House of Dolls 2

by Harmon Cooper

  From there, they took a bridge that went over the train they’d come in on.

  It was at that point Roman saw the public transportation vehicle he had only heard about up until this point. The gana consisted of a single all-terrain tire at least four stories tall and as wide as an apartment block. When it rolled, it kept the hub at its center completely stationary, which was where they were heading as they made their way up another flight of stairs.

  Roman had read about them, and he had even seen them in comic books in his childhood, but because of Centralia’s sprawling nature, it was a useless vehicle for the country. That wasn’t to say the military didn’t have a few in its employ, but Roman had never been to one of the military parades that showcased them.

  Approaching it now, he couldn’t help but feel the awe he would have felt as a child seeing something so grand. The tire itself was black, its tread rigid and shaped like lightning bolts.

  They made their way to the central hub, where Roman could see how it was suspended from its rim, but he couldn’t quite understand how the tire rotated around the hub without also rotating the hub. It used bearings, obviously, but that was the point at which his mechanical engineering knowledge stopped.

  “Why did your heart skip a beat when looking at a giant wheel?” Casper asked.

  “It didn’t skip a beat,” he told her as he pressed his finger on her head, pushing her deeper into his front pocket.

  “Hey!”

  “You should de-animate her if she continues,” Nadine said. “We’re not in the clear yet.”

  “Got it,” he told her as they stepped into the gana’s central hub.

  He noticed just a slight amount of buoyancy when he stepped inside. The space, while cylindrical on the outside, appeared square once he was in. They were lucky enough to get a seat at the window rather than one of the central aisles, which merely faced a glass screen that showed the underside of the giant tire.

  There were a few kids at the right windows of the hub, most of them with their faces pressed into the glass, looking outside at the station.

  “Make sure you buckle your seatbelt,” Nadine told him as Coma sat next to Roman. Celia asked Coma to switch seats, which she did without hesitation.

  Since the rows of seats were set up to face each other, Nadine and Lisa sat across from Roman, the seat next to Lisa empty for the remainder of the trip.

  An attendant wearing a crisp emerald uniform and hat walked through making sure everyone’s belts were buckled and checking tickets, which Nadine readily produced.

  Roman heard an engine start up, and he looked forward as the wheel began to rotate.

  It was mesmerizing to watch from the inside, the black rubber smoothly moving over the front of the vehicle in a way that looked like it was sliding across the glass. Within moments, Roman felt the rumble and his center of gravity shifted as the giant tire began to move.

  Celia’s hand naturally found its way into his, squeezing it tightly.

  Roman didn’t know what to expect as the hefty vehicle tore down a wide dirt road. He was able to see outside, where the dollops of mud flying into the air told him it had recently rained.

  From his vantage point, the Eastern Province looked to be entirely made up of trees, the fall foliage running the gamut from yellow to orange to blood red. There were no visible buildings in the distance, not like the grand city of Centralia, and the air seemed crisper, bluer.

  The gana rode somewhat smoothly, but it was an outdoor vehicle, a rugged craft that had no problem digging into the soil and vibrating the interior. Roman couldn’t tell how loud it would be outside the vehicle, but he guessed it wasn’t quiet, and it would make sense not to want to live near the road it traveled upon.

  He tried to relax, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Lisa was watching him, observing the fact that Celia was holding his hand. If Nadine cared, she didn’t show it, and Roman would have dropped Celia’s hand had it not been for the frightful look on her face.

  Apparently, she didn’t like traveling this way—not like Coma, who was sitting with her hands pressed against her knees, her eyes locked on the window.

  “And how long will this take?” Lisa asked, not looking away from Roman.

  Or maybe she did look away; it was damn near impossible to tell without being able to see her facial features.

  “A couple hours.”

  “Actually,” a man said from behind Nadine, “it’s much faster than that now. It should only be one hour. One of our techies was tired of the time it took for him to travel from Eastern Central Station to the Brattle Region, and you know how it is, teleporters aren’t always available here, at least not for us. Anyway, he did some work on the fuel cell, and now they’re traveling much faster. Actually, I think it was a she.”

  Roman tuned them out for a moment as they continued speaking, his focus on the orange trees outside, mountains in the distance, a sparkling lake with a single, glistening dot on their western side.

  There was something tranquil about the place, and while they were on a mission to do research, among other things, he was suddenly looking forward to getting out of the city.

  And in that moment, for the first time Roman could remember, he thought about the actual differences between the five countries, the Northern and Southern Alliances, the Eastern and Western Provinces, and Centralia, his birth country.

  They were basically all the same—one people, one world, with vastly different terrains and practices.

  Sure, there were social issues facing exemplars and non-exemplars, and some of the countries dealt with these issues in ways Roman didn’t agree with, but seeing the pristine nature of the East, the clouds reflecting the shadows onto a stretch of rolling hills and the verdant greenness turning yellow and orange—it filled Roman with hope.

  Hope for what? Even he couldn’t answer that, but the travel bug had bitten him, and he hoped that within his lifetime he’d be able to see the other countries and experience their cultures, their differences and similarities.

