Chapter 25
"Are you sure he wasn't tripping when he told you that?" Hexe said with a frown. He was seated at the desk in his office, poring over an old manuscript for hints on banishing demons.
"No. But would it make any difference if he was? You know him better than I do."
"You're right," he agreed. "Aloysius comes from a long line of oracles, and is exceptionally gifted. That's why my grandfather allowed him to move into the basement, fifty years ago. He said all Witch Kings need an oracle, and there wasn't one better than Mr. Manto. I know my mother still consults with him now and again, as well. If Aloysius says Quid, Gus, and Bayard were murdered, and all by the same person, then it must be true."
"But it doesn't make any sense," I protested, as I flopped down in the chair opposite his desk. "We know who killed Quid. Those Sons of Adam assholes beat him to death on YouTube for the whole world to see. But those knuckle-draggers don't seem to have the smarts to do something as subtle as arranging for ms er'tBayard's hot shot. And ever since the riot, most Golgothamites have become a lot more sensitive to humans hanging around, so I can't imagine these bozos being able to get close enough to Gus to throw him into the river, no matter how drunk he might have been. Plus, why would they go out of their way to take credit for attacking Jarl and Quid, but make Bayard and Gus's deaths look like accidents? It doesn't seem to be their style."
"I agree," Hexe said thoughtfully. "And what do they have to do with the demon? We'd originally assumed it was sent as retaliation for you being a spy. Dori's claims that she sold the binding amulet that the demon dropped to a Kymeran with a KUP pin seem to confirm that suspicion. But if what Mr. Manto says is true . . . I just can't see this Cain fellow paying to have a sorcerer summon something as dangerous-and pricey-as a Knight of the Infernal Court. And even if he did do all that, why would he sic it on a fellow human? Last time I checked, the SOA was in the Kymeran-hating business."
"I don't know," I admitted with a sigh. "Maybe Cain knows me-or thinks he does, anyway. I told you that I had a funny feeling I'd seen his face before. Maybe he's someone I went to school with. Or he works for my family in some capacity. But one thing I am certain of-all this has something to do with the favor I paid back to Quid. I never would have met Bayard and Gus otherwise. It's the only thing that makes any sense. But it still doesn't explain Jarl. I'd never spoken to him while he was alive, and the only time I'd seen him in the flesh, his face was pounded to hamburger. So how would I have known what he looked like in my dream if it wasn't a vision?"
"But Jarl was attacked by the same people who killed Quid," Hexe pointed out. "That's the only connection we have. What was Jarl doing in your vision?"
"Well, some of it was kind of weird, like a regular dream. Like him feeding eggs to a dragon, for example."
Instead of laughing, Hexe sat up straighter in his seat.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Does that mean anything?"
"I hope not," he said grimly. "Dragons are the symbol of the royal family. We should visit Jarl's widow, Ruby, and ask her a few questions to find out if there was a connection of any sort between her husband and Quid outside of their being attacked by the same men. We'll need to bring a token of our respect for the departed."
"You mean flowers or a wreath? It's too late in the year for something from the garden, I'm afraid," I pointed out. "But we can stop by a florist's on the way."
"Kymerans don't use flowers to honor the dead," Hexe said, stepping out into the backyard. I watched, perplexed, as he knelt down and dug about in one of the plant beds until he found a walnut-sized piece of rock. "Flowers die. Stone, however, lasts for eternity."
According to the latest edition of the Golgotham Pages, a comprehensive listing of the various sorcerers, witches, and other practitioners who offered their skills for sale, Jarl had operated out of his home on Pearl Street, located between Dover and Ferry Streets, near Pickman's Slip. The neighborhood was composed largely of Kymerans and leprechauns, who lived in tightly packed tenement buildings within easy walking distance of the Rookery.
It was already dark by the time we arrived at Jarl's apartment. Hexe pressed the smudged button on one of the call boxes outside the building, and budiv>
The foyer of the tenement was cramped, with scuffed tile floors and an ornate pressed-tin ceiling that dated back to when whalebone stays were all the rage. Since Jarl's widow lived on the third floor, and there was no elevator, we had to climb the unlighted staircase that penetrated the middle of the building. The steps were clad in marble, which had been worn down in the middle by generations of passing feet.
Each narrow landing had four doors opening onto it, and from behind them could be heard a jumbled mix of muted voices, loud music, and rattling pipes. The smell of Kymeran cooking was so thick you could literally see it coiling about in the uncirculated air like a phantom octopus. As we reached the second floor, we had to squeeze to one side to allow a nymph dressed in a Hooters uniform to hurry down the stairs.
