Dopplegangster (46 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Dopplegangster
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I froze when I heard him go
splat.
“Max? Max!”
He said faintly, “The stairs end here.”
I carefully climbed the remaining couple of steps, then felt around in the darkness. I found Max’s arm and helped him rise. Nelli shoved past me, then she stumbled a few feet later, too. As I made my way across the uneven floor, my heel caught on a broken tile.
“We’re in the choir gallery,” I said. “Be careful. The floor is need of repair.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.” Max still sounded winded. “We must find a means of illumination!”
I moved through the darkness with my hands up, palms outward, hoping to find a wall and then to move along it in search of a light switch. Somewhere below us, there was a terrible clatter of pews and some shouting. I glanced over my shoulder and saw, in the church below us, the flashlight flying through the dark. It went out when it hit the floor, leaving the church in complete darkness again. So Lucky had at least gotten the flashlight away from the doppelgangster.
An ear-splitting shriek of organ music made me jump out of my skin. Nelli barked. I bumped into something tall and hard, but not very stable. It fell over with a crash.
As the jarring wail of the organ faded, Max said, “I do apologize.”
“Ow.” Realizing what I must have bumped into, I bent over and felt it. “Max, I’ve found a candelabra.” I hauled it upright and felt my way along its branches. “I think it’s got—
yes!
Candles!”
“Excellent!” Max stumbled over to the sound of my voice. He took one of the thick candles between his hands, chanted in another language for about thirty seconds, and then blew.
Nothing happened.
“I, uh . . . I’m feeling rather stressed and distracted.” He sounded embarrassed.
“It’s all right. Don’t rush.” My heart was pounding. “Take your time.”
I flinched when I heard the crash of something heavy downstairs.
Max tried again and this time it worked. He blew a mystical flame onto the wick of the candle in his hands. It flickered uncertainly for a moment, then stabilized and burned steadily. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to this point of light. Max used the burning candle to light the others. Then we lifted the candelabra and brought it closer to the balcony railing. We looked out over the dark church, trying to see what was happening.
In the dim glow cast by the burning candles on the scene below us, it was easy to tell Lucky apart from his doppelgangster since he was the one with the weirdly painted face. That’s how I knew he was the one lying on the floor, while his perfect double was the one standing over him with a knife.
“Lucky!”
I screamed.
Lucky twisted and drove his heel into the doppelgangster’s knee. It cried out and fell sideways, rolling away. The creature retained its grip on the knife.
Lucky looked up at the choir gallery and shouted, “I got this covered! Go stop the priest!”
Max and I each held a burning candle. I asked, “Where should we look first?”
“Normally, I’d say the crypt. But that room obviously gets too much use in this church to be a sorcerer’s secret lair.”
“And all those pink bunny costumes . . .” I shook my head. “It just doesn’t say ‘lair’ to me.”
Deciding where to look first became easy when we heard a woman’s piercing scream.
It came from somewhere beyond the east side of the choir gallery. Max, Nelli, and I dashed toward the door there. It was locked. Max gathered his focus and made a circular gesture with his arms, then a flicking motion with his wrists, as he spoke in rhythmic Latin. A moment later, the lock clicked, the doorknob turned, and the door opened to let us through. On the other side of it was a dark hallway. There was a light switch right next to the door. I flipped it. Nothing happened.
“He must have killed the lights for the whole building,” I said.
“He knows the church intimately. We’re strangers here. He counted on this to disorient us.”
The hallway was eerie in the candlelight, but probably ordinary by day. This part of the church didn’t seem to be in use. The floor sagged, the paint was chipped, and the overhead lights looked older than Lucky. There were a number of doors, both to our right and our left. They were all closed. I turned to my right and tried the first door I came to. It was locked.
“These must be the old dormitory rooms,” I said, recalling the secretary’s report from today’s meeting. “I don’t think anyone comes up here.”
“No one but our quarry,” Max murmured.
Nelli’s ear pricked alertly and she trotted to the very end of the hall. She stopped when she reached a door that had, I noticed, shiny new hinges and a new lock instead of the rusting, decades-old hardware that was on the other doors up here. She started growling.
We approached the door. I could hear voices on the other side of it. One of the voices, which obviously belonged to a woman, was agitated and angry. The other voice was lower. Possibly a man. It sounded as if he was chanting.
Both voices ceased abruptly when Nelli scratched at the door, growling louder, wholly focused on whatever was on the other side of it.
Max’s eyes met mine in the dim light of our flickering candles. “It’s time to confront our adversary.”
My heartbeat was deafening. I realized I was breathing like a runner. I swallowed and nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Max put his hand on the doorknob and turned it.
“Don’t move,”
said a male voice.
In the dark hallway behind us, I heard the sound, familiar to me from many episodes of
Crime and Punishment
, of someone cocking a semiautomatic gun to fire it.
On the other side of the door, the woman screamed again.
24
 
M
ax and I turned our heads to look over our shoulders at the newcomer. He was a shadowy figure at the other end of the hall.
“Jesus, what the fuck is that on your faces?” he said.
Max and I looked at each other. The elaborate face paint, I had to admit, gave us a rather disturbing appearance, particularly in this dim, flickering light.
Soft footsteps brought the man closer to us, into the pool of the golden glow cast by our candles. My gaze went first to the subtly gleaming barrel of the gun, then to the face of the killer pointing it at us.
“Buonarotti,” I said without surprise. “Wonderful.”
“Holy shit!
You?
” He frowned at me. “Which one
are
you?”
