Moonshine: A Novel

by Alaya Johnson

  I smiled. "Why, if you wouldn't mind."

  He climbed in to the front cab, and gave me his hand to help me up. We trundled through the streets silently. He didn't seem inclined to conversation, for which I was grateful. He dropped me off at the corner of Chrystie and Rivington a full ten minutes before class was due to start. I hopped down, but when I turned to thank him he had removed his cap and I could tell that he was struggling to say something to me.

  "You're that teacher, aren't you? The one they're always talking about?"

  That's it, I thought, I'm moving to the Yukon, marrying a wholesome logger and dying in happy obscurity. What I said was, "I suppose so."

  He nodded and rubbed his thumb along the brim of his cap. "See, my little girl, last month, she came down with this terrible fever. We thought it was polio, you know. Nearly died of worry. So anyways, then the fever breaks and she's fine, 'cept now she has wings on her back. They're tiny, they don't do nothing. But we're afraid to send her back to school, 'cause what if the teachers notice and report her? We don't want her to live with that . . ."

  I sighed. In a city so overrun with vampires, it was easy sometimes to forget the persecution endured by other kinds of Others. Especially those, like this man's daughter, who suddenly discover within themselves some long-forgotten bit of Other power. if she was put on the registers as a fairie, our current laws denied her a vote, appeals in trials, fair wages and a host of other inalienables the full humans took for granted. And thus a bustling cottage industry of ad hoc surgeons had developed to rid these poor people of the obvious outward signs of their Otherness.

  Well, the Citizen's Council wouldn't approve, but I knew how to help him. "You'll need fifty dollars," I said. "On the corner of Pell and Mott is a Chinese herb shop run by a Mr. Chang. Ask to see him in private. As clean and safe as anything in the city."

  He tried to give me money, which, given the sorry state of his horse, I couldn't very well accept. I smiled and extricated myself as quickly as possible, as it appeared he was about to declare my sainthood on the spot. But the encounter had set off my headache again. Others already had such trouble in our society. Women had won the vote five years ago, but when would Others gain equal rights? Now that Faust was overrunning the streets, maybe never. It was enough to make me want to run straight back to that interminable Temperance Union meeting and scream at the bigoted old biddies until my voice went hoarse. Which would, of course, accomplish precisely nothing. I sighed, straightened my spine, and went into the classroom.

  There were seven people at the desks inside, to my surprise. In addition to the six regular students, Giuseppe sat in the back row, tapping his foot and looking out the window. He never attended this class. Had Rinaldo threatened him again? But I'd have to wait until after class to ask. I was explaining the nuances of police search procedures when Giuseppe raised his hand.

  "But sometimes the police should arrest the Others and they don't. They're just corrupt. They exploit us when they can, and let the real criminals run free on the streets."

  Everyone seemed to sit up a little bit straighter. They all knew to whom he referred.

  "Well, police corruption--from both sides--is an unfortunate reality of our society, Giuseppe. The best thing is to leave those sorts of Others alone. There are no fair trials with unprincipled thugs. At least our government might give you a fighting chance."

  I turned to the blackboard, but he refused to let it go. "And if you have no choice? If the police won't do a thing?"

  I bit my lip. The fact of the matter was that sometimes there was nothing to do. One lone vampire like Giuseppe couldn't do anything to hurt Rinaldo's powerful gang.

  "Pay them off and weather the storm, I suppose. And I'm sorry for it."

  He didn't seem satisfied, but at least he let me continue the class. I wasn't surprised, however, when he stayed behind as the others filed out. I knew he had fallen on hard times, but after our meeting at the tunnel construction site, I didn't quite know what to say. I felt sorry for him, but very wary. He had tried to Sway me, after all. Of course, my attempt to discuss Rinaldo with him in the clear view of all those other vampires had been ill-advised, but the encounter still made me wonder how deep his violent tendencies lay.

  "I heard about you and those boys," he said as soon as we were alone. His voice was deep, almost a growl. I couldn't help but notice that he looked several days away from his last feeding. His lips were a thin pink line against the pallor of his face. His fingernails were dark as fresh bruises. He shook his head. "What are you doing, Miss Hollis? Rinaldo is dangerous. You should not play with him." He had leaned in very close and I smelled a hint of something fetid and familiar on his unnaturally cool breath. Like blood and something else . . . alcohol? But he didn't seem like a vampire about to exsanguinate.

