knew, to a young reporter who had eaten it right up. Second, he felt people deserved to know, whatever this tyrant thought she could hide. Still, he saw no reason to make this easy. He scowled. “Most likely Lizzy Georges-Scales.”

  The conversation deteriorated from there. First Glory goaded him about losing Wendy, then she fawned over Lizzy and the beast-girl, then she criticized his parenting, and then she came right out and accused him of leaking the Quadrivium story.

  However, the conversation was not a total loss. He learned she didn’t know everything. Most of all, who the two last members of the Quadrivium were.

  “I’ve already attempted to find out what I can about the Quadrivium,” he reminded her coldly. “I can’t find many people willing to talk to me about it.”

  Her suggestion that she go out herself and find out more almost made him laugh. He offered his assistance—perhaps she’d like a list of students that he thought might know something?—but of course, she blew him off. Then he tried to bring up this new girl, Andi, and the fact that Amanda Sera was missing, but she interrupted him with more of her sarcasm.

  “Do you need me to validate your parking?”

  Part of him wanted to lose his temper, he couldn’t deny. Another part of him was glad she was being so obtuse. It made it easier to turn and walk out of her office.

  Fine. Don’t ask for my help, old woman. Bottom line, I don’t want to help you anyway.

  Over the next several days, Hank sought to pull together a small core of Winoka beaststalkers to agree on two things. The first would be easy: Dragons like the Scaleses were a problem in Winoka. The second argument was harder: Glory was not protecting the town. The problem was no Blacktooth had the reputation sufficient to overcome the aura surrounding the mayor. She had ruled this town for decades. He did not find many converts to his cause . . . until Sarah Sera tried to talk to the mayor about her missing Amanda.

  “She wouldn’t tell me anything about the search, or if there’s even been one,” she spat into her linguini at dinner that night. “It’s been two weeks, and she doesn’t even seem to care!”

  “Did she say anything about the Quadrivium or its plot?” he asked her.

  Her fork twiddled some noodles. “No leads beyond the article.”

  “What about this Andi—the new girl at the school?”

  Sarah threw the food off the fork. “I didn’t even get to bring her up. Halfway through Glory’s speech about eight-legged freaks, she told me she had to get to the school. ‘I must meet with Jennifer Scales,’ she says, as if some lizard tramp is more important than my Amanda!”

  “Jennifer Scales has always been more important to the mayor than Winoka’s people.”

  Sarah tried to sound skeptical. “What can we do about it?”

  With her help, Hank was quickly able to convince other beaststalkers to join their cause—first a middle-aged couple like Jim and Sarah who had lost a daughter to beas
ts, then a grizzled man in his forties Hank had seen wandering the streets of Winoka alone, then a single pregnant woman who carried a dagger outside her clothes, then a few twentysomething men who wore camouflage pants and dirty baseball hats.

  They all met over a Thanksgiving dinner, which Sarah faithfully and beautifully prepared. The more food Sarah served them, the more able Hank was to convince them of the sickness growing in the heart of their beloved hometown. The Scales family was a virus, and Glorianna Seabright was a well-meaning, aging doctor with an outdated prescription.

  The following night, they met again. There, one of the young men who worked for the city’s street maintenance crew passed on a tip that the mayor planned to close Winoka Bridge briefly the following night. No one knew why. She was tight-lipped about it to her staff, and Sarah and Hank quickly confirmed that no one else on the city council had heard about this.

  “It’s a meeting,” Hank concluded.

  “We don’t know that,” Jim Sera pointed out. “She could be doing anything.”

  Hank gave a disdainful snort. “What, you think she’s repainting the girders?”

  “Why pick such a public place?” the pregnant woman asked. “I mean, if it’s supposed to be a secret, why do it in plain sight over the Mississippi River?”

  He thought about that. “Maybe the choice of location wasn’t hers. Maybe someone wants to talk out in the open, or wants an easy way to escape if things go wrong.”