The dead alchemist's apartment was one that looked out onto the street, and was easily identified by the black crepe wreath hung just below the transom. Hexe knocked on the door and a few seconds later we heard the dead bolts being unlocked. The door opened a few inches and I glimpsed Jarl's widow, Ruby, peering out anxiously at us. She looked even sadder than the last time I'd seen her. Her violet-colored eyes widened at the sight of Hexe standing in the hall. She gasped and quickly shut the door again. There was the sound of more unlocking, and then the door swung open.
"You honor our home, Serenity," Ruby said.
The first thing I noticed as I entered the apartment was the bathtub in the kitchen. Wedged between an ancient Kelvinator and an antique woodstove, it was made of cast iron and had claw feet, like the ones in the boardinghouse. A large wooden lid covered the tub, converting it into a tabletop, across which was scattered a collection of beakers, crucibles, mortars, and pestles. The walls of the kitchen were lined with shelves on which stood numerous glass jars containing everything from arsenic to zinc. Just beyond the stove was a pair of pocket doors that sealed the rest of the living space off from the combination kitchen and alchemist's laboratory.
"Madame Ruby, on behalf of the royal family, I would like to extend my sincerest condolences on the loss of your husband," Hexe said softly, handing her the rock from his garden.
"Thank you, Serenity," she whispered, cupping it in her hands as if it were a precious stone.
The pocket doors slowly rumbled open, pushed apart by invisible hands, revealing a large living space that seemed to serve as both parlor and bedroom. The far wall was composed of tall windows that looked out onto Pearl Street. A wind chime fashioned from bits of crystal hung from one of them, advertising Ruby's job as a shaper of scrying stones. One side of the room had been lofted to create a sleeping platform, with an overstuffed divan wedged underneath. On the opposite wall was a modest fireplace set with green tiles. Judging from the other chunks of rock that lined the antique oak mantelpiece, we weren't the first to come pay our respects.
"When is the funeral?" Hexe asked.
"It's scheduled three days from now," she replied. "It would have been sooner, but I couldn't afford the barge to Necropolis until this afternoon. Your uncle was kind enough to step forward and pay the ferryman on my behalf."
"That was . . . considerate of him," Hexe said carefully.
"Please excuse my ignorance, mysaid " I interjected, "but wasn't Jarl an alchemist? Didn't that mean he could create his own gold?"
"That is a common misunderstanding when it comes to alchemy," Ruby said with a sad smile. "People wonder why most alchemists aren't rich. They don't realize it requires a ton of lead to create a quarter ounce of gold. Besides, Jarl's gift didn't lie in transmutation of base metals. He specialized in producing the rare ingredients used in various potions, and dabbled in panacea and elixir vitae. His clients were other Kymerans-that's why he didn't bother setting up shop in the Rookery."
"Madame Ruby, I am truly sorry to intrude upon you at this time, but it's very important that I ask you a few questions about your husband's business."
"That's all right, Serenity." She smiled wanly. "If not for the aid you and Ms. Eresby rendered that night, Jarl would have died on the street. Ask me whatever questions you need to, and I'll do my best to answer them."
"Did your husband happen to know the favor broker Quid?"
"Yes, they knew each other," Ruby replied, nodding her head. "In fact, Jarl had just repaid his favor to him."
Hexe and I exchanged knowing looks. The connection between the others and the alchemist was finally becoming clear. "How so?"
"Jarl told me he could discharge the favor he owed Quid by drawing up blueprints for a piece of alchemical equipment for one of his clients."
"Did Jarl say anything about what he was working on?" Ruby shook her head. "You know the code. 'No questions asked; no stories told.'"
"Yes, but that oath died with Quid," Hexe said gently.
"I really don't have much information," she replied. "But I do remember him being uncomfortable about the project. He said there was no sane reason for the device to be the size the client wanted."
"Do you have any idea what sort of apparatus he might have been working on?"
"No, but I did accidentally walk in on him while he was at his worktable," she said, gesturing to the covered bathtub. "He rolled the blueprint up, so I couldn't get a good look. But whatever it was, it had a dragon's head."
"That freaky still I built for Quid's client-that has to be the thing Jarl designed," I said excitedly as we left the tenement building. "It makes sense. It was made out of copper, and it had a dragon's head and a lion's feet. That's why the dragon I saw in the vision was copper. It still doesn't explain why Jarl was feeding it eggs, though."
"Eggs are a symbol of life, of fertility," Hexe mused aloud, as we headed back in the direction of the boardinghouse. "They also represent creative potential. But the language of visions isn't the same as dreams. What you saw could have any number of interpretations. When we get back to the house, I'll use one of the scrying stones to look into your past. If I can get a glimpse of the 'freaky still' you constructed, maybe I can figure out its purpose, and how it's related to everything that's happened in the last week or so."