  "Have you been drinking?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Faust is not a crime. But it is dangerous. You should stay away from the Turn Boys."

  "How did you hear about that?"

  "Word gets around. Everyone knows who you are."

  Definitely the Yukon, I thought. "Listen, Giuseppe, I appreciate your concern, but I do know what I'm doing and I promise to be very careful. I'd like it, however, if you would refrain from talking about my . . . activities with the Turn Boys with other people. It won't be safe if I get too famous, will it?"

  He closed his eyes for a moment and his hands began to shake. "Don't be a fool," he said, his voice tight with anger. "He will hurt you, Miss Hollis. You shouldn't be involved." And with that, he left the room with unconscious, unnatural speed.

  I had to take a few deep breaths before I could turn off the lights and leave the classroom. I had no right to be angry with Giuseppe. He was only telling me what I already knew, and what Amir had finally realized this afternoon. This new investigation of mine had become flagrantly, recklessly dangerous. I was a moron to continue it. I should take Amir's money and keep as far away as I could.

  But I knew I wouldn't. And that terrified me more than a hundred dead cats and a river of blood.

  Amir was sitting on my stoop when I made it home, playing jacks in the lamplight with a few local kids. And losing badly, judging by the pile of jacks in front of his foes. He'd changed into a vest and breeches that wouldn't have been out of place on a longshoreman, but he made the faded black corduroy look elegant. The kids were giggling and giving him sidelong glances, like they expected him to vanish or burst into flames at any moment. Which he very well might.

  I watched him lose that round, and then smile amiably when one of the boys shook up the jacks and tossed them on the concrete.

  " 'Kay, your turn to bounce," he said, handing Amir the ball.

  Amir took it in two fingers and squinted at it like it might be a poisonous insect. Then he shrugged and bounced it.

  He managed to scoop up half the jacks, but the ball soared high and off-kilter. It came down on the step below them and ricocheted toward the sidewalk. I caught it, smiling despite myself at Amir's curious, bemused expression.

  "Well, there you are," he said. I threw him the ball. He caught it smoothly and turned back to the kids. "Sorry, boys, I'm afraid you'll have to finish trouncing me another time."

  "You a sucker?" one of them asked. "You sure don't look like one."

  Amir raised his eyebrows. I could tell just from the set of his lips that he was holding back a laugh. "No, a . . . genie, actually. Why do you ask?"

  He and the other boy looked at each other and giggled. "My momma says Zephyr's a sucker licker, that's why. But I bet she likes genies, too."

  Sucker licker? Good God, it just gets worse and worse. Amir took one look at me and then laughed out loud.

  "I think you made her mad," he said.

  I glared at all of them. "Benny, David, go home. Now."

  They took one look at me, grabbed their jacks and sprinted across the street. Amir looked after them for a moment and then walked toward me.

  "What a reputation you have,"
he said softly, tracing the bones of my neck with his index finger.

  "How would you feel about the Yukon, Amir? Pristine wilderness, quaint cabin, no people."

  "I'm not sure I'd be a great addition to a log cabin, dear. I might burn everyone down."

  "Wonderful. Even fewer people."

  He gave a soft laugh and leaned down for a gentle, teasing peck on my lips.

  "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be resting?"

  "I'm not an invalid."

  He obviously couldn't see himself at the height of his attacks. "And what about Kardal? Could he trace the tomcat?"

  Amir rolled his eyes and leaned back against the balustrade of the staircase. "My brother," he said, "is a singularly useless individual. He couldn't get a trace, but he was certainly full of unwanted advice."

  He looked so annoyed that I had to laugh. "You sound like I felt after the Temperance Union this afternoon. What a bunch of moldering, pious hypocrites."

  "They just need something to loosen them up . . . a flask of rum in their punch, for example?"

  In a moment of reckless abandon, I kissed him briefly. "See," I said, "we're perfect allies. Now what did you want?"

  "I thought we should try to find Judah's mother. Kardal and I . . ."

