Downside Rain: Downside book one (7 page)

Bother
him. I refuse to wait outside all night and will definitely not tote this
duffel bag back home. I have a key. I root in my pocket among a handful of coins
and a scrap of paper.

After
unlocking the door, I heave the duffel over the step, dump it in the hall and push
the door to with my hip.

“Castle?
Guess who’s here with her laundry?” I sing.

Grabbing
the duffel’s handle, I lug it along the floor to the living room. Light shines
through from the kitchen. A noise back there, it must be Castle. I open my mouth
on a grin to tell him he’s grown deaf in his old age.

Castle
lies in the middle of the living room floor in the fetal position, head and
shoulders in a pool of his own blood.

I
recoil and hit the door frame. The duffle falls from numb fingers. I can’t
breathe, yet a moan escapes my lips. No.
No no no.
He sees me and horrible
noises gurgle from his throat. His hands scrabble on the bloody carpet.

Palms
over my mouth, I creep in the room and collapse to my knees. I reach for the
stiletto in his neck.
If I can get it out, he can lose flesh and come back
good as new.
But he feebly bats at my hand and I know his blood will
fountain if I pull the blade. He will be gone in seconds.

I
know, and he knows, he will die in moments anyway. I’m too late, he has lost
too much blood, he doesn’t have the strength to manipulate flesh. I can’t do
anything. My friend is dying and I can’t save him.

I
grasp his hand. My mouth tries, but fails to make words. His eyes are wide but placid,
as if acceptance has replaced fear and desperation.

Castles
smiles as my tears drip on our joined hands, then his hand is lax. His other
hand flops on the floor. His eyes are open, staring right at me, but glassy. He’s
not here anymore.

My
thoughts are confused. It’s not real, it can’t be. I frown at him, a Castle
island in the middle of a red sea. I don’t believe he’s gone.
Get up,
Castle, you ass. You’ve got blood all over you.
His skin looks stiff, taut,
plastic.

An
ache wells in the pit of my stomach. I couch over my knees and keen.

I
sit in Castle’s blood with his head on my knees. Blood streaks my face where I
swiped at tears, in my hair from when I pushed it off my face, on my legs and
knees.

Alain
is a shadow in the doorway seen through blurred vision. I called him less than
five minutes ago, yet it seems like hours.

“Rain.”
His voice echoes as if we stand in a cavern. “A communication from my man in
the constabulary arrived seconds after you called me; the police received an
anonymous tip, they’ll be here soon. We must get you out.”

Tears
still prick behind my eyelids. “What?”

“Someone
tipped off the police. They are on their way to investigate. Time to go, Rain.”

I
gulp and shake my head. “Jessy. Castle’s neighbor Jessy saw me come in.” I ease
Castle’s head to the floor, hating to lay it in the blood.

Alain
bends to scoop me up but his fastidious nature intervenes. Rushing into the
kitchen, he whips the plastic cloth off the table, dashes back and drapes it
over me. He manages to pick me up as he swaddles me. The first time Alain has
held me to his body, but I get no pleasure from it. He carries me to the
bathroom, avoiding my bloody footprints which lead to Castle’s phone and back
to his body.

I’m
an automaton on wobbly legs as he deposits me in the shower. I can’t speak
through chattering teeth and stand like a package wrapped in plastic. Off comes
the tablecloth, followed by my clothes and boots. Folding everything inside the
tablecloth, he turns on the water and adjusts hot and cold to a reasonable
temperature.

Water
sheets over me. I lean on the tiled wall and lift my face to the deluge, but
although the water laves Castle’s blood from my skin, I will never be free of
it. It may disappear from my body but has left a stain on my heart. My eyes are
closed but Castle’s image is embedded on the lids.

Alain
steps into the shower. He has removed his clothes. He fills his hands with soap
and goes to work on me, scrubbing my skin and hair, using his fingernails to
scrape blood from beneath mine, until the water runs pink instead of red. When
the last discoloration swirls down the drain, he turns off the water, hooks a
towel from the rack and wraps it around me.

