Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham (23 page)

T
he Golden Years was located on the corner of Pearl and Hag, and, from the outside, resembled a Gilded Age hotel more than a nursing home. A twenty-foot-tall marble statue of a hooded and berobed figure leaning on a staff in its left hand while holding aloft an hourglass in its right stood in the center of the spacious lobby. At its foot was a reception station, manned by various Golgothamites in nurse’s whites.

I glanced around the handsomely appointed lobby and noticed that most of the older people seemed to be Kymeran, their once-vibrantly colored hair now faded to pastel. A large knot of them where gathered about the flat-screen TV hanging over the fireplace, watching
Wheel of Fortune
, while smaller clusters were scattered about reading books, talking among themselves, or playing board games like Parcheesi and the Game of Thirty. As we approached the front desk, several of them stopped what they were doing to watch us, with expectant looks on their faces, only to return to their pastimes once they realized we weren’t family members. But I also saw flickers of confusion, fear, and mistrust in some eyes as well, and I wondered if a human had ever set foot inside the facility before.

“Yes, may I help you?” the cyclopean receptionist asked, rising from her seat to greet us. Like most of the cyclopes living in Golgotham, she stood nearly seven feet tall and was built like a linebacker. A name tag affixed to her blouse identified her as Polyphema.

“We’re looking for a certain patient who’s supposed to be here—”

“We don’t have patients here at Golden Years, Serenity,” she replied. “We have residents. But I should be able to help you locate who you’re looking for. May I have the resident’s name and your relation to them?”

“Her name is Nina, and she’s my aunt,” Hexe explained. “She was placed here by her husband, my uncle, thirty-five years ago.”

The receptionist blinked her solitary eye, revealing a preference for dusky purple eye shadow, and typed the information into her desktop computer. “Ah, yes. She’s one of our Perpetual Care residents in the Eternal Rest ward. Please follow me, Serenity.”

As we followed Polyphema through the lobby toward the elevators, we were approached by a Kymeran nurse pushing a very old warlock in a wheelchair. Although he was bald as an egg, he had a long, flowing pale green beard and bristling brows to match. His hands were encased in what looked like a cross between children’s snow mittens and boxing gloves that were laced tightly shut. As the old warlock was rolled past us, he turned his head to stare at Hexe with glaucoma-clouded eyes the color of mutton jade and said something in Kymeran, his voice a rasping croak.

“This place reminds me of my grandfather’s last days,” Hexe muttered to me under his breath as we waited for an elevator to arrive. “He succumbed to the gazing sickness toward the end—it’s not unlike what your people call Alzheimer’s. He became unstuck in time, unaware of when and where he was—we had to bind his hands to keep him from casting spells against threats that didn’t exist. His mind was gone, but the magic was still there. . . .”

“The old man—what did he say to you?” I asked.

“‘My king,’” he replied grimly.

•   •   •

The Eternal Rest ward was located on the sublevel of the facility. As the elevator doors opened we were greeted by the sight of a scarlet-haired Kymeran dressed in orderly’s whites with his feet up on his desk, reading a Louis L’Amour paperback. Around his neck hung a large, old-fashioned key, like the ones used to unlock treasure chests.

“Sorry, Nurse Polyphema,” he said as he awkwardly righted himself.

“As well you should be, Hark,” she replied frostily. “I have two visitors for the Eternal Rest ward. I need the manifest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the orderly said meekly as he removed the key from about his neck and handed her the clipboard from his desk.

At the end of the hallway was a large, featureless metal door. Upon the orderly unlocking it, the door swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges, revealing absolute darkness beyond its threshold. The orderly then flipped the light switch next to the door and rows of fluorescent lights flickered to life, illuminating a vast chamber filled with row upon row of glass caskets, all of them occupied.

I stared in stunned horror at the various figures in repose. There were men, women, and even children from all the various races that comprised the citizenry of Golgotham, as well as humans, dressed in everything from pantaloons and knee-hose to the latest in modern fashion. I noticed that while some of them had long beards, hair, and fingernails, others were neatly coifed and manicured. Seeing the look on my face, Hexe took my hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“A-are they dead?” I whispered.

