Right Hand Magic (27 page)

Thank God I’m home
, I thought to myself.

Only a block in length, Duivel Street was one of the shortest thoroughfares in Golgotham. However, it made up for its brevity by being the most notorious street on the island of Manhattan. Since the Revolutionary War, Duivel Street had served as a red-light district, and was home to the rowdiest taverns, the sleaziest strip clubs, and the bawdiest brothels. Because of that, it was famous throughout the eastern seaboard for being the perfect place to fuck or fight, depending on your mood. Much of Golgotham’s reputation for being dangerous had to do with this twenty-four/seven party zone.

The only establishment on Duivel Street that
wasn’t
a bar, whorehouse, or cootchie club was Ghastly’s, a hole-in-the-wall diner famous for some of the worst food in Golgotham, which, considering the typical Kymeran cuisine, was really saying something. For some reason, this was where Lukas’s abductors had taken him.

We joined the steady stream of individuals, human and otherwise, that thronged the sidewalks. Although nowhere near as crowded as Witch Alley, Duivel Street was just as chaotic, with hundreds of patrons roaming in and out of the numerous clubs, clutching plastic go-cups full of alcohol.

As we headed up the street toward our destination, the steel skin of the walking sculptures reflected the lurid neon signs advertising Madame Messalina’s, the Golden Flagon, and Club Eros. On the other side of the street, a scantily clad huldra rode back and forth on a swing affixed to the front fire escape of Le Boudoir, next to a multicolored neon sign promising TABLETOP DANCING AT MODERATE PRICES, her long cow tail tickling the scalps of passersby.

Hexe pointed to a group of boisterously drunk middle-aged men in rumpled business suits, their ties pulled askew, no doubt visiting CPAs out on the town, sampling whatever sins the Big Apple had to offer. They were about a hundred feet ahead of us. As we watched, they ducked inside a pair of glass doors with skulls painted on them, the hollow eyes illuminated by lights shining inside the café.

“I’d heard rumors that Ghastly’s was a Malandanti front, but I never realized exactly what for until now,” Hexe said.

“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Do you have a plan besides just walking in and demanding they hand Lukas back to us?”

“Yeah, but it hinged on our reinforcements being here by now,” Hexe admitted anxiously. “Lukas doesn’t have a lot of time. Boss Marz is going to make an example of him to the other pit fighters, as to what they can expect if they try to escape. If we wait for Hildy and Lyta to arrive, it may be too late.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” I sighed. “So I guess we’d better get our butts in gear, huh?” I motioned for my welded warriors to follow me. “C’mon, gang—let’s get some chow!”

 

 

The first thing I noticed upon entering Ghastly’s Diner was the stink of boiled cabbage and stale tobacco. The second thing I noticed was that the drunk businessmen who had entered just before us were nowhere to be seen. The booths and tables of the diner were empty, and the only sign of life was the waiter standing behind the counter, idly drying a plate with a greasy rag. He was tall and gaunt, with grayish skin and lank hair parted down the middle of his skull, staring eyes that looked like a pair of hard-boiled eggs, and an upturned nose like a bat’s.

“Where’s Ghastly?” Hexe asked curtly.

“In the kitchen,” the waiter replied, gesturing with his rag.

Hexe and I pushed through the metal swinging door, the statues following at out heels. The stench that permeated the front of the restaurant grew even stronger, becoming as tangible as the walls and the floor. The diner’s owner, the same kind of snub-nosed humanoid as the waiter, stood in front of a commercial gas stove. Dressed in a badly stained apron, he was stirring a large pot of foul-smelling stew, a lit cigarette dangling from his lip.

“Employees only!” the cook snapped.

“Tell me where they are,” Hexe demanded stonily.

“Are you nuts or something?” Ghastly growled, sending the ash from the end of his cigarette into the pot he was stirring.

“How do we get to the kennels from here?”

“I don’t know nothing about that,” the cook replied, returning his gaze to whatever was in the pot. “You got the wrong place, buddy.”

I pointed my finger at Ghastly, and the Dying Gaul stepped forward, bringing his sword to the cook’s throat. Ghastly’s protruding eyes popped out even farther from their sockets.