Perched
on a stool, he holds me on his knees, hugged to his chest. His hand strokes my
hair, a soothing gesture I barely feel. I want to cry again but am all out of
tears for now, so I close my eyes, numb inside and out.

“Thank
you for coming,” I finally manage to say, and look up into his face.

He
gazes back with furled brow. A humorless smile pulls the side of his mouth. “Anything
for you, my darling.” He dips his face into my wet hair.

My
voice is weak as a kitten’s. “You didn’t have to do all that. I could have cleaned
myself up.”

“Not
in the state you’re in.” He stands and lowers me to the stool, and rubs himself
down with a towel from Castle’s stack.

He’s
right. I’d still be sitting in Castle’s blood, holding his hand, if not for
Alain. If not for the police’s imminent arrival, I’d still be here tomorrow,
sitting with Castle, covered in his blood.

The
towel slips from my shoulders; Alain resettles it and cups my cheek with his
palm. “Courage.”

I
nod at the shower. “But why bother?”

“You
need your strength and dignity when you speak to the police and it is better
the constables believe you didn’t touch him.”

Right.
I need my wits about me. I will be the chief suspect, a wraith who can force
her partner’s flesh while she kills him.
Members of the jury, the accused
was found covered in the victim’s blood.

My
hands clench on the towel. “You didn’t ask if I did it.”

“Any
man who thinks you’d harm Castle is a fool. Unfortunately, that probably
includes the entire police force.”

Someone
called the police. The person who killed Castle? I remember the noise in the
kitchen. I barely missed them, and now they are trying to incriminate me in
Castle’s death.

I
just missed them. A few minutes earlier. . . .

I
totter to my feet and look in the mirror as Alain leaves the bathroom. Damp
hair sticks up all over the place, my eyes look hollow. I shed flesh and reform
with dry hair which I finger-comb. I didn’t need the shower, I could have faded
out and come back clean, except I’m too numb to think of it till now.
Wouldn’t
have helped with my clothes, anyway.
What did Alain do with the bloody
clothes? A savvy guy like Alain wouldn’t dump them in the trash.

He
never goes abroad alone. He gave my clothes to one of his people.

Dressed,
Alain returns with my duffel and drops it on the floor. “I have disposed of
your clothes and the tablecloth. Find something which doesn’t reek too badly
and put these on.” He presents my red-soled boots. I regard them with horror.

Alain
exhales hard. “You must, my pet. Your footprints are all over the living room.”

I
swallow the huge knot in my throat and give him a taut nod. Kneeling, I unzip
the duffel and take out a crumpled blue tee, navy denim pants and underwear and
get into them. I hold the boots but can’t make myself put them on.

Rotating
green and yellow lights flash through Castle’s curtains. The constables are outside.
The clock shows twelve minutes have passed. I join Alain in the kitchen where
he presses me into a chair and eases the boots on my sockless feet.

“Ready?”

No,
I’m not. The police will hammer at me before I can gather myself together. I
don’t know whether I can take it. I want time to myself, to grieve, to wrap my
mind around what happened. I want to fade out and go far away. But I could
never come back. I nod at Alain.

He
gazes at me, eyes hot with concern, takes my face in his hands and kisses my cheek.
He’s gone in a heartbeat, the heat of his lips still warm on my cool skin.

I
turn my eyes to Castle and notice how rigidly his knees are pulled to his
chest. The crimson pool is smooth, no evidence I sat there. His blood has not
started to congeal yet. My gaze travels over him, every part of the body which was
Castle.

Where
did he go? What happens to wraiths when they die? I once thought we began as
humans living Upside, who died and became wraiths, but how can anyone die
twice?

My
pulse leaps in my throat each time a flashbulb pops.

