City of Souls Page 14

  “What you were given. Silly girl.”

  And I nose-dived into sleep, the universe pulsing around me.

  Fire greeted me on the other side of wakefulness; innocuous flames dancing atop a tiered cake, twenty-six candles burning in celebration. There were symbols on the cake, ones I should recognize, but my knowledge of them lay like words on the tip of my tongue; both there and not until their meaning dissolved. I panned backward, as you do in dreams, to find myself standing in Saturn’s Orchard, the training room and dojo in my troop’s sanctuary. Pink and white paper streamers hung fifty feet from the pyramid’s hollowed apex, and the mirrored walls that normally flashed star signs across their surfaces picked up the girly color, lightly hued at the tip, depth graduating in degree until reaching a toothaching fuchsia at the base. It was clear I’d walked in on a birthday celebration, and from the plastic crown nestled atop her head, and the wide, clownlike grin stretching Chandra’s face, I knew it was hers.

  This, I realized with a start, was her twenty-sixth birthday. More than a quarter century spent in our troop, but with no star sign to inherit, and still no metamorphosis to make her “super.” I looked for any sign of bitterness or resentment, because as long as I was in the troop, Chandra would always be relegated to sidekick status, no matter how old she grew. Her dark eyes landed on me, and though they remained blank and unseeing, the too-red lips of that clown smile widened. She gave me a “howdy-do” wave, then turned to mill with her guests.

  My entire troop was there, and though no one else wore a painted-on smile, they were all grinning and silly, and had been celebrating for a while. Shot glasses littered the glasstop table holding Chandra’s cake, and a full Scotch bottle was being passed from hand to hand, though it never seemed to empty. As with most drunken social gatherings, it wasn’t long before the universal, and unanswerable, questions began to fly.

  Is there a God? Who’s right, the Creationists or Darwin? What is the human position in the Universe?

  “What is it,” shouted Micah, staggering dangerously from his seven-foot height, “that makes the world go round?”

  People began blurting their answers like they were blowing on party horns.

  “Money!” Kimber said, and threw a wad into the air.

  “Not true!” said Tekla, pointing a stern finger at her before toppling into a chair and passing out.

  “Spoken like someone who has it,” Warren put in, slurring every syllable. He was dressed in his undercover bum attire, which he rarely wore in the sanctuary. He raised his arm in a silent toast when he saw me looking. He wasn’t holding a glass, though, because he didn’t have a hand.

  I jumped, mouth falling open, but he shrugged and found a shot glass with his other hand. Draining whiskey, he then offered his own answer to the question. “Power runs this world, of course. People will spend their last dime to acquire it. Just look at me,” he said, spinning to show off his tattered trench.

  “Power won’t satisfy you when you’re lying alone at night,” Felix said, one arm draped over Kimber’s shoulder, the other over Vanessa’s. “Sex rules the world, my friends. That’s why people want power. People want different sex, better sex, more sex. It’s the only valid reason to acquire money in the first place.”

  “You’re all wrong.”

  The place fell silent. A spotlight landed on Hunter. He was completely naked and totally aroused. Nobody commented, or even seemed to notice. They were as attentive as a roomful of reporters at a press conference, heads cocked in concentration as they tried to decipher his meaning. Vanessa had even taken out her pocket notebook, pen poised at the ready. But Hunter was staring straight at me, and he walked my way in a warrior’s beat, stopping so close I felt the heat of his breath on my lips.

  “Love,” he said, putting a hand to my cheek, “is what makes this crazy world go round.”

  Again, awareness that this was a dream washed over me—Hunter would never say that—but the kiss that followed certainly made my head spin. I reached out—wanting deeper, longer, more—but Hunter pulled back, palm on his lips, blinking rapidly as he looked back at me. Shocked, he whirled on his heel without another word, and the spotlight faded.

  “What do you think, Jo-livia?”

  I was still gazing after Hunter, who walked right through the pyramid wall and disappeared, and I had to work to turn my attention to Felix, and his unanswerable question. After a minute I shook my head. “I can’t remember.”

