by Debra Dunbar
Vito simply offered the vial.
And at last, Vincent understood what it was Vito wanted. And as terrifying as the prospect was, it was preferable to both him and Lefty being killed.
“You’re…you’re sending me to Ithaca?”
“This is your final chance to prove your value. You require reeducation, Vincenzo. Your judgement has become clouded. You’ve forgotten the creed and purpose of your kind. Take the elixir. Join your quarry in her journey to the farm. Submit to reeducation without complaint and come back to me the finely-honed weapon I expect you to be. This is your final chance.”
A chill swept through Vincent’s chest, leeching down into his thighs and through his arms.
Ithaca.
The urge to pinch time and bolt out the door flooded his brain. He could do it, too. Without problem. He’d be gone and would never have to see those torture halls of the Ithaca farm. He could even ask Hattie to join him.
Reality crept into his fantasy.
Where would he run? They’d track him down and kill him, along with Hattie and whoever else helped him. It wasn’t just Vito, but the entirety of the mob hunting him down. There would be no safe place for him. And running would condemn Lefty to death. After everything Lefty had done to protect Vincent, all of the times he’d put his own life on the line…how could he do that to Lefty?
He couldn’t.
He reached for the vial, hand trembling as he took the glass from Vito’s grip. The Capo sighed, his face easing as if a great burden had been lifted.
The elixir tingled on his tongue like a drop of mint. The sensation spread through his mouth, numbing it just a bit. And it didn’t stop there. An odd prickling spread through his body, the pain in his shoulder where Betty had stabbed him easing as the wound immediately healed. A strange detachment swept through Vincent’s entire frame. By the time it had reached his feet the trembling in his hands had ceased and he knew that his powers had been nullified.
And it was too late to turn back.
Vito nodded, reaching out to lay a hand on Vincent’s arm.
“You will be reborn, Vincenzo. Greatness may yet be in your destiny, but first, the weakness must be purged. I look forward to your return.” Vito gestured for the far door.
Vincent handed Vito the vial, and left the room. He couldn’t tell if it was the elixir, or simply his consignment to his fate. But as he put one foot in front of the other, he found the terror of what lay ahead had dulled to a blanket of dread. Beyond the door, he found the security man waiting with a blindfold and a length of rope.
Vincent shook his head. “Those won’t be necessary.”
The security man seemed to debate the virtue of the statement, but eventually pocketed both and held the cellar door open for Vincent.
A short flight of stairs led to a surprisingly well-lit room. The floor was hewn out of stone, fairly level but rustic. Several wine racks lined the walls. Towards the center of the space sat a squat, round table with a handful of chairs. Betty sat in one of those chairs, her wrists still bound behind her back. Vincent made his way forward, taking a seat across the table from Betty.
The security man said, “We’re bringing the car around now. Won’t be a minute.”
Betty sneered at Vincent. “Come to gloat?”
He shook his head.
Her eyes flickered over his face, then back up to the cellar door. The moment she put together Vincent’s fate—that he would be sharing hers—her mouth widened into a grin.
As Betty began to laugh, Vincent steeled himself for what was ahead. Just get through this, get through what couldn’t be more than a few weeks or months of “reeducation” and he’d be sent back—back to Baltimore, back to Lefty.
Back to Hattie.
He just needed to stay strong, endure…and obey.
Chapter 12
Hattie growled in frustration, noting her position in the book and glancing out the grime-smeared window of the warehouse. It had been over a day since she’d seen or heard from Vincent. She knew he’d gone on to Richmond without her, probably accompanied by Lefty. It bothered but didn’t surprise her.
But she’d expected a note or something this morning. She’d hung around the apartment until lunchtime, then headed over to the warehouse to see if Vincent had maybe sent word there. Finally, she couldn’t take the waiting and decided to pass the time by researching.
The door creaked open, a blast of artic air blowing through the room.
“So what’s the news?” Sadie asked.
Hattie looked down at the book. “I’m reading about the pincher wars.”
