The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2) (13 page)

“She lashed out. I fell, and must have hit my head.”
There was no reading Holly Diem’s comely features. “When I woke up, she was
gone. And Constance…poor Constance.” Holly’s lip trembled, and tears beaded at
the corner of her eyes. “Madeleine took Constance’s head. Chopped it off at the
neck. I don’t know why. I don’t know why any of that had to happen.”

“It just seems to work that way, sometimes. Did you
ever see Madeleine again?”

“No. That was the last time.”

That face. Open and sincere, to a degree that strained
credulity. Again, there was no way to judge the truth of the matter.

“You said something about a rumor?”

“Yes.” Holly refreshed our tea, though mine hardly
needed it. “I heard something about Madeleine. Several things, really. Starting
a few months ago. The rumors connected her to certain…events. In various parts
of the City.”

“That is frustratingly vague. Try again, Holly.”

She sighed as if I were putting her on.

“According to rumor, Madeleine has returned to the
Nameless City; for what reason, no one knows.”

“I wish you had told me this back at the hospital.”

“Rumors tend to multiply in the Nameless City,” Holly
said lazily. “You can’t take them too seriously. Nothing is real, after all,
and…”

“I know, I know. What was Sumire doing for you, when
she was attacked?”

“Looking into the truth of another rumor. There were
several attacks before Sumire – young girls, accosted and dismembered. In each
previous incident, however, the severed limbs were found scattered about the
city, days later, as if discarded.”

“Huh.” I tried to remember if I had seen anything in
the paper. Then I tried to remember if we got a paper, or if there even was a
newspaper to get. I came up blank on all accounts. “Sounds bad. How many?”

“Three, before Sumire.”

“You were using Sumire as bait?”

“She agreed to every detail,” Holly insisted, in response
to accusation I had not actually delivered. “I had no reason to believe that
Sumire would encounter anything capable of doing her harm.”

“I’m not sure I agree. You believe in her supposed
invulnerability enough to put her in harm’s way?”

“As I recall,” Holly observed coldly, “you had very
little trouble trusting in Sumire’s invulnerability, when it suited your
purposes.”

It was more like reckless disregard, but it seemed
diplomatic not to mention that.

“Where did you send Sumire?”

“Iram, Prospect Hill. All of the previous incidents
occurred within a several block vicinity.”

“You must have had a reason to finger this location,
right? Proximity alone…”

“I did,” Holly confirmed, with a faraway look. “You
see, a long time ago, a building nearby belonged to my sister Constance.”

I just stared, dumbfounded. Holly didn’t seem to mind.

“Here,” she said, taking a notepad and a pen from a
nearby basket. “Do you want me to write you out directions?”

***

I woke Yael up, judging by the pajamas that I could just make out through
the crack she opened her front door.

“Yes, Preston?”

“I have something for you to check out. I’d run it
down myself, but I can’t be in two places at once.”

“Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“I got some leads out of Holly, maybe. You know she
had – has – two sisters?”

The door shut smoothly, and then there was the rattle
of bolts and chains.

“I think you better come in,” Yael said, holding the
door open. “Behave yourself, okay?”

Her hair was in notable disarray. She wore flannel cat
print pajamas and slippers, an aerosol can within easy reach of her hand on the
kitchen table. Dunwich lazed between us, scooting away when I attempted to pet
him.

“Of course.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t wait till morning. Not
that I mind, as long as it’s important.” Yael covered her mouth to hide a yawn.
“What’s this about Holly’s sisters?”

I gave her the abbreviated version of Holly’s family
history.

“Sound like a story you heard recently?”

“Yes. From Elijah.”

“Yeah. I think someone tried to drop us a little hint,
there. Question is…”

“Why is Holly keeping secrets?” Curiosity kindled in
Yael’s eyes. “Or why does Elijah know those secrets?”

“Those are both good questions,” I allowed, having
only considered the first myself. “I think maybe I have an idea about where to
find answers.”