  “That’s okay, babe,” he said, and he was suddenly standing before me, as near as Hunter had been when kissing me. I backed away. Felix and I weren’t close like that. We were only friends, and he knew it. One side of his mouth tilted in understanding. “Memories are just silent promises you once made to yourself. The moment is all that matters. Here.”

  Chandra’s birthday cake suddenly appeared between us, Felix struggling to steady it on a silver platter more appropriate for medieval feasts and giant banquets. We balanced it between us, and approached Chandra, now seated on a throne and dais, the plastic silver crown lopsided on her head. When we came to a stop in front of her, she tilted her head to the other side, the soullessly blank eyes remaining fixed on me, that obscene smile never wavering.

  “Make a wish,” she said, screwing up her lines…and doing it in the Tulpa’s voice. Then, just as I realized they were really sticks of dynamite, she extinguished those twenty-six candles. Blood coated my face and body, and with the heat of my father’s scorched laughter raining down on my shoulders, my dream blew up. I woke.

  Screaming.

  Sweating, I sat straight up in the rickety mine cart. My mouth was sandpaper dry, probably from breathing hard, though at least it was still dark and cool. I was back on the second floor, no longer lost in the stars.

  “That’s odd.” Solange’s voice was tight. I swiveled to find her seated at a rough wood table, tweezers in one hand, a loupe in the other. She was frozen over a microscope, a bright lamp hanging from a ceiling rope and casting her honeyed skin lighter. The windows along the wall were muted, notable only against the inky blackness of the wall.

  She still stared at me with dark, liquid eyes, though she’d changed into a pale strapless dress a shade lighter than her skin tone. Her feet were bare, toes peeking from beneath the silk folds, and her only adornment was still the gold earrings hanging like petite chandeliers, winking from her ears. She was also wearing a deep frown. “Diana was supposed to check for protective charms.”

  And she rose like she was going to battle.

  I scrambled to my feet, suddenly not wanting to be anywhere near her.

  “I have to go.” I also had to pause to be sure my knees were steady before stepping over the cart’s side. Then I had to pause to be sure they were my knees. My unreasonable, if instinctive, fear was suddenly eclipsed. “What the…why the hell am I wearing chaps?”

  “Shit-hot leather chaps,” Solange corrected, a smile broad in her voice. They were shit-hot. That and skintight, with studs securing them to my sides, and a woven belt with thick silver meshing that caught even the meager light. The mesh overlaid a batik-stamped pattern like a tiny chain-linked fence, and the result—though two-toned—was a complicated pattern that was both fierce and feminine.

  It was echoed in the halter top.

  I don’t do halter tops, I thought, though my cold dismay melded into horror as my eyes turned to my jewelry. I’d been wearing none upon entering the Rest House, but now I looked like some sort of Bedouin experiment gone bad. It wasn’t that the jewelry was ugly…there was just so much of it; armbands like thick silver snakes and wrists cuffed as if fettered with aged, thick silver and secured with a pin closure. I fingered heavy hoop earrings with a row of teardrops, and a choker that felt like a shackle. Rings studded every other finger in sharp points, more brass knuckles than ornamentation. I turned toward one of the windows to study my superimposed image…and found an entirely different person looking back at me.

  My short black hair was slicked
back and secured at the nape, with a single cornrow framing my face and threaded with silver. A rose the size of my palm was tucked behind my right ear, a bloodred punch against all the monochromatic costuming. It matched only my lips, currently drawn into a frown. The tar black shadow edging my eyes winged to my brow line.

  Which also mirrored the black henna sunburst flaring from my now-pierced belly button. How long had I been out?

  At least I still had my boots, I thought, sniffing. And the chaps were perfect for my knife harnesses. I caught myself halfway through this last thought and shook my head. A bell, apparently woven into my cornrow, jangled, further clearing my senses. “Where are my clothes?”

  “By now? Probably incinerated. Don’t look at me,” Solange said when I spun back around. “Diana paid a visit while I was changing. There’s your wallet, by the way. Tell me, how do you feel?”

  Like an odalisque escapee from a goth harem, I thought, gingerly touching my belly ring. But I had a feeling she wasn’t merely interested in my health. I was just happy she seemed to have calmed. Picking up my wallet, I returned it to my bag. Studying the rifled contents, I muttered, “They went through it.”

