Magic and Loss

Chapter 28

After finding the snapshot among Bartho’s prints, Hexe and I lost no time returning to his mother’s apartment. Amos ushered us into the sunken living room, where we found Lady Syra sipping a demitasse of civet coffee and listening to Aladdin Sane on the stereo.

“There can be no doubting it—that is my brother,” Lady Syra said grimly as she studied the photograph. “And that is, most definitely, his wife, Nina.”

“But isn’t he trapped in the Infernal Region?” I asked.

“Physically, yes,” she replied. “But his spirit is another matter entirely. It appears he has regained access to this world by taking possession of the perfect empty vessel.”

“I always thought Erys’ mannerisms were a bit stiff, but I just thought that was because she had a stick up her ass,” I said with a humorless laugh. “Now I realize she’s another one of Esau’s mindless meat puppets, like the Sons of Adam. It also explains why she kept giving me the stink eye. But why did he come back—? It can’t be easy for him to cross dimensions, even in spirit form.”

“Tate’s got a point,” Hexe agreed. “I know Uncle Esau despises me, but expending that kind of energy just to try to drive me to the Left Hand path seems kind of crazy, even for him. There’s got to be something else he’s trying to accomplish. But what?”

“If I know my brother, whatever it is will be operatic and apocalyptic.” Lady Syra scowled. “Not to mention extremely inconvenient.”

Upon leaving Lady Syra’s apartment, Hexe and I hailed a hansom. Normally, we would have walked home, but my back and feet were killing me and the idea of waddling six city blocks, the last two uphill, did not tantalize me in the least. However, as we reached Perdition, we were forced to come to a halt as the broad street was jammed with people waving picket signs.

“What’s the holdup?” Hexe asked the cabbie.

“There’s some kind of protest going on outside the bank,” the centaur replied. “It looks like Seamus O’Fae is involved.”

“We’ll get out here,” Hexe said, handing our driver a ten-dollar bill.

As I climbed down from the hansom, I could see Seamus, dressed in an impeccable emerald-green Armani suit, standing on the marble steps that led to the doors of First Midas, Golgotham’s only bank. The leprechaun chieftain was carrying a bullhorn, which he used to address the throng of angry protestors that now spilled out onto the street. One of the faces I recognized among the picketers belonged to Octavia.

“Good people of Golgotham!” Seamus shouted, his amplified voice ringing out over the noise of the crowd. “Are ye goin’ to stand by and let Mayor Lash sell ye out? Golden Egg Realty—a shell corporation owned by Hizzoner—is the company that sold Machen Arms to Ronald Chess, for over three million dollars! Chess then turned around and raised rent a thousand percent and threw hardworkin’ Golgothamites out of their homes and into the streets! I ask ye, my friends, does it sound like Mayor Lash has Golgotham’s best interests at heart—or his own?”

As the crowd waved their signs and shouted in angry agreement, the leprechaun strutted back and forth, nodding his coppery head in approval, like a banty rooster on patrol. He might come up only to my knee, but Seamus O’Fae radiated the kind of charisma you’d expect from a born politician and lived up to the nickname Little Big Man.

Just then the door to the bank opened and its president, Mayor Lash, stormed out onto the front steps, his face livid. “Damn you, O’Fae!” he shouted. “Take your rabble to Blarney’s!”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Mayor?” Seamus replied in a taunting voice. “Yer not afraid of answerin’ to yer constituents, are ye?”

Before Lash could respond, the crowd suddenly parted itself to allow Beadle Elok to approach. “Here now! What’s going on here?” he growled, calling for order by holding his staff of office aloft.

“It’s about time you got here!” Mayor Lash snapped disdainfully. “I demand that you arrest Seamus O’Fae for disturbing the peace and unlawful assembly!”

“It’s only unlawful if there’s no permit, Your Honor,” Elok reminded the mayor. The beadle then turned to address Seamus. “Do you have an assembly permit, Councilman?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” O’Fae replied as he handed the beadle a folded piece of parchment.

Elok unfolded the document and stared at it for a long moment while nodding his head.

“Well? Don’t just stand there—arrest him!” Mayor Lash demanded petulantly.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Honor,” Elok replied. “The GoBOO has granted Councilman O’Fae the right to assemble in protest against you.”

“That’s impossible!” Lash sputtered. “I never signed off on such a thing!”

“It didn’t require your signature to make it official, Your Honor, only the acting justicar’s—and there’s Lady Syra’s signature and seal on the bottom,” Elok explained, handing the parchment over to Lash for inspection.

“This is an outrage!” The mayor was by this point trembling like a furious tuning fork. “If you won’t clear this mob from my place of business, I’ll call in the PTU and have them handle the situation!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mayor,” said an all-too-familiar voice from the crowd.

The picketers began to murmur among themselves as Boss Marz stepped forward, flanked by his lieutenant, Gaza. His familiar, riding astride his shoulder, turned and flashed its fangs at the assembled protestors in an angry grin.

