by VK Fox
“I interviewed him this morning. He doesn’t know anything.”
Carpeaux gave him the once over deliberately and nodded, “We all want her back, Lovecraft. Who do you have on this?”
“I deployed London and Palahniuk this morning, but my reading on the situation is we’re fighting the odds.” Everest inflected his voice ever so slightly, “We’ll get her home safe if it’s possible to do so, sir. Baum is a resourceful, talented, intelligent officer and she’s almost done clocking in. She’ll be working her way towards help, and we’ll meet in the middle and have her back home in time for her to retire this summer.”
Carpeaux nodded curtly and took his leave without further questions. Hopefully his brazen remark was the right play. It got command out of the room fast enough. This way Carpeaux could be a hero either way: if they got her back, he’d beaten the odds. If they didn’t, he’d freed up a link before retirement.
Everest exhaled deeply, nodding his head, a warmth creeping over his skin. He could do this. He was crushing it so far. Sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, he let his arms fall beside him. Under one of his hands the corner of something small jabbed into his palm. He lifted it, finding the end of the phone cord. The little object was feeling desperate and frightened. He searched for reassuring words: he had things under control. Was his second sight still open? That was going to hurt later, running hot for so long. The pieces of the struggle lay around him, whispering their secrets gently in his ear as the impressions faded with passing time. Most impressions were ephemeral. The room sang out its waning life to him. Their voices were fiddles, lovely and bright. Everything was going to be okay. Better than okay. Fantastic.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Last March - Two Months Ago
Golden afternoon sunshine streamed into the chilly room. Everest was on the floor by Olive’s bed. He grimaced and checked his watch. It had only been a few hours, but that didn’t spare him painfully stiff muscles and a dry mouth. This batch of pills from Adam’s drawer weren’t what he was expecting. What did he take? Morphine or Heroin? Everest never took the harder stuff; even being on a prescription was a relatively new turn of events.
Adam had never done anything heavier than smoking pot. He would call it “pissing in your own pool”: doing the drugs you dealt. Still, he had enough stories from the Narcotics Anonymous groups he frequented for clients to scare Everest thoroughly at the prospect. Everest sniffed the bottle, and a faint scent of vinegar pricked his nose. His mouth was cottony, and his face stung where a piece of glass pressed against it. Slipping the bottle of pills back in his pocket, Everest smoothed the feathers out of his hair. The chill of the room was making his nose run, and he was thankful he had passed out before taking off his coat.
Woodenly rising to his feet, Everest took a last glance around the room. He recalled the range of emotions gleaned from the shattered surfaces. No new information. Brushing some of the feathers and plaster dust from his clothing, he took the stairs to the street and walked across to retrieve his car from the garage.
Then home, shower, clean clothes, and dial a phone number off the back of a playing card. On his way to meet Megan, Everest swung by the pharmacy where they informed him his prescription wasn’t ready for refill until next week, but they could pass on a note to his doctor. He thanked the pharmacist through clenched teeth and mentally blessed Adam for leaving him a stopgap. The pills were more effective, anyway, and he could be careful with them. He’d been burning power all morning but managed a nap through what would normally be side effects of gut-twisting terror. The injections he was on made it bearable, but the pills had let him skip the whole nasty experience. The sleep was excellent, too. Warm, dreamy, and calming.
Everest pulled into the mall parking lot near the $2 movie theater sporting signs for interactive midnight performances of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Megan’s yellow Volkswagen beetle arrived a few minutes later, and she got out clad in a plaid skirt, boy beater tank top, and white knee-highs looking like she’d just stepped out of a teen girl cinematic drama. What was wrong with her? He took a fortifying breath in preparation for the necessary interaction.
“You sure you don’t want a lift?” Megan’s ever hopeful voice closed the short distance between them as Everest climbed from his car. “It’s not just me. There’s people who’d like to meet you and, frankly, you kind of look like shit.”
Everest crossed his arms, “Thanks. You look great, too.”
