Die and Stay Dead (23 page)

Lucas. Hearing her say the name made me smile. Suddenly it felt really good to have a name that hadn’t been given to me by a psychotic crime boss. A psychotic crime boss who turned out to be a reanimated dead body under the control of a deranged necromancer. Christ, was this really my life?

Lucas West’s life couldn’t be this fucked up. Lucas West’s life had to be simpler. He was from Norristown. He played high school football. He sucked at algebra. Lucas West was normal. Blessedly, blissfully normal.

“Do you feel like getting away?” she asked.

“You have no idea,” I said, and let go of the three of hearts. It fluttered to the floor and landed facedown.

Sixteen

Jordana suggested a bar she liked in Brooklyn, the Bearded Lady on the corner of Washington and St. Marks Avenue. I took the 3 train to Prospect Heights, exiting onto a quiet, residential patch of Eastern Parkway in the shadow of the palatial Brooklyn Museum. The sky was already dark. I walked a few blocks down Washington, a street where new and old Brooklyn were still duking it out for space, trendy restaurants and lounges standing shoulder to shoulder with ancient Laundromats and dusty bodegas. The Bearded Lady belonged in the former category, a corner bar with big windows and brightly colored, retro-style furniture. There was a small weeknight crowd inside seated at the bar on plush yellow barstools. Jordana sat on a banquette at one of the candlelit tables that lined the perimeter of the room. The flame from the candle cast a warm glow on her cheeks, her hair, her eyes. She saw me, smiled, and waved.

I walked over. She stood up and kissed me again, a longer kiss than the one in her office. When we broke apart, I was still reeling from the heat of it. I sat down across from her. She sat down, too, straightening her knee-length black skirt and crossing her amazing legs in a display so hypnotic I would have done anything she told me to at that moment. Then she asked the question all Brooklynites felt obligated to ask their visitors from Manhattan.

“Did you have any trouble getting here?”

“No, I’ve been out this way before,” I said. I didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to scare her away by telling her it had been on a collection job for Underwood. I didn’t think I could stand it if she looked at me the way Bethany did whenever that part of my past came up. Suddenly self-conscious, I changed the subject quickly. “Do you live around here?”

“Why?” she asked. “Did you think I was going to take you home with me tonight? What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

The blood drained out of my face. Breathless, I backpedaled as quickly as I could, feeling like I’d pulled the pin out of a grenade. “No, I just … I thought … I didn’t…”

She broke into a smile. “Oh my God, don’t have a heart attack. I was just kidding.”

I nodded. “Oh. Okay.” I felt clumsy, like I’d just bumped into a priceless Ming vase and watched it shatter all over the floor. Were all first dates this excruciating?

“Everything here is good,” she said, handing me a small specialty drinks menu. I skimmed it quickly. The cocktails had names I didn’t recognize: Bedford Nostrum, Town Destroyer, the Kinky Krown. It was like trying to read another language. Was every bar in this part of Brooklyn like this? How did anyone who wasn’t a hipster survive in this neighborhood without going crazy? I felt like a fish out of water. Far, far out of water. A fish on the goddamn moon.

“I have no idea what to get,” I said.

“Leave it to me,” Jordana said. She got up and went to the bar to order. The bartender, a pretty, petite woman with wavy hair and a collared shirt, mixed two drinks in highball glasses and handed them to her. “Thanks, Mary,” Jordana said, and slipped her a few bills. She brought the drinks back to the table, put one down in front of me, and sat down with the other.

I reached into my pocket for my wallet, but she waved a hand. “No, don’t worry about it. I invited
you
out, remember? Isn’t that how it works?”

“At least let me pay for my own,” I said.

“You can get the next round,” she said. Her eyes twinkled.

“Fair enough.” I looked at the iced, yellow-green drink on the table. The end of a plastic straw pointed expectantly at me. “What’s this one called?”

“It’s a Ginger Prince,” she said. “Go on. Try it.”

I risked a sip. It was refreshing, crisp, with just a subtle bite of ginger. I was surprised how much I liked it. I downed half the glass thirstily before I remembered it was alcoholic and probably a lot stronger than it tasted.

