The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year, Volume 7

by Jonathan Strahan

  This time it was going exactly right. The ecto was firming up, becoming recognizable, first as arms and legs with overly long hands and toes, then a torso, then at last the head, and it was her, Alice Barlow. She came out naked, thin, the body all tensed, the eyes squeezed shut as if afraid to look, the skin darker and rougher than in her photos, the hair longer and wilder, the muscles in her arms and legs more defined. She wasn’t quite the same, but she was who, and what, she was supposed to be, and that was all that mattered. Jack let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, unsure why this woman he’d never met could have such a powerful effect on him.

  With a sudden violent twist Alice broke fully from her mannequin prison and pitched forward into the circle, where she landed on all fours. She trembled wildly, like a terrified dog.

  Jack became aware that the whispers had risen all around him, drowning out the fake sounds of the store. If the souls in their trees could witness this, what were they thinking? Did they know, or sense, someone had broken free? Were they proud? Hopeful? Jealous? He looked down at the only one who mattered. “Hello, Alice,” he said. “Welcome back.”

  She didn’t get up, didn’t move from her spot. Only her head moved, tilting up to look at him, and as it did so it changed. The cheekbones stood out, so sharp they almost cut through the skin. The eyes became bigger, the pupils flat and dark, the chin narrowed, became almost triangular, the lips stretched thin. And when she opened her mouth the teeth had grown long and sharp.

  Jack stared at her, no idea what to do. “Alice,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”

  She sprang at him. Leaped from all fours directly at his face. No, not his face, his throat. The long sharp teeth nearly tore out his trachea. Jack grabbed her, he wasn’t sure where, and somehow managed to fling her wildly twisting body away from him. He tried to get her back in the circle, where he might hope to contain her but she managed to break away and land on all fours just to the left of it. Immediately she spun around to face him again, shaking her head and growling. Strangely the Muzak came back, and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” bounced cheerfully above the snarls of the creature on the floor.

  Jack reached up to touch his neck and face and feel the damage. As soon as he did so he forgot all about blood and wounds, for instead of his own tight skin and scars his fingers found a soft fleshiness. Wrinkled middle-aged skin over sagging jowls. And in that instant, with Alice about to spring again, Jack knew what had happened. He understood, finally, too late, what William Barlow had done to him.

  In The Traveler’s Bestiary, or “guide to Non-Linear fauna,” as Jack’s teacher once called it, there were many pages—files in the smart-phone version—devoted to Beasts of Fury. This is what Alice Barlow had made of herself. Enough human to hold on to her purpose, and enough animal to rip Jack apart. And when she was finished? Would she realize what had happened, what her husband had done to her as well as Jack?

  Twice more Jack managed to fling her away, and both times she landed on all fours and turned right around to bare her teeth before her next leap. Both times Jack considered running, but knew he’d never make it. The watch and jewelry section was only twenty or thirty yards away, but it would take time—and energy—to open the door. And Alice had cornered the market on both. Powered by all the rage in existence, from jealous lovers to hungry babies to dying stars, a Fury could go on forever. But not Jack Shade. Everything he did in the Forest, even just seeing through its masks, drained him.

  One more time. He could throw her off once more—maybe—and then she would take him. “Goodbye,” he whispered. Goodbye to everyone, his daughter most of all, but also Irene, Mr. Dickens, to Ray, who’d tried to warn him but couldn’t follow him into the Forest, and even the Blindfolded Norwegian Girl. And Alice, whom he’d tried to help but got it wrong.

  As if she could feel his thoughts, Alice shook wildly, screamed, and threw herself through the air. Jack braced himself. His clothes were in shreds, his arms and chest bleeding. Alice leaped, arms straight out, clawed fingers spread wide for greatest impact, teeth bright in the holiday lights. And then she stopped.

  As if she’d hit an invisible net set up by some Fury hunter, she twisted wildly in midair, screaming in frustration. No, not a net, and not invisible. A yellow cashmere scarf had come off a counter display to wrap around Alice’s abdomen, and even though it was attached to nothing, hold her above the floor. She thrashed and clawed and managed to cut herself loose, only to have two more scarves, cheap nylon this time, spin around and once more hold her suspended.