  “Who in Winoka would need to do that?” asked one of the younger men. “Is it that Scales family? They’re trying to pull one over on the mayor?” He turned to one of his friends. “I told you weeks ago, we should’ve gutted ’em when we had the chance.”

  As much as Hank wanted to believe that the Scaleses were behind this meeting, he didn’t see the point of them insisting on the bridge. If they were afraid of Winoka, they wouldn’t live in it! “I don’t think it’s anyone living in Winoka. It must be someone outside.”

  One of the other young men squinted. “How outside you mean, Mr. Blacktooth?”

  He nodded. “Outside.”

  This revelation caused a stir. “The mayor’s talking to our enemies? Negotiating?!”

  Surveying the room, Hank knew he would have to play this carefully. Would anyone believe him if he told them about Eveningstar, or Glory’s prior knowledge of Jonathan Scales?

  He started small. “Well, we’ve all read that story in the paper about the spiders. It sounds like they had something serious brewing. Glory’s sworn to protect this town, however she can. If she thought she could save us by meeting with them . . .”

  “She’d sacrifice herself for us? But she can’t do that!” The pregnant woman stomped. “We can’t let her do that!” The rest of the room heartily agreed.

  Hank was pleased to see this angle work so quickly. “Then we need to be there.”

  “She won’t be happy,” Jim pointed out, glaring at Hank. “If she wanted us there, she’d have asked. She’ll take it as a sign we don’t trust her . . . or worse, that we think she’s weak.”

  “I’m not suggesting interference. What the mayor does, she does with the best intentions. She does so much for us all. Why should she carry the burden alone? Why should we sit at home and depend upon her, time after time, to solve every problem? Don’t we owe her support?”

  “We owe her obedience.”

  “Jim, Hank isn’t saying we’ll disobey Glory,” Sarah argued. Her husband scowled. “He’s saying we have a responsibility to help.”

  “Perhaps we could pull together a couple dozen folks,” Hank suggested. “No more than that. With good recon equipment, we should be able to observe what’s happening on the bridge. If she doesn’t need our help, we stay back. If things go wrong . . .”

  “Then we save Glory!” the pregnant woman finished for him.

  “Save Glory!” the middle-aged couple agreed.

  The young men repeated, “Save Glory!”

  Yes, let’s save Glory, Hank thought with a mixture of satisfaction and irritation. Let’s save her from her own foolishness. In the process, we might save ourselves.

  Hank was alone in his own house the next morning, sharpening the edges of his favorite oni—a type of Japanese axe—when he heard a voice behind him.

  “Dad?”

  He was unsure whether to answer or wheel around swinging the oni. He decided to do neither. There was a small, dull flaw on the edge of one blade; he fixed his attention there.

  “Dad, I need a bandage here or something . . .”

  That got Hank to turn. His eyes grew wide at the sight of his own son’s blood, seeping down the boy’s forearm. “What happened?”

  Eddie gave a lopsided smile. “Not much. I got into a fight with Mayor Seabright.”

  “Mayor Seabright?!” Hank was up and examining the arm. “You fought her?”

  “It was kind of one-sided. I didn’t have a weapon. She was getting on Mom’s case for siding with the Scales family, and Mom already felt bad because everything went to crap there, and when she called Mom a whore . . .”

  “You stuck yourself in the middle,” Hank finished. He couldn’t help but feel pride.

  “I couldn’t really go to the hospital, because of . . . well, you know who works there. And Mom didn’t feel right coming here after the argument you had. But she said I should come here, and you’d know what to do. She said you’re still my father, after all.”

  “I am. Lift your arm.” Eddie did so, and Hank gauged the wound. It was not deep, but it would require attention. He found a first-aid kit and brought Eddie to the bathroom.

  “Do you think it will need stitches?” Eddie asked, as Hank pulled back a flap of flesh.

  “Possibly. So, tell me about the Scaleses.” He tried to sound casual.

  “Ugh. Do I have to?” The boy’s face turned red.

