by Debra Dunbar
Hattie retreated a few steps, her thoughts churning. Ephrata. That child had said Cooper had confronted the Hell pincher and told him there was someone coming for him.
This…this was all a domino effect from that event. This Hell pincher was searching for whoever he thought was hunting him down. Which meant he was heading toward Baltimore for Vincent, for the Crew that Cooper had belonged to.
She panicked for a moment, thinking of Solomon’s Crown and worried the Hell pincher knew what was in his reach, but then she calmed down and thought rationally of the situation. This Hell pincher was scared, just as she would have been in his position. He knew there was a threat from Baltimore, and rather than run as Hattie would have done, the Hell pincher was choosing to take the fight to them.
Which didn’t make her feel any better. This man had just killed six innocent people including two children. And he was most likely headed toward her city. With the ability to command demons who could incinerate anything in their path.
No one in Baltimore had the power to protect them. She’d seen how bullets did nothing to these demons. The only thing that might protect them against a Hell pincher and his magic was…her. But she couldn’t do it alone, and Vincent was gone.
Hattie stumbled toward the Runabout, her hand pressed against her chest. She needed Vincent. Together this would be a fight they could survive, maybe even win, but alone? She was terrified to face this thing alone.
Climbing in the truck she headed south toward home, her mind filled with fearful thoughts of fire demons and paranoid magic users who were hell-bent on taking out anything they might remotely perceive as a threat.
Vincent, I need you, she prayed, wishing with every bit of her heart that somehow he’d be waiting on her doorstep with his cocky smile and his self-assured ways. Vincent would have a plan. Vincent would stand by her side.
Vincent. He could protect and save the entire city if only he stopped thinking of himself as Vito’s lapdog and realized the strength he possessed. Vincent was the knight.
But he wasn’t here.
There was hardly any traffic into the city, and Hattie had no trouble dropping the truck off at the warehouse in Locust Point, then making her way via street car into Hampden. Candles were lit in the windows as she rode past the brownstones. Garlands of evergreens draped over street lights and stoops. There was a strange innocence in the air as people gravitated toward their homes and families.
It all just made her more aware that Vincent was probably having the worst Christmas of his life.
A figure lingered near the stoop to her parents’ apartment building, and for a moment Hattie prepared several illusions to pinch around herself. But as she stepped close enough to recognize his face, she relaxed.
“Why, Mr. Mancuso,” she announced. “Fancy meeting you in Hampden.”
Lefty nodded to her, tipping a finger to his hat as she approached.
“Miss Malloy,” he replied in a tone that was coolly civil.
“What can I do for you, then?”
He reached into his left coat pocket to produce a neatly-wrapped package. The paper was green, and it had been tied in a bright red ribbon with gold trim. Lefty held it out for her with a sharp nod.
“Merry Christmas.”
She stared at him slack-jawed for a moment, then took the package in her hand.
“I…don’t know what to say.”
“It’s the holiday,” he replied. “No need to say anything.”
She peered down at the gift, then back at Lefty.
“Thank you,” she finally managed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this. I would have gotten you something—”
He shook his head. “That’s not what this is about. Trust me. You need a little leg up, so I’m here to give it to ya.”
She peered at him with confusion. “Well, I thank you nonetheless.”
He nodded, then turned to retreat down the street.
“Lefty,” she called out, instantly worried she’d taken too personal a tone with him.
Lefty paused and turned back to face her. “There, uh, something I can do for you ma’am?”
She squirmed, shifting from foot to foot. Lord, this man was intimidating even with his polite formality. “That night this past summer, when I was brought before Corbi…”
He nodded so she continued, “Vincent made me out to be a normal person. Not a pincher. And you confirmed it. Why did you do that?” she asked. “Why protect me?”
“I wasn’t protecting you,” Lefty answered. “I was protecting him.”
“Corbi?”
“Vincent.”
Hattie blinked. “Oh.”
Lefty scowled, then added, “I’ve seen how he looks at you. The way you do the same. He’s a good kid and so are you. You two deserve…well, you deserve the kind of chance some of us don’t get.”
Hattie didn’t respond, feeling as if the man was revealing a glimpse of something incredibly personal to her.
“Besides,” he grumbled. “It’s my job to take care of Vincent. And I pretty much balled that up.” He pointed his finger to the package, giving it a few hard jabs. “I know what you’ve been up to Hattie Malloy. And this is my way of helping. So you use this. You hear me? Use this.”
He took a step back, tipped a finger to his hat one more time, then marched down the street and out of sight.
Hattie stood dumbstruck, gripping the gift tightly.
That man’s demeanor had shifted so quickly, so unexpectedly…she’d had no time to react. She could only feel the punch in her gut as his frailty was laid bare in a fleeting moment.
Her hand flew against the ribbon, tugging at the bow until it cinched tighter. She lifted the package to her mouth, jerking the ribbon aside with her teeth. Finally, the length of red velvet slipped to the snowy slush on the street, and the green wrapping paper tore easily at her fingertips.
Hattie took a deep breath and held the unwrapped gift up to the nearest gas light.
It was a leather-bound journal.
Her brow lifted as she realized what this journal was.
