Bloodback

by Darby Harn

  Opportunity.

  “We should go back,” I say, turning toward the cold concrete of the building. “We shouldn’t have come.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” she says.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “Ok. All right.” Abi smiles. “Look at me. Hey.”

  I look at her. Focus. Try and focus.

  “You’re in control,” Abi says, popping the collar of my jacket. “You’ve got like, a lot of layers here. You got this.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Focus on me.”

  “Ok.”

  “Focus on us. Just us.”

  I squeeze her hand, and shut everything else out except for the steady rhythm of her pulse, ba-dumm, ba-dumm, ba-dumm. She gently leads me back into the river of people streaming past.

  “Tell me about the last time you were here,” Abi says.

  “I want to stop.”

  “We’re almost to the club.”

  I drag my feet. “Let’s stop.”

  “We came all this way to see Blind Tiger. He’s just up the street a bit, right? We’ll go in, we’ll talk, we’ll chill. It will be ok. It’s going to be ok. So. You came to visit family?”

  I was six or seven. It was the only time we came here. After Dad died, we didn’t really have any contact with his side of the family. Ma never talked about her own, except to speak sometimes of her mother, usually around the holidays.

  “Yes,” I say, as we round a corner. Every step another into a strip of fly tape. Chicago tugs at me. The people. Cars. Buses. Trains. Millions of tons of steel. The electric life flowing through its veins. If I lose focus, for one instant and I grip Abi’s hand so tight she makes a little sound. “Sorry.”

  “It’s ok. It’s fine. Where are they, your family?”

  “Gresham. Near St. Sabina Church.”

  “Want to stop there on the way back?”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you miss them?”

  “I don’t really know them. Dad never said much about them and I don’t know why. There was this distance there, and Ma acted like they didn’t like her. Me. And I never knew Ma’s side, either, we were all just… castaways. Do you know?”

  She nods. “I’ll be a castaway with you.”

  Don’t you want something else? Something better?

  “You kind of are,” I say.

  Usually her expressions are so quick. Easy. This one takes a moment. Takes a few different shapes. Eventually, it settles on something like contentment. Something like pride.

  “I want you to touch me,” she says, pinching the fingertip of my glove. “I want you to know what you mean to me, Kitsie. I know all I do is talk and it probably gets annoying, but I can’t ever say.”

  “Say what?”

  Her lips draw toward mine. “I’m never lost with you.”

  “Abi…”

  She peels my turtleneck up over my lips, and kisses me. I could be standing in the middle of Times Square. I could be standing on the surface of the sun. All the energy in the universe wouldn’t be enough to distract me from her.

  “Let’s talk to Blind Tiger,” I say. “And go home.”

  I take the lead now, hurrying down a less trafficked street under the L line. Plywood encloses the faces of the storefronts along the street. Stumps of old traffic meters they cut off at the base stab out of the concrete every few feet, which what the fuck and I stop before a graffitied wall halfway down the block, painted in opposing lines of yellow and black.

  “Did we take a wrong turn?” Abi says.

  “We’re here,” I say, and knock on the wall.

  A door opens out of the wall. Bright orange eyes, like hot pokers, peer from within.

  “Password,” the brick of a guy inside says.

  I pull down my turtleneck and the curtain on the magenta light show flickering beneath. “Kit Baldwin.”

  The bouncer teeters back on his feet, unsure, and then the door closes. If this goes sideways, I can go invisible by manipulating the electromagnetic spectrum emanating from me. Pretty sure I can’t hide Abi. I’m too far away from the distortions of the ship’s core to pinch open a portal to the In Between. A fierce north wind catches the halogen sail hanging low over the city. If I had to, I could fly across the lake back to Break Pointe. Fifteen minutes. Magnetic tension between the Myriad and the world would propel me up to three hundred miles an hour. Abi would probably be dead of hypothermia by the time we got there.

  “Do you think they validate?” Abi says.

  “What?”

