Chapter Four
Sonja Blue watched as the police and sanitation workers brought Carnival to an end. She knew that the hard-core partying would continue well until dawn, but from now on it would have to be indoors, not on the streets. The harlequin's mask had been exchanged for the sackcloth of the penitent. She lifted her gaze from the streets, watching the spirits of the dead spiral upward like bats leaving a cave. Neither variety of tourist would be staying to take communion.
She frowned and pulled the envelope from her pocket, turning it over and over as if by handling it she could divine its contents. Pangloss. Had it been a decade since they last met? Like most Pretenders, her sense of time was distorted. It was becoming more and more difficult for her to distinguish months from years.
She ran her fingers over the wax seal, her mood darkening as she recalled Pangloss's treachery below the streets of Rome.
The seal cracked easily, falling in three separate pieces at her feet. The letter was on expensive stationery that felt like silk and smelled of cologne. The penmanship was exquisitely baroque. No doubt the good doctor favored an old-fashioned quill pen.
My Dear,
Please forgive the method in which this letter was delivered. I have attempted to contact you on numerous occasions, through various menials, but you are a difficult woman to communicate with. I do not hold such rash disposal of my minions against you. In many ways, I find your gift for carnage reassuring. It has been far too long since we last spoke, and I fear that the conditions of our previous meeting may have influenced you to view me in an unfavorable light. I have followed your antics with great interest since we last met. I must admit I found your handling of the Catherine Wheele situation gauche but effective. You have a natural talent for atrocity, my dear. It needs refining, but I believe you have it in you to produce a tableau on the level of Baron Luxor's Jonestown, Lord Mauride's Stockton Elementary School Massacre, or even Marchessa Nuit's classic McDonald's McMassacre! But I am not writing simply to compliment your style. There is much I must tell you, my dear, and it concerns one who I know you are interested in. I speak of your maker and my former student, Lord Mauride, known also as Morgan.
You can contact me through the human, Palmer.
Sonja looked at her left hand. The hand the private investigator had touched. She hadn't recognized the human as a sensitive at first - it was obvious he was unaware of his own talent - so she'd been unshielded. She'd received a barrage of sensory images, the most vivid being that of a scarlet-clad nymph with a smoking gun, before breaking contact. The exchange had been unexpected and unwelcome, but she had gleaned enough information from the jumble to discern that William Palmer was exactly what he thought he was: a free agent.
She knew where Palmer was staying - she made it a point to be familiar with the city's nests - and wondered if it was time for her to get in touch with the "family."
Renfield sat in an antique chair, his pallid bureaucrat's features breaking into something like a smile at the sight of Palmer in the company of the gorilla.
"Excellent. I assume you fulfilled your part of the bargain, Mr. Palmer. You did succeed in delivering the letter?"
"Yeah, I delivered your fucking letter! What the hell are you trying to pull, Renfield?" Palmer tried to jerk free of the gorilla and heard the seams in his jacket tear.
"Pull?" Renfield smiled again. Palmer wished he'd stop. "Mr. Palmer, if you continue struggling, I'll have Keif pull your right arm off and beat you with it."
Palmer didn't doubt Keif could do it and ceased trying to break free. He glanced around the room - empty except for the chair and Renfield - and wondered if the louvered shutters were nailed shut. If they weren't, he might stand a chance of escape, providing his guard let go of his shoulder and he didn't break every bone in his body jumping from the third-floor balcony onto the patio below.
"I wouldn't recommend trying such heroics, Mr. Palmer," Renfield said, smiling and crossing and recrossing his legs like a bored personnel manager at a job interview. "The shutters are, indeed, nailed in place. Oh, don't look so surprised! Of course I can read your mind, such as it is. It's an open book - although short story would better describe it. You may let go of him, Keif." The vise clamping Palmer's shoulder disappeared. "I can handle our friend from here on. Go and watch the door."
Keif grunted, pausing on the threshold to give Palmer a final, hungry look.
"Go on! Go on! Do as I say!" snapped Renfield, waving at the goon as if shooing a bothersome child out of the kitchen. "You'll get your share, as always!"
Palmer swung toward Renfield, fists balled. "Look here, you mealy-mouthed bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing? If I don't get some answers I'm gonna - "
"You're going to die, Mr. Palmer."
