Closing Doors: The Last Marla Mason Novel

by T. A. Pratt

  Once upon a time, she’d been the protector of this city, pledged to give her life in its defense, and in those days, she’d had what they called “city sense”: her own body told her the state of the place, with twinges indicating economic downturns, excessive pollution, spiraling rents, and compensatory euphorias when things were going well, as they had, more or less, under her rule.

  She’d overstepped, though, and put her personal problems ahead of the city’s needs, with rather disastrous results. As a result, the other leading sorcerers had deposed her, ousted her, and exiled her. Even her old friend and first ally on the council, Hamil, had voted for her removal, which at the time had seemed a betrayal of the first order. She’d had no intention of ever forgiving him: only his years of assistance had kept her from seeking revenge. In retrospect, though... Hamil had done what she should have done: put the needs of the city first, ahead of personal loyalty and friendship.

  Marla rubbed absently at a spot on her wrist. Once upon a time, in another body, she’d had a tattoo there, just two words: “Do Better.” Now that her body was more or less a matter of convenience and preference, she didn’t bother with the tattoo anymore, but only because the words had been marked indelibly into her mind.

  “Do Better.” It was never too late to live up to that.

  She conjured up a black cloak from the shadows and wrapped it around herself, and the cloak became a shadow again, and she became an absence of light, and moved from one place of darkness to another. To think, teleportation had once been an incredibly dangerous thing, the sort of magic that literally risked life and limb: passing through the interstices of physical space, where hungry things dwelled, and sometimes snatched and devoured. Now she could go from shadow to shadow, anywhere in the world, with just a thought, and she could move other people the same way, whether they wanted her to or not. Darkness and change were her dominions. Divinity had its privileges.

  Marla unwrapped the cloak and instantiated in Hamil’s living room. The walls were hung with abstract art that leaned heavily toward blues, and the couches and chairs were upholstered in shades of blue so dark they were nearly black. Hamil sat in one of his wide armchairs, a cup of coffee steaming on the table beside him, and stared at her with wide eyes.

  She walked around the couch and sat down facing him, crossing one leg over the other. “Hey.” She frowned. “You look thin.”

  He patted his belly—still ample, but not as titanic as before—and shrugged. His bulk was tied by sympathetic magic to his business enterprises. “My interests have not flourished lately as they once did. Things are lean all over the city. Our new leader Perren means well, but....” He shrugged. “She’s inexperienced.”

  Marla nodded. A while back there’d been a violent regime change in Felport, the chaos witch Nicolette staging a coup and taking over the city, and she’d actually run things with great skill and aplomb. Nicolette was an old foe of Marla’s, though, so Marla had deposed her, mostly out of spite. (A marked failure to “Do Better,” and one that still haunted her.) In the aftermath Marla had basically gifted the city to Perren River, a sorcerer of great promise, but little experience. Marla hadn’t picked Perren because she was the best choice to run things, but because she was one of the last surviving sorcerers of any stature that Marla didn’t have a grudge against. Ugh. Just thinking about the pettiness she’d exhibited....

  “Have you come to kill me?” Hamil said.

  Marla reared back like she’d been slapped. “What? Why would you say that?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You’re Death. I thought perhaps, given our history, and how unhappy you’ve been with me, you might relish the opportunity to reap my soul personally when the time came.”

  Marla groaned. “Gods, Hamil, I was such a dick to you. I’m sorry.”

  He blinked. “I... huh. I haven’t heard you apologize often.”

  She flopped back on the couch. “Being a god means never having to say you’re sorry, but I owe you that much at least. Yes, I was pissed off when you voted to exile me. Yes, I wanted you to support me unconditionally, and I was angry when you chose the well-being of the city over our relationship. I’ve got... more perspective now. I wanted to come here and tell you that personally.”

  “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

  “It means there’s nothing for me to forgive. Do you forgive me?”