  The door opens again, and the bouncer ushers us into a dark, narrow hallway, draped in velvet curtains. A woman of Asian descent stalks down the hall, in a vintage flapper-like dress shimmering as much as her platinum blonde hair.

  “Ms. Baldwin, I don’t have you on the guest list.”

  “Consider it a health and safety inspection.”

  An oxblood smile gashes her lips. “Is that a threat?”

  “Tell him I’m here. I want to see him.”

  The concierge clicks her fingers and the bouncer gestures for me and Abi to follow him on.

  “You’re so butch,” Abi whispers.

  “Let’s hope this is as butch as I have to get,” I say, and we leave the hallway, into the most secret club in Chicago.

  Soft candlelight illuminates the room, arranged with small round tables between a bar and stage. No band accompanies the woman in the black dress singing on stage, yet smooth jazz drifts through the club lazy as the cigarette smoke. A single, stereoscopic eye lurks in the haze. Scaled skin. Fishbowl helmets on puffy containment suits, the claustrophobic universe of Empowered who can’t travel any other way. A different kind of tug pulls on me now. I know what it’s like to be trapped within your power. Working at the Blackwood Building, I’d gotten used to a Great Power of outwardly normal looking people. Not all Empowered enjoy such privilege. Clubs like this offer a refuge for them in a world that still fears the strange.

  The bouncer guides us to a private booth, at the back of the room. I’ve never met Blind Tiger, but like most of GP’s most prominent members, I’ve seen pictures of him. Even if I hadn’t, I would have pegged him right away. Easy laughter radiates from the African-American man holding court in the booth. A cool confidence. His eyes never abandoned their gaze into the distance beyond the booth, but he seems to become aware of me as I approach.

  Blind Tiger holds up his hand, instantly bringing the chatty music among the men and women clustered with him to a stop. A smile crosses his lips. He still doesn’t look at me.

  “You’re even more beautiful in person,” he says.

  “I scrub up ok,” I say.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse me. I have business.”

  Disappointment, and some not quite low-key jealousy, paints the faces of the people leaving the booth. Once they’ve gone, Blind Tiger slides out to greet us. He takes my hand.

  “I’m flattered, Kitsie – may I call you Kitsie? – that you came all this way to see me. You give a man ideas.”

  “I came because – "

  His head tilts toward Abi, again without directly looking at her. “And who’s this gorgeous creature?”

  Abi blushes. “Oh, wow. Hi. I’m Abi.”

  “Delighted, Abi. Please, ladies, sit. What would you like to drink? Are you hungry? Furnace here will take your coats.”

  The bouncer reaches for mine.

  “I’ll keep mine, if that’s ok,” I say, and slid into the booth with Abi. “We’re not staying.”

  “Furnace, see we’re not interrupted.” Blind Tiger returns to the booth, smiling. “This is what I love about this place. You just never know who’s going to walk through the door.”

  “I’m not here for any trouble,” I say.

  “Perfect, because I don’t think I could give you any. Still, showing up unannounced at a private Empowered establishment after the mess you made of GP is… provocative.�
��

  Everyone is looking at us. All of them Empowered. Coming here, I thought this club of Blind Tiger’s was excessive, but I doubt there’s anywhere else in Chicago these people feel comfortable. Even in Break Pointe, you tend not to see the really unusual among them. Frontline GP Responders tend to all be bland, boring and beautiful. The advertising is Valene. This lot may not feel represented, exactly, at GP but I doubt any of them appreciated the dent I put in their retirement fund.

  “I need your help, Blind Tiger.”

  “Call me Anwar, I insist. Only clients or fans call me Blind Tiger. And let’s get you some drinks – "

  “Water is fine, thank you.”

  “Anything you want. Your money is no good here.”

  “That’s good, because we don’t have any.”

  “What’s expensive?” Abi says.

  Anwar smiles, and his eyes fix across the room, on the bar. There, the bartender stops rinsing glasses mid-motion. He blinks, like he’s confused, and starts mixing three martinis.