  Well, yes, I could see how two djinns might not be the best guardians of a confused, freshly-turned eleven-year-old vampire.

  "Has he remembered anything else?"

  Amir shook his head. "He doesn't even remember what he said about the boats. It's very odd."

  "Well, maybe we just need something to jog Judah's memory. We could try South Ferry again. He might recognize something if we bring him along."

  "Determined to earn your salary, aren't you? Shall we go?" he asked, smiling that slow, lazy smile that had gotten me into all this trouble in the first place.

  "You know me, never happy unless I'm saving someone."

  "And I'd hate to disappoint you."

  We had not walked three steps before my stomach let out a painfully audible growl. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't eaten all day.

  "Sounds like your stomach is auditioning for Wagner."

  "Just a minor role. You want to wait here while I grab some food inside? I'd invite you in, but Mrs. Brodsky might attack me with a scrub brush."

  I turned away, but Amir's voice caught me like a fishing line. "Don't be silly, Zephyr. I know just the place. If we hurry, we can make it before closing."

  "You do know I don't eat wieners and sauerkraut, right?"

  He pressed his lips together, forcefully reining in a smile. "If wieners were caviar, they'd serve it at the Plaza."

  "And if the Plaza served hot dogs, I still couldn't afford it."

  So we walked to Chinatown. It wasn't very far, but it had been a long day and I looked longingly at the few passing taxis.

  He squeezed my hand, apparently happier than he had been for the last few days. Not that I couldn't still discern the signs of pain and stress around his eyes and mouth, but he held my hand and hummed under his breath and generally acted like a schoolboy given a surprise half-day due to inclement weather.

  "What's gotten into you?" I finally demanded, when he stopped in his tracks and lifted me up for a kiss. "Did you find Rinaldo or something?"

  He laughed. He didn't seem particularly in pain, but his hands were fire-hot even through my coat. "I have a few leads, as Sherlock Holmes might say." He set me down and stared for a moment. His eyes shone like banked fire through crystal. "This is curious, but I think I'm happy to see you."

  I had to look away. I couldn't decipher the expression on his face--it seemed wistful and sad and resigned and giddy all at once, depending on how I squinted in the dark. And though I hated to admit it, his mood frightened me. Something had happened to him over the last few days. His attacks were coming closer and closer together. Rinaldo--whatever the source of their conflict--clearly knew Amir was planning something. No sense in threatening him otherwise. So why, given all the horrible events that had occurred over the past few days, was Amir so unfazed?

  I shook my head and started walking. Amir stood still on the sidewalk for a moment and then jogged to catch up.

  "I can be sad if you like," he said, still wearing a tentative smile. "Or is it just the thought of you in particular making me happy that makes you look as though you've just swallowed coal?"

  I grimaced. "Feed me and I'll sing you an aria."

  Lucky for me, the restaurant was just a block farther. He opened a door so nondescript (sandwiched between a tailor and a traditional Chinese herbalist) that I could have walked past it a hundred times without noticing. But as soon as we started up the painfully steep, creaking wooden stairs, the unmistakable smell of delicious food assaulted us. Garlic and duck fat and cloves and ginger and a hundred other scents I couldn't recognize made me stumble on the top step.

  Amir's hands held my waist before I could so much as stub my toe. "Just a few more," he said, laughing. I couldn't help but smile up at him. My stomach suddenly felt so warm and taffy-stretched I thought it might float away. He opened another door at the top of the steps, and we walked through. The room held three long tables, with four or five Chinese men seated at each while they devoured an astonishing wealth of food with wooden chopsticks. I'd eaten Chinese food from street vendors before, but never in an actual restaurant. A hazard of depending on the charity of others willing to buy you dinner is that you have to eat what they like. An older man wearing an apron came from inside the open kitchen as soon as he saw us and greeted Amir in a string of rapid, incomprehensible Chinese. Amir responded in kind.

  My eyebrows felt like they were about to wander into my hairline by the time we sat down at the table closest to the kitchen. "Basic literacy and elocution," I muttered. "How many languages do you know, anyway?"

  Amir leaned back in his chair. "About eighty. Kardal speaks over a thousand, counting dialects. But we're djinn. I can learn any language in a week."