Sadie shooed the two little girls playing cat’s cradle with some old yarn out of the room then pulled a chair over next to where Hattie was. “Well I know we lost, obviously, but beyond that I don’t know much about the pincher wars.”
“It’s not easy to read with this weird handwriting, but it seems there were two main reasons the pinchers didn’t win that war. Pincher factions turned on one another and some pinchers remained in support of their owners and fought against the others.”
Sadie shrugged. “I’m not surprised. The same thing would probably happen today if we tried to rise up.”
Hattie glanced down at the book. “There’s no mention of the Hell pinchers during the war. I know they’re not technically pinchers in the same way we are, but I wonder why they didn’t weigh in on one side or the other?”
Sadie eyed her. “I’d expect Hell pinchers to be the independent sort who wouldn’t get involved or join either side. And personally, I’d not want them on my side in a fight anyway. Demon summoning? That stuff is….wrong.”
“Plenty of people think what we do is unnatural, even evil,” Hattie told her. “I’ve seen two demons in action so far, and I’ll admit I’d rather have them on my side than against me.” She flipped through the pages, halting on one with a drawing of the infernal creature. “Maybe we could have won with a few demons fighting with us.”
“Well, I still wouldn’t want to rely on a Hell pincher—what?” She leaned over to see what had captured Hattie’s attention.
“Look at this,” Hattie pointed to the passage that had caught her eye. “If a Hell pincher can capture both a Dark Soul and the full Bright Soul together in one place and bind them together, he will have achieved Solomon’s Crown.”
“Which doesn’t sound like a good thing,” Sadie commented.
“Unlimited power,” Hattie read on. “The Holy Grail of magical power. Hell pinchers are descendants of King Solomon, himself. He was the first human to receive the secret knowledge—the keys to Hell and Heaven—and be granted knowledge of arcane sigils that open the gateways through the veil of life and death. These sigils, these keys, they are the source of all Hell pincher power. Hell pinchers can summon demons to do their bidding, but with every breach of the veil, they also summoned forth Bright Souls.” Hattie looked up. “I wonder how many of these Hell pinchers there are?”
“I’ve got other concerns,” Sadie breathed.
“Such as?”
“You’re all three close by. Both you and your Bright Soul twin and the demon that’s your Dark Soul. If a Hell pincher gathers the three of you in one place, he’ll have Solomon’s Crown. Unlimited power.” Sadie shook her head. “What would someone like that do? Hattie, you’ve got to stay out of this Hell pincher’s hands. That demon in Deltaville…if he can get both you and this time pincher together with this demon, he can bind the three of you and use the combined power for whatever he wants.”
Hattie thought back to Bimini…and Deltaville. How the demon’s abode had been razed to the ground. Where is that demon?
And where is Vincent?
“I have to go.” She stood with a rush, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair.
Sadie coughed, covering her mouth with the sleeve of her coat. Hattie peered at her, brows lifted, watching as the other woman removed her sleeve to reveal a tiny patch of blood.
“Are you not well?” H
attie urged.
“Don’t worry about me,” Sadie mumbled. “You go. You find your soul twin. And then you run. Run as far away from this Hell pincher as you can. Because if you don’t, and you fall to this madman…all of Creation could be undone.”
* * *
Hattie stood in the ill-lit hall of Vincent’s building in Federal Hill. She knocked.
Again.
The family downstairs continued a boisterous conversation as the aroma of coffee filled the hall. Hattie leaned closer to Vincent’s door, pressing her ear to the wood. Nothing. Finally, she gave the knob a twist and pushed but the door didn’t budge.
With a worried frown, she surrendered and withdrew back down the hallway and the flight of steps leading to the street. A children’s choir sang a Christmas carol somewhere down the block. A few stray flakes of snow fell from the thick gray clouds overhead. A car rushed down the street, sending slush washing against the cars parked along the lane.
Hattie marched up the walk a stretch, stifling her fears. How badly had it gone in Richmond? Was he still down there?
