Chapter 23
Harlem sizzled under the orange-pop sun, heat waves dancing over the concrete. While everyone smart—including the pigeons—had skittered to shade when the city issued a heat warning, we were walking under the assault of the August sun.
A city bus chugged by, heaving and coughing like an elephant struggling toward its waterhole.
It cast a long shadow over us, its hydraulic brakes hissing hot air.
Ahead, a bodega’s door was propped open with a wooden crate, music trickling out in slow, humid strokes.
A man sat on the crate wearing only shorts, sweat dripping down his chest. He held a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
He blew a cloud of smoke in our direction, his gaze filled with suspicion and mistrust.
I didn’t blame him. No one was out unless they had to be. The people who were out hugged the shade, walked sluggishly, and sought buses, taxis, or air-conditioned buildings like oases in the desert. They wore dresses, shorts, or—unfortunately for them—suits or long-sleeve uniforms.
But the four of us weren’t running for cool air or hurrying toward shade. We hadn’t even been smart enough to wear shorts and tank tops.
Last was dressed in a long-sleeve black dress that dragged on the concrete.
Justice was in his usual—black pants, black T-shirt, black jacket.
Me too, of course. Luvic was the only bright spot of color among us.
He was in black, but the skin around his eye was purple and green.
Not that you could see the bruise through his sunglasses, but I knew it was there.
The man outside the bodega spit on the sidewalk, giving us the side-eye as we passed. Anyone we’d passed before had ignored us, but predators always recognized other predators.
Last turned and waved coyly at the man.
“Leave him alone,” I said.
She pouted. Actually pouted. But then she shrugged and hurried to keep up with me.
Ahead, Justice and Luvic were murmuring in quiet, blade-sheathed voices.
“Did I mention,” Last said, poking my side, “how happy I am you’re not dead?”
“No.”
“I am. Really, really happy. At the closing ceremony, when that one”—she jerked her chin at Justice—“shot you, I cried. It was heartbreaking. If you’re going to die, I want to be the one to do it. I told you that. I thought you knew.”
Last waited for me to answer as if I might apologize for Justice shooting a crossbow through my chest. I didn’t respond. Instead, I blew at a trickle of sweat running down my temple.
“As my friend—”
“I’m not your friend.”
“—for life, I feel obligated to warn you.” She looked at me from beneath her eyelashes. “My brother knows what you are.”
I tripped over my feet and then steadied myself, pretending I’d stumbled on a crack. “Yes. A creature.”
Last tilted her head, then she leaned close and whispered, “Friends don’t lie to each other, One.”
I leveled a look on her, and she shrugged.
“You prefer Mari. Why didn’t you tell me? Primus won’t care what you prefer. Did I ever tell you about my pet cricket?”
“No.”
Ahead, the long row of five-story buildings gave way to a twenty-story white-brick monstrosity.
The city had plenty of buildings like this.
It razed stone townhomes and century-old apartments to squeeze in ugly, towering people pens.
They looked a lot like oversize shoeboxes.
The one two blocks down was our destination. We were on our way to see the Merchant.
It’s funny. The last time I went to see the him, I swore up and down I’d never go back.
Yet, there I was, headed his way, on my first outing with our new allies. According to Jagger, he had in stock a weapon that could kill Finn permanently as soon as I tore away his illusion.
“I had a pet cricket.” Last glanced over at me to make sure I was paying attention. “His name was Only. I kept him in a little wicker cage that I set next to my bed, and he would sing to me all night long. I was eight, and I was afraid of the monster under my bed. Have you met him?”
“No.” Thankfully. “He doesn’t come to Hell Gate.”
Last nodded. “He likes nightmares. I had nightmares about my mom. But when Only chirped, I didn’t. I’d feed him sweet potato and spinach.” There was a smile in her voice. “He’d come when I called. He would climb on my hand and perch there, bobbing up and down, chirping. He was my pet.”
She stared over Harlem as if she weren’t on the sweltering sidewalk anymore but instead in her bedroom, holding a pet cricket whose chirping kept the monster under the bed away.
“So,” I said, “let me guess. Primus killed your pet.”
Last blinked, bringing the city back into focus. “Primus? No. I saw Primus liked Only’s music. So I took tweezers and pulled off Only’s forewings. Then I pulled off his legs. After that, I broke him in half. I never had nightmares again.”