“So,” I said to fill the silence, “you and Gabrielle met in grief counseling?” I froze. Did I really just say that, just come right out and say it like some kind of insensitive oaf? When was I going to learn I was terrible at small talk? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind talking about it. My mother passed away recently. She was very sick. The doctors didn’t even know what the problem was. She died before they could diagnose it. You remember my mother, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t remember anything.”

She nodded. “Right. The amnesia. Of course you wouldn’t remember her. Or me.”

An awkward, uncomfortable silence fell over us. It felt like it stretched on for hours before she spoke again.

“Okay, that was depressing. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen with a flawless change of subject.” Her eyes twinkled again. “I’ve been studying up on you. I know what you’ve been up to.”

I nearly choked on my Ginger Prince. “You do?”

She looked around us to make sure no one was listening, then leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “The Immortal Storm? That’s not a pretentious nickname at all, by the way. Do you have it as a vanity license plate, too?”

“Oh, God,” I said, embarrassed. “Just for the record, I don’t call myself that. Other people do.
Some
people. Not a lot. Anyway, just Trent is fine. Trent, or…” I stopped myself. I was about to say Lucas, but I wasn’t ready to call myself that. Not yet. Not officially.

She looked at me strangely then, studying my features more closely.

“What?” I asked. Suddenly I was worried that she’d made a mistake. That she didn’t see Lucas West in me after all. That it was all a horrible misunderstanding.

“You don’t look like a gargoyle,” she said, trying to suppress a laugh. “Aren’t you the king of the gargoyles now, or something?”

I groaned and rubbed my face with my hands. “No, I’m not the king of the gargoyles. They were living as slaves and I set them free. They don’t have a king anymore.”

She cracked up, finally, unable to keep her laughter contained anymore. I liked the sound of it. It made everything feel okay. I couldn’t help smiling.

“What’s so funny?” I asked her.

“Who would have thought a small-town girl like me would be out on the town with gargoyle royalty?” She laughed so hard tears squeezed out of her eyes.

“All right,” I said, “how about another flawless change of subject?” I took a sip of my drink while she pulled herself together. “Tell me about the rest of your family. I don’t remember them.”

“I don’t have much family left. Just my stepfather,” she said. “He and I never really got along, but he’s all I’ve got now. With Mom and Pete gone, I’m doing what I can to get along better with him. Family is important to me. It’s everything, really.” She caught my gaze with hers. “It’s very nice of you to ask, but I know that’s not why you’re here. You want to know what you were like when I knew you. When you were Lucas West. All this small talk must be killing you.”

“Tell me,” I said. “I want to know everything.”

“I don’t know everything. I just know the parts about you and me,” she said. “You came back to Norristown once, a few years after you graduated college. I’d graduated by then, too. You don’t remember this, either, I take it?” I shook my head. She looked down at her glass and cleared her throat. “We went out on a date. My parents were up in arms about it. You should have seen them. They were fine with you and my brother being friends, but they didn’t like the idea of you and me dating. But I didn’t care. I’d had a crush on you since high school and I wasn’t about to let them stop me. I snuck out of the house and met you at this awful dive bar downtown. At the end of the night, your credit card was declined. You were so embarrassed and so adorable about it that I ended up paying for us both. You said you would pay me back by buying the drinks next time.” She chuckled. “I have to admit, it was a pretty smooth line. Except, after that night you never called. I tried to call you a few times. I left messages, but you never got back to me. I—I just assumed you didn’t like me.”

She looked up at me. When her eyes met mine I felt as though I were levitating a few inches off my chair.

“I can’t imagine not liking you,” I said.

I bought the next round of drinks myself, just like I’d promised all those years ago.

When I returned to the table, I said, “You mentioned your brother Pete was gone, too. What happened?”

“I was surprised when I didn’t see you at his funeral,” she said. “You and he were so close. I thought maybe it was because you were still avoiding me, even after all these years.”