  “Of course. They knew you wouldn’t just tell them who you are.”

  I flipped the bag over my shoulder and fumbled for the door at the sole blank wall, hands searching for the knob.

  “Who armored you?”

  I turned back. “What?”

  She went from sitting at that table to standing in front of me, and I swore I hadn’t blinked. “Who. Armored. You?”

  “I don’t know what—”

  Something slapped me. But Solange never moved. “Who armored you?”

  “Please,” I said before I could help it…

  “Who, who, who—”

  She flanked my every side but I still hadn’t seen her move. Then she was gone and I knew she was behind me. The scent of whipped rose wafted over my shoulder, and I stood so still I stopped breathing.

  “Who the fuck is protecting your soul?”

  Only my lips moved. “Y-You’re like Boyd and Bill, aren’t you? You work for the house?”

  Suddenly in front of me again, she smiled, and it was beautiful. “More like Mackie.”

  Where, I thought, backing up, was the fucking door?

  “Calm down. I’ll let you leave.” Solange took a small step toward me. “But when you find JJ, you’re going to tell him Sola says hello. You’re going to make sure that door remains unlocked.” She licked her lips before smiling, and while alluring, there was also something feral in it. “And when you return, you’ll bring him along so I can string both your souls in my sky.”

  Souls. That was why her gems were so beautiful. I thought of the men downstairs, ashy and drawn. The women, bright and alive. I shook my head even as the horror of that—all those colorful stones!—sunk in. “You can’t force me to barter my soul.”

  “Of course not.” She was suddenly back at her desk, loupe in hand, hair swinging over her face as she studied a bloodred gem. After what she’d just done, the distance didn’t make me feel any safer. “Besides, you’ve already given up a third of it up for free.”

  I frowned, swallowing hard. She had no reason to lie, but I didn’t know what she meant.

  To clarify, she held up the precious gem between her tweezers and smiled. “Yours is the second lantern on the right.”

  Your full identity isn’t revealed until you enter three times.

  Giving someone your name gave her control over your soul.

  And kill the rushlight in two tries…

  That was what had been stripped from my body upon my passage here. I hadn’t just given up air in blowing out that candle…I’d given up a third of my soul. But how on earth had Solange gotten hold of it?

  I didn’t know, but suddenly she didn’t look so beautiful. She was a spider, weaving a web of stolen gems, and I was being spun into its design. But I didn’t fight her. I didn’t know how. And I’d need all the energy I had left to me once I hit the staircase outside this door.

  Women fight differently…in any world.

  Oh Tekla, I thought, backing from the room. If only you knew.

  12

  Heat assailed me even before I hit the landing. Everything, I suddenly realized as I resettled my bag behind my back, from wacky Mackie at the piano to the potent drinks the bartender served, was meant to reinforce this world and keep it fueled. As for the men used as that fuel? Well, let’s just say I had a change of heart regarding their POW status when I reached the top of the landing to find every chair pushed back, every man standing, and every hard gaze turned my way.

  Well, almost every man was standing.

  Tripp remained seated, either unable to move due to the heat or merely unwilling to waste his energy on me. But from the way he watched me, his amusement honed, I could tell he was thinking wistfully of a world where Shadow and Light were all that mattered. Here he was content to let everyone else do the work for him.

  And why wouldn’t they try to stop me? I thought, swallowing hard. By leaving now, and possessing nearly everything I’d entered with, I was robbing the men of the opportunity to skin my powers from me, and the women from using my soul to reinforce their pretty realities.

  I returned my attention to the crowd, knowing I couldn’t take them all on. The players didn’t scare me. Each had been here far longer than I had, and I knew the extent of the lethargy one suffered under the influence of that drink. I’d be past them and at my lantern before any could shuffle from their seats.

  Bill was more of a concern. He kept casting glances up at me, showing unnatural consideration as he ran his rag over the bar in small controlled circles. Moving normally, he could be over that bar top in one solid leap. Question was, how far could I get before he reached me?