  Jack spun around, searching, looking. “Where are you?” he shouted above the Muzak, which now played “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

  “Genie!” Jack called to her, and then he saw her, small in her red dress and pink sneakers, her hair in pigtails. The only living resident—prisoner—in the Forest of Souls stood among a display of fake leather luggage. It was all fake, of course, the whole place. Everything in it was a prop. Except for Eugenia Shade. And Alice Barlow.

  Jack started toward his daughter, only to have her shout, “No! You have to go, Daddy. I can’t hold her. Hurry!”

  For just a second he hesitated, but he could see she was right. Alice was already pulling loose, and Genie was swaying with the effort to contain her. He ran to the watch counter, dropped to the floor, and frantically drew a threshold with the blue chalk. Then he used his knife to trace the form of a door in the air.

  Three of them appeared, lined up in a row, identical—except the one on the right bore the graffiti “JS.” With his hand on the knob he turned around. If he could somehow grab Genie before Alice broke loose, could he take her with him? But he’d already tried that, more than once, and he and his daughter both knew the door would let him pass, and no one else. “Genie!” he called out. “Sweetheart. I’ll find a way to bring you back.”

  He had the door half-open, he could even smell the oil and grease air of Empire Garage, when his daughter called to him. “Daddy?” she said in a voice that sounded like she was eight. “Daddy? Did I kill Mommy?”

  “No, baby,” Jack said. “It wasn’t you. It was the geist.” And at that moment Alice Fury broke loose to fly at him, and it was all he could do to slide through the door and slam it shut before Alice crashed into the back of it.

  Jack didn’t realize he was on the floor until Barney reached down to help him up. And then the shock of that, Barney getting off his chair, helping him, touching him, shocked Jack back to where he was. “Hey, Jack,” Barney said. “Looks like you had a rough time of it in there.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said as he got to his feet. He looked down at his torn shirt and jeans, the bloody scratches and bites on his chest and arms. Holding his breath, he reached up to touch his face. His fingers came away with more blood on them, but he was pretty sure he was himself.

  “You want to sit for a moment?” Barney said. “You look a little wobbly.” He gestured with his head toward the gray metal chair against the wall.

  Jack smiled, surprised he could do it. He said, “So if I sit down does that mean I become the Door Man? And you wander off, and what, go get laid for the first time in a thousand years?”

  Barney laughed. “Ha. You wish, kid. You don’t get to guard the door just by sitting in my seat. We’ve got standards.”

  “Barney,” Jack said, “you knew, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t recognize me at first. You saw the other face, overlaid on top of mine.”

  Barney shrugged. “Yeah. I saw it.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you tell me? I almost died.”

  “Not my job.”

  “What? Do you guys have some kind of union or something?”

  “Kind of like that,” Barney said.

  Jack burst out laughing, then stopped, afraid he couldn’t control it. “Jesus,” he said. “I’ve got to get home somehow. Without attracting any cops or ambulances.”

  Barney said, “You can use the employees locker room, sixth floor. There’s a showe
r. I figured you might need a change of clothes so I put out an Empire uniform for you. But don’t worry, putting it on won’t trap you into parking cars for all eternity.”

  Jack smiled. “Thanks, Barney. You’re all right.”

  Jack was at the stairway door when Barney called to him. He turned, and Barney said, “I’ve got something for you. Might come in handy.” He tossed a small bright object at Jack who caught it in his right hand. When he looked in his palm, Jack saw it was a gold skeleton key, about three inches long. The head consisted of three flat circles, while seven short prongs formed the lock end.

  Jack stared at it a long time. Finally he looked up at Barney. “Holy shit,” he said.

  Barney’s face turned hard, and when he spoke the old-man folksiness had vanished from his voice. “Jack Shade!” he said. “You give that sonofabitch what he deserves!”

