Chapter 9 Ares
ARES
I sat on the stoop of the girl’s apartment building, mulling over what the Rider had told me.
The stepmother was resentful of her husband’s child.
Feared he loved the girl more than he did her, her jealousy twisting a father’s love into something sick in her mind.
She’d meant to kill him and have the girl tortured in the Asylum.
But the stepmother hadn’t been particular about the Rider she summoned. All she wanted was a vicious, murderous spirit. She hadn’t even bothered to ask what motivated the Rider. And it had turned out to be her undoing. The spirit she summoned was vengeful because her own children had been killed.
My husband’s mistress killed them, the Rider had whispered. She killed my babies to have him to herself.
I strongly suspected the mistress had killed the Rider as well, but it was rude to ask such things.
Besides, I knew what I needed to. A long life of talking to the dead had taught me one thing for certain: you did not fuck with a spirit whose children had been murdered.
If the girl’s stepmother had any sense, she would’ve created wards to prevent such a thing from happening.
She ought to have anticipated just such a problem.
The inexperienced believed like called to like, but the truth of the matter was that evil often attracted its counterpart when it came to spirits.
Riders were often vengeful creatures, and they looked for opportunities to exact revenge on just the types of people who wronged them in life.
Unfortunately, the child’s father had been complicit in his wife’s abuse, though not so evil as his new wife had assumed.
The Rider had no issue killing him, and had fully planned to kill the stepmother as well.
Before I let it go, I promised the girl would be taken care of, and the Rider promised to haunt my dreams if I didn’t.
It was a fair enough trade. The spirit of the postal worker sat down next to me when the Rider had gone.
“This neighborhood’s not what it used to be, Necroline.” Her accent was from somewhere north, an outpost near Palladiere, probably.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, fiddling with the rings on my left hand. I didn’t mean Orphium and she knew it.
The spirit smiled. “I don’t know anymore. Sixty, seventy years maybe. This used to be a nice place to live. Now, people are afraid. The Trinity doesn’t help anymore and the Consulate’s been trash since the start.”
I nodded at the chastisement. “You’re right.”
The Consulate was supposed to help parapsychs, but more often it seemed like they were lining their own pockets. No better than the human mafia or other organized crime. Everyone knew it, but few said it so candidly.
“The Angel helped. Twenty years ago. But then she disappeared, and we were left alone again.” The postal worker lost form, fading between.
I hadn’t heard anyone mention someone named the Angel before.
It was as though a curtain had been pulled back on something significant.
Spirits, especially Shades, didn’t give out information like this often, unless they wanted it passed along in some way.
I pulled my notebook out of the interior breast pocket of my coat, along with my pen, and jotted down all I could recall about the encounter, including the conversation with the postal worker. Might come in handy later.
Av and Eryx were long gone. I’d promised I could see myself home after Fairchild left with the stepmother, and I might as well get going.
I stood, stretching my legs as it started to rain, heading toward the nearest metro tunnel.
The streets were busy, folks trying to escape the storm before getting soaked.
The emerald green tiles on the walls of the metro tunnel gleamed in contrast to the faux-terrazzo tile floors.
Elegance mixed with cheap solutions to complicated problems. That was Orphium in a nutshell.
I swiped my metro card and headed down to the platform.
A busker played a violin—a cover of an old school rap song, eerie as it echoed through the metro station.
A couple of kids on the platform knew all the words.
I slumped onto a bench, pulling a beanie out of my coat pocket, yanking it down over my eyes.
I didn’t want to be recognized. The postal worker’s words wormed into me.
Nothing I did was enough. My people were still suffering and it seemed like there was nothing I could do.
Guilt oozed through me, right into the meat of my burdened heart.
The fact that I even had the audacity to think of myself as burdened made me an ass of the first order.
My jaw clenched tight, my chest constricting.
The spirits in the tunnel sensed my distress.
Their stirring caused something that resembled a chill breeze, cold spots flaring throughout the platform.
