Love and Darkness (The Cause Book 2)

by Randall Farmer

  Or the knife edge of disaster she walked by being the first Arm to befriend a Crow. How, Gail wondered, did Teacher avoid spooking Gilgamesh into skunking her?

  Worse, somehow, was the FBI. Agent McIntyre and his crew, working under Joe Patrelle’s dark shadow. Keaton and the Hunters at least could blame their transformations for their cruelty and bestiality, while Patrelle and McIntyre had nothing at all. She didn’t trust the fascists in the government to start with, but it was different to realize how bad they really were.

  “You must hate them,” Gail said, as Teacher’s tales wound down. Dogs. McIntyre and his cronies had attacked her with dogs, just to watch her fight. Unbelievable.

  Teacher shrugged, just a bit. “McIntyre? I have plans for McIntyre.”

  Gail shivered, catching the edge of threat in those words, and worrying about Van’s sudden feral smile. She wouldn’t want to be in McIntyre’s shoes when Teacher caught up with him. Then other memories surfaced, linked with the name of McIntyre.

  “Hey, wasn’t he involved in the Arm Flap, about four years ago?” The Arm Flap happened just before her transformation, and she didn’t remember the details well. “He must be making himself real popular with the Arms. What was the name of the Arm involved in that?” She frowned, trying to dig the name out of her memory. Then Teacher’s face turned to unyielding stone, and the name came.

  “Oh God,” Gail whispered. “That was you, wasn’t it? I thought they said the Arm died.”

  “‘Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated’,” Teacher said, quoting Twain with a twisted smile. “Many times.”

  Teacher hadn’t told any stories of that part of her life. Gail looked at her twisted smile and understood why. “McIntyre’s really dead, isn’t he?”

  Teacher nodded, and Gail believed her.

  “Why isn’t he dead already?”

  “Sometimes the world interferes with your dreams,” Teacher said, her twisted smile growing even more predatory. “The world is scheduled to stop interfering not too many months from now.”

  Gail was unnerved to find herself in the presence of someone who seriously intended to commit cold-blooded murder on a scheduled date.

  However, Teacher was an Arm. She committed murder every couple of weeks or so.

  Gail remembered the dogs, and the stories of the Arm Flap, and discovered she had no sympathy for McIntyre.

  “Good luck.” If he abused her teacher, he deserved what he got.

  Teacher smiled again, her smile less twisted this time. “Let me tell you about Focus Teas’ visits while…”

  A half hour later, Teacher turned things around. “What do you want, Gail?” she said, with her gentle voice. “We’re all training you based on what we think you need to succeed at giving juice to me, but what do you want out of the training?”

  Gail stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. What did she want? She hadn’t given this any thought since her Arm-based training started.

  Van caught her signal and paused the tape recorder. “I would like to stop being a pawn,” she said, hesitant. “The powerful people come by, playing their grand games, and they use me without thinking. Just a pawn, moved from place to place, without any say in the matter. Maybe sometimes it’s even good for me, but I still don’t have a say in what happens to me. Keaton. Adkins. Tonya. Cathy. Even you do it.” Gail caught Teacher’s hate reaction when Gail mentioned Wini Adkins’ name. Gail couldn’t help but echo Teacher’s reaction. “Every year I think I’m going to grow up, but it never happens. Everyone else is growing, too.”

  “You get what you pay for,” Teacher said. “Seats at the table are expensive, and we’re too immature as a society to understand the price we end up paying.”

  Gail thought of Teacher’s hard life and took a deep breath. “Uh huh. Even so, if I don’t have to completely shatter what remains of my morality, that’s what I want.”

  ---

  Gail stuck her head in the kitchen, surprising Isabella Wheelhouse, stuck as usual doing more than her share of the after dinner clean-up. Gail had mostly recovered from yesterday’s teaching extravaganza, except for a tiny ache in her right hamstring. “I’m going to be spending a few hours in my darkroom, so if you could rustle up Kurt or Buddy for me for bodyguarding, I would appreciate it.” Isabella nodded and rushed off. Gail grabbed some of the leftovers specifically saved for her, and ate. Her Transforms understood her strange needs and interest in her darkroom, but insisted on bodyguards. Prudent, since her darkroom was specifically out of metasense range from her people. Both Kurt and Buddy were normals, and their presence nearby wouldn’t bother her.