  "Less obvious than flaming eyeballs, but . . ."

  "Guess that's why you call us Others."

  The food arrived ten minutes later: eggplant with hot pepper, garlic, heaps of chives and other greens I didn't recognize, vegetable dumplings, and two plates of strange springy blocks Amir called "doufu." It was enough food for at least four people. The waiter dropped a salad bowl full of white rice in front of me, smiled encouragingly, and made noises that I presumed meant something along the lines of "get on with it!"

  I stared at Amir. "Is someone joining us?"

  "Eat, Zephyr. You look like you're about to fade away."

  I looked back at the food. The aroma was about to make my eyes water. Well, damn, if he wanted to give me this much food, who was I to say no? I lifted the chopsticks and clumsily grabbed a piece of eggplant. It seared the inside of my mouth, made my tongue burn with spice and cleared my nose. I cursed.

  "Too spicy?"

  I ate another piece. "Delicious," I said.

  Amir only picked at the food, but my appetite sustained me through nearly all of the dishes. The doufu tasted a little strange at first, but by the end of the meal I'd cleared one of the plates. I was so full it hurt to stand. It felt wonderful.

  "Thank you for that," I said, sincerely, when we went back into the blustery cold outside. He ran his fingers along the back of my neck in silent contentedness. I sighed, not entirely with plea sure. I was full, Amir was beautiful and engaging and happy beside me, Nicholas had finally given me a clue as to where he'd turned Judah . . . and yet I couldn't shake this uneasy feeling. Why did Amir need Rinaldo? What had happened to make him so nonchalant about his dire circumstances? I thought about Aileen and her strange warning: I know you'll hurt yourself if you do what he wants. But no, he'd paid me, and I wouldn't let Aileen's trauma-induced hysteria make me distrust him for no reason.

  Amir vanished when we reached Water Street, mid-kiss. I could still feel his laughter on my lips, but I was suddenly alone. I shivered and waited for a f
ew minutes until he returned with Judah. But they weren't alone. I didn't recognize the third person until I heard his unmistakable bass rumble: Kardal had taken a form that looked almost human, if you didn't stare for too long. Of course, he looked like a true Arabian, with his smoky skin, jeweled turban and long brocaded tunic. Quite a contrast with Amir's impeccably modern attire. The two brothers were engaged in a heated argument--apparently having forgotten all about Judah. I walked closer to the child. He looked up at me, but didn't touch.

  "You've always been an irresponsible, callous, selfish ingrate, Amir, but now you've gone too far. This is your mess, brother! You can't expect some innocent human less than a tenth your age to get you out of it!"

  "I don't expect her to get--"

  "Oh, yes, you do. I know you. You're using her like you used that one in Osman's court, and that Bedouin girl and the French maid . . ."

  "They had names, Kardal," Amir said, with such quiet anger that it shocked me.

  "And I'm sure you don't remember them! Leave her out of it, Amir. She doesn't deserve you."

  Amir was silent for a long moment, opening and flexing his hands. "Are you quite done?" he said finally.

  "She doesn't deserve you," Kardal repeated, rather cruelly.

  Amir looked up, as though he would supplicate the heavens. "Of course not. I promise to get her out of my mess. Does that satisfy you?"

  Kardal shook his head, and began to fade. "We all thought Father was crazy, to breathe you into life so late."

  Amir stared at the spot where his brother had been and put his hands to his temples. Then he turned to me, a pained, rueful smile on his face.

  "Sorry you had to see that," he said.

  "It sounds as though Kardal has given you a bad case of chivalry."

  "I hope not. I value my skin far too much." He flashed a conspiratorial smile. "As you well know. Kardal can be so fourteenth century, sometimes. I, on the other hand, am fully on board with feminist ideals. You'll still help me?"

  "You have to ask?" I said. I looked back down at Judah, who hadn't moved. The boy looked better, I supposed, though far less childlike than before. Not quite as befuddled and scared, more feral. Amir hadn't bothered dressing him for the winter chill, I noticed, but at least he didn't look like he'd stepped straight out of a sultan's palace. I wasn't afraid of him, but I suddenly wondered what kind of mother would thank me for returning this child to her.