“Really? That’s great! What are you thinking?”

“We need to get some addresses from Josh, and then…”

I stopped when I noticed her expression of open
distaste.

“Ew.” I had forgotten the bad impression Josh made
on…pretty much every woman at the Estates, honestly. “Do we have to?”

“Sorry.” I didn’t really blame her. “Holly gave me one
address, so I’m guessing she doesn’t want us looking at the other. I have no
idea how we find that info without his help.”

“Why would he help?”

It was a good question. One I had considered myself.

“Believe it or not, he likes Sumire. If he thinks
it’ll lead to whoever attacked Sumire, he’ll help.”

Probably. If not, I could always resort to threats. Or
worse.

Yael wrinkled her nose.

“Are you sure he won’t just go tell Holly?”

“Yeah. Holly isn’t much fonder of Josh than you are,
and anyway…he’s afraid of me.”

“Oh.” She had to think about that. “Then it’s probably
okay.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I’ll get dressed,” she said, wiping sleep from her eyes.
“You wait outside.”

It took her only five minutes to change and ready,
which was impressive. We met no one on the stairs on the hallways on our way to
Josh’s place, which was good, because I couldn’t think of a good cover story.

I paused at his door before I knocked.

“Okay, I think it would be best…”

“No argument,” Yael said, gritting her teeth and
eyeing the door.

“…if I did the talking. Okay.”

The door opened on the third knock. I pushed my way in
before Josh could say anything, and Yael followed suit, much to his dismay. The
air was cold and pungent inside, and the detritus was everywhere. Yael stood
near the front door, back as rigid as a flagpole, and tried not to touch
anything. If not for social nicety, I got the feeling that she would have put her
mask on.

In her position, I might have done the same.

“Not again!” Josh hissed like an agitated snake, all
untrimmed fingernails, dirty hair, and a miasma of unfortunate personal odors.
He seemed to think I had violated some unspoken rule by bringing Yael along to
visit him, which was likely true. “It’s late, you know.”

“You were awake, Josh. You work all night, right? I
remember.”

“Good for you,” he snarled. “Why are you bothering
me?”

“I have work,” I explained innocently, wandering
through the kitchen, past stacks of discarded technical manuals and orange
prescription bottles. “Something I need to know.”

“No one ever teach you how to look something up on the
internet?”

“No.” I frowned and stopped close to where he sat at
the desk wedged in the corner. “Can you help us, Josh? I’ll pay.”

“Of course you will,” he snarled, snatching up his
laptop when I attempted to glance at what he was working on, and trotting over
to the other side of his acrid-smelling living room. “What do you want,
Preston?”

“You know our landlady, right? Holly Diem?” I followed
him to the living room, and circled slowly around the couch he had settled on,
while he clutched his laptop to his chest. Yael watched the scene without
comment. “As it turns out, she’s been keeping things from us, Josh.”

“From you, maybe,” he said, shaking blue pills from a
small envelope into the palm of his hand, and then dry swallowing. “She’s got
no secrets from me, okay?”

“Then you probably already know,” I said, clearing a
space on the chair across from him and sitting down, “that she has two
sisters.”

The length of the pause suggested that he did not.

“Since when?”

“Since they were born,” Yael muttered, crossing her
arms and looking away, “I imagine.”

“What did you say?” Josh’s voice quavered when he spoke
to Yael. “Did you just say something to me?”

“Of course not,” I said, leaning forward and tapping
the glass table between us with my forefinger. “Let’s get to business, shall
we?”

“Yeah,” Josh said, eyeing me warily. “What do you want
to know?”

“Two sisters,” I repeated. “I have one address. I need
another.”

“You have their particulars?” Josh asked hopefully,
snapping his laptop open. “This is gonna be expensive, by the way. If Holly
found out…”

“Josh.” I caught his eye, and held it. “She can’t find
out.”

“O-kay,” he stammered, tapping keys absently. “But if
she did, she’d be mad. I’d need a new place to stay.”

