Shade City (23 page)

"Steel handcuffs?"

"You know, I've been wondering about why you forced Sal off the top of that building. You saw me after you. If you'd wanted to retreat to the Dead Side, you could have."

Alexander kept his gaze on the cuffs. He raised his hand and pulled against the armrest of the wheelchair to which he was bound.

I continued. "Most of the shades I banish, they're easy to explain. They have a single link to the world of the living that they've fought hard for. Leaving their hosts to run from me would likely mean abandoning this world. Never coming back again. They fight like criminals determined never to go back to prison. It's easier for them to, even, since they can't die. But you and Sal, those circumstances were different."

Ambrose was ignoring my point. "Congratulations, Mr. Butcher. You have succeeded in chaining a wheelchair-bound man to his chair. I do not believe that I have ever witnessed a more useless gesture."

"That's not what I did," I said. It was true that I questioned whether he could walk or not—the man was a liar—but the cuffs had another purpose. He turned to me with curiosity as the elevator door opened.

I smiled naturally at the man standing in the small room. Alexander began to wheel himself out. The armrest he was chained to was close enough to the top of the wheel for him to reach it. He could move himself. But he was slow. And the metal rattled. I impatiently took over his fumbling and pushed him. It would call less attention to the handcuffs.

At the main building elevator, a couple was loitering in the hall. They jumped in with us, so it was a long, quiet ride down. Alexander had a strange expression on his face as he stared at the metal around his wrist. The other two must have felt the hostility because they were examining us closely. Ambrose noticed, and lifted his left hand, casually revealing the cuffs. The girl was shocked.

I put my hands up emphatically. "If he wasn't tied to it, he'd lose it."

They broke away from us the first chance they got.

Once we were outside, I rolled Alexander through the crosswalk. He broke his silence. "There was very little time to leave Sal," he said, "with you on my trail. A banishment is an abrupt and painful transition, as I'm sure you're aware. A proper retreat would have been too time-consuming. Besides, I wanted to see you up close, with my own eyes. I wanted to see who was following me. That is how I recognized you on the Dead Side."

"And now?" I asked with a cocky grin. "What's keeping you from leaving now?"

The man was silent for a few moments before speaking. "Curiosity, Mr. Butcher."

I sneered at his weak reply. "The answer you're looking for is cold iron, Ambrose. Those handcuffs aren't steel. They're vintage. From an old military store."

"Iron?" he asked, placing all attention on his bound wrist.

"You really don't know, do you? Well, that explains why Violet didn't know. Why I had to figure it out for myself."

"Figure out what?"

"The properties of iron. A horseshoe. It can be a deterrent, of course. But it's more than that. A shade can't pass through a coil of iron. It can be on a doorway. Or it can be around a body. I was thinking about how people focus so much on keeping shades out that they never thought about keeping them in. Now, I could be wrong about this, but it's a solid bet that the cold iron around your wrist will prevent you from slipping out of Alexander McAllister." The man yanked against the chain once more. He didn't say a word. "Hate to say it, Ambrose, but I think you're stuck with me."

We entered our final elevator, this one heading underground into the subway station.

* * *

Most of the Metro stations in Los Angeles each have their own theme. Pershing Square Station is no different. As I wheeled Alexander McAllister along the island platform between the tracks on either side, I shuddered under the colorful neon lights. Bands of purple and pink supposedly celebrated the very first neon sign in the country, never mind that the car lot that displayed them was six blocks away. It was a tenuous connection and a strange tribute, and right now it annoyed me.

Alexander had been quiet for several minutes. I wasn't sure how he would react to his capture. He could've screamed for help at the first pedestrian that walked by. He could've claimed that he'd been kidnapped. My plan, if that happened, was to take him to the bathroom and put him in a choke hold until he was docile. But I had a feeling that Alexander was above the need for such theatrics. A century of life will teach a man patience, if nothing else.

As it was, I found a quiet end of the terminal and waited for the next northbound train.