It was the one Vincent had been carrying in his pocket. It was the journal Cooper had given him.
It was information—information she desperately needed in order to formulate a plan
“I’ll back you up, Vincent,” she whispered as she turned for her home to celebrate Christmas Eve. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here back you up.”
Chapter 16
The throbbing in Vincent’s leg prodded him awake. He hadn’t fallen asleep as much as he’d passed out from the pain. The crushing ache exploded into a million needles slicing through his entire body as he tried to sit upright. A yelp slipped from his throat, and as he lay staring at the ceiling he thought he heard a tiny giggle squeeze through the masonry separating the two cells.
Outstanding. He couldn’t show weakness in front of his captors, and now he couldn’t even have a private moment of agony without giving Betty Sharp her sick entertainment.
Vincent peered down to his legs. They ran in incorrect angles below the knee. Gertha had made surgical blows with her hammer, ruining his lower legs with a minimum of effort. Once the both of them had been similarly hobbled, she kicked their chairs out from underneath them before setting a gun on the floor in the opposite corner. A frenzy of cries and groans followed as he and Betty struggled along the floor to reach the gun first. He was certain Betty would turn the gun immediately on Gertha then take her second shot at Vincent. Regrettably, Betty’s floor speed proved superior. She snatched the pistol off the floor boards and, as predicted, took aim at her blonde tormenter.
It wasn’t until that moment that the absurdity of the exercise dawned on Vincent. The gun dry-clicked several times before it dawned on Betty.
Gertha collected the empty gun from Betty and gave her heel the tiniest nudge. The pain had racked Betty so thoroughly she retched, though there was nothing to come up.
Vincent was spared direct abuse from Gertha at t
hat point, but the agony involved in relocating him to his cell was enough to punch his ticket for the rest of the day.
Now he blinked at the ceiling, running a tongue over dry lips. The cycle of physical torture followed by isolation was wearing on him. How long had he even been here at this point? The quality of light in the cell, combined with the overlong winter nights, made it difficult to track time.
The cell door bolt slapped open and the hinges creaked. Vincent remained still from the neck down but did turn his head to check who was entering the cell now. He released a thin sigh of relief to find Sebastian backing into the room. The man pulled a service trolley into the room, its brass axle scraping and squeaking in rhythm.
“Good evening,” Sebastian chimed.
“Is it?”
Sebastian grinned. “I’ve brought you dinner.”
Vincent tried propping himself up on his elbows, but the tiniest motion of the cot sent fresh waves of agony through his massacred legs.
Sebastian grunted, then crouched beside the cot. He guided his hands over Vincent’s shins. That same crackling noise filled the hollow spaces in Vincent’s ears, and his legs numbed. A few stabs of sharp pain followed, and then a pall of blessed relief.
Vincent audibly groaned as his bones mended, easing back into place as if they were never broken. He tried moving his legs and found he could swing them around to the edge of the cot.
Sebastian nodded once, then turned to a large pewter bowl to produce a skin filled with snow. He settled the snow pack onto one of Vincent’s legs.
“Gertha is masterful in the application of her arts,” Sebastian explained. “And though she takes great pains not to permanently damage anything outside of my power to heal, often the tissues surrounding the breaks become swollen.”
Vincent rested a hand atop the skin, holding it in place as Sebastian returned to the service. He pulled a tray cover into the air with a flourish.
“Et voila!”
Vincent glanced at the cart to spy a plate of sliced ham and roasted root vegetables. The aroma of food spread through the cell, sending Vincent’s stomach into a seizure of hunger.
Sebastian pushed the cart close enough for Vincent to reach, then offered some silverware.
He took them and fell upon the food, nearly choking from trying to swallow a slice of meat without adequate chewing.
Sebastian reached below the cart to grab a green-glassed bottle. As he produced a corkscrew from his jacket pocket, he said, “We shouldn’t forego the basics of civilized life. Even here.”
He opened the bottle and poured two neat crystal goblets of wine. Vincent took the wine as he wiped the mess of his over-eager dining with his right sleeve.
Sebastian clinked glass, saying, “To the purpose.”
Vincent froze, eyeing the other man cautiously. “Purpose?”
“You remember the pledge, yes? Recite it for me, please.”
Vincent took a sip of the wine to buy himself time, thinking back on his days in the school. “To be an asset of true value.”
Sebastian gestured for him to continue.
Vincent gripped the glass as tight as he dared. “To…to become a creature of power, not for gain…” He squinted. “Something about loyalty.”
Sebastian raised his glass once again. “I must say, I am thrilled to have as finely honed an asset as you in my hands.” He set his goblet down and leaned forward. “I know all of this must seem horribly unfair to you. That’s natural. I might feel the same way, had I come into a vein of independent thinking such as you had.”
Vincent drew a breath uncertain what to expect next. Where was the man going with this conversation? Wherever, Vincent was sure it would probably end in pain.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “A word of advice, Mr. Calendo? Don’t ever lie to me. You’re not the first veteran they’ve sent back to Ithaca.” He leaned back and grabbed his glass with a smug air. “That’s usually why they call me back to Ithaca, in fact. People like you are my specialty. I can tell,” Sebastian said with a lift of a finger, “that you will be a challenge. Rather than relying upon your betters to direct the course of your powers, as well as your destiny, you question them. You often act contrary to their orders.”