  “You’re still sweet on that . . . that . . .” He could only lick his lips in distaste.

  “I don’t want to argue, Dad. Yeah, I guess I still feel for her. But it’s impossible to stay with them any longer. Jennifer’s dad isn’t an elder anymore, for reasons I don’t get. It’s a huge loss of face. They’re losing so many friends so fast in the Blaze, they’re suspicious of everyone—including me and Mom. It’s like they don’t even know who their real friends are.”

  Hank wondered: How would Dawn Farrier handle this delicate situation?

  “I’m sorry they can’t see the value in you,” he finally settled upon.

  Eddie narrowed his eyes. “That’s ironic coming from you, Dad.”

  “This may sting . . .”

  “Yeouch!”

  Hank broke a long silence. “So what made Glory so angry she decided to cut you?”

  “I called her an insecure, barren bitch who only found happiness at others’ expense.”

  Hank chuckled despite himself. “You stole my line.”

  “I’ve heard you say it once or twice. She came at me right away with her sword, and I tried to sidestep and deflect the blow downward, but I misjudged . . .”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. If we are to believe the legend, surviving a blow from Mayor Seabright herself is an accomplishment.”

  “Mom got me out of there okay. I’ve never seen her so angry.”

  Yeah, well, maybe she’ll find a piece of jewelry to cram up Glory’s nose. “Of course she was angry. You’re her son. Our son.”

  Eddie gulped. “I’m sorry about the fight we had at the hospital, Dad.”

  Of course you are. You have nowhere else to go. “I am, too.”

  “Do you think Glory will keep coming after me?”

  Why bother? “I’ve never known her to kill another beaststalker, or the child of one. Besides, she has more on her mind now than your insults.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hank told him about Glory’s plan to meet someone, probably arachnid, on the bridge.

  Eddie thought about that. “Skip Wilson?”

  “Could be. What’s
Skip been up to lately?”

  “Suspended from school for ‘disrespect to the mayor.’ He doesn’t care for authority figures, so I don’t know how he gets from being suspended to asking for a meeting like this.”

  “There may be others.” Hank bit his lip. “Some of us are going to observe this meeting, Eddie. We’re going to find out what the mayor’s up to. We’ll help her if she needs it—but she’s going to account for whatever she’s doing.”

  “Wow. She’s going to be pissed at you for spying on her, I’ll bet.”

  “Pissed at us, Eddie. You’re coming with me.”

  His son sputtered. “Whoa. Dad, I’m not—I mean, I haven’t passed my rite—”

  “You’ll pass it tonight. That’s when she’s meeting.”

  “But I . . .” Eddie paused, and Hank watched the battle of emotions cross his son’s face. Come on, Edward Blacktooth. Show your courage. “But what about my arm?”

  A fair question. Hank assessed the cleaned wound. “You can still carry a weapon. You need stitches and antibiotics. More than what I have here. You’ll have to go to the hospital.”

  “But Jennifer’s mom . . .”

  He tried not to show too much impatience. “She’s not the only doctor in that place! Son, you’ve got to stiffen that spine. I’ll put a quick dressing on it, and that’s the last thing I’m doing for you. I’ve got preparations for tonight, and I can’t waste time coddling you. You’re going to stand up, walk out of here, get to the hospital, and get this taken care of. If you run into Dr. Georges-Scales, you’ll deal with it. If you run into Glory, you’ll deal with it. If you run into the entire damn Blaze, you will deal with it. You’ll get fixed, and you’ll report back here by 1600 hours. That will give us time to plan for tonight.”

  Eddie swallowed hard.

  “A boy’s got to be tough, to become a man, son.”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Both of them exhaled, and then Hank began to wind a dressing around the large cut. Eddie really would be okay. He’s lucky, Hank told himself. And who knew? Maybe he would pass his rite of passage on the bridge tonight. Maybe there’s hope for him, after all. It just took a hammer to the head for him to see it.