  He rose, walked around the low black glass coffee table, and sat on the couch next to her. He took her hand, gently, in his own immense grasp. “You were like a daughter to me, Marla. I never stopped caring about you. When you hated me.... Well. The father-daughter relationship isn’t always smooth.”

  She squeezed his hand, then shook it off. “Okay, all right, no need to get all weepy.”

  He chuckled, that low rumble of amusement she’d once heard so often, and was so pleased to hear again. “Your divinity has not entirely changed you, then.”

  “I’m always me. Just less fueled by rage and old trauma these days. A lot of that stuff lives in the body, you know? Chemistry, neural pathways, muscle memory, conditioned responses. I’m less into vengeance and grudges now.” She sighed. “I missed you, though, big man. Would it be weird if I said I’m looking forward to you being dead so we can hang out more?”

  “I’m sure from your point of view that’s not strange at all,” he said. “Can I get you anything? It’s early for brandy, but...”

  “I’m the Death of the whole world, Hamil. It’s always five o’clock somewhere.”

  He poured drinks, and they sat together in companionable silence, and sipped. After a moment, Hamil cleared his throat. “I. Ah. Rondeau keeps in touch, and he told me about your... about what happened to Death. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Marla looked into the still ruby depths of her glass. “Thanks. Thank you. It was... Yeah.”

  “How are you coping with that?”

  She snorted. “I didn’t have a lot of time to mourn, or process. After Death was murdered, I was in charge of the underworld alone, and that’s kept me busy. I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing, and focusing on the task at hand, so I did that. Then a new Death rose—I guess Rondeau told you about that? He was a monster, cruel and vicious, he wanted to torment the dead in their afterlives, and that sucked, but defeating him kept me distracted, too. I guess I thought I’d outrun the curve of grief, but that shit catches up to you.” She brushed nascent tears from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to break down. Then again, maybe it was important that the god of Death be able to weep. “I kept trying to push the feelings down, you know? But it wells up in funny ways. I didn’t notice at first, but Pelham keeps track of things for me, and he told me. There was a forest in Japan where every leaf on every tree fell at once. A lake in the American south where a zone of death grew—you know, those weird bubbles of unoxygenated water, that suffocate all the fish in the area? The death bubble filled the whole lake, and thousands of fish washed up dead on the shore. There were other things. Ancient temples collapsing. Freak hailstorms.” She sighed. “When you’re a god, the pathetic fallacy is an actual thing that happens. When you cry, the world cries with you. I was avoiding my grief, and not coping with it well, and the world was reacting to my sadness anyway. Being a deity doesn’t mean you don’t feel things anymore, it turns out. It just means that your feelings impact the world... and vice-versa. I realized that if I didn’t deal with my shit, I was going to end up bringing about endless winter or something.”

  “What did you do?”

  She shrugged. “I withdrew. In the underworld, you can do things with time. Hell is all about subjectivity, you know? Like Blake wrote, you can have eternity in an hour. So I made myself a little bubble of primordial chaos where time moved way slower than it did elsewhere, and withdrew for... a while.” She half-smiled. “Death and I used to do that a lot, actually. It’s how we grew so close so fast—our secret was, it wasn’t all that fast. We’d disappear into a paradise of our own making and spend a fe
w months together, and when we came out, only ten minutes would have passed in the real world: reality could spare us that long.”

  “That sounds pleasant. What did you do with your time alone?”

  “When I was tucked away in the grief-o-sphere? I raged. I cried. I thought. I denied and angered and bargained and depressed and accepted. When I came out, I didn’t feel good... but I felt like I might be able to feel good again someday. My Death was a good person, and he always wanted me to be at peace. I wish he hadn’t been devoured by an extraplanar monster, but.” She shrugged. “You have to live the life you have, not the one you wish for.” She squeezed his hand. “Wow. I haven’t really talked to anyone about that stuff. It’s hard to find a good therapist when you’re a god, and also, I don’t do therapy.”