Avoiding her? If I’d felt as bowled over by her then as I did now, there was no way I would have avoided her. Whatever had happened to me, whatever took my memories and put this life-stealing thing inside me, must have occurred sometime between my date with Jordana and her brother’s death. It was the only thing I could think of that would explain why I’d disappeared on her, and why I hadn’t shown up at the funeral.

“If you don’t mind my asking, when did Pete die?”

“Two years ago,” she said. “They robbed him in an alley in Tribeca. Took his wallet and cut his throat. I don’t know why they had to do that. If he gave them his wallet, why did they have to…?” She stopped and blinked back tears. “Sorry, I—I don’t like talking about it.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I said, putting my hand over hers on the table. “I wish I could remember him. I wish I knew why I didn’t go to his funeral. Or why I didn’t call you.”

Pete had died in 2011. That didn’t line up with whatever had happened to me. My memories only covered the last year, give or take, starting around mid-2012. There must have been some other reason I disappeared on Jordana.

She squeezed my hand tight. “I’m glad I found you again, Lucas.”

Lucas. It sounded right when she called me that. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

“I’m glad, too.” I leaned across the table and kissed her. She pulled me closer. I got up from my chair and joined her on the banquette. We kissed again, hungrily, fiercely, her body pressed up against mine, warm and soft. My heart pounded like a drumbeat in my ears, in my head.

Lucas West … Lucas West …

She pulled away from me, breathing hard. I took the opportunity to catch my breath, too.

“Do you have any leads on the whereabouts of the fragments?” she asked.

I looked at her. “The what? Oh, the Codex. No, not yet.” My brain felt fuzzy. After kissing her, the fragments weren’t exactly on my mind.

“There isn’t much time,” she said. “You have to find them, Lucas. You have to find them before Arkwright does.”

“I know,” I said. “I will.”

“It’s not going to be easy. Nobody knows where they are.”

“I know one thing,” I said. “They’re here in New York City.”

She knit her brow. “How can you be sure?”

“Two reasons,” I said. “First, New York is where the doomsday cult operated. It’s where they summoned Nahash-Dred and tried to bring about the end of the world. That was the last time anyone saw the Codex Goetia. Second, Erickson Arkwright is here. He stole the Thracian Gauntlet and used it to kill someone in Chinatown. I think he might have killed someone in the Village, too. I’m starting to think Arkwright never left New York, not even after faking his death. It would have been much easier to create a new identity and start over somewhere else, but he didn’t. He stayed. The only reason he would do that is if there were something here he still wanted.”

“The Codex?”

I nodded.

“Okay, assuming you’re right, New York City is still a lot of ground to cover,” she said. “There are no clues. There’s nothing to go on.”

I thought of the strange phrases from Calliope’s notebook. One of them,
Arching towers kirk,
turned out to be an anagram, an arrow pointing directly to Erickson Arkwright. What if they were all arrows? What if every phrase the spirits had given Calliope was pointing to something?

“There
are
clues,” I said. “They were right in front of us all along. We just didn’t realize what they were.”

Her eyes lit up. “Then you can find the fragments?”

“Yes. I think I can.” I felt bold and clever, so I kissed her again. This time, she pushed me back.

“You have to find them,” she said.

I knew she was right, but all I wanted to do was kiss her some more. I leaned toward her.

“Promise me you’ll keep me informed,” she said. “Tell me everything you find.”

I sighed and stood up. “I will. I promise. But it’s just a hunch right now.”

“A hunch is better than nothing,” she said, also standing.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. I liked being with her, and not just because she could tell me about my past. I felt good around her. I felt like myself.

I reached for her hand. Our fingers twined around each other. Her lips had felt so good on mine I pulled her close for another taste. Mary the bartender yelled at us to get a room. Jordana gently pushed me away, grinning.

“You have to go,” she reminded me, hitting me playfully on the chest. “You have a world to save, remember?”

*   *   *

I was back at Citadel forty minutes later, surprised to see Isaac still awake. He was sitting alone at the big table in the main room with his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose. On the table in front of him was Calliope’s notebook, as well as nearly a dozen other books from his library and his laptop. He glanced studiously back and forth between the mess on the table and the words on the whiteboard.