  Gail wandered to the back of the apartment’s property, ignoring the last vestiges of the summer heat and the dark shadows of late evening, to a locked shed where the household stored various maintenance supplies. Another small shed sat behind the main shed, Gail’s darkroom. She aired the place out for a moment, and after she saw Kurt coming, she waved at him and went inside.

  The inside of the darkroom was small, dark and quiet, with lots of extra soundproofing, just the way Gail liked. Close and claustrophobic, save she was far more of a claustrophile than a claustrophobe. She wadded herself into a tiny corner and closed her eyes.

  In a moment, her Dreaming garden appeared around her. She still hadn’t learned whatever tricks allowed one to speak in the Dreaming. She remained a signer, part of the larger circle of Dreamers who communicated using the deaf signing language. The biggest limitation remained the fact that the only people available to talk were those either asleep or meditating.

  The large circle of the Dreaming included more than Focuses.

  Tonight, after checking on Teacher first (she remained awake, a common problem with attempting to guard the mind of an Arm at night) and chasing off the aphids that often infested Teacher’s bushy clump of butterfly weed (probes by the White Witch, Gail suspected) Gail flew to the foggy vale, a hollow lined with gloriously blooming rhododendrons. A group of people gathered by the small pool at the center of the vale. Gail landed with a rush of Dreaming air and made her way down a mossy slate walkway, identifying those already here. The Lieutenant, the Madonna, the White Witch, Polaris and Thomas – all talented speakers. Pearl was there, also a signer, as was the Singer. Only after training under her for several days did Gail recognize the Singer as Mary Sibrian. Of the rest, she only knew the real identity of one other, Thomas, a Crow Guru she knew from Gilgamesh’s stories. He and Polaris were the only Crows involved in the circle tonight.

  The White Witch and the Madonna argued, as usual.

  “What do you expect them to be doing?” the White Witch signed. Goldfish flickered in the pool at her feet, and a couple of fallen leaves drifted on the surface of the water.

  “Behaving themselves. That is grotesque impoliteness, at best,” the Madonna signed. “At worst, their actions may trigger a war.” Both she and the White Witch used signing as a courtesy to those Dreamers without the skill to hear in the Dreaming.

  The White Witch sneered at the Madonna. “They don’t have the nerve for war. This is just some sort of political maneuver against Shadow’s associates. They do that regularly among themselves, and it’s not our fault Shadow’s associates are so vulnerable.” The White Witch both annoyed and terrified Gail, and if Focus Rizzari named her correctly, she was Focus Shirley Patterson, the reclusive head of the opposition to the Cause.

  Gail fervently hoped Focus Rizzari erred in her naming.

  “Not this impolitely,” Thomas signed. “You and I count each other as enemies, but I would not be so impolite to you. At some level, our linkages as Transforms are more important than our petty political differences.”

  “So you say,” the White Witch signed. “I will forbid the Council to examine this, as this is none of our business. Good Night.” The White Witch emphatically disappeared. Interesting, Gail thought. Was the White Witch a Council member or a Region president? Focus Patterson was neither. Asking about such things would be impolit
e, though, so she wouldn’t.

  “Good evening,” Gail signed. “What’s the problem?” After the White Witch vanished the Madonna’s polar bear companion wandered into Gail’s garden for a sniff. None of the others noticed, and the polar bear wandered off, likely to find the fishpond again and amuse herself. Gail did wonder what strange bit of her current mental anxiety gave the polar bear oversized chicken legs to go along with her lizard-like front legs.

  “I got exposed,” Pearl signed. She sat on a weathered stone bench underneath a cascade of purple hydrangea flowers. “Every one of my people with a job got exposed as a Transform. About two thirds of them got fired.”

  Gail signed appropriate swear words. “Who did this?”

  “Crows, Gail.”

  “Crows?” She turned to Thomas and Polaris. “Why?”

  “A group of Crows has decided to go after the Focuses important to the Cause,” Thomas signed. “No, not me or any close friends of mine. I may oppose the Cause, philosophically, but I would never act in such a manner.”