He didn’t say live, because he was a ghoul, like
Professor Dawes, but without the civility, charm, and good hygiene. He wasn’t
actually the worst guy in the world. He just needed to be handled properly.

“You wouldn’t,” I said, standing just a little too
close, “because I’ll be mad, too, Josh. So, let’s make sure she doesn’t find
out, okay?”

Dull as a cavity, an absence where there has always been
an absence. Measuring the hours until some kind of ending. A lexicon of
debasement and regression, unfathomable will and sundry manifestation.  

“I could have been asleep while you visited Josh, you know,” Yael
grumbled, yawning. “Next time, wake me up
after
you have the
information.”

“Didn’t think you’d believe me, secondhand.”

“I’m still not sure I believe you, but point taken.
What do you want to do now?”

“Holly practically invited me to go poke my head in
Constance’s old place in Iram, so that’s gotta be a trap.” I blew on my coffee
and considered it, squatting on a concrete block in the vacant parking lot of
the convenience store. “Checking to see if Elijah was working was a good idea,
by the way.”

“I was hungry.” Yael shrugged as she finished peeling
an orange. “You needed coffee. It just made sense.”

“Too bad we couldn’t talk to him. Some of his
stories…”

“I know.” She offered me a section of orange, and then
swallowed it whole when I refused. “Do you think he was warning us?”

“Maybe.” I doubted it. “Hard to say.”

“Yeah. So…”

“I wanna move on both addresses, tonight.” Dunwich
watched me from a meter away, tail twitching, eyes bright and quick. “Before
Holly or anyone else realizes we know.”

“Do you think we can make it to both before the
morning?” She glanced at her phone. “We only have a few hours…”

“No.” I shook my head as if reluctant, but I had
planned it this way. “There’s not enough time. We have to split up.”

“That sounds like a bad idea.”

“You have a better one?”

“I do, actually.” Yael finished her orange, and tossed
the peel in a nearby can. “I can contact Snowball. We can ask Ulthar to look
into one, while we check the other.”

“Assuming that Ulthar values their relationship with
you more than the one they have with Holly. Are you sure they do?”

Her doubt, however brief, was unmistakable.

“Yes.” She didn’t sound sure. “I am.”

“Well, I’m not. We do this, Yael. The two – three – of
us. Like we agreed. Okay?”

It wasn’t much of an argument, but she wasn’t really
in the mood to argue.

“Fine. Which address do you want?”

“One is almost certainly a trap,” I said, thinking
aloud. “The other is a complete unknown.”

“Pick your poison, I suppose.”

I pretended to think it over, for form’s sake.

“I may as well go where I’m wanted,” I grumbled. “I’ll
go to Iram, and walk right into whatever Holly has in mind for me. You go down
by the water, and take a look at Madeleine’s old digs. Sound good?”

“Not really,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Let’s do
it regardless.”

***

The trains were densely crowded despite the hour, the air in the cars
humid and wet-dog scented. I switched trains several times, treating any
potential tails to a stressful night on the town. It took an extra hour, but I
used the time wisely, stewing and fretting over Holly’s story, and the tenuous
lead I extracted from it.

After a while, everything starts feeling like a trap.

That didn’t leave me with many options, but I
struggled with it anyway, to distract myself from the rattle of the train’s
wheels on uneven tracks.

Holly’s agenda was obscure. Sumire was working for her
when she was attacked, apparently trying to draw out her little sister,
Madeleine, who had returned to the Nameless City, for uncertain reasons. I
worked for Holly with some regularity, and knew that violence was a potential
occupational hazard. I had a few bad days, due to involvement in Holly’s
affairs, and I’d imagine Sumire had as well. Holly claimed that Sumire knew the
risks, but I had my doubts. When I worked for Holly, she rarely offered
explanations.