  “Three Ad Astras coming up,” Anwar says.

  Abi leans forward. “What happened? What’s your power?”

  “I can make people see what I want them to see, Abi. I saw three drinks. Now we’re going to have three drinks.”

  “So like mind control?”

  “More like suggestion,” Anwar says, as a waiter arrives with the drinks. “And not quite as simple. I also see what they see. I can see through the eyes of anyone around me.”

  I pick at the napkin under my drink. “You’re blind.”

  “Otherwise.” Anwar sips at his martini. “But never sore for vision. You two ladies are certainly a sight.”

  Bleeding Jesus.

  I can’t give you any trouble, he said. Right. He can see through us. He can make us see things. Do things. He gains control of me, I don’t know what will happen. Focus. If I don’t come out of here with answers about Lamar, then I’m not keeping a lid on the Bloodbacks. More people will die.

  “Anwar, as I was saying – "

  Abi drinks her martini down in one go and pushes the glass forward. I shoot her a look: What are you doing?

  “Another?” Anwar says.

  “We’re not here to drink,” I say, pointedly.

  Anwar blinks. “I assume you’re here to tell me to stay out of the black market, and I have to say I appreciate you coming to me directly. I respect that. I wear a GP uniform, but I’m my own man. There’s no need for the two of us to be enemies.”

  The waiter collects Abi’s glass and boomerangs back to the bar. All eyes still on us. Some of them green. Glowing.

  “I agree,” I say.

  Anwar breaks out into a big smile. “Glad to hear it. See, I knew there was something about you. My colleagues back at the tower all have a biased, let’s say, opinion of you, but sometimes what one requires is a different perspective. Every now and again, it’s good for other people to see things my way.”

  The waiter deposits Abi’s drink on the table. Anwar smiles as she takes it and I don’t know what she’s doing. I don’t know if she’s doing what she wants to. I zip down my jacket. Magenta dawns in the booth. Chairs push out across the room. His jaw clenches as I set the power coil on the table.

  Anwar turns it over and feels the three black stripes on the back. “I have a pretty clear no return policy, Kitsie.”

  “Lamar had this.”

  “Lamar?”

  “He’s dead,” I say.

  Anwar slumps back in the booth. “Dead? This is terrible.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “I have no idea… I had no idea.” Anwar raises his glass. “To Lamar. A damn fine wolf, and an even better card player.”

  I lift my glass. “Card player?”

  “Insidious. How did he die?”

  I sigh. “We found him in The Derelicts. He appeared to have been in a fight with someone.”

  His brows arch. “Someone Empowered?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Hard to see why anyone at the tower would…”

  “I’m confident the killer isn’t an Empowered in the city.”

  The coil turns over in Anwar’s hands. “Is that right?”

  The waiter arrives with another round of drinks. Crying out loud. He sets mine next to my still full glass. Abi drinks her martini down so quick she puts it right back on his tray.

  “It’s good,” she says. “I like it.”

  I tear at my napkin. “We’re on a mission here.”

  She smiles. “I’m on a mission from God.”

  “Don’t be cute, Abi.”

  “I literally can’t stop.”

  Anwar finishes his drink. “Keep them coming.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” I say.

  He leans back with a lazy smile. “What am I doing?”

  “It’s no use trying to distract me, Anwar.”

  Abi nods, drunk. “It’s true. Like, I have these.” She points to her breasts. “Here to tell you. Zero joy.”

  I clear my throat. “Can we not?”

  “Do we ever?”

  I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say. Abi looks away, wincing and focus. You have to focus.

  “Why would this coil have been in Lamar’s possession?”

  Anwar shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “He was running for you, though.”

  “He was. A great shame. I have no one else in my employ with his skill or discretion. You would have liked Lamar.”

  “You were friends?”

  Anwar smiles. “Maybe Lamar kept the power coil for himself… he was a curious fellow, I’ll tell you. But I don’t think he would steal from me. I don’t mind if someone enjoys a perk now and again, but this is a significant loss on investment right here.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “You’re not selling alien contraband back into Break Pointe, are you?”