  “I am always here if you want to talk again. I missed you, too.”

  “Anyway. On to happier things, yeah? Fill me in on the local gossip.”

  Hamil chuckled. “You need a local reporter? I assumed omniscience came with your new position. Aren’t you present when every sparrow falls?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. I’m there, to some degree, with every living thing that dies, but I’m not everywhere all the time. I can see just about everything if I look, but I have to look, and I’m mostly too busy to enjoy the reality show that is human existence. I’m not Santa Claus or Jehovah here, Hamil. So how’re things?”

  He sighed. “The council isn’t what it once was. Langford is still running the Blackwing Institute, and doesn’t take much interest in city affairs anymore. Neither does the Bay Witch, beyond the waterfront, and just lately she’s been spending more and more time away, on her own inscrutable business. When the Chamberlain’s army of ghosts was destroyed in the Battle of Fludd Park, she became so greatly diminished in power that she withdrew from the council entirely, and retired to her mansion. We elevated Mr. Beadle, the order-mage, to her position, and he does a tolerable job. He’s the reason things are running as well as they are.” He sipped his brandy. “Perren has had some success helping the poor and with creating programs for troubled youth, but she just doesn’t have the experience to be an effective leader. She refuses to accept my advice because I helped Nicolette, which is... frustrating. I was consigliere to many chief sorcerers, you and Nicolette among them, and I flatter myself that I gave good advice, but she won’t listen to a word I say—indeed, she does the opposite of what I suggest, more often than not.” He shook his head. “I’ve thought of retiring. Moving away. I have land in France. I do like wine.”

  Marla closed her eyes for a moment. This wasn’t quite the moment of truth, but it was moment-of-truth adjacent. No more putting it off. “So. About Nicolette. I’m not super happy with how I handled... all that.”

  “You mean staging a coup and freezing her in a block of magical ice.” Hamil was the master of deadpan.

  “Right. That thing. I was acting from a place of anger. I really didn’t want to let Nicolette win... even if letting her win was best for everyone. I just couldn’t stand the idea of her beating me, escaping me, getting away with everything. She would have been a pretty good chief sorcerer, though, huh?”

  Hamil looked thoughtful. “She bound herself to the city in a way no prior leader ever did. She linked her own health to the health of the people in the city, magically—for her to thrive, Felport had to thrive, and vice-versa. The strength of that connection changed her. For the first time, Nicolette cared about something other than herself... or, rather, expanded her concept of ‘self’ to encompass the city as a whole. Yes. I think she would have been very good. Certainly she would have put the needs of the city first and foremost, for as long as she ruled... if you hadn’t frozen her in the aforementioned block of magical ice. Being frozen does rather limit her effectiveness.”

  Marla nodded. “Guess I have to thaw her out then, huh?”

  Hamil closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “Mmm.”

  “No? I’m open to being convinced to leave her frozen, Hamil, believe me. Would setting her free trigger a bloody war of succession?”

  Hamil pondered. “Perren doesn’t particularly want to be chief sorcerer, as far as I can tell, but she was no great fan of Nicolette’s. Perhaps a peace could be brokered, though, and an accommodation reached?”

  Marla nodded. “I think so, especially if I’m willing to wield some divine influence directly. I probably shouldn’t meddle in the affairs of mortals, and I don’t intend to make a habit of it, but this is a mess I made, and I should fix it if I can, before....”

  “Before?”

  She shrugged. “Before I shuffle off this mortal coil and focus on my real job.”

  “Ah. This is your farewell tour, then? A last chance to right your wrongs?”

  “Ha, who has the time to right all those? I’m wrapping up loose ends and saying goodbye to old friends, anyway... among other things. I really don’t want to go see Nicolette, Hamil. Admitting you were wrong isn’t a super divine thing to do. Shouldn’t anything I do be right by definition? Why else even be a god?”