“Yes—and no,” Nurse Polyphema replied. “All the residents in the Eternal Rest ward have been placed under a sleeping spell, balanced forever between life and death. They neither age nor decay, but instead exist in a perpetual state of suspended animation. However, their hair and nails
do
continue to grow. Those whose loved ones have paid for perpetual care are groomed by our staff every six weeks, as you can see. While most of the residents in this ward were cursed, the others were dying, and put to sleep by their loved ones in order to keep them from breathing their last breath.”

“Why would someone want to do that to someone they loved?” I frowned.

“Some simply have a hard time letting go, especially if the sleeper was taken from them too soon,” the cyclops replied, gesturing to a nearby casket that contained the sleeping form of a small Kymeran boy still dressed in knee socks and a sailor suit. “Many lift the spell when they, themselves, are close to death, so that they and their loved one will pass on at the same time.”

“That’s the saddest and sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, forcing down the lump rising in my throat.

Nurse Polyphema glanced down at the clipboard she was carrying. “According to the manifest, Madam Nina should be on this aisle. Number two forty-seven . . .”

Hexe stepped forward and peered down through the glass lid of the casket at the sleeping form of a middle-aged Kymeran woman dressed in clothes from the late seventies.

“That’s not Nina,” he said, pointing to the sleeper’s green hair.

Polyphema’s single eye widened in surprise. “That’s Dyad! She’s one of our staff—or, rather, she
was
. She was the groomer for the perpetual care residents. She walked off the job without giving notice a couple months ago. Never even came to pick up her last check.”

“Is it possible Nina somehow revived while Dyad was grooming her?” I asked.

Hexe shook his head. “From all accounts, Nina was brain-dead. She was nothing more than an empty husk. My uncle put her under a sleeping spell before her heart stopped beating. Besides, even if she
did
somehow manage to revive, why would she place the groomer under a spell and exchange places with her?”

“Well,
someone
managed to revive her,” I replied. “The question is
who
and
why
?”

•   •   •

Upon arriving back home, we were greeted at the door by Clarence, adorned in one of his Hawaiian shirts. “Welcome back home, Master Hexe, Miss Timmy. I trust you both are feeling better?”

“You don’t
have
to be a butler anymore, Clarence,” I pointed out. “You’re retired, remember?”

“Yes, but I feel somewhat at a loss, otherwise. It’s going to take me some time to get used to the idea. Please indulge an old man while he adjusts, if you will.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” I said as I gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, Miss Timmy.”

“‘Miss Timmy’?” Hexe chuckled, raising his eyebrow.

“It’s a long story,” I sighed.

“By the way, Master Hexe,” Clarence said, “a young gentleman by the name of Bartho stopped by earlier with a package for you. I placed it on your desk. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish polishing the silver.”

“You know, I could get really used to having a butler,” Hexe said with a laugh. “Clarence is nowhere near as snarky as Scratch.”

“I heard that,” the familiar announced as he emerged from the shadows. “How are you doing, boss?”

“You tell me,” Hexe said, taking the stump of his right wrist from its hiding place in his pocket.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, boss—but you’re better off without it,” Scratch said matter-of-factly.

“I realize that now, old friend,” Hexe sighed. “All my life I’ve favored my right hand; but, in the end, it was my left hand that remained loyal to me. But the question is—what do I do
now
?”

Suddenly my dream from the night before flashed before my mind’s eye and I remembered the words spoken by Mr. Manto’s dream avatar. “Last night—before everything went nuts—I had a dream. Except it was more like a vision. I should have mentioned it earlier, but with all the crazy shit that’s been going on, I pushed it to the back burner.

“In my dream I was in a temple overlooking a strange city—I think it was in Kymera, because I could see dragons flying overhead. Mr. Manto was there, except he
wasn’t
Mr. Manto, but something called a Dragon Oracle. . . .”

“Did he say anything to you in your dream?” Hexe asked intently.