  Polaris shook his head. “Yes, the idiot patrol has decided to ride out in force. Unfortunately, your Cause appears to be little more than a house of cards.” Polaris was, well, nasty and snarky, but he was at least amusing. “Poof!”

  “This isn’t the first such annoyance, either,” the Lieutenant signed. The Madonna signed agreement. “Just the first outside of the Northeast Region.”

  “Is this the same group of Crows who put the whammy on Crow Sinclair?” Gail signed.

  “No, just the leader of that group, and his well-intimidated flunkies,” Thomas signed. The normally imperturbable Thomas appeared upset, a first for him.

  “The situation isn’t good,” the Lieutenant signed. “If the Council won’t be allowed to fight back, even diplomatically, this creates a power vacuum. I fear our Crow miscreant annoyed too many of the wrong people, who might step into the power vacuum and act outside of the purview of the Council, in far too rash a manner.”

  “Mollifying them and talking down the, um, miscreant will be up to me,” Thomas signed. “I feel dishonored by these activities, placing me in debt to many who I would rather not be in debt to.” Gail, from previous meetings, knew Thomas despised certain Focuses, especially first Focus Suzie Schrum. “This form of harassment must stop, or I will be forced to choose sides – and It Won’t Be Their Side.”

  “Is there anything I can do, to help or protect myself?” Gail signed.

  “For a source of good will, such as yourself, the best thing to do is stay away from the Cause. The last thing we need are more Focuses looking like targets,” Thomas signed.

  Gail winced.

  “What is it, dear?” the Lieutenant signed.

  “I can’t say, but if you need the story, talk to Tonya.” Gail knew that the Lieutenant was some sort of friend of Tonya’s, probably a lesser Focus such as Gail. Political power and capabilities in the Dreaming didn’t correlate, and as far as Gail knew, Tonya had no control over the Dreaming. A watcher at best, nothing more.

  “I’ll watch out for you. So far, I don’t think our enemies realize your full capabilities,” the Madonna said. Like Tonya and Gail’s friend Beth Hargrove, the Madonna often overestimated Gail’s abilities and potentials. “Perhaps with a little work, I can keep your tricks a secret.”

  On that enigmatic note, the dream-grouping dispersed from Gail’s garden.

  Gilgamesh: September 12, 1972

  Gilgamesh’s trip from New Hampshire back to Detroit was long and lonely. Sumeria felt empty without Sinclair and Hoskins’ company, and the baseball games on the radio only reminded him of his solitude.

  Some Guru he was. His first achievement as a Guru was to get beat out by Sky for the hand of a Focus. Perhaps he should chuck it and become a Crow Master, as Sinclair wanted. He understood enough now to identify Count Dowling’s combat form as a large bear. He must have worked long enough with Hoskins to awaken his inner Shaman. Unfortunately, becoming a Crow Master meant working with Beast Men before they were Noble. He would rather lick cat fur. And he did owe the Commander some time with Gail and her crazy household.

  He got into Detroit around noon. Newton waited for him in his apartment.

  “Gilgamesh! You’re back!” Newt said, rising from the couch in the small apartment and sending a partly eaten bag of chips to the floor.

  Gilgamesh sighed. Newton’s things were scattered about, and even his own apartment didn’t seem quite like home any more.

  “It’s good to be back. How’s everything going?”

  “Ah, well, there’s something you need to check into,” Newton said. “I think we’ve got some biiig problems.”

  “What the hell happened here?” Gilgamesh said. They sat in the Railway Diner and pretended to eat apple pie, which turned out to be surprisingly tasty. A couple of blocks away, Gail Rickenbach’s pit of churning dross, her formerly clean household, weighed heavily on his mind and metasense.

  “I don’t know!” Newton said, covered in nervous sweat. Gilgamesh suspected Newt had been worrying for weeks about Focus Rickenbach and her household.

  “It’s all right,” Gilgamesh said. “I’m here now. We’ll figure this out.”

  Newton took a breath and attempted to calm down.

  “Just tell me what happened,” Gilgamesh prompted.

