Moonshine (2010)

by Johnson, Alaya

  “While I concede the potential dangers of Faust,” she began, turning to look pointedly at Iris, “I don’t understand the need for immediate action. After all, we had hundreds of years of evidence of alcohol’s great societal harm. Evidence which some of you still don’t feel is suffcient, despite our successes.” And the gimlet stare turned toward me, of course. I leaned against the wall and gave a small shrug of indifference. She turned back toward the president. “Frankly, Grace, I’m shocked you called this meeting at all. If anything, we should be helping the women protect themselves from the monsters in their midst. I know I never feel safe walking the streets alone at night.”

  The murmurs of approval and applause (significantly more enthusiastic than for my presentation) told me all I needed to know about this evening’s work. They would bicker and discuss the issue for the next several hours, at which point the vote would be called and, in due course, the issue of Faust would be neatly swept under their Progressive rug. I started to walk wearily for the door, but the lady had not quite finished.

  “This might cause some harm now, but the comparison to alcohol is . . . well, misguided at best, Miss Hollis. I know you have some peculiar affection for their plight, but they’re just vampires, after all.”

  My head snapped up. “And you’re just past your time,” I said, quite loudly. I left, then, and slammed the door shut on the shocked murmurs behind me. God smite me if I ever set foot among that gaggle of complacent puritans again in my life. The hallway outside the meeting room smelled like wet mold and rotting wood, but it was warmer here than outside. I sat down on the staircase leading out of the basement and wrapped my arms around my shoulders. I was exhausted unto death, but I still had a class to teach in an hour. Did that leave me time to check on Amir? Of course not, and I doubted he would want to see me anyway.

  I closed my eyes and a dozen images flashed in painful staccato across my mind: Giuseppe’s eyes as he begged me for help; the vampire woman nearly torn to pieces by a desperate mob; a revenant cat, its bones so easily snapped beneath my calm hands; vampire blood fouling an alley; the revenant marks branded into the skin of two stray cats.

  I had refused to go home when he asked me to. And good thing, because one of his attacks found him minutes later, and someone had to clean up the mess. I wanted to throw out the cat, but Amir insisted I leave it.

  “I’ll take it to Kardal. Might be able to trace it. Rinaldo,” he explained through gritted teeth, from the floor beside his sofa.

  So I attempted to avoid looking at it. The ragged edges of broken skin, tendon and bones—all denuded of blood—would have made me feel queasy, even without the hot tar and rot smell of the blood.

  “What do you think this is?” I asked. “That smell . . .”

  “How should I know?” he snapped. “Maybe the Blood Bank kept a few bags past the expiration date.” I refrained from pointing out the flaws in his suggestion, as he seemed to be in danger of setting his furniture on fire.

  “I don’t suppose you still insist upon your right to risk your safety?” he said, when I’d mopped up the last of the foul-smelling blood. “Perhaps I could buy it off you?”

  I smiled, though I knew he couldn’t see. “Yes and no, respectively.”

  When he sighed, the light on his side of the room grew momentarily brighter. “I had to try.”

  I stood up and walked over to him. “Tell me,” I said, running my fingers along his jaw and nearly burning them, “what will happen to you if you don’t find Rinaldo?”

  Quick as a snap, flames darted from deep in side his eyes. He blinked, then groaned. “Nothing, Zephyr. Just some emotional distress.”

  But he was lying. I had no reason to think that, but I knew. If Amir didn’t find Rinaldo, what ever was happening to him would get much, much worse. I hated that he didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. I hated that he had something to hide, because it made me start to question what, precisely, that might be.

  “Zephyr?”

  The hand on my knee was much cooler than his ever were. I opened my eyes and stared into Lily’s worried face.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I must have dozed off.”

  “You’re getting massacred in there,” she said. “Don’t you want to—”

  I shook my head. “I don’t fight every hopeless battle. Anyway, I have to get to class.”

  Lily nodded and then, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down beside me. “Is it Nicholas?” she whispered. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Concern? Goodness, Lily, don’t move too fast, you might pull a muscle.”

  She rolled her eyes and elbowed me congenially in the ribs. “Fine, suit yourself. Just so long as you aren’t withholding my proprietary source information.”

  I smiled and told her what I’d learned about the Faust shipments and Nicholas’s plans for them. She clapped her hands in delight, and then looked around as though she might have summoned another reporter from the rotting plaster. “Another scoop!” she whispered. “Zephyr, you are the bat’s pajamas!”

  “So let’s have some reciprocation, hmm? I don’t suppose Scott and Zelda are having another bash in Long Island anytime soon?”

  Lily’s eyebrows were a fair way to her hairline. “If I managed to snag an invitation, do you really imagine I’d destroy my social standing by bringing a dowdy, bluenose, singing vampire suffragette?”

  “You never know, I might charm them with my wit. In any case, you don’t have a choice. I need to find Rinaldo, you need more juicy scoops.”

  Lily pursed her lips and gave me a hard stare. “Then you wear what I give you, and let me do the talking.” She paused. “There’s a party tomorrow night.”

  “Monday?”

  “Oh, everyone’s doing it. Friday night has gone passé. Anyway, it’s some German viceroy or what ever, but I hear he’s flown in a band and the booze. If you think Rinaldo is putting on the ritz, then it’s a good place to look.”

  “There, was that so hard?”

  Lily just narrowed her eyes. “Whatever I tell you to wear, you understand? None of these schoolmarm blouses and sad carpet skirts. I’m going to make you fashionable if it kills me.”

  “What ever you say, Pygmalion.”

  With my bicycle at the boarding house, it took nearly forty minutes to walk from the church to Chrystie Elementary. Sunday was my favorite—and least popular—class: Immigration and Labor Law. It was my idea, and the Citizen’s Council had let me do it out of pity, I suspect. After the barbarous Johnson-Reed Act had passed two years ago, with its harsh immigration quotas, their lives here had grown far more complicated. An immigrant’s greatest armor would be knowledge of the law and of their rights, and I was determined to give it to them.

  I longed for my bicycle, but Amir hadn’t been in any condition to teleport by the time we had finished clearing up the worst of the mess. He wanted to try, but as I was unfamiliar with the finer points of teleportation safety (I’d never met a djinn before and fairies don’t share their business secrets), I told him to bugger off. We did not exactly part on cordial terms. In fact, just thinking about it was enough to make my headache strain against my temples. I suspected that he was getting cold feet about my help. Chivalrous feet, to be precise. And a fine time for it, too.

  “Well, fuck him,” I said aloud, to the evident surprise of a hobbled draft horse shivering on a street corner. “I’m going to find Rinaldo, no matter what he says.”

  The draft horse coughed and shook its head. “Oh, shut up,” I snapped. “He’s rich and Manhattan’s indigent need funds.”

  The owner of the horse and the vegetable cart it was attached to spat in the general direction of the gutter and squinted at me. “Need a ride, ma’am?”

  He looked trustworthy enough beneath his frayed corduroy cap, and Lord, but I was tired of walking.

  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 si
lently. 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.”