Fire coursed through Palmer's veins, turning his blood to slag. His intestines boiled in their own juices as his bones powdered into ash. His eyeballs exploded and dribbled down his cheeks like egg yolks. He tried to scream, but his lungs were full of burning water.
The fire disappeared as quickly as it descended. Palmer lay on the bare floor, knees drawn up under his chin. He could taste blood in his mouth. Had he bitten his tongue?
"Wha - What did you do to - ?"
"You died, Mr. Palmer. And you will continue to die until I decide otherwise. Honestly, I can't understand what it is the Doctor sees in you. True, you have some talent," he sniffed, "but all this other mental and emotional baggage - empathy, sympathy, the ability to love - it's simply not worth the effort of deprogramming!"
Coldness shot through Palmer, spearing his nervous system with a million icicles. His lungs filled with ice crystals and his urine turned to slush in his bladder. He whimpered as his toes and fingers turned black and fell off.
"I have no intention of letting you survive this little ordeal." Renfield was back, only this time his head was wreathed in a strange glow the color of a fresh bruise. Funny how Palmer hadn't noticed that before. "I've worked too long to allow some upstart to turn the Doctor against me!" Renfield's wan features were flushed now. He was drunk on emotions long held in check, his eyes bright and feral as a starved coyote's.
Renfield abandoned his chair, dropping to his knees beside Palmer. "You think I don't notice how he favors you? How he looks at you? He promised me power and life eternal! He said he loved me! Needed me! Me, not you!" There were tears in the other man's eyes. "He lied to me! But he won't have you. I won't let you take my place! I'll tell him you couldn't handle the deprogramming - it won't be a lie, really - and I gave you to the ogre for disposal. No one will know! Not even the Doctor!"
The louvered shutters shattered inward as Sonja Blue made her entrance, leather-clad arms lifted to shield her face. She hit the bare floor and rolled, distracting Renfield away from his victim.
Palmer felt the numbness in his limbs vanish as Renfield faced the intruder. The reverse-negative halo surrounding his head pulsed, snapping a whiplike tendril in Sonja Blue's direction.
Sonja made a motion with her left hand, as if flicking away a worrisome insect. "You'll have to do better than that!" She laughed.
Renfield looked confused, then frightened. "Keif! Get in here! Keif!"
Palmer got to his feet, surprised to find the recent agonies he'd undergone had left his flesh unscathed. He could hear the gorilla fumbling with the lock. Sonja grabbed Renfield by his lapels, pulling him so close they were literally nose-to nose. A spiky crown of reddish-black light seemed to radiate from the woman's head, flickering in and out of Palmer's vision like a defective neon sign.
"Where's Pangloss?"
"Do you honestly think I'd tell you ?" Renfield sneered.
"You've got a point." She let go of his jacket. Renfield smiled hesitantly, straightening his lapels. She moved so fast Palmer almost didn't see it, grabbing Renfield's chin and forcing his head up and back at an unnatural angle. The door banged inward, sagging on its hinges. Keif had grown frustrated with opening the door.
The gorilla squeezed through the doorway, his piggy little eyes moving from Palmer to Sonja before settling on Renfield's corpse. Sonja stepped forward, motioning for Palmer to get behind her. He saw that she held an open switchblade in one hand.
"Jesus Christ, woman, there's no way you can go up against that goon - "
She waved him silent, never taking her eyes off the hulking figure filling the doorway. "Keep quiet! I know what I'm doing!"
Keif rumbled deep in his throat and stepped forward, sniffing the air like a hunting dog. Keif glanced at them suspiciously, his nostrils flaring, but did not offer to attack. His attention was fixed on Renfield's carcass. Saliva dripped from his lower lip in thick ropes. Keif emitted a loud sniffing sound, like that of a hog at a trough, and pounced on the corpse. Palmer heard fabric rip as the giant tore at the dead man's clothes.
Sonja motioned Palmer toward the door. She moved to follow, never taking her eyes off the drooling goon.
"What's he doing'?" Palmer hissed.
"You don't want to know. Let's get out of here while he's preoccupied. Ogres aren't very bright to begin with, and when they're hungry they tend to let their bellies override their brains. We're lucky this one hadn't had dinner yet."