Megan laughed, “Aiight, then, Ace.” She pulled a white letter-sized envelope from the front seat. Everest wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. One thin envelope. He took it with a trembling hand.
Megan leaned against her car and waited, watching Everest as he tore the flap. The paper inside was handwritten—two columns of words: one in green ink and one in red. They were names. Evelyn Steinbeck was in the red column. Sendak and Baum were penned in green. Everest studied Adam’s beautiful, loopy script. The red names must be those collusive with Mordred, and the green names were those confirmed out of the loop. The listed names accounted for only a small percentage of the agents and support staff, so there were many people Adam hadn’t been sure about. Carpeaux in the safe column. A vetted contact in upper command was no small thing. A faint, familiar scent reached his nose and Everest held the paper to his lips, closing his eyes for a few seconds. He loved that smell. His house was almost empty of it, except for a few t-shirts he kept in a plastic bag. Even those were fading.
Megan was watching him with unusual softness as Everest grappled with mastering himself again. The unsealed, unsecured envelope with valuable information told him Adam had trusted Megan, and Everest had never heard of her or the group she belonged to, despite the fact they possessed books of power. It would have to be good enough.
“Wait a minute.” Everest strode to his car and opened the trunk, pulling out a small hard body briefcase. He returned to where Megan stood, expectantly. “I have a job proposal.”
“For me?” Megan’s pearly-pink and bleached-white grin spread ear to ear.
“Yes. I need you to safeguard this case.”
“That’s it?”
Everest fiddled with the combination lock, scrambling the numbers further. “There are additional instructions. No one may open it under any circumstances. If I die, destroy it. If Sana Baba agent August Dahl dies, destroy it. If I fail to contact you for a week, destroy it. The destruction must be complete and performed without opening the case. You said Adam left me some money, correct?”
Megan nodded enthusiastically, “Sure did.”
“Let me know your fee and relevant details, and I’ll make sure you have access to the cash.”
“Cool, cool, cool. Should I release the case to anyone, if they come asking for it?”
“No. If they do, kill them, then destroy it.”
Megan’s brow furrowed and she bit her lip, “Killing people is going to raise my fee.”
“Fine.”
Megan was popping her trunk and stashing her new charge. She was all smiles. Everest prayed to every god that she was more competent than she presented. “What about if you ask for it back?”
Everest wished he could open his second sight, but he was drained from this morning. Still, asking these kinds of questions was a good sign. He watched as the lid to the trunk closed, hiding from view the briefcase containing the object that had eaten his life. Everest cleared his throat and made sure he had Megan’s eye. He couldn’t afford a miscommunication. “Kill anyone who seeks it. Completely destroy the briefcase and its contents without opening it. No exceptions.”
Someone was opening the front door. Everest found he was unable to move his right arm at all. The soft tread of bare feet in the front hall came closer. Everest was asleep on the couch, and the room was dark and almost silent. He tried to remember what he was doing. He’d met with Megan, driven out of the lot, and then… nothing. Maybe he’d come home and wanted to rest? Maybe he’d taken somethi
ng. His arm was still there, which was good news, although it hung like dead weight cut off from blood flow. Using his left arm to reposition the limp limb, Everest pulled himself to sitting and focused on the hall.
“There you are.” Mordred was buttoning his pants but still shirtless. He was clean-shaven and his black eye looked terrible, spreading over half his face. Everest’s gaze fell on Dahl’s Might for Right runic tattoo. An undertow of loneliness tugged him, powerful and irresistible. He stilled his hand.
Mordred didn’t bother with a shirt and sat on the couch beside Everest, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. Everest ignored him and tried to wiggle his sleeping limb. It twitched and throbbed. A good sign. Mordred broke the silence, “Is this what’s on the agenda for the evening? Sitting in the dark? It’s kind of depressing.”
“I was tired.” Everest gave him a one-shouldered shrug.
“While you’ve been napping, I’ve been busy. It seems like my father dearest has suddenly left on vacation without me. Do you know anything about that?”