  His jaw droops. “Kitsie, I’m offended.”

  “Are you?”

  His eyes fix on mine. Somehow, I see myself, looking at myself; this infinite mirror. And then my field of vision expands. I see what Anwar sees. What everyone he sees through does, all around the room, in the building, on the street.

  “You see I’m no liar,” he says, breaking his gaze.

  I sip at my drink. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology is necessary. You’re simply doing your duty as the protector of Break Pointe. I understand. What do they call you? ‘The Keeper?’ Why not call yourself Responder?”

  “I’m not with GP.”

  “I don’t think you were ever officially let go.”

  “I’m inactive, then.”

  “Titles are flexible in the company.”

  “Like morals, it seems.”

  “Have to stay limber.”

  Abi nudges me. “I like him.”

  Anwar smiles, as the waiter returns again. I like Blind Tiger, too, but beyond the charm, he’s no different from the people running GP who had let Break Pointe wither and die rather than give their help. Blind Tiger is selling alien tech smuggled out of Break Pointe in the city he’s charged to defend. No doubt he’s selling the power coils elsewhere, too. Nevermind he can blink and turn us both into puppets. Nevermind he knows more than he’s saying about what happened to Lamar. I’m not going to get anywhere with him. I’ll be lucky to get out of here.

  “I’m as concerned as you are, Kitsie,” he says. “Lamar was an employee. He was a friend. What else can you tell me?”

  “He was emaciated,” Abi says.

  Anwar squints. “Emaciated?”

  “Does that mean something to you?”

  “You ladies have come a long way,” Anwar says. He licks the little plastic sword running the olive through in his martini. “Let’s do this. Let me find where this coil was meant to go. In the meantime, avail yourself of whatever you need at the bar.”

  I shake my head. “I said we’re not staying.”

  “Compliments of the hous
e.” Anwar looks off in the distance. A moment later, the concierge arrives with a pained smile. “You’ve met my assistant, Erika Boshi, haven’t you? Boshi, a room for our guests. The finest available.”

  She clasps her hands together, with mock enthusiasm. “It will be my sincere and absolute joy.”

  Anwar leaves the booth. “If you get bored, the bar is open all night and if it’s your pleasure, you can find cards and other games on the fourteenth floor. I have a feeling you won’t be leaving your room all that much, though.”

  I slide out of the booth. “I have to get back to the city.”

  “What’s one night?” Abi says.

  I shoot her a look and her drunk smile vanishes. “Thank you, Anwar, but we don’t have time for this.”

  He holds up his hands. “Kitsie, what’s the rush? You came for answers. Let me get them for you. I need a little time, but I assure you, this is my top priority. Spend the night, relax, watch TV or do… something else, and in the morning I will brief you on what I’ve found. Then you can be on your way.”

  I don’t feel great about staying here. I don’t feel any better about leaving without answers. Vidette and Mike can watch the city for one night. What’s one night?

  “Fine,” I say, though Abi isn’t excited now.

  “Outstanding. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.”

  Anwar kisses my hand, and sweeps away into the club.

  Boshi gestures toward an elevator door set in the curtains at the back of the room. “This way.”

  I clutch Abi’s hand tight as we enter the old, brass-paneled elevator. An unnerving smile creeps across Boshi’s lips as the doors rattle shut and the floor feels like it gives out.

  Seven

  “We totally need to have sex in this bed, or this trip won’t be worth it,” Abi says, falling backwards into a plush mound of white pillows.

  Her bathrobe blends into the covers so much she’s reduced to the dark splay of her wet hair, and the exposed valley of skin stretching from the pit of her throat to the mound of her belly. I pinch the fabric of this turtleneck, heavier with the damp humidity Abi’s shower left in the room. All I wanted to do was get out of these clothes, into the shower with her but once I got in the room, bristling with lights and televisions and electronic everything, I kept it on.