Was he dead?
Hattie lingered by the Runabout, opening the door and pausing as she glanced up the street.
A voice called from inside the truck, “Not home, huh?”
Hattie stared at Vincent’s building, searching for some sign of where to go next. “No.” She took a seat next to Raymond in the truck as he started the engine.
The man reached out a hand to cover hers. “I know you’re worried, baby girl. He’s a smart man. A man don’t survive that long as a gangster without some brains in his head. Don’t go panicking.”
Hattie tried to slow her breathing. “I’m not panicking. I’m just… I need to find him. I found some information that he needs to know. And yes, I’m worried. He should have been back by now.”
“So, where we goin’ now?”
“The Old Moravia Hotel,” she replied, eyes forward.
Raymond smirked and shook his head. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. You’re gonna walk into the lion’s den?”
“Won’t be the first time I’ve gone in there.”
“Girl, that’s the last place you wanna be. All of those gangsters are itchin’ to lay mitts on someone just like you.”
“They think I’m a normal person. I have to see if he’s there, Raymond. Maybe someone will know what happened at Richmond, will know where he is and if…if he’s okay.”
With a sympathetic nod, he pulled the car onto the street and headed west into the center of downtown.
The Old Moravia stood resolute in the company of the carved stone structures at the heart of Baltimore. Its glass window fronts had been rebuilt with gleaming new brass fixtures, including a new revolving door. It was old and new, all at the same time. As Hattie stared at it from the passenger seat of the Runabout, she wondered whether any of the faces inside would be familiar, or were they all new as well?
Steeling her resolve, she took a deep breath. With a wave of her fingers from nose to knees, she pinched light over her body. As she stepped onto the street, the illusion of a gold-threaded gown stitched itself into being around her. Makeup lifted onto her eyes and lips. Her hair swirled into a pristine mop of copper-red waves sweeping from beneath a black mink hat. A matching coat huddled over her shoulders as she completed the spell.
Raymond peered at her wide-eyed from the driver’s seat.
“What?” she asked, running a hand over the illusion of fur. “Too much?”
“Nah. I just never get used to that.”
“That makes two of us. Stay close.”
She marched up to the new revolving glass door of the hotel, slipping into one side as the door swallowed her up, spitting her back out in the yawning marble-paved lobby of the Old Moravia.
The front desk had been rebuilt. It was smaller, but with more metal appointments. The old wood planters had been replaced with brass urns housing new ferns and potted palms. A wash of warm air swept over Hattie as she stepped into the hotel. She added a dimension of sound to her illusion, clacking of heels against the hard floor.
Hattie glanced into the U-shaped clutch of sofas to her left. No Vincent. And then, to her right. The lounge sported a dozen men and women, most with martini glasses in hand. She clacked her way into the lounge, dropping the sound as she reached the vermillion carpet. She wound her way toward the bar. A lean, pale fellow in a tuxedo vest nodded to her as she leaned against the rail.
“What’ll ya have, miss?”
“Whisky.”
He nodded and poured two fingers of liquor into a crystal glass, sliding it to her. The Old Moravia seemed generous with their pours. As she reached into an illusory clutch to pull some fake nickels, a voice called to her left.
“That’s on me, Sal.”
Hattie glanced over her shoulder to find Tony grinning at her.
She released a breath and grinned back. “Cheers.”
He lifted a glass of what looked like simply water.
“How’s the business of crime treating you?” she asked toward breaking the ice.
“About as well as it’s treating you. People stock up early so distribution is always slow for the holidays. We’ll be back strong again after the New Year, don’t you worry.”
She sipped her whisky, wishing her worry could be swept away so easily.
“Tell me,” she began with a forced apathy, “have you seen Vincent lately?”
Tony shook his head. “Haven’t seen him for a week or so. Man’s been inside his own head for better part of three months, now.”
“Aye, I suppose we all have our way this time of year.”
Tony nodded, then turned away.
Before he could get far, she called out, “And what of his charming one-armed custodian? Is he…is he here?”