“Of course. I assumed you didn’t want him hanging around the house, so I took care of it.”
“Shucks, I’m touched. It’s a temporary solution, but it gives me time to plan a more permanent one.” Mordred turned his gaze, sooty black smoke curling from his lips, “Tell me the truth: did you tip him off about me?”
The resonance of the words made Everest nauseous. Or maybe that was regular nausea. Or both. “No.” The answer left his lips before he had time to consider it.
Mordred smirked, “Good boy. Then I can deal with him later.”
A prickling tingle started in his upper arm. He stiffly reached across his body to rub the muscle. “Why didn’t any addicts come by this time?” The stash in Adam’s desk was far beyond personal use, even if Adam was using. The drugs were there—where were the users?
“I took Adam off distribution detail a while back. Lucky for you. You didn’t handle filling in particularly functionally last time.” Everest’s body shifted slightly as Mordred adjusted next to him. Everest attempted to untangle his thoughts. With a sigh, he glanced at his sleeping appendage. A syringe was sticking out of the vein on the back of his hand. Everest’s head whipped up to meet Mordred, who was trying to repress laughter.
“Pins and needles! Get it? Fuck me, you really didn’t see that coming? So much for future sight and the fastest agent on the ground.” Mordred stood fluidly and backed out of reach, Everest’s Glock in Mordred’s hand. The whole scenario was oddly distant. Like he was watching a movie, and all this was someone else’s problem.
“Why not shoot me?”
“Heroin overdose feels natural. You’ve been flagged as a possible prescription dependent for a while. Moving from your meds to street drugs is an easy jump. One you’ve already made, I do believe. No one will think much about a sad twentysomething who has nothing, literally nothing worth living for, turning to sugar for a bit of company.”
Everest gave up on his arm and settled into a more comfortable position, not bothering to remove the syringe. “Why?” How long could Mordred pontificate about his thought process? Did not being a real person make him crave his own voice? Could Everest say, ‘Tell me all your plans,’ and prompt Mordred into a villainous monologue? The idea made him chuckle. Mordred raised a blond eyebrow.
“I hardly need a babysitter now. You were a resource for Dahl, shielding his scheming little mind from too much knowledge about my business, and now you’re a loose end. You’ve failed to continue to be amusing in your own right, although I gave you a very nice opportunity to keep me interested. Generous, I would say. Also, future sight is a two-edged sword I don’t need in my life.”
“Also, you murdered Adam, and you knew if I found out I would cause problems.”
“It’s a temper tantrum I’m glad we could avoid. Gold star!”
“You changed dealers for your cronies because you didn’t want a disruption in supply.”
Mordred smirked, “Do you ever get dazzled by your own brilliance? If so, you’re dimmer than I thought.”
A wonderful, heated tingle was spreading under Everest’s skin. Tiny, bright bubbles of pleasure floated in the air, popping at the tip of his nose.
Everest’s voice was warm, “Keep working your charming wit, because it’s all you’ve got going for you. You think you’re winning chess, and you don’t realize the game was over years ago. Now you’re just playing with yourself.” His phrasing sent a new wave of jolly through him. He could sleep now. He wished Dahl were there to hold his hand and smile. It would be okay, though, he would find Adam in whatever the next place was and they would be happy, again, together.
A sharp force whipped his head to the side. Blood poured down his throat, but it didn’t hurt. Mordred was shouting in his face. The words of command penetrating his weightless fog, “Tell me what you mean!”
“Adam stole your book. The one in the vault is a fake.” Laughter and blood slurred his speech, but he was compelled to push on, “Too bad, no more iterations for you. When I die it’ll be destroyed, so you’re finished when Dahl dies because your book is gone. What happens to you when you have nothing to hold onto? Do you float untethered? Or do you cease to be?” Everest exhaled with satisfaction at Mordred’s furious, twisted features.
“Tell me where the book is.” The soot flowed from his lips like a river.