"Are you going to call Captain Horn and tell him what we've learned?" I asked.
"He's far more likely to take murder clues revealed in dreams seriously than your average police officer, but I suspect hut print up, e'll still need something closer to hard evidence to take action," Hexe pointed out. "But at least he will be able to reopen the investigations into Gus and Bayard's deaths. Someone went out of their way to make them seem unrelated, and I want to know why."
As we turned the corner onto Beekman Street, a man suddenly stepped out of a shadowy doorway, blocking our path. He was dressed all in black, from his hoodie jacket to his steel-toed boots. As he raised a lit cigarette to his lips, I could see that his hand had five fingers.
"What do you think you're doing with one of our women, Kymie?" the stranger growled.
"I'm not 'your' woman, asshole!" I snapped. "Who do you think you are to talk to us like that?"
"I am Cain, first among the Sons of Adam," he replied, pushing back the hood to reveal his face. "And my brothers and I plan to teach this Kymie bastard to keep his filthy hands off human women."
As Hexe put himself between me and the terrorist leader, I saw two more figures step out of the shadows behind us. They were dressed identically to Cain, save for the black ski masks hiding their faces, and all I could see were their eyes, which seemed to shine like those of wild animals. As they hefted their weapons, I saw Quid's dried blood smeared along the tips and barrels of the bats.
Hexe spoke in Kymeran, raising his right hand to cast a stasis spell, like the one he'd used during the riot. There was a quick burst of light, like that of a flash camera, but instead of becoming a living statue, Cain merely laughed and blew a plume of cigarette smoke into Hexe's face.
"Better check on lover boy," he sneered. "I don't think he's all there."
I touched Hexe's forearm and he abruptly pitched backward on his heels, right hand still upraised. He was as immobile as a department-store mannequin, and about as easy to maneuver as I lowered him to the pavement.
"What did you do to him, you chuffer?" I demanded, cradling Hexe's head in my lap.
"Nothing that he wasn't trying to do to me first," Cain chuckled. The amusement quickly disappeared from his face and he grabbed me by the hair, yanking me back onto my feet. "So much for your warlock fuck-buddy. You're going to be partying with us now, bitch. We'll show you how real men do things." He tightened his grip on my hair until it felt as if my scalp was being torn free of my skull. As Cain brought his face close to mine, I could see his hair was going gray at the temples, although his features seemed oddly smooth and unlined, as if he had never laughed, frowned, or cried throughout his life. In strange counterbalance, his eyes burned with a focused energy composed of equal parts malice, exhilaration, and lust. It was like looking at someone wearing a mask.
"I wanted to taste you from the moment I first saw you," Cain whispered hoarsely. "I could have placed you under a come-hither anytime I wanted, and neither you nor your precious warlock prince would have had a clue. But I did not want to pollute myself through fornication. However, that is not a concern with this body. . . ."
Suddenly his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging down my throat. It was strangely cold, more like a piece of dead meat than a living thing, and it writhed like a slug. Summoning all my strength, I raked the side of his face with my fingernails hard enough to draw blood. He bellowed in pain and let go of my hair. I staggered backward, wiping my mouth in disgust on the back o onrf my arm, only to be punched in the pit of the stomach by one of his ski-masked "brothers." I dropped to my knees, gasping like a landed fish on the bottom of a rowboat.
"I should have expected as much from a chuffing race traitor," Cain growled. Blood seeped from four deep gouges on the right side of his face. "You could have had some fun, but now you're going to get the same as your boyfriend."
He motioned to his confederates, who began to attack Hexe's prone body, still frozen in stasis, kicking him with their steel-toed boots and clubbing him with their bats.
"Leave him alone!" I shouted at his attackers as I struggled back to my feet. I launched myself onto the one closest to me, punching and kicking as hard as I could as I tried to wrench the bat from his hands. He didn't seem to notice me at all until I made a grab for his ski mask, and then he turned and punched me. I shook my head to clear it, spat out a mouthful of blood, and leaped right back in again. The second time I managed to yank the bat out of the bastard's hands.
"Get rid of her!" Cain snapped angrily.