  Not far enough, I decided, especially if the dealers were in on the action. Though still seated, they too were operating on full cylinders. What bothered me were the things I didn’t know about them. Did they have weapons? What would they do if they caught me? How soon would they rise from their seats?

  I took the stairs slowly, ring-studded fingers and black lacquered nails trailing over mysterious symbols carved into the banister, and by the time I hit the bottom stair my thirst was back in full force, like moisture was being wicked from my body from the inside out. The dry heat pulsed against me, and I knew standing and fighting would deplete all my energy reserves. Working together, these men would easily wear me down, and even if all they did was deliver me back upstairs, I wouldn’t be in any state to resist. I’d drink whatever those women put to my lips, fall asleep in the sky, and awake to someone studying my pretty soul.

  So, bag on my back, I ran.

  Closest to me, fittest, Bill moved first. I turned away from the rest of the room to focus on him. I felt the men moving behind me, but they were still like ants in molasses, so I was free to concentrate on the bartender. He was taller than me, wider too, with the extra mass and density afforded his sex. Everyone here was or had been agents raised and trained in battle, but it’d been a while since any of them had bothered to use their skills. Surprise rippled over his smooth features when I squared on him.

  I shook my head. Pretty boys. Thought they could do whatever they wanted.

  “Sit down, honey,” he said, circling like a hawk on prey. “Have a drink on the house.”

  “The last man who called me honey,” I said, circling back, “spent the rest of his very short life sitting down.”

  He remained cautious, knowing I had skills. Yet I doubted he’d ever encountered a woman exactly like me before; one who’d been born to mortality, never relying upon strength beyond what she’d built up herself. And what I’d built was a quick mind and a mean jab. Just because this was the house where “deeds reflected our true selves” didn’t mean our actions couldn’t lie. I drew him into a boxing stance by setting up my own, anticipated the one-two combination that was automatic in most fighters, and timed my
double jab to rock his head straight back on his neck. I finished it with my own cross, and his eyes rolled back, much like Boyd’s had when calling Solange, before he hit the floor.

  I smiled. If I didn’t know how good I was, I would have said he hadn’t even tried.

  A tinkle of laughter had accompanied Bill’s fall, and I glanced up to find the women gathered again on the landing, though Solange was notably absent. Her mention of the second lantern on the right was what pulled my gaze from the light and life and color above, and I turned…

  Just in time to dodge Boyd’s cruel uppercut.

  Dodge it, but not avoid it completely. He too knew what he was doing, and grazed my kidney, the impact stealing breath I could ill afford to lose. The bell and bloodred rose in my hair fell to the ground. I coughed, a rasp that kept building, and almost got hit again because of it. Wheeling away, I instinctively backed toward the bar because that’s where all the liquid was. My throat was parched. It was like suffocating, but through lack of moisture instead of air. I squinted, noting with a mounting panic that my lids were beginning to stick to my eyeballs. If I didn’t leave soon, I’d dehydrate where I stood.

  “Boyd,” I rasped, bracing myself against the bar, my tongue fat in my mouth. “I didn’t like you before, but now you’ve pissed me off.” The words stuck to the insides of my cheeks, one syllable hiccuping into the next, but he caught my meaning okay. Maybe it was the accompanying straight kick into his gut.

  He managed to grab my foot as he toppled forward, but I closed the space between us, balancing my weight on his shoulders as my kneecap collided with his nose. From there, I just hammered the back of his neck until Boyd joined Bill in la-la-land.

  Above me, Diana laughed. She’d changed into pink tulle and fishnets, but was still channeling a music hall version of Raj Barbie, looking like a neon ornament in the muted branching of the stark hallway. “Two down, Olivia. Only five more to go.”

  I whirled to find the remaining half-dozen dealers lined up, single file, the ones near the front popping their knuckles and rolling their necks. They knew what I could do now, so I’d lost the element of surprise. However, the dealers near the back looked bored, the final one even glancing at his table to making sure his pot was safe while he stepped away. Meanwhile the players—men who’d once been both agents of Light and Shadow—had shuffled to the wall of lanterns, four and five bodies deep, a wall of flesh and muscle to overcome on my way home.