The
dwarf sergeant’s gray beard is neatly clipped to a hair below his chin and his
midnight-blue uniform has the appearance of material washed so many times it is
wearing thin. He stares across the table as though his eyes alone can break
secrets from me. The small beady eyes are not impressive, though the rest of him
is formidable. No one Downside makes the mistake of thinking a small dwarf body
equals weakness. Punch a dwarf, you break your hand, and you don’t
want
a dwarf to punch you.

He’s
made me sit facing the living room so I can’t avoid seeing the constable snap
pictures, the other constable rifle through drawers and the cupboard, Castle
curled in his pool of blood.

“What
did you do when you found the body?” he asks for the fourth time.

My
voice is monotone, dull, weary from repetition. “I think I went into shock. I lost
track of time. When I . . . came to myself, I heard sirens.”

“Whoever
killed him forced the flesh and stabbed him, and held him till he bled out.
Only another wraith can do that.”

My
lips make a thin line. “Or a vampire.”

There
will be panic should people believe vampires are attacking and killing
citizens. I stare at my clenched hands and smile sourly.
But we’re not
people, no one will care if vampires kill wraiths.

He
puts his hands together on the table and says nothing more. The minutes tick
by. With every light in the living room on, the scene is all stark detail. The police
photographer unclips his flash attachment and squats to pack it and the camera
in a leather case. Two men carrying a gurney come from the hall; they wear
rubber boots and gloves and plastic coveralls. Lights flash through the
curtained window from the street.

“A
vampire wouldn’t waste the blood,” the dwarf says.

I
don’t know what to think. I hope he’s right because if vampires are targeting
wraiths, they can wipe us out. At the same time, the thought that one of our
own killed Castle makes gorge rise in my throat.

I
heard the constables whispering; they are questioning Castle’s neighbors. Old Jessy,
with his more than neighborly eye on the street, didn’t spot anyone during the
hour before I arrived, but that means nothing. A vampire could have come over
the rooftops and through the attic window which I know has a damaged latch, and
a wraith could enter and leave the house unseen.

“You
can go,” the constable says. “We know where to find you, and don’t think of
passing the city limits.”

I
blink uncertainly, get up with the help of the table and leave through the
kitchen. I go home.

Alive
yesterday and already in the ground. There is no procession, no service. No
priest speaks at Castle’s grave. I kneel in the damp grass and lay my palm on
the dirt.

“I
have a job. I’d cancel, but I can’t.” Verity is being prepared for sacrifice,
she can’t wait. “But I swear, when I’m finished I’ll find out who did this to
you, and they’ll pay. I’ll see to it personally.”

I
paid half my savings for the plot so Castle has a place in which to sleep the
endless sleep. I suspect Alain or Angelina put a word in the right ear, or I
wouldn’t have got this tiny rectangle squashed against an ancient elm and wild
rose bushes in the old crowded North Gettaholt Cemetery, eight blocks from
home. I’ll get a headstone one day. What do you put on a headstone for a person
who has no date of birth and one name?

Getting
to my feet, I rub my hands on my coat. A big bunch of yellow roses and white
baby’s breath in a copper urn adorn the next grave over. I snag a rose and take
it back to Castle’s plot. The dead won’t mind.

I
stick the rose stem in the dirt. “There. Don’t say I never give you anything.” I
try to smile, but can’t.

Two
gremlins chat as they wait to cross the street. One laughs at something the
other says. Three dwarf girls with heads together giggle. A bare-chested satyr
wearing black satin pants grins at the human woman on his arm. I’m so angry, I
dig my nails in my palms till they hurt. I want to swing back and yell at them.
How dare they enjoy life so godsdamn fucking much when Castle is dead. The
world goes on as though he were never here, as if he weren’t an important part
of it. It isn’t fair.

My
fingers find the permit in my pocket. Five cardboard squares fill the other
pocket. Maybe I need this, a job to take my mind off Castle, how he died, that I
couldn’t help him.

The
police backed off some when they found fingerprints on the stiletto. My fingertips
are smooth, no ridges, so although I could have held the blade and left no
trace, the prints prove someone else handled it. The prints don’t match any in police
records. And there is the question of who tipped off the police? They wouldn’t
tell me anything, but must know the voice was not mine.