  Jack stood across the street from William Barlow’s house. It was early evening, and Jack might have worried that Barlow would spot him, except it was Jack Shield time, and he was good at that. After cleaning up as best he could at the garage, Jack had not returned to the Hotel de Reve Noire. Long ago he’d made it a rule not to go back until the job was finished, and this William Barlow assignment was a long way from over. So he’d gone to a small office he kept, where he changed clothes, treated his cuts, and packed up a few supplies. Before he’d set out for Barlow he’d spent a long time staring at the key. Could he use it for what he really wanted? Would it obey him? Or did Barney charge it for one purpose and one purpose only?

  He was half deciding to try it when Ray appeared in the small office, standing in front of the door. Slowly, the fox shook his head. “Oh hell,” Jack said. “Yeah, I know.” When he put the key back in his pocket Ray vanished.

  Now he watched Barlow’s McMagic Mansion and debated the best way to get inside. He imagined kicking in the door and catching Barlow in the act of sacrificing some small creature. In the end he just muttered, “Fuck it,” and walked up and rang the bell.

  William Barlow opened the door wearing a green sweat suit and holding the New York Times Auto section. The moment he saw Jack his mouth fell open and he stepped backward. With his free hand, the left, he made a gesture to bar the threshold.

  “Oh, William,” Jack said. “Really? You think you can keep me out?” He snapped his fingers and a small capsule he’d been holding broke and scattered bright green powder in the air. The green flared as the powder absorbed the blocking spell, then fell dully to the floor.

  Barlow’s face visibly composed itself into a friendly smile. “Keep you out?” he said. “Why would I do that? I’ve been waiting for you. What happened? Did you find Alice? Could you help her?” Jack walked around him, once, twice, counterclockwise, always keeping his eyes on Barlow, his face, his feet, but especially his hands. “What are you doing?” Barlow said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? Is she—” In the middle of talking he brought his hand up for a blinding spell.

  Jack stiffened his fingers to dagger Barlow’s hand, then kicked the man’s legs out from under him. As Barlow fell Jack said, “You stupid sonofabitch. Do you think you can attack me? You may have been good enough to cloak what you were doing when you sent me to the Forest, but in an open fight? I’m a Traveler, Willie. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  Barlow didn’t try to get up. Lying on his side on the floor he moaned, “Please. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Still?” he said. “Still playing Dumb Billie? Then let me tell you, so you’ll know it’s too late.

  “I’m going to guess something—in all your lies there was one thing that was the truth. When you said you were supposed to go first. You could tell, couldn’t you? Was it just your EKG, or did you find some blind seer? Hell, maybe you did a casting yourself. And there it was. William Barlow, dead in six months. Am I right, Willie?”

  Barlow said nothing, and Jack went on, “You just couldn’t stand it. The great magician, the scholar, dead, and your slow dumb wife gets to live. Gets your money, too. Waste it on her stupid feel-good workshops.”

  “Please,” Barlow said. “It wasn’t like that. I loved her.”

  “Sure you did, Willie. You just loved yourself a lot more. So you killed her. Took all that healthy life force for yourself.” Barlow began to cry.

  “Problem solved,” Jack said. “Only, Alice started coming back. The Forest appeared to you. All those voices. And one of them was hers. Did you imagine you could hear her? Was she calling your name?”

  “Please,” Barlow said, “I would have lost—”

  “Lost?” Jack yelled. “You sonofabitch, I lost my wife and my daughter on the same day! My daughter killed my wife, and then I—” He had to stop, his whole body was shaking.

  When Jack spoke again his voice was hard and measured. “Yeah, you didn’t want to lose. All that great juju you’d built up wouldn’t help you at all if Alice could get hold of you. You needed to get her off the scent, and what better way than to send in a substitute? A fake Billie who would go right up to her and she could tear his throat out and go off all satisfied.”

  He squatted down to put his face close to Barlow’s. “It was the water, wasn’t it? I wanted to link us—you and me—so I could find Alice. But you charged the water so it would begin something else. Lay your face on top of mine. And then the dressing room—that was to keep the link open, right?” He stood up again, said, “How long did it take to build up enough mojo to make it all work?” Barlow said nothing. Jack kicked him in the ribs. “How long?”