A few people whispered to the rapping kids, obviously worried the unquiet spirits were attracted to the noise they were making.
I hissed through my teeth, sending aura out in waves, pushing the spirits back.
Though the humans on the platform couldn’t see them, they sensed their retreat.
Relief was tangible as the spirits retreated.
All but one. A skinny kid that looked a lot like the girl I helped earlier.
For a second, I thought he might be an Echo, the way he seemed to glitch out, then reappear in the same spot. But he made clear eye contact with me.
Echoes didn’t see anything. They just replayed some important moment of their life, stuck in a loop for eternity, unless someone like me came along and untangled them.
But this kid watched me, unaffected by my power that still repelled spirits from the platform.
He wore clothes from long, long ago, the kind of loose tunics and fur boots Eryx and I wore as children, which explained why looking at him felt like a memory.
I stood, watching the kid. A train screamed around the bend in the tunnel, its lights flashing high and bright as it came into view. I blinked, averting my eyes. When I looked back up, the kid was gone. There weren’t many spirits who could resist my authority, but there were some.
I didn’t want it to mean anything. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I sucked freezing cold air in at the sight of the name that flashed on my screen. I glanced sidelong as I exhaled. The spirit I hadn’t managed to banish stood next to me. His eyes were hollowed out, two black holes.
“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I cautioned. “Or I’ll send you somewhere you won’t like.”
“You abandoned us, Ares Necroline,” the kid said, before pushing me hard towards the tracks. I stumbled backwards to avoid him, but he didn’t have the power to actually move me. Still, as he went through me, the bittersweet taste of death burned my tongue.
“Traitor,” the spirit hissed as it dissipated.
Some Shades were like that, attracted to strong emotions, skimming thoughts off the top of your conscious mind to use against you. But the kid’s words ricocheted through me. He called me a traitor. I hadn’t been thinking that about myself. That was the Shade’s thought.
I shook off the encounter as best I could, but my guilt lingered.
It always did when it came to how little I could actually do for my people.
The Authority had beaten us into submission a thousand years ago, and now they didn’t even have to use egregious shows of violence.
Now it was just the knowledge that we were constantly surveilled, and the frequent disappearance of anyone who dared to make their thoughts about the state of things too known.
That was all it took for the Trinity to cease fighting back, content to be relegated to the shadows forever if it meant we survived. It wasn’t that humans had it any better. They didn’t. We were all the same amount of fucked, the flavor was just different.
My phone buzzed again. The spirit had distracted me from Ember’s message. She wanted to meet. Laundromat between 5th and Newport. 40 minutes. Come alone.
Another text came through from her as the train screeched into the station. Preferably with laundry, so you don’t look like a dick.
I gave her last message one of those ugly thumbs up emojis to annoy her, then checked my watch.
There was just enough time for me to get home and to the laundromat.
I got onto the train just before the last door closed.
The spirit who’d burned through me stood on the platform as the train pulled away, menace in his hollow glare.
The laundromat between Fifth and Newport was a hole in the wall I’d never been to before.
From the outside it was almost invisible, just a simple black and white sign that said “Laundromat” on frosted glass windows.
Inside, there were so many potted plants growing on shelves between the rows of washers that the fluorescents made the silver machines appear green.
A friendly Shade in the corner pointed to the back, where Ember Verona stood folding her laundry.
My throat went dry at the unguarded glimpse of her.
Her shiny brown hair was piled on top of her head, and a brightly patterned silk scarf held it back like a headband.
I’d never seen her look quite so comfortable, though she’d showed up hungover to our monthly tithe handovers plenty of times.
Now, she looked at ease in a pair of loose, wide-legged jeans and a slouchy, emerald green sweater that fell off one shoulder. She looked like she belonged at the laundromat, comfortable and cozy, all her usual rough edges smoothed out somehow. My heart thumped louder as I watched her move.
The Shade arched an eyebrow at me, as though to say, “You like her?”