“Yes. He said ‘the hand is in the heart.’ I don’t know what it means, but it must mean
something
because I can remember it. Mr. Manto says that prophecy can only truly be heard and understood when the time is right.”

A pensive look crossed Hexe’s face.
“The hand is in the heart . . .”
I couldn’t tell if he was speaking to me or simply talking out loud. Suddenly he broke into a smile and hurried down the hallway. His office was pretty much as he’d left it the night before. “Now that the gauntlet is gone, I’m thinking faster and clearer than I have in weeks,” he said excitedly as he bent to gather up the books strewn across the floor. “It’s as if scales have fallen from my eyes. ‘The hand is in the heart.’ Of
course
it is!”

As he plopped the stack of books down onto his desk, he accidentally knocked a thick manila envelope onto the floor, spilling forth a number of full-color eight by ten photographs.

“This must be the package Bartho dropped off earlier,” I said as I bent to retrieve the pictures. What at first looked like nothing but photos of people going about their daily business on the streets of Manhattan, on closer inspection revealed semitransparent, phantomlike figures, sometimes in the background, or occasionally in the foreground. Some of the wraiths were little more than blurs, but others were easily identifiable. There were Lenape Indians walking unseen among the stockbrokers of Wall Street; Colonial-era knickerbockers in tricorn hats and square-buckled shoes smoking long-stemmed clay pipes in the shadow of City Hall; women in hoopskirts, men in Victorian top hats and muttonchops, and flappers in cloche hats rubbing intangible elbows with the oblivious bike messengers, aspiring rap stars, and harried office workers thronging West Broadway. However, of all the ghostly images, there was only one that made my blood run cold.

“Look at this!” I said, holding out the picture to Hexe with a trembling hand. “Do you see anyone you know?”

He scowled at the photograph of Perdition Street, with its usual hectic mix of looky-loos and native Golgothamites going about their day-to-day business. His eyes widened as he spotted the image of Erys threading her way through the crowds. But, more important, was the spectral passenger she carried piggyback, his arms and legs wrapped tightly about her torso. Even when as substantial as morning fog, there was no mistaking the identity of Erys’ phantom rider.

“Esau,”
Hexe whispered.

A
fter finding the snapshot among Bartho’s prints, Hexe and I lost no time returning to his mother’s apartment. Amos ushered us into the sunken living room, where we found Lady Syra sipping a demitasse of civet coffee and listening to
Aladdin Sane
on the stereo.

“There can be no doubting it—that is my brother,” Lady Syra said grimly as she studied the photograph. “And that is, most definitely, his wife, Nina.”

“But isn’t he trapped in the Infernal Region?” I asked.

“Physically, yes,” she replied. “But his spirit is another matter entirely. It appears he has regained access to this world by taking possession of the perfect empty vessel.”

“I always thought Erys’ mannerisms were a bit stiff, but I just thought that was because she had a stick up her ass,” I said with a humorless laugh. “Now I realize she’s another one of Esau’s mindless meat puppets, like the Sons of Adam. It also explains why she kept giving me the stink eye. But why did he come back—? It can’t be easy for him to cross dimensions, even in spirit form.”

“Tate’s got a point,” Hexe agreed. “I know Uncle Esau despises me, but expending that kind of energy just to try to drive me to the Left Hand path seems kind of crazy, even for
him
. There’s
got
to be something
else
he’s trying to accomplish. But what?”

“If I know my brother, whatever it is will be operatic and apocalyptic.” Lady Syra scowled. “Not to mention extremely inconvenient.”

•   •   •

Upon leaving Lady Syra’s apartment, Hexe and I hailed a hansom. Normally, we would have walked home, but my back and feet were killing me and the idea of waddling six city blocks, the last two uphill, did not tantalize me in the least. However, as we reached Perdition, we were forced to come to a halt as the broad street was jammed with people waving picket signs.

“What’s the holdup?” Hexe asked the cabbie.

“There’s some kind of protest going on outside the bank,” the centaur replied. “It looks like Seamus O’Fae is involved.”

“We’ll get out here,” Hexe said, handing our driver a ten-dollar bill.