The words couldn’t touch him. Everest leaned close, a conspiratorial spark gleaming in his eyes. “Eat shit.” A giggle at the end sprayed bloody flecks across Mordred’s lips and cheek. They weren’t the proper Lapine words, but the feeling was there. All good feelings. All rocking him to sleep in his rosy cloud.
“Having time and space for treatment is vital to the recovery process, you understand.” Everest’s voice was light, and he angled his head to soak in more warm spring sunshine, the delicate perfume of daffodils washing over him. The garden bench beneath him at Sana Baba’s Rehab facility was a cool, stone contrast to the toasty sunshine. Everest loved the garden. He’d spent a lot of time here in warm weather since he could muster enough energy to get out of bed again. He absently let his fingers play across Adam’s fiddle lying beside him, plucking a few muted notes from the strings. The swollen skin on his fingertips stung. When would they hurry up and callus?
Mordred’s single-minded goal, after taking him to the emergency room where he was treated for heroin overdose, had been gaining admission to see him so he could pry a foothold in retrieving his book. Everest was sure he had torn the world apart in the most discreet way possible searching for the volume as well, but since he was here his failure was a foregone conclusion.
The last three weeks of detox accounted for some of the most abjectly wretched moments of Everest’s life. Unspeakable, degrading illness and delusion was punctuated with the knowledge of a beautiful white medicine that could make it all instantly, perfectly better, and no one would give it to him. But Mordred’s haunted eyes gave the comfort of a sliver of shared torment. At least he’d made him suffer. Everest refocused on his guest, “But I appreciate you stopping by to express your love.”
“They went through every centimeter of your house, you know.” Mordred’s voice smoldered, “Standard procedure for an agent with an addiction. Your ridiculous Coke can was cut in half.”
Everest had turned off his emotional faucet when Mordred arrived, so he just shrugged. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going back, anyway. “Well, shoot, you can’t use it for leverage. You could have at least lied about it to string me along.” Everest forced himself to smoothly lay a conciliatory hand on Mordred’s knee. He was in control: I touch you, you don’t touch me. “Are you down? I’ve got a fix for you. Heroin. It feels magnificent, and the rehab center is one of the most beautiful local destinations.”
Mordred made a kind of animal growling noise in the back of his throat and stomped to the other side of the walled garden. When he spoke again, his voice was forced from a tight chest, his crossed arms squeezing his
torso. “What do you want?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do you want for it? You must want something.”
Everest smothered his excitement. He’d guessed right. Mordred couldn’t threaten, so he’d come to bargain. Everest thanked every god he could think of that he’d suspected this and prepared. Now he could follow his best course of action. Step one was to act predictably to conceal his forethought. He affected a shaky, agonized look. “I want Adam back.” Despite his practice, as soon as the words were out, anguish surged beneath them. It didn’t matter—emotions were his allies in this performance. He let the agony show.
“Don’t waste my time with ridiculous sap.” Mordred scowled from his sunlit corner. His bruised face had healed. No word of Olive, though. Everest refocused on the negotiation.
He waited almost a minute to show he was pondering his next request. Everest stared into stormy blue eyes. “I want Dahl back.” Forcing those words out was a struggle, because they were true and more possible than Mordred realized. It was indecent for Mordred to hear Everest’s hopes, but not asking might put him on guard.
“Again, not viable. Besides, you wouldn’t really want him. You have no idea how much of your little relationship was playacting or me egging him on. A boy after my own heart—red-blooded and manipulative to the last.”
Everest’s mind slipped precariously.
Mordred pressed on, “Ask for something attainable, please.”
Step two was to ask for something unique, impossible to forge, and time-consuming to obtain. He had to stall a little more. Soon it would be time to meet Mordred at the skull. “I want Joyeuse.”
“Come again?”
“Joyeuse. Charlemagne’s sword? Do you read?”
“I know who Joyeuse is.” Mordred hissed, “How, exactly, do you expect me to get a priceless, intelligent, magical artifact?”
“With love. And by the end of May when I finish treatment.”