“So I lied,” the restauranteur said nervously. “You go in through the storage room. There’s a cupboard in the corner that’s really a door. There’s a tunnel behind it that leads to a converted warehouse behind this building, facing Shoemaker Street. That’s where they hold the pit fights.”

“Any guards?”

“Two. They’re stationed just before the door at the other end of the tunnel.”

“Thank you for being so forthcoming,” Hexe said. “I have just one final question, and then you’re free to go—what’s in the pot?”

Ghastly gulped so hard it looked as though he were trying to swallow his own Adam’s apple. “W-werewolf stew.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The moment the Dying Gaul’s sword moved away from his jugular, Ghastly heaved a sigh of relief and raised a trembling hand to his pallid brow—and kept it there.

“What the hell
is
this guy?” I asked, staring into the diner owner’s frozen eyes.

“He’s a ghoul,” Hexe replied, grimacing in disgust. “I have to hand it to Boss Marz, though—he figured out the perfect way to dispose of the evidence from his barbaric little enterprise.”

My stomach flip-flopped as what Hexe said sank in. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” I groaned.

“Hey! What did you do to Ghastly?” The waiter was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still holding his rag in one hand. As Ariadne and the Cyber-Panther turned to face him, the dishrag dropped to the floor. The ghoul opened his mouth to call out for help, only to freeze in midshout. I could see the pinkish gray slug of his tongue and double rows of tobacco-stained teeth.

The storage room was at the very back of the kitchen, beyond the dish pit. It wasn’t hard to figure out which cupboard was actually the secret door, since the drunks ahead of us had not bothered to close it, revealing a brick-lined tunnel lit only by low-wattage bulbs strung from a crumbling ceiling.

Hexe took his scrying egg from his pocket, fogged it with his breath, and held it up to the dim light. Inside the crystal I could see a pair of Malandanti goons shooting craps at the end of the tunnel. They were so engrossed in their game that they didn’t hear the sound of rapidly approaching, rattling metal until my welded warriors were almost on top of them.

The first Malandanti—a heavyset Kymeran with a cobalt blue brush cut—jumped to his feet, gesturing frantically with his left hand. A fireball, which he hurled at Ariadne, instantly filled his palm. The fire immediately obliterated the papier-mâché mask that served as her face and then spread to her silver lamé gown, none of which stopped her from wrapping her articulated typewriter-key fingers around his throat. The blue-haired croggy shrieked as the hellfire he had summoned spread to his own body, sending him to whatever unpleasant afterlife awaited him.

The second Malandanti, who wore his lime green hair in dreadlocks, was knocked to the ground by the Cyber-Panther. The Lovers moved forward in tandem, crushing his hands under their metallic feet. The goon cried out in agony as his fingers broke, robbing him of what magic he might possess.

Hexe knelt beside the dreadlocked Malandanti, grabbing his face so he was forced to look directly into his eyes. “Tell me where the kennels are.”

“Bang off, fecker,” the croggy groaned through clenched teeth.

“I can make the pain go away,” Hexe promised, tightening his grip on the other man’s face. “But you have to tell me where the kennels are.”

“He’ll kill me if I tell you,” the dreadlocked goon moaned.

“He’s going to kill you, anyway, for not stopping us,” Hexe countered.

The Malandanti guard closed his eyes and nodded, surrendering to Hexe’s logic. “On the other side of the door you’ll see a stairway to your left and a door to your right. The door leads to the kennels. There—I told you what you wanted to know. Now make the chuffin’ pain go away.”

From his breast pocket Hexe removed the copper tube he’d used to anesthetize Lukas and shot a fine white powder into the wounded Kymeran’s face. Within seconds the Malandanti’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.

“Is he dead?” I whispered.

Hexe shook his head. “I placed him in an induced coma until he gets to a healer or a hospital. I might despise the Malandanti and all they stand for, but I’m not a sadist.”

“What about him?” I asked, pointing at the other Malandanti, whose charred body lay tangled with Ariadne’s.

“He’s beyond any mortal help,” Hexe said grimly. “He was doomed the moment the flames spread to him.”

The Cyber-Panther nudged the amorphous glob of melted metal and plastic that used to be his companion piece’s head with his muzzle, like a mother cat urging a sickly kitten to its feet. To my surprise, Ariadne’s partially fused fingers began to twitch, and she managed to raise her upper torso a few inches, only to collapse once more. The Cyber-Panther touched the pile of scrap with his paw, but this time Ariadne remained still.