As I climbed down from the hansom, I could see Seamus, dressed in an impeccable emerald-green Armani suit, standing on the marble steps that led to the doors of First Midas, Golgotham’s only bank. The leprechaun chieftain was carrying a bullhorn, which he used to address the throng of angry protestors that now spilled out onto the street. One of the faces I recognized among the picketers belonged to Octavia.

“Good people of Golgotham!” Seamus shouted, his amplified voice ringing out over the noise of the crowd. “Are ye goin’ to stand by and let Mayor Lash sell ye out? Golden Egg Realty—a shell corporation owned by Hizzoner—is the company that sold Machen Arms to Ronald Chess, for over three million dollars! Chess then turned around and raised rent a
thousand
percent and threw hardworkin’ Golgothamites out of their homes and into the streets! I ask ye, my friends, does it sound like Mayor Lash has Golgotham’s best interests at heart—or his own?”

As the crowd waved their signs and shouted in angry agreement, the leprechaun strutted back and forth, nodding his coppery head in approval, like a banty rooster on patrol. He might come up only to my knee, but Seamus O’Fae radiated the kind of charisma you’d expect from a born politician and lived up to the nickname Little Big Man.

Just then the door to the bank opened and its president, Mayor Lash, stormed out onto the front steps, his face livid. “Damn you, O’Fae!” he shouted. “Take your rabble to Blarney’s!”

“What’s the matter, Mr. Mayor?” Seamus replied in a taunting voice. “Yer not afraid of answerin’ to yer constituents, are ye?”

Before Lash could respond, the crowd suddenly parted itself to allow Beadle Elok to approach. “Here now! What’s going on here?” he growled, calling for order by holding his staff of office aloft.

“It’s about time you got here!” Mayor Lash snapped disdainfully. “I demand that you arrest Seamus O’Fae for disturbing the peace and unlawful assembly!”

“It’s only unlawful if there’s no permit, Your Honor,” Elok reminded the mayor. The beadle then turned to address Seamus. “
Do
you have an assembly permit, Councilman?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” O’Fae replied as he handed the beadle a folded piece of parchment.

Elok unfolded the document and stared at it for a long moment while nodding his head.

“Well? Don’t just stand there—arrest him!” Mayor Lash demanded petulantly.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Your Honor,” Elok replied. “The GoBOO has granted Councilman O’Fae the right to assemble in protest against you.”

“That’s impossible!” Lash sputtered. “I never signed off on such a thing!”

“It didn’t require your signature to make it official, Your Honor, only the acting justicar’s—and there’s Lady Syra’s signature and seal on the bottom,” Elok explained, handing the parchment over to Lash for inspection.

“This is an outrage!” The mayor was by this point trembling like a furious tuning fork. “If you won’t clear this mob from my place of business, I’ll call in the PTU and have
them
handle the situation!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mayor,” said an all-too-familiar voice from the crowd.

The picketers began to murmur among themselves as Boss Marz stepped forward, flanked by his lieutenant, Gaza. His familiar, riding astride his shoulder, turned and flashed its fangs at the assembled protestors in an angry grin.

“What are
you
doing here, Marz?” Mayor Lash asked stonily.

“I merely wish to add my voice to those asking why you would betray your own kind to the numps—and in an election year, no less,” the crime lord replied with an unpleasant smile.

Lash’s face went from bright red to white as paper as he turned on his heel and hurried back up the stairs into the bank, his braided ponytail flapping along behind him like the tail on a kite.

“I commend your stance on gentrification, Councilman,” Boss Marz said, turning to address Seamus. “You can count on the Maladanti in the coming election.”

“I don’t need the likes of you stumpin’ for me, Marz,” Seamus replied sharply, scowling at the Maladanti like he was something he’d just scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, if I was you, Councilman,” Marz warned. “The Maladanti can be a powerful ally at the voting booths—or a dreadful enemy.”

“And with an ally like ye, who needs a foe, eh?” the leprechaun said, spitting on the ground for emphasis. “Go on with ye, Marz. I’ll sink or swim on me own.”

