“Maybe the rest of us should retire,” Alison muttered. “It’s always down to Jonah anyway.”
“Alison.” Gabriel tilted his head forward, looking at her. She subsided back into her chair.
“Or,” Jonah said, shrugging, “Gabriel can always handle the riff himself if he prefers.” He wasn’t entirely successful at keeping the snark out of his voice.
Gabriel locked eyes with Jonah for what seemed to be a long time. Somehow, it was like crossing swords in a sparring match. His gaze dropped to Jonah’s hands. Stayed there. “Even if we wanted to arrange a meeting, how could we if they won’t make contact?”
This was the tricky part. Jonah couldn’t very well tell Gabriel he’d known how to contact Lilith all along.
“Maybe Jonah can walk around with a sandwich board, announcing the place and time,” Alison said, unsmiling. “Just kidding,” she added when Gabriel glared at her.
“I’ll go hunting on my own,” Jonah said. “I’ll find someone who can pass the word along.”
“Do you have a meeting place in mind?” Charlie asked. “Somewhere near here?”
“Are you familiar with the old railroad terminal?” Jonah asked. “It’s that stone-and-brick building close by the Carter Road Bridge.”
Heads nodded all around.
“Nobody’s using it right now,” Jonah said. “It’s boarded up. It’s kind of creepy inside, but it’s more or less on neutral ground.”
Gabriel sighed, seeming resigned to the plan. “Let’s do it,” he said to Jonah. “Set it up.”
When the meeting broke up, Alison fled the room like an uncaged bird through an open door. Jonah still managed to intercept her.
“What?” she growled, when he appeared in front of her.
“I...just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jonah said. “I feel like we’re always at cross-purposes, and we shouldn’t be. Whatever I do, I seem to get in your way.”
“Don’t waste the enchanter bit on me,” Alison said, flicking her hand as if swatting a fly. “I am so over all of that.”
This was going all wrong. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the smooth talker?” Alison laughed hoarsely. “That’s pretty pathetic, to tell the truth.”
Now Jonah looked at Alison. Really looked.
Like everyone else at the Anchorage, except maybe for Natalie, Jonah had developed the blinders that allowed him to dance on. That prevented him from seeing the gradual decline of everyone around him; that allowed him to pretend that they weren’t all heading for the same tragic end. The band played on as the ship sank beneath them. Distracted by the magic of music, they would keep dancing until the waves closed over their heads.
Now he noticed that Alison’s eyes were dull, her hair lank, her arms wrapped in gauze. That likely meant that her skin was blistering. That sometimes happened, but usually only toward the end.
She was skin and bones, wiry muscle and anger. But anger only takes you so far.
She’s fading, Jonah thought, before his inner censor could intercept the thought. She’s dying. And his heart broke, just a little. I’m sorry, Alison. None of my gifts have done anybody any good.
“Look,” Jonah said, “we have so much history between us. We’ve been friends since—since before Thorn Hill. Nobody else knows me as well as you do.”
“That’s exactly right.” Alison’s smile twisted. “I knew everything about you, and I loved you anyway. Just as you were: the beautiful boy with the deadly touch, the assassin who carries his wounds on the inside. I was willing to take a chance on you. But you—you weren’t willing to take a chance on me.”
“It’s not a matter of taking a chance on you. It’s a matter of risk I’m not willing to take. I’m just trying to get through life without killing anyone else. And not lose all my friends in the process.”
“Too late,” Alison said. “You’re a damn good singer and a decent guitarist, and you write kick-ass lyrics. I’m glad to have you in my band. Otherwise, there is absolutely nothing between us.” And she walked away.
How loud did the music have to be to drown out her thoughts? So loud the bass line rattled around inside Emma’s rib cage, buzzing in her breastbone. Adjusting her headphones, she stripped out the guitar, then stepped in with her own, layering sound on sound, resting the SG on her hipbone, foot tapping, Blind Lemon Jefferson’s scratchy voice shouting in her ear.
The lights flickered, and Emma looked up to find Leesha standing in the doorway, her hand on the switch. Emma slid the headphones from her ears, letting them rest around her neck.
“I thought you had to study,” Leesha said.
“I...ah...I am studying,” Emma said lamely. “I study better with a guitar in my hand.”
The fact was her mind had been occupied with Kenzie and Jonah, and Jonah’s so-called secret life. When she’d asked if he was involved in something illegal, he’d said, Whether it’s illegal or not is a matter of perspective.
What the hell did that mean? Last she’d looked, murder was illegal, right?
“What’s the matter?” Leesha said in her usual blunt way. “You look like somebody died.”
“I—I just realized that I wouldn’t have heard Aunt Millie if she woke up,” Emma said, with a twinge of guilt. “I made her a snack after I got home from school, and took her to work out. She’s still napping, right?”
Leesha nodded. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.” She wore a leather miniskirt, a heavy sweater, and a pair of expensive-looking red boots, and she’d spent time on her makeup. “Listen,” she said, “Fitch and I are going to Cleveland to hear a band. Come with us.”
“What about Aunt Millie?”
“I called Cathy, and she said she could come.” Cathy was one of the aides who helped out with Millie. “And Barb will be here. She’ll make dinner and keep an eye out.”