The faceless SOA member lunged at me with the quickness of a cobra strike, grabbing me by the throat. I clawed at his hands, trying to pull his fingers away from my trachea, but his grip was like iron. As he strangled me, I looked into the eyes behind the mask and saw-nothing. There was no hate, no anger, no fear, not even annoyance. Instead his gaze was as blank as that of a cow chewing its cud. Suddenly a beer bottle came flying through the air and bounced off my attacker's head. The SOA member let go of my throat and staggered backward, giving me time to run to the dozen Wee Folk gathered across the street. I was never so happy to see a bunch of pissed-off, drunken leprechauns in my life.
"Oi! Leave the lassie be, nump!" Seamus O'Fae barked as he shouldered his way to the head of the pack. "You bastards picked the wrong neighborhood to pull this shite in!"
Another leprechaun, whom I recognized as Tullamore, stepped forward. "Let me handle this, Seamus! I'll teach these blackguards to come witch-bashing in our neck of Golgotham!" He pointed his shillelagh at Cain. "May you feast on hogwash and sleep in filth; may you root with your nose as the farmer till'th!"
There was another flash of light, and suddenly there was no more Tullamore. In his place was a tiny piglet dressed in a green vest and breeches, frantically running around in circles in the middle of the street, squealing at the top of its lungs.
"The buggers are wearing reflectors, boyos!" Seamus shouted, brandishing his shillelagh. "We're gonna have to settle this bataireacht style!"
With voices united in a shared battle cry of "Faugh a Ballagh!" the leprechauns rushed to meet their foe. The masked Sons of Adam found themselves suddenly overwhelmed by a swarm of angry redheaded men the size of infants, armed with weighted cudgels. The thugs tried to swat them with their larger baseball bats, but the little men in green were too fast for them.
I was so fascinated by the sight of the Sons of Adam disappearing under a living carpet of leprechauns thumping away with their shillelaghs for all they were worth, I lost track of Cain-until I was struck from behind with a baseball bat.
I rolled over and saw, through a bloodred haze, Cain looming over me. "You should have listened when I told you to leave Golgotham!" he spat as he raised the aluminum bat over his head.
Suddenly the weapon was yanked from his grasp as if pulled by an invisible wire. It flew through the air-to land in Hexe's right hand. He stood slouched against a nearby wall, as bruised and bloodied as a prizefighter. "Get away from her!" he yelled, raising the bat for emphasis. "Don't you dare touch her again!"
Faced with an unfrozen Hexe and a small army of hopping-mad leprechauns, Cain turned and fled. His fellow Sons of Adam frantically shook off their diminutive attackers and moved to follow their leader. The first of the two managed to escape fairly quickly, but the second had trouble freeing himself from Seamus O'Fae, who was riding his shoulders piggyback while banging on his skull like a cobbler.
The minute his "brothers" were no longer in sight, the Son of Adam began to wail, more like an animal in pain than any sound a human would make, and run in circles, clawing at his pint-sized tormentor, before dashing in the direction of Pearl Street. Seamus, realizing the terrorist was running into traffic, jumped free seconds before he darted out in front of a Teamster hauling a heavy cart.
The Clydesdale-sized centaur instinctively reared onto his hindquarters, striking at the air with his forelegs. The Son of Adam fell to the cobblestones, his head split open by the Teamster's flailing hooves.
"It was an accident! I swear!" the burly centaur exclaimed as we gathered around the dead body. "He ran right in front of me!"
I turned to Seamus O'Fae, who was dusting himself off. "Thank you," I said, offering my hand to the leprechaun. "I know I didn't get off on the best foot with your people, so I appreciate that you came to my rescue."
"As far as I'm concerned, lassie, yer one of us," Seamus replied as he shook my hand. "Ye've got brass, girl. Everyone knows how Esau toyed with ye at the rally."
"They do?" I winced.
"Aye. And they also know ye didn't pack yer bags and move out of Golgotham the first chance ye got. Not many folk-human or otherwise-would have the guts to burn out the eye of an Infernal Knight, neither. We could use a few more citizens with yer gumption, if ye ask me. Besides, I wasn't going to stand by and let those numps do in a fellow Golgothamite, if I could help it.
"Yer lucky me and my lads happened by when we did. We were on a pub crawl, celebrating the release of our brother, Tullamore. Earlier today I finalized a plea negotiation on his behalf. The felony enchantment charges were dropped down to a D and D, and he was given probation. Speaking of which, I best put him on a leash and get him to a lifter, as his probie is contingent on him abstainin' from turnin' folks into pigs for the next two years!"
"Thank every heaven!" Hexe exclaimed as he threw his arms about me. "Are you all right?"
"Forget me-look what they did to you!" I wailed in dismay at the sight of his blackened left eye and split lower lip. "We need to get you to the hospital!"
"It's nothing I can't tend to myself," he assured me as he knelt beside the fallen Son of Adam. "Right now I'm more interested in getting a good look at this bastard."
