Contractor (61 page)

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Forever."

Daniel stood. It felt like he was

balancing on peg legs. "…and that’s it? Just

like that? Do I get to speak? Defend myself?

You people are judge and jury?"

"You’ll have a chance to speak, but you

won’t change their minds."

"Fuck!" Daniel kicked the side of the

bed. "Fuck. Is there anything -"

"I have slept three hours the past two

nights," Eleanor said. "I have exhausted all my contacts. My father is the head of the

Ivory Dawn. I have no real political capital.

I tried, Daniel. I wanted it to be my apology

to her. My last…" Eleanor wiped the base of

her palm under her eyes. "They won’t listen

to a little girl. I’m sorry. I used your kindness

against you so Rothschild would help us in

that battle, and all it’s done is condemn you

to a fate you don’t deserve."

"…the road to Hell is paved with good

intentions."

"My father…he doesn’t—he thinks that

you’ve…" Eleanor sobbed into her hands.

"That I’m a monster," Daniel said. "I

already knew that. At least I’m not creeping

under the bed or anything." He offered a

smirk, but she didn’t stop crying. She just

cried harder. "Hey, Eleanor. Eleanor. Elly,

come on, it’s ok."

"It’s not ok!" she shouted.

"…Eleanor?"

She just shook her head. She tried to say

something. It came out as a sort of whimper.

"Can I see Rachel?" Daniel asked.

"Rachel…" Eleanor shook her head.

"What? What happened to Rachel?"

"She’s dead, Daniel."

"...what?"

"She’s gone. Whatever you did…it hurt

her. She fell into a coma. She died last

night."

Daniel wasn’t sure how to react. He

heard the words, but he didn’t really hear

them. Those words couldn’t be put together

in that order. It just couldn’t happen.

"Oh," he said.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

It hadn’t hit him yet. But he could feel it

coming.

"It wasn’t your fault."

"No. No. I should have been there, when

she -"

"No," he said.

Daniel wasn’t sure what he did, but right

then, he packaged himself up, all his feelings,

and he put them in a box. He slid the box to a

closet at the back of his brain, and he closed

the door.

"It wasn’t your fault," Daniel repeated.

His voice was suddenly stronger, more

confident. Steady. He put a hand on her

shoulder. "You didn’t know she would run

out after me. If it wasn’t for you, we

wouldn’t have beaten the Vorid lord. I would

never blame you for her death, and you

shouldn’t blame yourself. Never."

"But -"

"That’s enough, Eleanor. I said it’s not

your fault, and that’s the way it is." Daniel

pushed a smirk onto his face. It wasn’t much,

but it would do. "You got that, muffin top?"

"…yeah." She looked up at him. Her

lips formed a crumbling half-smile. "Got it."

Daniel saw then what he’d first seen in

her, when she’d stepped out from her

limousine: an image of his mother. Tall,

elegant. Rich gold hair.

His mother had to have been a

philosopher in a past life, or maybe a great

speaker. She moved people without trying.

But there was one thing she’d said to him

when he was very little, an offhand line

delivered along with a bowl of his favorite

pasta. He’d never forgotten it.

"A laugh can get you through anything,"

Daniel heard himself say. "So don’t cry. She

wouldn’t want you to cry. Laugh instead.

Laugh for her."

"Ok."

He looked out the window. "I think I’d

like to be alone for a little while."

"Ok." Eleanor didn’t move. She fidgeted

over something.

"…what?"

"The woman that helped you, Gabby

McCauley, was captured two days ago. Your

case was unique, but she’s already…"

"Thanks for telling me."

Eleanor nodded once. Her hand took his

for a moment. She squeezed it. And then she

left. The door clicked closed.

Daniel had the odd sense of floating

above himself, as if someone else was

Daniel Fitzgerald, someone else's lover had

died, someone else was imprisoned in a

room in a mansion. Someone else was

condemned to Hell—not him.

This wasn't over. He wouldn't let it end

like this. Rachel hadn't abandoned him. She'd

thrown herself in front of the lord in order to

save him. There was something he'd missed,

something he couldn't see. He just had to

think of it.

Daniel lay on his back and closed his

eyes.

****

He’d killed Rachel.

Maybe. His contract had taken part of

her to heal him. That wasn't the same as

killing her.

He had one last option. He needed the

person that might be able to make a

difference.

For some reason, they’d never searched

him, never checked his pockets. It was tough

with the stone clamped on his wrists, but he

managed to wedge it out of his jeans pocket.

It was the smooth green pebble that Xik had

given him so long ago. A lifetime ago. He

squeezed it in his hands.

"Hello, Daniel." The frog was sitting on

his desk. Xik had exchanged his rainbow-

puke clothes for a solid black suit. It

transformed him from a creepy frog-clown

into a disproportioned mannequin.

"…hey Xik. Do you know what’s

happening?"

"I do." Xik’s red frog eyes were

unreadable. "A shame. You managed to kill a

lord. To waste that kind of power is foolish."

"I think we’ve pursued this line of

conversation before."

"Indeed. Human values are just

something I have to live with, I suppose."

"Can you spring me out?"

"No. The contract clearly states we’ll

make no special exception nor offer our

protection for your violation of local laws.

Unfortunately, your fellows have taken the

contract itself as just such a violation. It’s

airtight."

"Alright," Daniel said. "The real reason I called you here was about Rachel."

The frog nodded once. "I’m aware of

her situation. Poor girl."

"Is she just in a coma, asleep? Can we

get her power back to her?"

Xik shook his head. "You can’t take part

of someone’s soul and expect them to live

on, Daniel."