  “It started with Tiamat’s training visits. The dross piled up faster than I could use it, but not so fast that it turned into gristle. Then Lady Death showed up, and all of a sudden…” Newt waved his hands around, dragging a shirtsleeve through an uneaten scoop of vanilla ice cream. “Gristle knots. I talked to Lady Death and she got me cover to get into the Clumsy Angel’s household. I worked as fast as I could, and I got the gristle knots cleaned out, only... And then after Lady Death left I thought I could hold everything together, but…”

  Gilgamesh nodded. Newton paused, embarrassed.

  “Now the Clumsy Angel’s doing insanely complicated things with the juice, and her dross is coming out slippery and I can’t handle slippery. Right now, the slippery dross is pretty fresh and isn’t giving her a lot of trouble, but what’s going to happen when the crap starts to harden? It’s going to poison everyone in the entire place! This isn’t something I can just walk up to the Clumsy Angel or Tiamat and talk to them about!” Newton only talked to Tiamat in whispers from outside of her metasense range and over the telephone. Gilgamesh had been working with Newton on that problem for a while, but Newton was right. Bracing Tiamat on this problem would be stressful, even for Gilgamesh. “And all the Clumsy Angel ever does anymore is practice!”

  “Newton, calm down. We’re the expert dross cleaners,” Gilgamesh said. Some Guru salon this would be – Gilgamesh’s emergency Focus rescue service. Gaah. He needed to set aside time for some proper letter writing and arm-twisting. “If we can’t handle this, nobody can.”

  “Gilgamesh?” Van said. Gilgamesh nodded and wiggled his fingers to indicate Van should come over to him. Gilgamesh stood in the late afternoon shadows along the southeast side of the apartment building. Van often worked in the afternoons at an impromptu picnic table set up in the sun, all to escape the overwhelming bustle of Gail’s household. “Gail’s been looking all over for you.”

  “I don’t want to bother her at her practice, but I need to get into the apartments on the quiet to do some dross removal work.”

  Van blinked and shook his head. “I thought it was getting a bit itchy inside the apartment. It’s bad enough that we’ve got gristle dross, and you need to be coming in with one of the skittish Crows?”

  “No, something worse. Slippery dross.”

  “Oh, crap,” Van said. He closed his book, a 12 by 15 large typeface government report, printed on thick paper, written by the CDC about the St. Louis Detention Center. “You’re talking about the sort of dross that drives Crows away from the nasty Focuses, aren’t you?” He paused, likely attempting to remember everything Gilgamesh had taught him about dross production by Focu
ses. Gilgamesh liked Van more than a little, and Gilgamesh served as Van’s secret source on the Crow viewpoint about Focuses and Arms for Van’s books. “What’s Gail doing producing slippery dross, anyway? Not only hasn’t she been torturing people, the new household organizational system is working so well she hasn’t disciplined anyone recently.”

  Where did Van get this document from, anyway? Gilgamesh guessed the source to be the Good Doctor, likely using Sylvie as an intermediary. The Good Doctor had a soft spot for vivacious young women, and Gail’s number two definitely counted.

  “I believe it’s a case of correlation, not causation,” Gilgamesh said. “Though I do find it worrisome. Her metapresence is darker than before.”

  “Tell me about it,” Van said, and sighed. A chilly breeze rustled the trees and Van shivered. Gilgamesh’s shadowed corner was a good ten degrees cooler than Van’s sunny picnic table. “Right now, her darkness is expressing itself as workaholism and the attendant ‘don’t bump my elbow’ crankies, but from my own flaws…” He let his voice tail off. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be in the same county with me if I possessed Gail’s capabilities and someone bumped my elbow while I was deep in my work.”

  “You’re afraid she’ll get used to wielding power for expedience sake.”

  Van nodded. “Let me talk to Sylvie and Kurt. We’ll set up a midnight scramble for tonight, if you want.”

  “That will work.”

  At least Tiamat stuck him with a Focus he liked, Gilgamesh reflected as he and Newton balanced an oversized jelly cube of slippery dross between them and exited the apartment complex. Gail’s juice structure amazed him, more complex than before and almost as beautiful as Lori’s.