Dark Metropolis (14 page)

Arabella shook her head and motioned a hand to Nan. “I must introduce you to someone.”

S
igi didn’t talk to Nan anymore. She curled up in the corner, occasionally staring out in a way Nan didn’t want to admit was unnerving. Nan sat and watched breakfast and dinner go by.

Minutes. Each so very, very slow. She would have been happy to work, just to escape Sigi’s slow decay.

No! Not happy. That was how they got you to accept, or even appreciate, the fate they forced upon you.

In the middle of the second night, she heard Sigi groan gently, rousing from sleep. Nan wasn’t sleeping. Her bones ached from the cold floor.

“Help…” Sigi’s voice scratched the darkness, and in another moment, it was her fingernails on Nan’s arm.

Nan jerked away and got to her feet. “What is it?”

“I remembered something, Nan. Nan,
hel
p
!” Her voice was a pained rasp. “Hold me, hold me, it’s so cold….”

Nan froze. This didn’t sound like Sigi anymore.

Sigi slumped to the floor, hugging herself. Nan could hear her more than see her, hear her fingers scratching at her clothes. “I’m starting to remember….I did it, I killed myself.” Her voice was high-pitched and choked at once. “I was so alone….I didn’t think it would really work….” She cried, “Now I’m
dea
d
!”

Nan shook Sigi’s shoulder. Her skin didn’t feel right; it was cold. “Sigi, please—it’s all right, I’m here. You’re here.”

“I need help….”

“What kind of help?”

“I don’t want to be dead, Nan, I don’t want to be dead!”

Nan rubbed Sigi’s back, trying to keep her from descending into complete hysteria. “You’re here. It’s okay.”

“You know that man…in the tunnels?” Sigi grabbed Nan’s shirt.

Nan’s heart was hammering. “Yes?”

“I won’t be like him. I won’t.”

“I know you won’t.”

Sigi let go. She got quiet again. But Nan could hear her breathing—it was labored and loud. Nan didn’t hear her inner music, and she didn’t sleep. She just waited.

It was some hours later that Sigi bit her.

N
an shoved away the face, her finger brushing Sigi’s eyeball—still soft and moist in contrast to her withering skin. “Sigi!”

“I’m sorry….”

“Don’t make me have to fight you. Please. You’re strong, Sigi, remember.”

“I forgot who you were.”

“What?” Nan grabbed the bars and got to her feet again. She felt dizzy and desperate for light. The whole world felt as if it were tilting, slowly. “Please. Remember.”

“I’m just so…” The voice trailed off and then flickered back in like a radio. “You smell like
life
, Nan. Like…honey and cinnamon…”

Nan heard Sigi moving—only it just wasn’t Sigi anymore. It could be Sigi again, but right now it was a terrifying thing, half-dead and hissing and hungry. Sigi was scrambling to her feet, not moving all that fast, but still Nan was trapped with her and she didn’t know what she could do. If she fought back, she could wound the thing that wasn’t Sigi but would be Sigi again.

“Please let me just…just…” Sigi said, and Nan imagined a hand coming at her in the dark.

Nan felt sick. She took out the knife and unfolded the blade with an audible click. “Don’t come near me. I have a knife. Do you remember when we got the knife?”

“Yes.” The voice was expressionless.

“I could hurt you,” Nan said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“You won’t….” The voice turned slightly cajoling. It didn’t even sound like Sigi anymore, but it still had her accent with her aristocratic vowels.

And then the Sigi-thing lunged at Nan. It moved stiffly and yet it was ferocious, tearing at her collar until the button at her throat broke. Fingernails dug into her tender skin. The pain sharpened everything. She slashed the knife at the assaulting arms, and the raspy voice howled like a sick child’s.

“Don’t touch me again,” Nan said, her words harsh with fear. She had known Sigi would become this, and she thought she was ready, but this was worse than she had imagined.

“So hungry,” it wailed, and it tried to grab her shirt again, but Nan dodged. She didn’t know what to do but dodge. She didn’t want to hurt Sigi.

“Please remember, Sigi! I’m Nan. Remember how—how we—the tunnels.” Nan wondered if some primal part of Sigi’s brain was angry at Nan for not returning the kiss. “Sigi,
please
.”