  As the man had said, it was only an hour to reach the Brattle Region, particularly the capital city of Brattle, and once they pulled into the station, their group was greeted at the end of the runway by a tall man named Jorgen with spiky blond hair.

  “And where’s the body?” Jorgen asked after Nadine had introduced Roman as her husband and the dolls and Lisa as their daughters.

  “Cargo,” said Roman. “I’m assuming you can arrange for transport.”

  Jorgen nodded, motioning them his way. He was a broad-shouldered man, his skin tone slightly olive, with dark hair cut close to his skull. “It will be arranged. But for now, let’s get to where you will be staying. I am assuming you are hungry.”

  At this point, Roman was holding Nadine’s hand, doing his best to play a role he had never been great at.

  Their surroundings made playing the role even harder.

  Once they’d left the station, they were greeted by a quaint town set upon a hill, the cobblestone street lined with three-story buildings that stretched all the way down to the valley. There were a good number of people moving on the streets, along with merchants selling their wares and cafés with signs advertising performances.

  Occasionally, Roman would see the telltale signs of an exemplar—a burst of energy, someone who looked out of place, someone flying above them—but no one seemed to care.

  Even with the hustle and bustle, the sounds and the general busyness of the main thoroughfare, no one made eye contact unless they had to. People seemed to keep to themselves, only dealing with others when necessary, something different from what he was used to in Centralia.

  There were also the beggars, disabled and injured non-exemplars begging for food and money.

  The extreme poverty made itself known every time they passed an alley and Roman saw it was filled with makeshift homes, tents strewn from building to building. This was another thing he had never seen in Centralia, and it shocked him enough he actually drop
ped Nadine’s hand.

  “We have to keep moving,” she told him, “dear.”

  “Sorry,” he started to say, taking her hand again.

  “It won’t be much longer now,” Jorgen called over his shoulder. “And have you been to this region before?”

  “I have, but he hasn’t,” said Nadine.

  “Ah, it can be quite jarring at first, but I assure you it is safe, and a very nice place to live. Especially the upper floors,” Jorgen said, nodding his chin to the top stories. “One thing I like about the city is that you can walk six minutes to the north or south and you will be in middle of a forest. You see, while Main Street is always busy and it can be overwhelming when you’re moving through the crowds of people, we are actually surrounded by nature. The buildings do an excellent job of hiding this, but we are always a stone’s throw away from the forest, which is where you and your wife have expressed interest in visiting.”

  “Yes, that’s us,” Roman said, “nature buffs.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Deep into the Darkness

  It was a shitty way to say goodbye.

  Hazrat knew that once his family found out, they would give him hell for the way he was dealing with his wife’s body.

  And he knew there was at least one other option, that Margo could bring her corpse to life, but he had seen how Roman’s dead wife behaved, how brainless and cold she was, and that wasn’t something Hazrat wanted to see from Nova.

  He also knew he couldn’t bury his wife in Centralia. Even if she was going to be cremated, that couldn’t happen here, not in this oppressive and expansive urban wasteland.

  No, Centralians didn’t deserve her corpse, and it was with great sadness that he would send it to the borderlands between the Southern Alliance and Centralia, then arrange for it to be smuggled over and cremated on the other side.

  All because of what Roman Martin had done.

  And as he stared down at his wife’s body, sitting in her coffin in the cargo hold, Hazrat felt the shadows tremble. He felt the guilt in his chest move down to his stomach, to his thighs, then his wobbly knees and his feet that barely kept him grounded.

  Hazrat reached out, held himself erect by leaning against her coffin, tears starting to roll down his face as he stared at Nova’s lifeless body.

  He took in her soft features for the last time, the slight bit of rouge applied to her cheeks, reminding himself why he couldn’t stay on this train heading south, why he had to go back.

  But did he?

  The question had crossed Hazrat’s mind as he’d teleported over here and waited for the porters to help them load the coffin.

  He could go back to the South, where he was wealthy—not some fugitive—and find another wife. Hazrat could find several wives if he wanted, as this was a tradition still practiced in his home country. He could live his best life and never visit Centralia again, but that would mean his sworn enemy was still at bay.

  And Hazrat had a way of crushing his enemies, a tradition his family had instilled in him.

  He remembered his father, an exemplar with the power to change the density of any object he touched. How many people had Hazrat personally seen his father kill? From relatives that annoyed him to a few of his business rivals—Hazrat’s father was ruthless.

  Hazrat remembered watching his father shake a man’s hand, the man instantly falling to his knees and dying as his father changed the density of his organs.

  He also remembered seeing his father lightly place his hand on the maid’s shoulder, the woman then floating to the ceiling of the room, where he’d kept her for the next three days until she died.

  That had been especially scarring for young Hazrat, later watching his father’s friends use the suspended woman as a knife target.

  They used her for other things as well, but Hazrat had been sent from the room when they did that.

  And as he stood before his wife, his hand now cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking the skin of her face, Hazrat again felt the urge to stay with her.

  It was a weak urge, something unbecoming of him.

  What would his father do?