“Who, Lefty?” Tony faced her with a lift of his brow. “You really want to rattle that old cuss-pot’s cage?”
She rested a hand over her chest, scandalized. “Why, I think he’s the only proper gentleman in this city. All of you scamps should take lessons.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “He’s not here. Probably at home, if he’s not out with Vincent somewhere.” Tony set his glass onto the bar. “Why? You got business with those two?”
“No, of course not. Just enjoying a drink.”
He stepped close and lowered his volume. “And I think you’re a crap liar.”
Hattie scowled, but held her tongue.
“Listen,” he whispered, “there’s been talk around the campfires. Talk about Vincent and Lefty kicking up a dust storm down in Richmond. They’re saying that Lefty’s been holed up in his house ever since, and no one’s seen hide or hair of Vincent.”
Hattie gripped her glass tight. “Is he—?”
Tony shrugged. “I figure we’d have heard if Vincent got plugged. The way Vito is, he we would have blown Richmond off the map if they’d killed his pincher.”
“Aye.” She scowled. “The man treats Vincent about as well as a brood mare.”
Tony took her glass to set it onto the bar and eased her back toward the lobby. “Listen. Vincent’s done right by me and I don’t wish him any misfortune. I think maybe there’s only three people who know what really happened down in Richmond. I’d ask Vincent himself, but he’s disappeared, and I have no interest in poking the Capo over this. So, if you’re of a mind to take a drive to Lefty’s…” He lifted his brow in expectation.
Hattie nodded. “I suppose I am of such a mind.”
Tony collected his coat from the check girl and escorted Hattie out the revolving door. “We can take my car.”
“I have one already.”
“Oh. Then you can follow me.”
With an increasing smile, she replied, “I already know where Lefty’s house is.”
Tony stuffed his hands into his coat. “Well, hell. Maybe I’ll follow you, then.”
As Hattie slipped back into the Runabout, she dropped the illusion of her dress.
Raymond eyed
Tony as the other man walked to his car, then shook his head. “I ’spose we’re gangsters, now?”
“If you’d rather go home, I’d understand. The man’s already offered me a ride.” She faced Raymond in her seat. “Would you prefer that? I’m sincerely asking. I don’t wanna get you in any trouble, Raymond.”
“I’m not letting you go off with that man to another gangster’s house, trying to track down some other gangster.” He shook his head. “Think you’re better off going home and waiting. That boy’ll get in contact with you eventually.”
“Vincent’s my friend.” She put a hand on Raymond’s arm. “You’re my friend. I care about people to whom I give that title. And if you’re uncomfortable doing this, you can tell me now. I’ll hear you. And I won’t judge you for it.”
Raymond reached for the top of her hand and nodded. “I’m with ya, girl. I’m always with you, no matter what.”
They followed Tony to a neighborhood of large Tudor-style houses huddled along a tree-lined street. They parked on a patch of white ground, snowflakes lazily drifted toward across an expansive lawn.
Tony approached the Runabout, coming to a stop as Hattie emerged.
“Where’s…your dress and furs?”
Hattie waggled her fingers at him. “I’m a quick change.”
He shook his head in amusement, then turned to lead the way up the front walk. Hattie moved to follow, but paused to eye Raymond lingering in the car.
The man shook his head. “Don’t think the locals would care much for someone like me comin’ to the front door. Besides, thinkin’ I need to keep the engine running in case we need to make a quick exit.”
Hattie nodded, then ran to catch up with Tony halfway up the walk. When they reached the tiny flight of semi-circular concrete steps leading to the blue-painted door, they exchanged confused glances. Coming through the door was the sound of cheerful piano work. It was bouncy, brisk, and jocular. Almost garish, harkening to scenes of Old West saloons.
“Should I knock, or you?” she asked, nudging Tony forward.
He gave the door several sharp raps, and the piano fell instantly silent. Voices muttered within. Hattie drew her coat closer to her neck, suddenly uneasy with the situation.