Sebastian snatched the utensils from Vincent’s hand and scraped the contents of his plate into a box on the side of the trolley. Settling the dish at the bottom of the cart, he turned it toward the door only to pause to set the wine bottle next to Vincent’s foot.
The wheels of the cart squeaked as Sebastian made his way to the cell door. As he wrestled the service through the doorway, he paused. “To reflect on my betters in a way that forwards their fortune.” He turned to face Vincent. “It may behoove you to remember and commit the pledge to memory. Just a suggestion.”
Sebastian exited the room, latching the cell door behind him. After a while, Vincent heard a voice muttering through the common wall.
“That was pathetic.”
Vincent glared at the masonry separating him from Betty. He snatched the bottle of wine and the goblet left behind and made his way toward the wall. “Am I to have no privacy in this place?”
Betty replied, “So sorry, your highness.”
He turned to lean against the wall and took a swig of wine before refilling his glass. “How’re the legs?”
“Go to hell.”
“I’m sorry, didn’t you get the meal you were promised?”
No response.
“It was ham. And turnips. Parsnips. A couple carrots.”
“Shut your mouth!”
He shook his head. She’d taken every possible opportunity to needle him since they’d arrived. Now it was her turn.
And yet, as he gripped a half-empty bottle of wine in one hand and leaded crystal in the other, he recognized that she was still hungry and thirsty. And her legs were still broken. The thought failed to bring him any comfort.
Vincent slid down to a crouch along the wall, then kicked his legs out to sit on the floor. “I’m sure he’ll be on his way shortly to fix you up and feed you. Get ready for a line of bullshit you wouldn’t believe.”
“Right I’ll believe it when I see it. They’re probably just going to leave me like this all night.”
“They need you healthy and in one piece. How can they sell you to higher bidders if your ribs are sticking through your shirts?”
“They need you healthy,” she replied through a grunt of pain. “You’re their Golden Boy. People like me? They’re figuring out if I’m worth the bother. A glass pincher? The only thing valuable about me is my womb.”
He winced remembering Capstein’s plan to breed a generation of pinchers with Betty. No matter what he and others had said, Betty was smart and had found a way to maximize the magical ability she’d had. She was more than a walking womb. “You’re worth the bother,” he assured her. “There’s some family out there that’s looking to add a crazy psychotic murdering glass pincher to their ranks, don’t you worry.”
“Eat shit, Calendo.”
Vincent snickered. “Can I ask you a question, Betty?”
“Rather you didn’t.”
“Hey, you started this. I didn’t know you could hear me through this mess of rocks, but now the cat’s outta the bag.”
“I’m in Hell.”
“Why did you rope in the Bianco Fiore for your personal army?”
After a long silence, she replied, “What does it matter?”
“Just trying to figure out what you were thinking. They’re obviously impossible to control. Just a bunch of old Confederates and their next generation looking for another black to string up. How was that ever a good idea?”
“You think you could have done better?”
Vincent shrugged. “I can’t imagine being in the position to make the call.”
“Good. Then shut up. What do you know, anyway?”
“I know that you were doomed before you started. I was one man. And I walked right through the front door and walked ou
t with you over my shoulder.”
“You got lucky,” she grunted.
He turned to the wall. “It was just a matter of time before they turned on you, or Charleston decided you were too much of a problem, or they messed with Vito’s distribution and he sent a war party down to take you out.”
“I’m going to cut your tongue out and chop it up into dog food.”
Vincent continued, “You were everything Capstein was. Just as smart, just as vicious. But he knew how to play the game, how to make alliances. He was patient, he planned, carefully calculated his moves. You just tick everyone off.”
“Why are you still talking?”
Vincent smirked. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d become all glib. Maybe the four walls had started to get to him. Maybe he felt better understanding why bats-in-the-belfry Betty Sharp was the way she was.
A church bell rang somewhere in the far distance. It was barely audible, but it wasn’t hard to hear a bird cough in the utter silence of this place.
Vincent lifted his glass. “Merry Christmas, Betty.”
After a silent moment, she said, “What?”
“It’s midnight. It’s Christmas.”
A sound emanated through the stone. Vincent couldn’t get a solid grip on it and wasn’t eager to. Betty felt as alone as he did. Perhaps more so. He had Hattie to think about, a whole life back in Baltimore to keep him going when the pain got bad. What did she have to bring her any hope for joy in the future?
* * *
The next day was much like the previous one with broken bones and isolation. Dinner arrived at night. Sebastian brought it himself, just as before. This time the meal was pasta. Vincent ate as Sebastian watched from the doorway. The man’s posture was stiffer than usual. Vincent didn’t care. His hunger had threatened his sanity more than the pain Gertha had inflicted.
“The pledge,” Sebastian stated simply.
Vincent’s heart fell. He’d been just surviving all day, not thinking about a pledge from his childhood that he couldn’t even remember.
“Recite the pledge.”
Vincent sucked in a breath. “To be an asset of value. To, uh—”