Yet me, I’d be having some tonight.
“That’s a nice story, Last.”
“You’re my friend, Mari. Mine. I think the reason we aligned with Hell Gate is because Fate wants us to be together. You and me.” She clutched my arm, smiling at me with cool, guileless eyes.
Luvic turned toward us as we stepped into the shadow of the white-brick monstrosity. He lifted an eyebrow at Last’s fingers curling around my forearm.
“Should I be jealous?” he asked, tilting his head.
I frowned—what did that mean?—but Last stiffened and hissed like a cat.
He gave her his wide Bard smile and pulled off his sunglasses. He hit her with a smoldering, male-model look. Even with the black eye and the swollen nose, he radiated beauty. Maybe even more so, as the black eye only highlighted the perfection of everything else.
Why hadn’t he covered the swelling with illusion?
“When we’re married,” Last said, “you’ll learn your place, Bard.”
Whoa.
Whoa whoa whoa. What?
The world screeched to a halt with a jerking record-scratch noise. I shook my head, then I realized the noise was the screeching of tires as a taxi down the block slammed on its brakes.
Luvic’s mouth kicked up into a delighted smile. “Mmm. Looking forward to it.”
No, he wasn’t.
No, he was not.
What the heck was going on?
“Let’s go,” Justice said, yanking the building’s glass door open. A wall of cold air rushed out and slammed into me, turning the sweat on my skin to ice.
Justice held the door. Luvic swept his arm out like an old-fashioned courtier. “Ladies first.”
We squeezed into the vestibule. It smelled like old cheese and overripe bananas. The wallpaper was from the seventies, with avocado green, harvest yellow, and salmon pink splashed in hallucinogenic-inspired abstract patterns.
I stepped forward and typed a sequence of numbers into the bronze keypad. The intercom crackled, and then a tinny, distorted voice said, “What?”
“Knock, knock.”
“Who is it?”
I paused. “Boo.”
“Boo who?”
“Aww, don’t cry, it’ll be all right.”
Both Luvic and Last watched me as if I’d sprouted two heads. Justice kept his arms folded over his chest, his expression flat.
“Nope,” the voice over the intercom said.
I sighed. “What does a snowman eat for breakfast?”
Luvic narrowed his eyes. “Children. Snowmen are diabolical.”
Last scoffed. “Maybe for a weak Bard. Clearly, the answer is ice cream.”
I rolled my eyes.
The voice on the intercom said, “Snowflakes. Try again.”
I rubbed my forehead. “What’s white and black and red all over?”
“An orca attacked by a shark,” Luvic said.
“A newspaper,” Last said, her lip curling in disgust. “Don’t you know anything?”
“I’m stumped,” the voice said. “What is it?”
I leaned close to the intercom. “A baby panda in a blender.”
There was a long pause, and then the intercom went dead.
“I think you offended him,” Luvic said.
No. “He doesn’t get offended.”
The wall beside us swung open, and a small red fox stared out at us, its eyes reflecting in the vestibule’s light. He had thick autumn-leaf-colored fur, a fluffy white chest, brown fur socks, and expressive ears.
If you’re ever tempted to sink your fingers into his thick fur coat, you should stick your hands in your pockets and take a step back.
“Hi, Penrose,” I said.
The fox made a low yip-growl, sniffed the vestibule’s air, and then turned around and trotted down the long, dark hall. His bushy tail swung in the air like a torch in the darkness.
“Well. We’re in. Keep your eyes on Penrose.”
“Or else?” Luvic asked.
“Or else you fall into a Den of Depravity,” Justice said, sounding as if he’d like that very thing to happen. “And none of us will come rescue you.”
Luvic snorted. “Who says I’d want to be rescued?”
Penrose paused in the corridor and looked over his shoulder. He tilted his head, almost like a dog, impatient for us to follow.
We stepped into the passage, and the wall closed behind us. While outside was a sweltering, hideous oven, the dark corridor was musty, cave-cool, and eerily quiet.
Justice led the way, Luvic after him. Last followed, with me at the back.
I kept my eyes on Penrose’s flashing tail.
The walls of the corridor moved like the liquid sand art people buy at street fairs.