"I suppose I was hasty in my judgment of you, sir," the man finally said. I glanced at the chair momentarily and then continued my vigil of the tracks. I was sitting on a bench next to him but was uninterested in any more conversation. I just wanted to get this over with as fast as I could. When I didn't respond, he kept baiting me. "Do you do all of this for Mr. McAllister? Do you think to save him from his grief? Well, let me tell you that it is too late for him."

I scowled.

"In my experience," he said, "when a man has been other than himself for years, a part of his true being withers. You visited my host when I was not inside. You saw that the loft resembles a crypt more than a home. Didn't you notice that his body was failing him? One foot in the grave. Now, my spirit is like a warm glow, giving his flesh an energy it lacked. A drive. Fingal went mad when I left. Finlay was already ill but quickly deteriorated upon my exit. How do you suppose poor Alexander will fare?"

"He has a chance," I countered. "Finlay was abandoned by you when he went to prison. How long had he been taken by that point? A decade? By all accounts, he was becoming a better person inside. Reforming. You were only in Alexander for four years before being struck down. And the coma may have even helped him. It could have re-acclimated his spirit to his body. Maybe he can live a normal life, after all."

Ambrose kept his face relaxed but I caught something he tried to hide. Was he impressed? I was just guessing. Spitballing. But I had to believe that shades didn't permanently destroy those they inhabited. I had to believe there was hope.

"The man has awoken to a world where his loving wife beat him with an iron and murdered his only daughter. He is broken, Mr. Butcher. Hope is meaningless if it is unrealistic."

My face darkened again. "Do you not feel the slightest remorse for the McAllisters? Four generations of a family were destroyed by you. They lived their lives as automatons, struggled with the reality of living with strangers, or were simply murdered. Only two pieces remain. Catriona will likely live out the rest of her life in Willow Gardens, and Alexander will find himself alone in a similar way. But at least he has money. Maybe he can do some good with it. Maybe he can add something to this world."

Alexander Ambrose was not sympathetic. As I spoke about the hardships of the family, not a trace of sadness or remorse overtook his features.

"McAllister," said Ambrose, letting each syllable play in its own beat. "It means 'son of Alexander.' I have often thought it fitting, if not a bit dry." The man rocked in his wheelchair and turned it to directly face me. "The money is mine, sir. I have earned every penny of it, not that... puppet."

"Think of it as restitution."

"I will not. But our difference of opinion on the matter is academic. As of this evening, the inheritance of Mr. McAllister is no longer his."

I watched the smug expression on his face. He had done it already. He had beaten me to the punch. "Mr. Glickman. Soren."

"Correct, Mr. Butcher. Soren is in control of my estate now. He will forever believe his benefactor was an old friend of his father's, but it matters not. Whatever you tell him, he will cling to the money. It is human nature. But you and I both know that a fortune will not sate him. He will fall into his destructive cycle again. That is
his
nature. He will always be waiting for another shade, if not me."

"How long have you been watching Soren? How long have you wanted him?"

Alexander raised his eyebrows softly. "Soren was only one possibility. There were others. I kept a close watch on all of them. I looked for any opportunities."

"But why didn't you just do what I did? Why didn't you blow him full of sage and take over?"

Ambrose released a rare laugh. Not too loud. Not too long. But it was mirth all the same. "Mr. Butcher, for as much of an expert in these matters as I am, I must concede that banishment was never my priority. Like the iron loop. Simply said, I didn't know how to do it. Until you showed me."

"But Violet was the one who taught me—"

"She's a smart girl, my Viola. Extremely talented. She visited the living in that watch before I ever did. I needed her as a crutch in the beginning. She must have learned about the sage after we parted ways. Or perhaps she had always known and kept it from me. I cannot say. For my part, I have discovered how to bind with a man while firmly rooted in another. It is not an easy process. It requires some time close with the prospect. But it can be done. As can anything. This world of ours, Mr. Butcher, is a fickle one. There is wonder and disappointment, but most of all, there is the unknown. It is a frontier wrought with mystery. For all I can do, there are others who can do more. Yet they marvel at my knowledge. My ability. Even you," he said, again with a hint of admiration, "you have gifts that confound me. You can see us in this world where no other can. It is a delicate web that we tread upon, never knowing where the next strand will take us."