“She’s gone,” I explained, placing my hand atop the Cyber-Panther’s sleek skull. “The heat was too intense. It melted her joints and destroyed her welds.”

On the other side of the tunnel were the staircase and doorway the guard had described. Hexe put a finger to his lips as muffled footsteps and muted voices floated down from the floor above. From the sound of their laughter, it did not appear that the battle in the tunnel had been overheard.

Hexe opened the door that led to the kennels, keeping a wary eye on the stairway in case someone came down to check on the tunnel guards. I shooed the remaining sculptures in ahead of me. The last one across the threshold was the Cyber-Panther, but not before he cast a final glance in the direction of his fallen mistress.

On the other side of the door was a huge, dimly lit room with row upon row of large enclosed steel cages, with narrow channels cut into the floor to drain away the waste generated by the inhabitants. There was a low, persistent hum, which I recognized as the sound of electrified fencing. The air was so rank, my eyes watered and I had to breathe through my mouth.

“Mother of God!” I groaned in disgust. “It smells like the lion house at the zoo!”

“There’s a reason for that,” Hexe said dourly, pointing to the occupant of the nearest cage.

An African lion, its ribs visible under its tawny pelt, paced back and forth, regarding us with a fiercely burning look. Upon seeing the Cyber-Panther, the lion bared its fangs and growled. The metal cat responded in kind, making a noise that sounded like squealing brake drums. Startled, the malnourished king of beasts retreated to the far corner of its prison.

The lion was not the only captive in Boss Marz’s kennels. A cursory glance revealed a half-starved grizzly bear and a hungry Sumatran tiger on the first row alone.

“They probably keep the beasts separated from the shape-shifters and half-men,” Hexe said. “At least that’s the impression I got from Lukas.”

“Where do they
get
these things?” I wondered aloud.

“Probably from private zoos or circuses,” he replied. “It would be easier to buy captive animals from inside the country than to run the risk of having them smuggled in.”

“What about this one?” I asked, pointing to the unicorn. A tennis ball had been jammed onto the end of its razor-sharp horn, like the button on a fencer’s rapier. The unicorn glared at me with its ruby-red eyes and bit the air with its teeth.

“
That
was definitely a smuggler job. Don’t get too close—its hooves are as sharp as its horn,” he warned, pointing to the beast’s cloven feet. “If it lands a kick through those bars, it’ll cut you to the bone.”

“Where do you think he is? This place looks like the warehouse in
Citizen Kane
. . . . There are hundreds of cages down here!”

“Maybe our friend there can help point the way,” Hexe said, nodding to the Cyber-Panther. “Lukas served as the model for the sculpture. I’ve noticed that he seems to be more aware than the others. Perhaps there is a sympathetic connection between the two?”

“I thought you said they weren’t alive?”

“They aren’t. But there’s something
unique
about this one. Maybe it’s because it was actually modeled on another living being. Perhaps a spark of Lukas is in there?”

“There’s only one way to find out if you’re right.” I leaned down and whispered into the Cyber-Panther’s ear, “Go to Lukas.”

The metal feline jumped to his feet and ran down one of the rows like a cheetah going after a gazelle. Hexe cursed in surprise and sprinted after the Cyber-Panther as the figure sped through the dimly lit maze of caged animals. I hurried after him, the remaining sculptures in tow, but he had already crossed the border into shadow and disappeared into the darkness beyond the feeble glow of the overhead lights. A few seconds later, I found myself at a crossroads formed by two intersecting aisles of cages, trying to figure out which way they had gone.

I didn’t want to shout, for fear of alerting any Malandanti that might be lurking about in the kennels, so I stood in the middle and turned around and around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Cyber-Panther’s steely hide.

Suddenly I heard the sound of tiny bare feet slapping against the concrete floor. I looked in the direction of the noise and saw the
cutest
little monkey, dressed in a red velvet vest and matching fez, scamper out from between the cages. Upon catching sight of me, the tiny primate froze and began to chatter in fear. Sucker that I am, I felt sorry for the damned thing. You would have thought the last time I found myself lost in a maze would have taught me something.