“Have it your way, little man,” the Maladanti snarled. “But don’t let it be said you weren’t given your chance.”

With that Boss Marz turned and headed back through the crowd, which recoiled en masse, as if he were a deadly serpent. As he scanned the picketers, his gaze fell upon Hexe and me, and a nasty grin spread across his face. Marz raised his right hand, as if in greeting, then slowly drew his left index finger across the wrist in a mock amputation.

•   •   •

Needless to say, neither one of us was in the best of moods after our latest brush with the Maladanti. In fact, we argued the entire way back to the house.

“I want you to go back uptown to your parents,” Hexe said insistently. “It’s not safe in Golgotham right now.”

“And what makes you think I’d be any safer up there?” I countered. “If Esau can make it all the way from the Infernal Region, crosstown traffic isn’t going to be much of a deterrent to him.”

“I just don’t want you and the baby to get mixed up in whatever batshit evil scheme my uncle has up his sleeve. And that doesn’t even factor in the Maladanti.”

“I get a funny feeling I’m on the hit list, no matter
what
we do. Your uncle seems to have a really creepy thing for me,” I said with a shudder. “I’m also pretty sure that part of Esau’s plan is to split us up.”

“I think the old chuffer can’t stand to see anyone happy,” he said sourly.

“Besides, I can’t find anyone either willing or qualified to deliver our baby outside Golgotham,” I pointed out.

“I still say it’s too dangerous,” Hexe insisted.

“You’re probably right. But I’m
still
not packing up and heading home to Mother. I might not be able to sling spells like you used to, but I do have
some
magic I can bring to the table.”

We were still arguing the matter as we entered the house, only to fall silent at the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Upon investigating, we found Mr. Manto sitting at the table next to Clarence, drinking tea.

“Aloysius!” Hexe exclaimed in surprise. “What are
you
doing upstairs?”

“I came to bear witness,” Mr. Manto replied. As he turned to smile at us, I could tell the old soothsayer was flying high on diviner’s sage again. “And also to spend some time in the company of this charming young fellow,” Mr. Manto leaned over and patted Clarence on the leg. Clarence’s cheeks turned pink, but he did not offer to remove the older man’s hand from his thigh, “as he is an excellent conversationalist and makes a damn fine cup of tea.”

“Bear witness to what?” I frowned.

Just as I finished the sentence I was gripped by a strong cramp in the middle of my back and upper abdomen that seemed to come out of nowhere. I gave a sudden gasp of pain and grabbed at the kitchen counter to steady myself. Suddenly Hexe was there, slipping his arm around me as he helped me to a chair.

“To that,” the oracle replied simply. “The dawn of the coming age.”

“Tate—are you all right?” Hexe asked anxiously.

“I’m scared the baby’s coming,” I groaned. “The doctor said I was farther along than I realized, but it’s
still
too soon. . . .”

“Not by Kymeran standards—our women normally carry a child for six months.”

“
Now
you tell me!” I grunted.

“Stay right here and let Aloysius and Clarence look after you—I’ll go upstairs and pack your overnight case, and then I’m taking you to the Temple of Nana.”

“The Temple of who—?”

“The Kymeran goddess of childbirth,” he explained as he hurried out of the kitchen. “Her priestesses are trained as midwives. Nearly every Kymeran child in Golgotham is born in her temple.”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Timmy?” Clarence asked solicitously.

“Yes, you can call my parents and let them know what’s going on.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?”

“My mother may be a massively insecure, social-climbing racist, but she
is
my mother and she
does
care about me, in her own weird, fucked-up way. Besides, you’re probably still advising my father over the phone as to which tie he should wear.”

“You know me too well, Miss Timmy.” Clarence’s smile disappeared as I grimaced in discomfort as yet another wave of pain radiated through my body. “There, there,” he said as he patted my hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

I looked past him to where Mr. Manto sat, still sipping his tea. “Is it?” I asked anxiously. The oracle did not answer, but instead simply smiled, his pupils so dilated they eclipsed the whites of his eyes.