That
my permit to go Upside arrived this morning testifies to Alain’s influence, and
surely money changed hands.

The
Station is on the corner of Fort and Tremayne, kitty corner from City Hall.
Security is always tight, but today four city militiamen stand outside the
brick building either side of the arched doorway.

So
does Alain.

My
steps falter. I don’t expect him. What does he want?

A
dove-gray wool overcoat hangs open to reveal a blue silk shirt and dark-gray
trousers and he wears tinted spectacles. He has not seen me yet as he strides
up and down outside the entrance. Clide and another vampire wait off to one
side, hands clasped behind their backs, legs apart and they constantly scan passersby.

They
move to front Alain as I push through the crowd to cross the street, and relax
when they recognize me.

Alain’s
head turns in my direction, but he could be looking at anyone or no one. You
don’t realize how much you learn from a person’s eyes, what you can read in
them, until they are hidden from you. Their facial muscles may move in a smile
or frown but their thoughts are indecipherable without those eyes. Alain in
dark glasses makes me uncomfortable.

He
doesn’t speak when I reach him so I don’t, either. He rotates and walks with me
through the doorway. The militia move aside, they don’t ask for identification.
The vampires follow.

The
two additional militiamen inside the foyer and four flanking the Station
Master’s office are overkill; such conscientiousness is a little too late now
the damage is already done. The Deputy Station Master steps in front of us. He
smiles apologetically at Alain as he holds out his hand for my permit. He scans
it, comparing my face with the picture on the permit, moves aside and waves us
on. In the brick hall, two Station guards who hold sabers stand either side of
an arched doorway blocked by a heavy wood door behind another made of steel
bars. They are more than two high-security doors; magic is woven into them. Off
to the side, the Station Master who controls the doors sits in his office
behind shatterproof glass reinforced with steel mesh.

The
Station is the one place Downside where two aspects of the world meet and must
be protected at all costs. The Station Master holds Downside’s security in his
hands. Yet this man’s predecessor allowed the Greché to take Verity and left
with them.

I
march over and hold the permit up to the window. The Station Master studies it
before his eyes flick to my face. He jogs his head at the doors.

Alain
removes his shades and glowers at the man. “I wanted to ensure your departure
goes smoothly,” he tells me as he eyes the Station Master unpleasantly.

As
if this man had anything to do with Verity’s kidnapping.

Did
he come to make sure I don’t chicken out? “I’ll be fine.”

I
suck in a breath as the iron bars inch up and the wood door slides sideways into
the wall.

Alain
says, “Don’t let it consume you.”

“What?”

His
voice pitches low. “Everything about you speaks of it: your eyes, your voice,
your posture. Grief.”

Is
it that obvious?

I
have let sorrow numb me. If Alain knows it, so do others. I must look weak, as though
I’ve lost my edge. I need to pull myself together.

I
push my feelings into a small hard knot I will try to ignore till I find who
killed Castle. I will let it out then, and it will destroy them.

“Sorry!”
I snap. “I’ve never lost anyone before. I’ll do better next time.”

He
takes my face in his hands and speaks in a warning undertone, “Don’t fight me,”
and his lips briefly press on mine before I can pull free.

Stunned,
I can’t immediately move. He kissed me in public.

His
hands release me. His lips tick up. “Take care, Rain.”

Brow
creased, I hold his gaze for a moment, then walk beneath the lintel. The doors
shudder shut behind me with alarming finality. No going back. Still frowning, I
linger beneath the small orange light. Alain Sauvageau, one of the most powerful
men in Gettaholt, publicly displayed affection for me. He sent a clear message
that I’m important to him. Word will spread.

He’s
trying to protect me.

Well,
be that as it may, he can’t protect me Upside. I’m on my own. I take a picture
postcard from my pocket. Staring at it, I murmur, “Victoria,” and walk into the
shadow.