Emma chewed on her lower lip. She had no business going out on the town with everything she had to do. On the other hand, all work and no play...Everybody needs a break sometimes. “What band?”
“I don’t know,” Leesha said vaguely. “We’ll walk around until we find one we like.”
“Where in Cleveland?”
“Do you want a written contract?” Leesha said, rolling her eyes. “Music samples before we go?”
Embarrassed, Emma returned her guitar to the stand and killed the power to the electronics. “Thanks for inviting me. I’d love to come. Only...I’ll never get into most places unless it’s an under-eighteen night. I don’t want to hold you two up.”
“Oh, honey,” Leesha said, grinning. “You’ve never been clubbing with a wizard, have you? We’ll get in, I guarantee it.”
The band was called Rust Belt Chic, a local group Emma had heard about, but not seen in person before. The club, called Tonks, was small, and usually hard to get into on weekends. Leesha chatted up the bouncer, who introduced her to the manager, and in no time they were threading their way forward to some prime seats near the stage.
That’s a useful gift to have, Emma thought, especially if you don’t know anybody. She could get into most clubs in Memphis, those she wanted to get into anyway, but it was usually through the back door, with the band.
“Maybe we’ll see some of your friends here,” Leesha suggested as they settled into seats.
“They won’t come here,” Emma replied. That’s why I picked this place, she thought.
It was a good pick. The place was loud enough so you didn’t have to talk if you didn’t want to. Leesha’s gift had been enough to get them in, but Emma ordered soda, so that’s what all three of them were having.
The band was easy to listen to at least, playing a mix of covers and original music. It was an older crowd, people who likely lived in the city, not tourists from the suburbs. That was what she was used to back in Memphis. For the first time, Emma
’s flannel shirt and jeans felt like camouflage.
Emma was glad to be with people who had nothing to do with Thorn Hill or the Black Rose or Nightshade. Leesha and Fitch got up to dance a few times. Fitch asked Emma to dance, too, but she shook her head, knowing he was just being kind.
“Want some more fries?” Leesha asked, pushing the basket toward Emma. Emma groped for fries without taking her eyes off the band. She could feel the pressure of Leesha’s eyes on her.
The check arrived, and Leesha grabbed it.
“Here, let me,” Fitch said, attempting to snatch it out of her hand.
“Let’s split it,” Emma said, digging in her jeans for her walking-around money.
“My treat,” Leesha said. “The difference between me and you is that you two are earning the money you spend.”
“I pay my own way,” Emma said.
“You can get the next check if you want to support the vapid idleness of trust-fund youth.”
“What?” It was like Leesha had started speaking a whole different language.
“Bottom line is, she’s rich and she wants to do it,” Fitch said. “Go with it is my advice. Otherwise, we’ll be here all night. Speaking of, the band’s going on break. Do you want to try to go somewhere else before closing time?”
“There’s a place down in the Flats that’s under new management,” Emma said. “I hear they showcase a lot of local indie bands, and there’s no cover. We’ve been thinking about pitching them a show. If we go down the hill and toward the Superior Bridge, I think it’s right there. Want to try it?”
“This is your turf,” Leesha said, shrugging. “Lead the way.”
When they emerged onto the sidewalk, it was still snowing, and it was beginning to stick. Emma zipped up her thrift-shop coat and stuffed her hands in the side pockets. Leesha struggled to navigate the icy pavement in her high-heeled boots. On the slope down into the Flats, Fitch grabbed her arm once to steady her when she almost went down on her butt.
Swearing, Leesha extended her hand and sprayed flame along the pavement, clearing it of ice. Winding her scarf tighter around her neck, she glowed brightly, giving off heat like a woodstove.
It’s not like your shoes are all that practical, Emma thought, looking down at her sneakers. Only Fitch seemed ready for bad weather. He wore military-style lace-ups with heavy soles.
There were lots of people on the streets up in the Warehouse District, but not so many down in the Flats, especially on this side of the river, where there weren’t many restaurants and bars. At the foot of the hill, they turned left onto a walkway through a little park in the elbow of the river.
“Where was the Montessori incident?” Fitch asked. “Wasn’t it close to here?”
Leesha pointed. “The high-level bridges are blocking the view, but it’s over that way.”
“You’re not worried that this might be a zombie hangout?” Fitch asked, grinning.
Leesha shook snow from her hair, tightening her lips in annoyance. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.”
“Actually, it does,” Fitch said. “Studies show that a place that has seen one lightning strike—”
“Shut up, Harvard,” Leesha said, scowling. “Anyway, it’s been a long time since I was in preschool.” She seemed nervous, though, hunching her shoulders and shivering, or maybe she was just cold. When the alarm clanged on the Carter Road lift bridge, Leesha nearly jumped into the river.
“That’s just the lift bridge alarm,” Emma said. “That’s to let drivers know the bridge is being raised to let a boat through.” Taking a breath, she rushed on. “Look, we don’t have to go down there if you don’t want to. Let’s just go back up to the district and call it a night. I don’t mean to drag you around to every biker dive in downtown.”