The other thing…

Madeleine Diem. She was awfully convenient. It
bothered me that Holly hadn’t mentioned any of this when speculation ran
rampant as to potential suspects. It seemed like Holly’s potentially homicidal
younger sister should have come up in conversation earlier, given what Sumire
was looking for when she was attacked – not to mention the similarities between
the earlier incidents and Sumire’s assault. It fit together so neatly, how
could it not occur to Holly to mention it?

Unless she invented it later.

I should have quizzed Sumire on what Holly had told
her about her job, but I hadn’t actually figured out how to address her, in
light of what had happened. For all I knew, Sumire blamed me for the loss of
her arm. Even she might get angry over something like that.

The direct route was a kind of cowardice. I didn’t
want to question Sumire, or confront Holly, or risk involving April’s superior
intellect, so I charged blindly into a likely trap – or at the very least, a
waste of time – because it was the
least
frightening option.

That probably says something about the intimidating
nature of the women in my life. Or something about me. Damned if I know.

The train rattled into the station at Iram. My mind
ached with possibilities.

The prosperous streets of Iram were thinly populated
with shoppers braving the cold rain that battered the hood of my jacket. The
night shift was in full swing, the ghastly moon leered down in suffocating
proximity, and my breath turned to fog in the cold air. The rain leaked between
my gloves and the sleeves of my jacket, soaking the fabric of the interior and
chilling my fingers. It was, all things considered, a miserable night.

Holly provided me with her typically exact directions,
along with a hand drawn map of the area to illustrate the bewildering twists
and turns typical of the streets of the Nameless City, as if deliberately designed
to madden the pedestrian. I sincerely pitied whomever had to deliver the mail.

I passed several of Iram’s famous pillars; tens of
meters of whitewashed ceramic, baked in primordial kilns centuries before the
arrival of humanity, tapering near the top to provide a narrow circular
platform. A few featured winding bamboo staircases grafted to the sides,
offering the adventurous the opportunity to take in the view from the top of
one of the pillars. The signs were in an unfamiliar Eastern script, a squat and
simplified kanji that I found oddly welcoming. Some of my fellow pedestrians
hurrying home in the rain appeared to be servants, wrapped in the colors of
their households, while the rest were tradespeople and masked, anonymous
nobles.

Here and there, on the corners, I passed uniformed
officers of the Rail Police, who typically limited their operations to the
Black Trains and the stations they served. I had never actually seen one of
them on the streets of the Nameless City, a weather-beaten overcoat protecting
the tassels and flair of his elaborate dress uniform, and caught myself staring
as I passed the first of them. He offered me a suspicious look and a sneer,
whispering into his antiquated handheld radio, but made no move to follow me.

My paranoia ratcheted up to unprecedented levels, I
slunk through the wet streets of Iram, doing my best impression of a ghost.

Holly’s elegant cursive was blotched by the rain, and
I nearly missed the turn on Carver Heights. Rain and darkness obscured the
sign, the street little more than an alley wedged between a gleaming office
tower and an expensive residential hotel. The asphalt quickly and improbably
gave way to cobblestone, the smooth contours of the stones slick with rainwater.
The alley widened as I followed it toward the outskirts of Iram, massive
commercial towers slowly giving way to smaller apartments, and eventually,
private residences.

Carver Heights followed a straight course for a
kilometer and more, before reaching the base of Prospect Hill, which towers
over the last of Iram’s pillars, on the eastern edge of the city. The trains do
not reach this neighborhood, which is exactly the way the wealthy residents
prefer it. Gated communities clung to the skirts of Prospect Hill, turning
fenced and alarmed backs on the remainder of the city, while Carver Heights narrowed
and began the long climb to the crest of the hill.

The homes on Prospect Hill were ancient even by the
standards of the Nameless City, where more than a century is required to be
considered noteworthy, and resplendent with obvious wealth. The architectural
was done in a style reminiscent of a Germanic version of Colonial, with
half-timber construction and aging masonry. On the western side of the street,
the residences were bank houses, snugged into the hillside to moderate
temperature and for protection from the elements. The road climbed steadily,
offering spectacular views of the city, the black waters of the ocean, the dry
mountains to the north, and the empty vistas of the Waste to the east, lapping
at the crumbling edges of the Nameless City’s furthest suburbs. I had to stop
several times, my abdominal muscles cramping around the pair of stab wounds.