“What are you doing here, Marz?” Mayor Lash asked stonily.

“I merely wish to add my voice to those asking why you would betray your own kind to the numps—and in an election year, no less,” the crime lord replied with an unpleasant smile.

Lash’s face went from bright red to white as paper as he turned on his heel and hurried back up the stairs into the bank, his braided ponytail flapping along behind him like the tail on a kite.

“I commend your stance on gentrification, Councilman,” Boss Marz said, turning to address Seamus. “You can count on the Maladanti in the coming election.”

“I don’t need the likes of you stumpin’ for me, Marz,” Seamus replied sharply, scowling at the Maladanti like he was something he’d just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, if I was you, Councilman,” Marz warned. “The Maladanti can be a powerful ally at the voting booths—or a dreadful enemy.”

“And with an ally like ye, who needs a foe, eh?” the leprechaun said, spitting on the ground for emphasis. “Go on with ye, Marz. I’ll sink or swim on me own.”

“Have it your way, little man,” the Maladanti snarled. “But don’t let it be said you weren’t given your chance.”

With that Boss Marz turned and headed back through the crowd, which recoiled en masse, as if he were a deadly serpent. As he scanned the picketers, his gaze fell upon Hexe and me, and a nasty grin spread across his face. Marz raised his right hand, as if in greeting, then slowly drew his left index finger across the wrist in a mock amputation.

Needless to say, neither one of us was in the best of moods after our latest brush with the Maladanti. In fact, we argued the entire way back to the house.

“I want you to go back uptown to your parents,” Hexe said insistently. “It’s not safe in Golgotham right now.”

“And what makes you think I’d be any safer up there?” I countered. “If Esau can make it all the way from the Infernal Region, crosstown traffic isn’t going to be much of a deterrent to him.”

“I just don’t want you and the baby to get mixed up in whatever batshit evil scheme my uncle has up his sleeve. And that doesn’t even factor in the Maladanti.”

“I get a funny feeling I’m on the hit list, no matter what we do. Your uncle seems to have a really creepy thing for me,” I said with a shudder. “I’m also pretty sure that part of Esau’s plan is to split us up.”

“I think the old chuffer can’t stand to see anyone happy,” he said sourly.

“Besides, I can’t find anyone either willing or qualified to deliver our baby outside Golgotham,” I pointed out.

“I still say it’s too dangerous,” Hexe insisted.

“You’re probably right. But I’m still not packing up and heading home to Mother. I might not be able to sling spells like you used to, but I do have some magic I can bring to the table.”

We were still arguing the matter as we entered the house, only to fall silent at the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Upon investigating, we found Mr. Manto sitting at the table next to Clarence, drinking tea.

“Aloysius!” Hexe exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing upstairs?”

“I came to bear witness,” Mr. Manto replied. As he turned to smile at us, I could tell the old soothsayer was flying high on diviner’s sage again. “And also to spend some time in the company of this charming young fellow,” Mr. Manto leaned over and patted Clarence on the leg. Clarence’s cheeks turned pink, but he did not offer to remove the older man’s hand from his thigh, “as he is an excellent conversationalist and makes a damn fine cup of tea.”

“Bear witness to what?” I frowned.

Just as I finished the sentence I was gripped by a strong cramp in the middle of my back and upper abdomen that seemed to come out of nowhere. I gave a sudden gasp of pain and grabbed at the kitchen counter to steady myself. Suddenly Hexe was there, slipping his arm around me as he helped me to a chair.

“To that,” the oracle replied simply. “The dawn of the coming age.”

“Tate—are you all right?” Hexe asked anxiously.

“I’m scared the baby’s coming,” I groaned. “The doctor said I was farther along than I realized, but it’s still too soon. . . .”

“Not by Kymeran standards—our women normally carry a child for six months.”

“Now you tell me!” I grunted.

“Stay right here and let Aloysius and Clarence look after you—I’ll go upstairs and pack your overnight case, and then I’m taking you to the Temple of Nana.”

“The Temple of who—?”

“The Kymeran goddess of childbirth,” he explained as he hurried out of the kitchen. “Her priestesses are trained as midwives. Nearly every Kymeran child in Golgotham is born in her temple.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Timmy?” Clarence asked solicitously.

“Yes, you can call my parents and let them know what’s going on.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

“My mother may be a massively insecure, social-climbing racist, but she is my mother and she does care about me, in her own weird, fucked-up way. Besides, you’re probably still advising my father over the phone as to which tie he should wear.”

“You know me too well, Miss Timmy.” Clarence’s smile disappeared as I grimaced in discomfort as yet another wave of pain radiated through my body. “There, there,” he said as he patted my hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

I looked past him to where Mr. Manto sat, still sipping his tea. “Is it?” I asked anxiously. The oracle did not answer, but instead simply smiled, his pupils so dilated they eclipsed the whites of his eyes.