Nelli ignored Buonarotti and continued scratching at the door and growling.
I was about to suggest Max turn the gangster’s gun into a winged bat. But then the door Nelli was pawing suddenly cracked open. Startled, I looked Max. I had a feeling, from the expression of concentration on his face, that he was the one causing it to open.
I glanced at Buonarotti. He looked uncertain, his gaze shifting from me to the door then back again. Then he saw Nelli move, and he pointed his weapon at her.
Without thinking, I stepped sideways to shield the dog.
“I’ll blow you away, bitch!” Buonarotti warned.
I wasn’t sure which one of us he was talking to.
Nelli took three fast steps into the room, then froze, her hair standing on end, her body stiff with surprise.
Directly in front of us was an elaborate altar that dominated an entire wall of the sparsely furnished room. A dozen or so candles illuminated it. The altar was decorated with a strange assortment of devotional objects, including piles of animal bones, three human skulls, numerous mirrors that were arranged to face other mirrors, symbols that were painted in what I had a feeling was blood, a collection of items that appeared to be the harvest of Father Gabriel’s thieving habits, and several large terra cotta urns full of soil and pebbles. There were feathers all over the place. There was also a butcher’s block, a bloody hand ax, and a headless, still-twitching chicken corpse.
Father Gabriel was kneeling before the altar, chanting. He held his arms high and spread wide. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hands and forearms were bathed in blood. If he was aware of our presence, he evidently chose to ignore it.
He was also ignoring the other inhabitant of the room. It was her presence, rather than the weird altar or dark ritual, that had caused Nelli to freeze. I felt frozen, too.
Sitting tied to a chair, wearing a low-cut black dress with a beaded bodice and a matching transparent wrap, was . . .
me
.
Or rather my perfect double.
It had been berating Father Gabriel when the door opened. Now it was staring at me in shock.
“Oh, my God!” I said.
That’s
who we had heard screaming?
The priest continued chanting. Nelli turned her head to look at me, then whined. I felt Buonarotti poke me in the back with his gun.
“Oh, my God!” I repeated, staring at myself in horror, and seeing myself stare back at me with an equal level of appalled shock. “Max!”
“I see it,” he said.
“What
is
that on your faces?” my stunned duplicate asked.
“Inside,” Buonarotti said, poking me harder with the gun.
“What? No!”
“
Inside
, bitch,” Buonarotti ordered.
Nelli turned and started snarling at him.
Afraid the mobster would kill the dog, I said firmly, “
I’ll
deal with this, Nelli.”
“Max!” my doppelgangster shouted. “Max! Do something!”
The priest’s chanting grew louder, as if trying to drown us all out.
My doppelgangster said to Father Gabriel, “And you! Will you shut
up
, for God’s sake?”
“I am
not
going into that revolting room with that disgusting altar,” I said to Buonarotti, “and that demented priest and a fresh chicken corpse and that . . . that . . . that
thing
tied to the chair!”
“Oh, for the love of God!” the priest blurted out, giving up on his chanting. “I can’t do this with
both
of them talking!”
Buonarotti said, “Father, do you see this? What do I do? Which one is real?”
The priest rose to his feet and turned around to face us. Apart from the blood on his arms, his appearance looked so normal I felt disoriented. He was well-groomed and wearing his usual clerical suit. I had expected him to look evil and insane. Instead, he looked ordinary—apart from the blood—and exasperated.
As our adversary faced us, Nelli shifted her weight and recommenced growling.
The priest’s expression changed from exasperation to alarm. He took a step back. “Michael?”
Buonarotti shoved me aside so he could shoot Nelli. I flung my full weight against him, unbalancing him. We fell against the doorway together and struggled. I heard Nelli barking. Buonarotti backhanded me across the face. I spun around, staggered into the room, and fell down. I heard Max shout something in another language.
My doppelgangster cried, “Nelli! Watch out!”
I looked up to see Max pointing at Buonarotti’s gun. His expression was disconcerted. It was still a gun, it was still in Buonarotti’s hand, and it looked fully functional. Max’s gaze flew to the priest. I looked at Gabriel, too. He was holding the bloodied hand ax and eyeing Nelli. She was crouched down, snarling, and looking for an opening to attack him.
“What happened?” my doppelgangster said, looking at Max and then at the gun which was now pointed at him.
“
Nelli!
No! Don’t!” I was winded from my fall. My voice was weak. The priest looked more scared than menacing. But the ax looked deadly. And since it was covered in chicken blood, he evidently didn’t balk at killing animals with his own two hands, even if he was fastidious about whacking people.
“Nelli,” my doppelgangster said, attempting to sound calm. “Come here.
Nelli
.”
The familiar starting shaking with confusion and nerves. She looked at me and made distressed sounds in her throat.
“Call off your dog!” Gabriel ordered.
“Don’t say ‘dog,’ ” Max said tersely, poised to jump Buonarotti if the gangster moved the gun off him to shoot Nelli.
“Call it off!”
“Nelli,” Max said. “Down.”
With obvious reluctance, Nelli backed away slowly from the ax-wielding priest. Now we were spread out well enough that Buonarotti couldn’t cover us all with the gun. We needed to keep it that way.
Still holding the ax, Father Gabriel looked at Max’s painted face, then mine, then Nelli’s. He frowned thoughtfully. “Interesting solution. But not one, I think, that will catch on among wiseguys.”
Max look at the gun again. “You anticipated me.”
“Transformations? Of course.” The priest added, as if this were a great compliment, “You’re not just a crazy old man.”

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