The homes were, by and large, inhabited and intact,
though most could have done with paint and minor repair. There were few lights
on and no one on the street, but that was more a product of the hour than a
lack of residents. The small gardens and courtyards lining the road had
suffered from decades of neglect. A few trees had thrived despite the
conditions, towering above two-story buildings, swollen trunks bursting from
the confines of their allotted planters and encroaching on foundations, untrimmed
branches scraping walls and blocking rain gutters.

As I walked, the rain let up a bit, becoming more of a
heavy mist or a light drizzle, depending on the moment. The droplets swirling
in the halo of the streetlights would have been pretty, had my fingers and toes
not been so numb. My throat was raw from the cold air, and I wished I had
accepted Yael’s offer of a scarf. The homes grew larger the higher up the hill
I went, beginning with stately old manors, followed by small-scale mansions.
Decorative masonry gates were accented with metalwork flourishes and dormant
gas lanterns.

The moonlit view of the immense bay the Nameless City
sat upon was startling – choppy waters reflecting the halogen lamps of the
dock; blinking red lights indicating the positions of container ships and more
exotic vessels; the unhealthy green glow from the Nameless City’s underwater
sibling, pallid and extraordinary towers surfacing occasionally in the valleys
between waves. The cobblestones were fractured and loose from wear and erosion,
and I had to go slowly to avoid rolling an ankle.

The road surface was skewed by years of run-off, the
slope barren excepting a few hardy shrubs and clumps of feathered grass. I had
no trouble picking out the strange forms of the antique wind vanes that crowned
the majority of the homes in the brilliant light of the moon. Depictions of the
undersea city were rendered in massive stain glass windows, peculiar symbols
and signs engraved in the masonry and ironwork.

The summit of the hill bobbed in and out of sight,
between Widow’s Walks and tin chimneys. Somewhere nearby, the dull tolling of
leaden bells, reminding me of the lateness of the hour. I was surprised to hear
footsteps on the fractured cobblestones, and readied myself for potential trouble.

I relaxed as soon as I made out the figure approaching
me. Elijah Pickman maintained an aloof demeanor regardless of the circumstance,
but I prefer to think he felt the same way. Elijah was heading downhill, and
making great time despite the darkness and the moderately treacherous
conditions.

“Hello, Elijah!” I offered him what I hoped was
reassuring nod. I wouldn’t want to bump into me unexpectedly and late at night,
after all. “Terrible weather, huh?”

He gave me a quizzical look, as if I were the suspicious
character.

“Terrible indeed, Mr. Tauschen.”

“Didn’t expect to meet anyone up here, especially not
at this hour. Prospect Hill is pretty out of the way…”

“I live here, Mr. Tauschen,” Elijah explained evenly.
“I rent rooms at a house just a bit up the hill.”

“That’s pretty inconvenient,” I pointed out. “Why do
you live so far from school?”

“The adjoining neighborhoods are…not to my taste.” He
looked a little green, actually, as if maybe he was sick to his stomach, or
something. “My family has been in the Nameless City for some time, Mr.
Tauschen. We have deep roots, here. This area is…familiar.”

I nodded, even though it didn’t feel much that way to
me.

Then again, I live in the Empty District, in a witch’s
house, surrounded by abandoned buildings.

“I see.”

“What are you doing here, Mr. Tauschen?”

Was there a hint of accusation? The glare of the moon
off his round glasses made it difficult to study his queasy face.

“Running an errand,” I said, with a grin that could
have meant anything. “For Holly.”

“I see.”

He frowned and inclined his head, clearly hinting that
I should explain myself more fully. I waited and said nothing, letting the
silence do its work.