Nan tried to push Sigi back with one hand and get in a punch with the other—maybe just enough to knock her out—but it was so hard in the dark, and she didn’t really want to touch that dead flesh.

But it wanted to touch her, and when Nan tried to simply back away, they were on her again—those little scratching, questing fingernails. They were gentler now, but that was almost worse. She batted the hand away.

And screamed. Finally. Finally, she had to scream. She didn’t even know such a dreadful noise could come out of her own mouth.

Were there any guards around? She just wanted someone to let her out. She could deal with Valkenrath if she could just get
out
.

When the door to a lit hallway was flung open, the wash of relief made her feel as though she had been trapped in some confusing childhood night terror. A candle, warm milk, a blanket tucked to her chin on a cold night…the opening door was better than all that. She put her knife away and grabbed the bars.

“Please,” she cried to the two silhouettes framed against the light beyond. “She’s—I’m—I’m not like her. I’m alive!”

“See, sir, it’s just as I said. She was screaming bloody murder; they don’t scream like that. Couldn’t if they wanted to.”

“Hmm,” the second man said—Valkenrath. He took a step into the room and looked to both sides. “Where is the light switch in this place?”

“Here, sir.” The guard hurried to switch on more lights. Nan squinted. Sigi was making some awful, unending moan. Nan didn’t look at her.

Valkenrath approached the cage, frowning slightly. He needed a shave and looked quite tired. Sigi’s hand suddenly caught the leg of Nan’s pants, tugging sharply. “Help,” she said, her voice barely a groan.

“All right, Nan Davies,” Valkenrath said, and he quickly unlocked the cage and yanked Nan out by the elbow. He slammed the cage door before the Sigi-thing could stir itself to escape.

“Thank you,” Nan said, before recalling that Valkenrath was to blame for the whole thing in the first place.

“I remember when they brought you in, cold and dead,” he said. “How did you trick me?” He waved the guard away. “You may leave us. We’re fine.”

“Are you sure, sir? This is the one who tried to strangle Frederick.”

“We’re fine.”

“Who is Frederick?” Nan asked. She had tried to strangle someone? Some of her memories still eluded her, and she felt they must be the most important ones.

“Never mind that. Is there some substance that can safely mimic death? Did someone help you? Tell me anything you remember.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Nan lied. “All I know is that I haven’t taken the serum since I arrived.”

“I made a mistake having your memory wiped rather than questioning you,” he said. “It’s fairly common for the revived dead to be a bit hostile, so I merely assumed you were a particularly violent case. But it’s certainly not common for anyone to truly come back from the dead without…consequence.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I suppose the first question is, were you ever dead to begin with?”

When Nan saw his hand move toward his jacket, she rushed him, tackling him just as he brought out the gun.

He let out an “oof” as she knocked him to the ground, obviously caught off guard. The gun was still in his hand. Nan grabbed his wrist, and for a moment they twisted and struggled. He was much stronger than she was. Could she get out the knife? If she took her hands off him, he’d shoot her.

It didn’t really matter, anyway. He growled, breaking from her hold, and clocked her in the temple with the butt of the gun. Stars swarmed her vision, but she was conscious enough to hear the shot and feel the force of it tearing through her heart, but there was no pain.

There was nothing except the familiar thrum of music, drawing her away, away, her soul like a tiny ship on an ocean of sound….

G
erik was sitting in the back parlor, reading a newspaper, when Freddy came home. On his way upstairs, Freddy had to pass him.

The paper was folded and cast aside. “Come talk to me, lad.”

“Surely it can wait until morning,” Freddy said, but he knew Gerik wouldn’t accept that.

“No, I don’t think it should wait. But it won’t take long.” He motioned to the seat next to him.

Freddy sat down. He kept reliving, again and again, that moment when he let Father Gruneman slip away forever. Father Gruneman said he had to let all those people die, but he didn’t even know if he could sever a thread of magic without touching the person. He wondered what it would feel like. When he let Father Gruneman go, it was like the snap of a strained cord—both painful and a relief.

“Tell me what happened with Thea tonight,” Gerik said. “You don’t look terribly happy, so I assume it didn’t go well.”

“Of course it didn’t. I’m not ready to do this.”

“You wouldn’t feel that way with the right girl, Freddy. The right girl can make all the difference.”

“But Thea was the right girl. The circumstance is what’s wrong.”

“She might be the right girl for later. But not now.”