I gasped in surprise as Hexe peeled the ski mask away, not because I recognized the dead man as a famous actor or a well-known captain of industry, but because his face was identical to that of Cain, the SOA's leader.
"They must be?Ta fe twins," I marveled as I studied his face. "I guess he wasn't joking when he called his croggies 'brothers.' This one is starting to go gray about the temples, too."
"This one must be Abel, going by the letter A scrawled on the tag in his hoodie." Hexe reached down inside the dead man's shirt and tugged, removing an octagonal amulet covered in Kymeran script, the center of which contained a circular mirror. "That explains why they were brazen enough to attack us like they did. Reflector charms boomerang spells back onto whoever cast them. He's got at least a dozen of these things taped around his midsection like a girdle. So much for the Sons of Adam decrying the Kymerans and their magic."
I coughed and covered my nose and mouth with my hand, suddenly aware of an overpowering odor of putrefaction. "God, what is that stink?"
"It's coming from the body." Hexe grimaced in disgust. "It's already starting to bloat."
"How is that possible?"
"It's not . . . unless . . ." Hexe bent down and quickly unlaced one of Abel's steel-toed boots. When he pulled off the dead man's shoe, I was shocked to see a human-sized chicken's foot growing out of his ankle.
"Of course! It all makes sense now!" Hexe exclaimed.
"It does?" I frowned.
"This isn't a human-it's a homunculus!"
"A hom-knuckle-what?"
"Homunculus-or, rather, homunculi, seeing as how there were three of them. A homunculus is the by-product of takwin, a branch of alchemy that specializes in the creation of artificial life. It's a supernatural form of cloning. They're created by taking the sperm from a dead man and placing it inside the unfertilized egg of a black hen, then growing it within a special device called a maternal furnace. The result appears outwardly human, except for the feet."
My eyes lit up as I finally realized where it was I had seen Cain and his twin before. "That's where I know this guy from!" I exclaimed. "That's the exact same face as the dead man I saw in the warehouse loft! And I wondered what the fuck that chicken was doing hanging around. The reason the other two SOA wore ski masks was to hide the fact they're clones!"
"You mean this chuffin' idiot isn't a nump?" the centaur said with relief. "Praise Zeus! For a minute there, I was afraid my insurance was going to shoot sky-high!"
"Shouldn't we still notify the PTU?" I asked. "I mean, he is dead."
"Would you call the police to report a dead dog on the side of the road?" Hexe replied with a shrug. "Besides, in a few more minutes there won't be anything left of him to report."
I looked back down at Abel's body and nearly gagged. The dead man's skin had sloughed away, and the underlying muscle and bone were beginning to liquefy. Blood filled his eye sockets and poured from his open mouth and ears, like groundwater rising in a well. As the gore filled the gutter, I felt the hair along my arms and the back of my neck stand on end, and I heard Mr. Manto's sonorous voice echoing in my head.
Drown will the streets the usurped in blood no mercy for his flesh show.
The Teamster was so relieved that he didn't have to file paperwork with his worr hinsurance carrier that he offered to drop us off at the boardinghouse. Since neither one of us was in any condition to do a lot of walking, we eagerly accepted the ride.
"Homunculi are things, not living beings in their own right," Hexe continued to explain as the wagon jounced its way along the cobblestone streets. "They don't have minds or souls, and are utterly devoid of morals or conscience. That's why they're usually kept small-normally no larger than a fetus. Having a creature like that the size of a grown man is incredibly dangerous."
"If they're mindless, how is it Cain talks and gives orders?"
"Because it's not Cain who's doing the speaking," he replied. "No doubt their master is manipulating them via telepathy. It's also the reason only one of them speaks-it's difficult enough to control one puppet, much less three. Why spread yourself even thinner by throwing your voice through all of them? That's why Abel went berserk and ran out into the street-his master must have lost control of him during the melee with Seamus and his boys."
"It also explains why Cain spoke as if he knew me," I said uneasily.
"What did he say?"
I blushed as I repeated what Cain had said to me, even though I had nothing to be ashamed about. His words were so ugly, just speaking them was enough to make me shudder in revulsion.
"I'll kill him," Hexe said in a cold, hard voice. There was a grim look on his bruised and battered face I'd never seen before; that of a man on the verge of being pushed one step too far.
"No, you won't," I said firmly, putting my five-fingered hand atop his six-fingered one. "Because that's not the kind of man you are. Besides, we both know who's behind all this."
Hexe nodded, the look in his eyes growing even darker. When he spoke his uncle's name it sounded like a curse.