“Who says I don’t want to?” Leesha said, trudging on. “A biker bar sounds like the perfect end to a perfect evening. And I’m totally dressed for it.”
Leesha’s nerves were catching, though. Emma slid her hand inside her T-shirt, and closed it over her mother’s amulet. She didn’t want to admit that the hairs on the back of her neck were already standing at attention, and her heart was thudding in her chest. She was used to walking the streets of Memphis, where you’d be all right if you knew where not to go and just used common sense. The magical world was a lot scarier.
Leaving the park, they turned down another street, passing under the Superior Bridge. Emma hadn’t really walked down this way before. The area seemed desolate, deserted, lined with parking lots, marine businesses, and one or two skanky-looking clubs. The kind you didn’t walk into without knowing who was there waiting.
When Emma looked back at the bridge, she thought she saw movement underneath, between the bridge pillars and the river.
Leesha gripped Emma’s arm, and Emma felt the sting of power through her jacket. “Did you see something? I thought I saw something moving.”
“Probably just somebody settling in for the night,” Emma said. “The bridge pillars can be good shelter when you don’t have a place to stay.”
“Oh,” Leesha said, with forced humor, “I thought maybe it was trolls.”
Emma was rapidly losing confidence in her sense of direction. If there were a club near there, they should be seeing people on the street or hearing some music.
But something about it didn’t smell right. In fact, something smelled like rotting flesh.
“Emma!”
Emma swung around.
“You know what, this is creeping me out,” Leesha said, her teeth chattering. “Let’s get out of here.”
Emma heard a sound, like dragging footsteps, coming from the direction of the Superior Bridge. She turned in time to see a mob of people pouring out from under the bridge, coming straight for them. As they got closer, the stench of decay washed over her, and she could see their pallid skin, ragged clothes, and uneven gait. Some had bones poking through their flesh. Others were actually missing parts.
Emma stood frozen, one hand covering her mouth, her breath coming in gasps.
“Emma!” Leesha gripped her arm, which broke the spell. “What are they? I—I’ve seen them before. In London.”
“You think I know what they are?” Emma growled.
Leesha set her feet, as if she planned to take them on, but Fitch grabbed hold of her arm. “Come on! We’ve had too many dead heroes. Being a coward increases your odds of survival—that’s my motto. I’m counting on being faster than them.”
And so they all ran, away from the underpass. Fortunately, they were faster than those chasing them, and they opened a little distance between them.
“They’re still coming,” Emma gasped. “We have to get back across the river. There’s no place to go over here.”
So they took their first right, back toward the water. That’s when Emma became aware of the bridge alarm, clanging in her ears.
“Damn!” Fitch said, losing some speed. “The bridge is open.”
This street crossed the river here on a red metal swing bridge. But the freighter they’d seen earlier had just passed through the channel, and the bridge had swung open to allow it through. Lights were flashing, and a wooden arm blocked the road.
“I guess we’re going into the river,” Leesha said, looking down at her leather skirt regretfully.
“Not me,” Emma said. “I’ll take my chances with them.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” Fitch said. “The water’s actually pretty clean these days. The last time it caught fire was way before I was born.”
“That’s not the problem,” Emma said. “I can’t swim.”
“How’d you like to learn?” Fitch said grimly as they reached the end of the pavement. “Now would be a good time.”
Instead, Emma stepped forward, waving her arms at the oncoming horde. “Go back
!” she yelled. “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“Not the message to send to zombies,” Fitch muttered. “Don’t listen to her!” he shouted. “We will hurt you if you come any closer!” He looked around for possible weapons. An old wooden pallet leaned up against a nearby building. Fitch grabbed it and smashed it against a telephone pole, ripping free several jagged wooden pieces. He charged forward, swinging, hitting the corpse in the lead in the side of the head. It was a hard blow. It splintered Fitch’s weapon, and made a visible dent in the creature’s skull. It still came on.
“They’re not going to stop,” Emma whispered in disbelief.
Emma bent and scooped up several chunks of broken brick. She aimed, threw hard. She had strong arms from years of sanding and hauling wood around. She winged one of the creatures, nearly spinning him around. His arm dangled, useless at his side. But it was as if he didn’t feel it. She shouldn’t have worried about hurting them—she’d be lucky to get their attention, let alone stop them.
“It’s like they don’t feel pain,” Fitch said.
“Get back,” Leesha said. “I’m on this.” Stripping off her high-heeled boots, she stepped in front of them. Planting her feet, she sent flames rocketing into the leading edge of the small army. They didn’t even break stride. She extended her hand and spoke some kind of charm. Nothing. They kept coming, the smell of decay and charred flesh growing stronger and stronger. One of them was carrying something that glittered under the streetlights. A knife?
No. A broken bottle.
By then, they were nearly on top of Leesha, reaching for her with eager hands. Fitch barreled into the nearest shade, bowling him over, but then one of his companions swung a baseball bat, sending Fitch flying.
Howling with rage, Leesha blasted a crater in the roadway ahead of them. The ones in the lead managed to stumble to a stop, but the ones behind ran into them, toppling into the hole. Blessedly, that slowed them up long enough for Fitch to get back on his feet.
The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) Page 18