  Barlow cried out, then said, “Three months!”

  “And God knows what you did in those three months to get yourself ready. A whole lot of nasty.”

  “Please,” Barlow said. “What—what are you going to do to me?”

  Jack grinned. “Do, Willie? I’m not going to do anything to you.” He watched the hope flicker in Barlow’s face. Then Jack took out the gold key and held it up by its three-ring head. In the dim entryway the seven prongs sparkled with their own brilliance. Jack said, “Hey! Magic boy! Do you know what this is?”

  For just a moment, Barlow stared at it, confused. Then he screamed. Jack nodded. “Did your research, did you?”

  Barlow scrabbled backward along the floor until he bumped into a table along the wall. “Please,” he said. “I can help you. I can give you things. I’ll work for you. I’ve got money. I know things. Please.” Jack said nothing, only took out his chalk and drew a blue threshold on the polished wood floor. “Oh my God,” Barlow said. With his knife, Jack traced the outline of a door in the air. A faint image appeared, and when he held up Barney’s key an actual door appeared in the room. No rough garage metal this time, but proper suburban polished wood and frosted glass, with a keyhole rimmed in gold. Barlow gagged, as if he was trying to scream but couldn’t get it out. Finally he cried, “Shade! I’ll give you everything.”

  “Oh, Willie,” Jack said. “Don’t you get it? You don’t have anything. You’re finished.”

  “No! You’re wrong. I can help you get your daughter back.”

  Jack went up to him, and for a long moment stared at Barlow’s frantic face. “You’re a liar, William Barlow. A liar to the end.”

  “No, no, no. I can do it. Really.”

  Jack wasn’t listening. He shoved in the key harder than necessary, and for a moment worried it night have jammed. But no, the prongs meshed into the tumblers, which Jack knew were layers of reality, entire worlds. The key turned and the worlds shifted into place, and when Jack opened the door he saw darkness, lit only by pale tendrils of fire.

  The whispers roared in the room, nearly drowning out Barlow’s desperate cries. When they died down Jack could hear the mixed growls and laughter of the wild beast that once was Alice Barlow.

  He didn’t stay to watch, there was nothing there he needed to see. He walked out of Barlow’s house, leaving behind wild thrashing sounds and the smell of blood.

  When he got back to the hotel
, Jack entered through the basement and went up in the service elevator to get to his room. He took a long shower, then sat on his bed even longer, trying not to think. Finally he got dressed, a blue oxford shirt, tan pants, and a blue silk jacket. He stared for a moment at the pile of black clothes lying on the floor, then left the room and went back out via the service elevator.

  He entered through the front door now, and there in the lobby stood the hotel owner, carefully setting roses, one by one, in a green vase. He watched her for a while, admiring the grace and economy of her movements in a gray wool dress. “Hello, Irene,” he said.

  She turned quickly, with a bright smile. “Jack! Welcome home.” She wore a small gold pendant of an owl he’d once given her, on a thin gold chain. “Would you like a drink?” She set down the final three roses in front of the vase.

  “That would be wonderful,” Jack said.

  In Irene’s small office, with a glass of brandy before each of them, Irene said, “Annette called. She asked me to invite you to a game in Philadelphia. Next Tuesday. Old-fashioned, she said, the way you like it. And then she said the oddest thing. I wrote it down to make sure I got it right.” She picked up a small piece of paper. “It was two things, actually. She said blindfolds would not be necessary.” Jack smiled. “And she said to tell you she would prefer it if you would leave your fox at home.”

  Jack stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  On September 17, 2004, the fourteenth birthday of one Eugenia Shade, a bottle of beer flew off the kitchen table and smashed itself against the wall. Eugenia’s father, a Traveler named Jack, sometimes called Care Free Jack, or Johnny Easy, had just told his daughter she could not drink beer, and so she laughed at the broken glass and the amber puddle on the floor.