Freddy growled. “I can’t reason with you.”

Gerik cleared his throat and patiently drew his cigarettes from his pocket. Once he had one lit and had taken the first drag, he said, “I’m the only one you can reason with, at this point. If Rory knew how permissive I’d been with you, there would be hell to pay for both of us.”

“Permissive? Oh, because you let me have a life for—let me count—four nights? So that both of you can get something you want?”

“Permissive,”
Gerik said, lifting his voice into a more forceful timbre, “because I don’t want to tell him where you’ve been going with this girl. But I also realize I cannot let it continue.”

Freddy wasn’t about to admit to anything until he determined how much Gerik really knew. “So you were following me, I suppose.”

“Of course I’m not going to let you go without keeping an eye on you! You’re far too important. Thea is one of those antiestablishment rebels, am I right? You sneaked into one of their meetings, where your head was no doubt filled with outlandish theories and plans.”

“Well, if you know where I’ve been, you’ll know I didn’t stay long. Thea is not a revolutionary at all. She’s just trying to figure out why people keep disappearing and why her mother is bound-sick.”

“And that’s also why she took you to the home of a rebel leader today, I suppose?”

“He’s also the priest of her church. Thea was worried because he was supposed to stop by and check on her since her mother is gone, and he hadn’t.”

Sometimes Freddy surprised himself with how easily the lies came. He had never thought about all the lies he told Gerik. Most of them had felt not so much like lies as ways to keep a part of himself private. Gerik and Uncle could own his magic, but not all of him. Now he had become truly deceitful. And the reasons were still the same.

“Every lad needs a taste of freedom,” Gerik said. “I’m sorry yours was short. You know I’d rather give you a different kind of life. I’d rather you had much more fun. But it just can’t be. I hope you can at least see the advantages we’ve been able to give you.” He sighed. “Maybe not now. But in time, perhaps.”

“So that’s it? I’ll never see Thea again?”

“You can’t see Thea again. She’s obviously wrong for the task. I’ll find you someone who’s right.”

Freddy stood up, feeling a blinding anger. “Why even loosen the leash if you’re just going to jerk it back? Am I expected to spend my entire life in a handful of rooms?”

“Not once you have an
heir
,” Gerik said.

“There is no guarantee of an heir. You know that as well as I do.”

Gerik wasn’t meeting Freddy’s eyes anymore. “I don’t know what else to say, lad. It is what it is.”

“Fine. Don’t answer my questions. Just dismiss me. I get it. I’m just a pawn and it doesn’t matter what I want; I need to shut up and do whatever you want me to do. But this is
my
magic.”

“Lad, I know you’re upset. Why don’t you go to your room, have a bite to eat, and calm down?” Gerik got up and moved to the door, avoiding the conflict and the tough questions, and Freddy didn’t know what he could say to stop him. And behind the scenes lurked Uncle, unwilling to even engage with Freddy much of the time, yet in most ways he was really the one pulling the strings.

The power is still in your hands,
Father Gruneman had said. Who really held the strings, in the end? If sending all those people to their deaths was the right thing to do—the only thing to do—then it was his choice.

But he still wasn’t sure it was right. He had brought back thousands of people and been proud of each one.

He left the room in silence. The two rooms that were his—a bedroom and a sitting room—seemed so small after he had walked the streets freely. He sat at his desk, where the same clock was still dismantled, and stared for a long moment at all the gears and parts and tools. If only life could be so straightforward.

A housemaid stopped in at the door. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchens, sir?” she asked. Usually Freddy was hungry when he returned from any outing.

“Just bread and butter.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Yes.”

He moved to the window, gazing out at the motorcars driving around the square, just visible over the fence from his third-floor view. It reminded him of the balcony of the Telephone Club, where he could see all the people mingling below him—but Gerik kept him apart. Privileged but alone. Until Thea walked in. He would never see her again unless he escaped. But if he escaped, he needed a plan. He could try to get underground, but the only thing he could do from there was to release the spell and kill all the people he’d ever saved from death.

He needed the serum. It must be made in mass quantities. Vats and vats of serum. And someone would have to keep making more.

What happened to the dead without serum?

He looked at Amsel, sleeping soundly on his bed, his breathing slow and deep, his whiskers occasionally twitching with dreams. Freddy had a test subject. Right here in his room.