I had always known I was different. That I was special in some way. That was undeniable, especially after Violet enlightened me. But I had never thought about it. I didn't care why. Just as Ambrose had stated, the workings of life were a big mystery. In my book, the what was more important than the why.

As the lull in our conversation lengthened, I began to wonder what strange abilities were out there that I didn't know about yet. Could Violet do anything? I remembered seeing her on the Dead Side rendering Soren's shade to light. Ambrose had seen it too. Was that a power? Was that special? Then my thoughts took a foreboding slant. I thought about Bedros and Eladio and Emilio. Even Marquis. Here was a man that was undoubtedly dangerous, maybe even more of a monster than Ambrose. What could he do that the others couldn't? What made him special?

As if reading my face and sensing I was on another topic, Alexander picked my brain. "What are your intentions here? I don't want to hear about your lofty ideals. I don't want your world view. I mean here. Now. What are we doing?"

I looked up at the station monitor and checked the time on my cell phone. I was purposefully keeping the pocket watch put away, keeping Violet from the company of her father. We still had a few minutes and I exhaled a heavy breath. The bench didn't have a backrest so I leaned against both my hands behind me. "My primary concern is protecting Alexander McAllister and Soren."

"Only one of which is currently under your watch."

"I'll find Soren next."

"If you think he'll be easy to find, you're wrong. And even if you knew where he was, he's not alone."

"Don't place too much faith in Bedros. I've tangled with his sort before."

Alexander nodded. "And how do you plan on tangling with a true ghost? With a man that can jump bodies?" He lifted his arm and the cuffs rattled against the wheelchair. "This is only temporary, Mr. Butcher. Your actions have longer ramifications. By now you must be aware that I have bound myself to Soren. The seed is planted. He is mine." Alexander looked around Pershing Square Station. "It is much like this rail. Or better yet, like the Southern Pacific that had a hold on me in another lifetime. The train is barreling ahead. It is an iron horse with the momentum of a giant. Fingal, Finlay, Alexander—they were all stops, not destinations. You can raise trouble. You can slow the titan. My acquaintance with Soren may meet a delay at your hands but it will surely happen. It is a guarantee. You are merely changing the timeline."

I nodded in resignation. "You're right. I don't know how to stop you. But it's not me that's going to."

Suspicion immediately clouded Alexander's face. "What? Where are we going?"

"You were sly when you threw me off your trail. You just needed a little more time to bind with Soren and you got it. But you made a mistake." Alexander listened to my words intently. My smile was difficult to contain. "Did you think introducing me to your enemy was a smart move, Ambrose?" The man still did not register recognition. It looked as though I had finally outmaneuvered him. "We're taking this train into Hollywood. Visiting the headquarters of Red Hat Events. Your good friend Marquis is waiting for you there."

A look of absolute horror consumed the face of Alexander McAllister, and the face of Alexander Ambrose behind it. I had him. And he knew it.

"He wanted me to bring him Soren," I explained. "I was never going to do that. The innocent deserve a chance. But you?"

"You would cooperate with a demon to bring justice to a sinner? You can't do this!"

"I can," I said coldly. "You completed your service to him. You paid him off and hoped he'd forget about you. But then you embezzled the riches back through your gangster buddies over the course of Fingal's fifteen-year prison sentence."

"Bah! The man promised me eternal life. What he wanted was eternal servitude. I gave him that life. I sacrificed my future by handing over all of my assets. He still would have taken more."

I scoffed. "Do you hear yourself? You've stolen everything from the McAllisters yet you object to what Marquis did? Even a robber doesn't like getting robbed."

"I improve the lives of these men. They are weak without me. I collect their riches. I build their legacies. Not Marquis. He is a leech. I was supposed to live for him, but I couldn't do that." My expression was stone against his words. He became frustrated. "I am a self-made man. I have provided for myself and lost it all three times over. You talk about morality. Then see me for what I am. A man who was dragged down by the politics of the Southern Pacific Railroad. A man who looked for a way out for his daughter. A man who was tricked into servitude in the afterlife. No, Mr. Butcher. I won't submit to your outlook. I won't be trodden on. I will
not
be a slave any longer."