  “I suppose your position does offer good job security. Shall I call Perren and let her know that her predecessor may want her old job back?”

  “If you’re willing. It’s probably better if the news comes from you than me. I’ll make sure Nicolette doesn’t do anything too... immoderate... when I set her free.”

  “Nicolette is famed for her moderation.”

  “Are you willing to serve as mediator if Perren and Nicolette need to work out the balance of power?”

  Hamil nodded. “It’s a role I’ve played often enough.”

  Marla rose, and Hamil lumbered himself upright. They embraced, and then Marla stepped across the room into the shadow beside a doorway, and reappeared elsewhere.

  She stood in a dusty office in the back of a night club, the cobwebbed center of Nicolette’s former power. Marla could see all right in the dark, but she gestured anyway, casting a spell of electrical restoration, and the lights overhead flickered on, generating a dusty yellowish glow. The room was dominated by an immense cube of ice, its surface jagged and irregular in color, bluish-white in some places, clear in others. A dim shadow in the center of the cube suggested, faintly, a person sitting in a chair. The shadow of Marla’s most implacable enemy.

  Ugh. This wasn’t going to be fun. Oh well. Soonest begun, soonest done.

  Marla approached and placed both hands on the magical ice—which hadn’t frozen Nicolette, precisely, but merely held her in a stasis, unchanging—and exhaled warm breath. A swirling spiral-shaped rune of binding appeared where she breathed, the secret key to undoing the spell, inaccessible to anyone but Marla and the ice-witch who’d actually cast the spell—and she was dead. Marla ran her fingertips along the spiral in the proper direction, the precise number of times, and exhaled warm breath again.

  The magical ice flashed away into vapor, and then dissipated, leaving nothing behind but a damp spot on the floor and a layer of condensation on every surface in the office.

  Nicolette clearly had no idea any time at all had passed, as she continued the same line of trash-talk she’d been frozen in the middle of so long ago. “But since you’re here, Marla, I might as well gloat a little about —” She leaned forward and looked around, frowning. “Where the fuck did everybody go?” She looked Marla up and down. “When did you change your clothes? Oh, hell. What did you do?”

  “I froze you,” Marla said.

  “You froze me?” Nicolette shivered and hugged herself. “Crap. I’m all wet! What the hell is wrong with you? We just fought a giant monster together, you bitch!”

  “Actually, that was... a while ago.” She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “When I froze you I was operating from a place of anger, okay? I’d been forced to make some compromises with my enemies not long before that, and I was cranky about the whole idea of ever giving an inch again, so I decided I’d defeat you, even though you didn’t really need defeating anymore.” S
he crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s not an excuse. Just an explanation. For what it’s worth, I’m truly sorry.”

  The chaos witch frowned. “How long was I out?”

  Marla coughed. “I mean, like... maybe a year.”

  “Who’s been running things in my absence? You?”

  “I’ve got my hands full with other responsibilities. Perren River’s in charge, but I don’t think she likes it much. Before you jump straight to violent regime change, you should know I’ve got Hamil on hand to see about negotiating a smooth transition. You deserve to be the witch queen of Felport, and I’ll do what I can to see you put back in place.”

  Nicolette stood up, rolling her head on her shoulders. “I don’t feel like I’ve been frozen for a year.”

  “Regina Queen cast the spell, on my order. She was good at freezing things.”

  “Was?”

  “Your friend Squat ate her. I was happy to use Regina’s powers, but she was too dangerous to leave alive. Which isn’t to say I don’t feel bad about how it all went down.” Marla had actually peeked in on the ice witch’s afterlife, to make sure it wasn’t hellish, but it was basically a dystopian sequel to Frozen in there, with Regina as ruler of all she surveyed. She’d been the kind of evil that didn’t suffer from guilt or doubt, so her afterlife had been all heaven and no Hell, and Marla had left it that way. Punishment was pointless: Regina couldn’t do anyone any harm anymore.