  Hazrat ran his hand along the trial tattoos that stretched from the sides of his head down his spine. It had been a painful procedure, and his father had been there when he’d gotten them, barking for him not to squirm.

  “You will be a warrior,” his father had kept whispering to him, and as he stood before his wife’s body, Hazrat imagined what his father would do in the same situation.

  Would he work with Margo?

  This was debatable. His father liked to go at things alone, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to cast aside a powerful ally, and Margo was possibly the most powerful exemplar Hazrat had ever encountered.

  So she was useful, for now.

  “I have to go,” he whispered to Nova.

  The train would be leaving soon, and there were others looking to stack items in the cargo hold.

  Hazrat kept the door locked using the shadows, but they were knocking now, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by slipping a shadow under the door and stripping all the blood vessels from their legs.

  He wanted to stay, knew he had to, and he also knew that once he left the cargo hold, he could be making the biggest mistake of his life, much bigger than his outburst of anger at the immigration offices.

  But it was a necessary step in the right direction.

  If that right direction led to his death or his future incarceration, then so be it.

  Roman Martin needed to die, and he could figure out what to do with Margo after. Hazrat was nobody’s lapdog, and while the mysterious woman was powerful beyond his wildest dreams, she was also just as vulnerable as anyone else.

  Because shadows touched everything, no matter how big or small, Hazrat had learned long ago that the darkness always came.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Reindeer People

  Jorgen, the guide Nadine had arranged, finished running his hands over Lisa’s lifeless body. A wave of energy swirled back into his palms as he turned to Lisa’s spectral form and everyone in the room watched her brighten.

  Jorgen would be classified as a Class H in Centralia’s power-ranking system, but he wasn’t a healer per se, just a person who could return nutrients to someone’s body.

  “I hope that feels better,” he told her, “and I’m very sorry to hear about this happening to your daughter,” he said to Nadine and Roman.

  “That’s why we’ve come here,” Nadine reminded him. “Well, we have other business to attend to as well, but this is one of the reasons. Speaking of which, Roman’s superiors have arranged for him to meet a few of the more prominent techs in the city. Is there an itinerary available yet?”

  “Yes,” said Jorgen as he stepped across the room to a binder sitting on a side table. All their luggage was already upstairs in two rooms, Roman and Nadine in one while Coma, Celia and Lisa shared the other.

  It was still odd for Roman to think the man standing before them worked for the Eastern Province government, yet he was oblivious to the fact that Nadine was using a fake identity.

  It seemed like a lot of trouble to go through to keep someone in the dark, but as Roman was already starting to see, there was something very secretive about the way Easterners operated.

  “This is great,” Nadine said as she went through the binder. Roman couldn’t quite see what she was leafing through, but as he had decided to do from the start, he was trusting her to manage everything. “And we’ll need to get new clothing for all of us for the ball tonight,” she said as she shut the binder.

  “There’s a ball?” Celia asked.

  “That’s right,” Jorgen told her. “And regarding clothing, I figured this would be something you required, and I’ve already arranged a tailor to be here within the hour.”

  “Very good of you, thank you,” said Nadine.

  Jorgen nodded, his hands coming behind his back. “Now, there is something I think the two of you should see, so who
’s up for a nature walk? I suppose we should wait for the tailor to come first.”

  “Let’s,” said Nadine, and she sat down at the table again.

  Roman felt Casper poking him from inside his pocket, but he ignored her, and rather than freak Jorgen out by reprimanding the tiny doll, he simply waved his hand over his pocket, extinguishing her life.

  He looked across the table to see Celia and Coma, both of whom wore smiles on their perfectly formed faces.

  From there he glanced down to his power dial to see that all was well, that he had plenty of juice in case he needed to suddenly animate something.

  He hadn’t thought about it much, but Roman was aware of the fact that he did not have the same limitations in the East as he had in Centralia.

  He could use his power freely here if he wanted to, and it was very unlikely that word would make it all the way back to Ava, or anyone else who had interest in his progression.

  And sure, these things would be revealed in a telepath reading, but he had already spoken to Nadine about having part of his memory wiped, and this was one of the things he knew was a possibility.

  “I will get tea for everyone,” Jorgen said as he made his way to the kitchen in the other room. “And is anyone hungry?”

  “No,” said Celia.

  “I’m not hungry,” said Coma.

  “I’ll have a bite,” Roman said, “Nadine too.”

  “So you can tell when I’m hungry now,” Nadine said as soon as Jorgen was out of the room.

  “No, but I figured it would look better if I spoke for both of us. I’m doing this right, aren’t I?”

  She nodded and turned her gaze to Lisa, who sat at the far end of the table. “How do you feel?”

  “Aside from being pretty much a glorified lightbulb, I feel better,” the young woman said with a shrug.

  “I believe we will be able to do something,” said Nadine. “But it may take a few days to find the right person to do it. The ball tonight will help—of this I’m sure. It is common for Easterners to wear green to these occasions, a not-so-subtle form of patriotism. We will begin there. Lisa, as I’m sure you’re aware, we’ll need you to stay back here.”