"But I can," he said. "Another contractor fought her once -"

"Jack Killiney. I know what happened."

"Then you know that Jack was smashing

her golems to pieces!" Daniel said. He took

a long, shaking breath. "She didn’t die then.

She recovered."

Xik’s face stayed blank. "Your plan to

heal yourself wouldn’t have worked a month

ago. Your aura—the contract—has become

powerful enough to damage the soul just by

crushing a weaker being’s magic. You

healed yourself in exchange for slices of her

existence."

"But -"

"Daniel." Xik shook his head. "There is no way to put someone’s life back once it’s

been taken. Your actions killed her."

Daniel felt something inside of him

break. It might have been his heart. He

wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything.

He’d said he was a monster a dozen

times. He’d said it aloud, proclaimed it to

the world, admitted it to Xik and Rachel and

Eleanor. But he’d never really believed it.

Now he did.

Xik seemed to read his face. "You did

what you had to do."

"I wouldn't have done it if I knew what

would happen!" Daniel shouted. "I should

have died!"

"You saved everyone."

"For what?!" Daniel shouted. His voice

cracked. He didn’t care. "I don’t give a shit

if she’s dead!"

"Felix lives," Xik said. "Your family

lives. Eleanor Astor lives. Rachel’s

sacrifice was not in vain. She has given

humanity the power it needs to survive."

"Heh." Daniel held his head in his

hands. "And they’re about to exile that

power."

"I’ll give you a hint," Xik said. "The threshold of Hell will tell you to abandon

hope. Don’t. Don’t give up."

"I don’t think I care anymore."

Xik made his strange frog smile. "You’ll

know what I mean soon enough."

And with that, he was gone.

Daniel sat in silence. Night fell outside

his window. The moon rose into the sky. He

stared into the same spot on the wall and did

not move.

A bitter, clinical fragment of his head

examined the rest of him like an apathetic

scientist. This is what it felt like to have a

hole in your chest, and then have that hole

filled, and then have it ripped back open.

Rachel would not have wanted him to

give up and die. The thought floated across

his brain, lingered there. He grasped it,

clutched it to himself.

The idea settled his swirling thoughts.

He had to think. Keep thinking.

Xik wouldn’t have told him that for no

reason. He wasn’t the type to drop by for a

last-minute chuckle. Maybe he’d truly felt

bad.

Daniel frowned. More likely, he

considered Daniel too useful a tool to let go,

worth putting in a little extra effort. That

sounded more like him, and the Klide.

Willing to do what others weren’t to win the

war.

Apparently a little extra effort consisted

of grade-school platitudes. Daniel sighed

and fell back on the bed. What was the alien

trying to tell him?

He tried to push on his magic. It was

like grasping for the alarm clock in the

morning and finding only air. There was

nothing, not even a sense of anything. The

stone bracers were absolute.

He was out of options. He had no more

clever ideas.

A terrible feeling swept over him like a

storm. It was worse than the loss of his

magic, worse than the powerlessness of

imprisonment. It felt like a claw had pierced

his insides and was trying to twist him into a

knot. His stomach clenched up.

It had a voice.

Rachel is dead. It's all your fault.

"It's not my fault." Daniel said the words

aloud, as if trying to convince himself that

the words didn't sound hollow. "The Vorid

did this. They're the ones that -"

You made the contract. You struck the

blow. You killed Rachel.

He recognized the voice. It was his own

voice, the black and uncompromising logic

of a creature named guilt.

Daniel rose from the bed. He stood in

the center of the room. He began to pace. His

mind made circles out of his thoughts, and

his feet wound circles on the floor.

He paced faster. His hands clenched.

His lips drew back over his teeth, and his

teeth ground together so hard it hurt.

He screamed, and kicked at the desk

chair. It slammed against the desk. He kicked

it again, and again, until one of the legs was

torn away in a spray of splinters.

He stepped on the seat, intending to

smash it, but it rocked under his foot, sending

him off-balance. With his hands stuck in his

bracers, he couldn't catch himself. He

toppled to the carpet.

He laid there in a ball, tucked his knees

in, and cried.

****

The chamber under the house was

ominous in the vein of a dark thundercloud. It

was an amphitheater of red seats circling a

cold stage. The light was dim.

The chairs were empty but for Eleanor

and Rothschild; an old Asian guy Daniel

assumed was one of the Wu; a decrepit crone

that had to be the Witch; and finally,

douchebag extraordinaire, Matthew Aiken.

The dirty son of a bitch had a smug smile

plastered all over his face. Daniel never

liked him, but he hadn’t wanted to kill him

until right then.

Daniel was seated on a tiny wood chair

in front of the powerful gathering. His guards

backed away to the aisles that ran the edges

of the seats.

There was a long moment of silence.

Daniel started tapping his foot on the floor. If

he was going to Hell, he’d do it after

antagonizing the hell out of them.

"Daniel Fitzgerald," Rothschild said.

"You have been found guilty of the crime of

using vampiric enchantments to strengthen

your magical powers. This crime is

punishable by exile to Hell. Do you have

anything to say in your defense?"

"I defended myself before," Daniel said.

"I only did it to protect my family. Then I

decided I should protect other people, too. I

turned myself in willingly, believing that

would get me a little leeway. I guess that

was too much to expect?"

"Flippancy won’t help your argument."

Daniel flipped him the bird.

Rothschild ignored the gesture. "As far

as protecting your family goes—I empathize,

but this doesn’t justify your actions. A poor

man might struggle to feed his family, but that