They shifted, melted, merged, and reformed, creating pictures in the chaos.
It was tempting to take your eyes off Penrose to look at the mesmerizing display.
Who doesn’t want to watch colorful shifting sands?
Notes struck off the walls, filling the corridor with a strange xylophone music.
I knew for a fact, though, if you turned to look at the wall, you’d be yanked inside like a gnat swallowed by quicksand.
Years ago, when I’d visited the Merchant with a brand-new slipshot, they hadn’t heeded the warning.
The slipshot was there, and then he wasn’t.
Last’s shoulders twitched, and her face tilted toward the wall.
I wouldn’t say I liked Last. I would never, of my own volition, say that. But I also didn’t want her to end up in a Den of Depravity. She had enough of that living as a Clark. Granted, there was a part of me—Jagger’s part—that wanted to shove her into the wall and laugh as she fell.
I distracted us both from the lure of the walls by whispering, “You and Luvic are getting married?”
Her head snapped forward, and her back stiffened. “Does that bother you?”
“Does it bother you?”
Last hated Luvic. She hated all Bards. “Pretty songbirds,” she called them. I still remember how she’d shot her hand into the air and pretended to crush them.
“No.”
“No?” I didn’t believe that.
She shrugged, keeping her eyes on Penrose. “He’s the Bard heir. I’m a powerful Clark. Our children will be terrifying in their might. Like the spawn of Andromeda and Cetus.”
A princess and a sea monster?
“They never had children.”
“But they should have. They would’ve, if Perseus hadn’t ruined the fun.”
Ahead of Last, Luvic’s steps faltered, and Last bumped into him. She shoved at him, and he lurched forward.
“But what if he doesn’t want to have children?” I whispered.
Last scoffed. “That’s his only use.” She slowed so Luvic and Justice would draw further ahead. Penrose’s tail was a fiery beacon, waving in the dark. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “Once I’m pregnant, I won’t need him anymore. You won’t have to share me for long.”
You might be wondering why conjurers don’t use artificial insemination or other reproductive technologies.
Well, they did. They tried it back in the late seventies and into the early eighties, when the technology first appeared.
For some reason, the children born always came out fully human and not conjurer.
Rou thinks whatever happened during the flood still lingers on earth—an evaporate hanging in the atmosphere.
She always smiles when she says she can taste the floodwaters in the air.
She thinks taking the sperm or the eggs out of a conjurer makes the developing baby lose whatever it was that allowed them to conjure.
It’s like the parents protect their abilities, but without the shield of their bodies from the flood, the children lose all their illusion.
I’m not sure. I suppose it’s as good of an explanation as any.
Unfortunately, though, I could see where Last’s thoughts were leading.
In history, there have been many, many instances of a conjurer killing off their spouse after a child or two was born.
It happened frequently in political alliances, when the murdering spouse wanted to raise the children in the tradition of their own family.
Imagine Last raising Luvic’s children to become like her.
I shivered—cold fingers dragging over me. What had Luvic gotten himself into? First killing his siblings, then the strange jackaltooth growl and the bee brooch, and now this. I wished I could talk to him. I wished I could know what he was thinking.
I imagine, though, he wished he could talk to me too.
Still, he wouldn’t marry Last. He wouldn’t have a child with her.
At least . . . I didn’t think he would.
He was in trouble—that much was clear.
I wondered if he’d told Cora. If he’d even seen her since the closing ceremony.
Ahead, Penrose’s tail wagged, and he gave a sharp, short yip.
Last startled, jerking her head to the side. In a flash, the wall reached out and grabbed her.
“Don’t look!” Justice shouted. He kept his eyes straight ahead.
Jagger’s number-one rule: Never help another.
Last screamed. The noise got cut off as the upper half of her was swallowed by the shifting wall.
Luvic didn’t listen to Justice; he swung around, sprang off his feet, and jumped for Last. He moved unnaturally fast—faster than I’d ever seen him move. He caught her legs and yanked her from the wall. She ripped free, and her scream tore through the corridor again.
Luvic’s eyes widened as he realized he couldn’t stop his momentum.
“Justice!” I shouted, right as Luvic barreled into me, and the three of us—me, Last, and Luvic—were flung out of the corridor and into a Den of Depravity.