Winter (The Manhattan Exiles) (19 page)

Two more blocks east of the vendors and the trees disappeared, replaced by chain link and concrete. Most of the row houses were empty, boarded up.
Sixty years earlier, the street had been the height of fashion, but Richard had always and only known it as a forgotten collection of trash and graffiti.

2722 wasn’t in better or worse shape than the houses alongside. The concrete entry stairs were cracking, the first floor windows boarded and colorfully tagged. The peaked roof was beginning to sag, and Richard knew the attic was musty in the summer and wet in the winter.

The electricity worked, only because Richard had managed to jury rig the line. He had to swap the patch around every time someone caught on, but he’d managed to keep power flowing.

He couldn’t say the same about water or sewer.

The grandmother who lived at 2724 stood on her front steps, smoking a cigarette in the rain. She wore a battered blue bathrobe, and her feet were bare. Her grey hair was pulled back into a neat braid.

She watched Richard from beneath the rim of her Nationals cap.

He didn’t like the weight of her stare, mostly because he couldn’t fool it away. She was one of the few people he encountered on a regular basis who looked right at him, even when he wished she wouldn’t.

She never spoke. She just watched. Richard rolled his shoulders and tried to ignore her curiosity.

She stared at him as he pulled the key from around his neck, stubbing out her cigarette as he unlocked the door.

Stale, warm air rushed over the threshold when Richard cracked the door. He shoved it wide with a foot, then slammed it closed again once he stood inside. He fumbled in the dark, and threw the dead bolt.

Then he stood very still, listening.

He could hear the hum of the ice box in the kitchen beyond, and through the ceiling the faint murmur of talk radio from the second floor bedroom.

The main floor was dark, heavy curtains pulled to prevent daylight spilling in. Richard flicked a switch to the right of the door. A single bulb in a crooked floor lamp blinked on.

He was relieved to see everything appeared undisturbed. He’d sold most of the furniture several years earlier. His mom’s art collection had gone to Sotheby’s; darker squares and rectangles still marred the faded green wallpaper where her paintings once hung.

Richard crossed the empty living room, footsteps muffled by old, brown carpet. The same ugly carpet stretched through the narrow living room. His mom had chosen gold flecked linoleum for the kitchen.

As a child he’d pretended the gold was real treasure, until Bobby caught him digging at the floor with a butter knife, and broke his nose.

The kitchen was empty but for the icebox and three mouse traps Richard had left against the wall on his last visit. The mousetraps were empty, unsprung. Richard couldn’t help but be glad.

Ever since he’d met Winter and Gabby he’d begun to worry that the mice chewing in the walls of his mom’s house might be more than simple vermin.

Richard grabbed a soda from the icebox, and a packet of popcorn from a shelf in the kitchen cupboard, and took both with him up the back stairs.

The air on the second floor was almost too hot, thick with the haze of unwashed body. Two fans ran at the top of the stairs, oscillating from side to side, stirring the atmosphere but providing no real breeze.

The windows weren’t curtained; they were boarded up. The walls on the second floor had been mostly knocked away, turning several small chambers into one open room.

A muted television shifted colors in one corner of the larger space. Talk radio muttered from a radio on the round table Bobby used to do his puzzles. A single large industrial light blazed above the table, overwhelming several smaller lamps set on the bare floor.

Bobby crouched in his wheelchair under the spotlight, elbows propped on the table, scowling down at numerous jigsaw pieces.

He looked up when Richard stepped into the room, and the reading glasses he wore slipped down his nose. He pushed the glasses back, blinked once, then returned to his puzzle.

Richard set the soda on the table.

“
Popcorn?” Bobby asked. He plucked a puzzle piece from the table, turned it over, and set it back in place, upside-down.

Richard dropped the packet of popcorn next to the can of cola.

“Make it yourself.”

Bobby picked up a different piece, turned it over, and set it on the table. He snagged the popcorn packet, and wheeled away from the table. He handled the chair with the ease of familiarity; the muscles on his bare arms stood out in cords, making the faded tiger tattoo on his left
bicep appear to bow and stretch.

“
You always burn it, anyway,” he complained. He ripped the cellophane packaging away with his teeth, then tossed the packet into an industrial sized microwave Richard had stolen from Macy’s.

There were no chairs in the room. Bobby liked plenty of open space, and he didn’t entertain guests.

Richard sat on the edge of Bobby’s hospital cot. The bed springs squeaked. The mattress was lumpy, but the worn flannel sheets were soft against his hands.

Bobby punched numbers into the microwave.

“What did you bring me?” he asked.

Richard pulled
The Complete Works of Alexander Pope
from beneath Winter’s coat. He dropped it onto the mattress.

Bobby pursed his lips.

“Huh,” he grunted. “Fair enough. Kinda dry. You couldn’t bring me the newest Tom Clancy?”

“
You got to choose the last one,” Richard pointed out. “This is my pick.”

“
Fair enough,” Bobby repeated, shrugging.

The microwave beeped. Bobby coaxed the steaming paper bag from inside, hissing over burnt fingers. He pulled the bag open. A great cloud of steam and popcorn fragrance rose into the air.

“That goblin gunk on the bottom of your shoes, Rick?”

“
No. It’s muddy outside.”

“
You smell like gunpowder.”

“
I changed my clothes.”

“
It sticks to your skin.” Bobby wheeled the bag of popcorn back to his table, and retrieved his glasses. “You’ve gotta wash. With soap. Or you stink.”

Richard spread
The Complete Works of Alexander Pope
open on his lap. He smoothed the title page with his fingers. Black grime made little moons beneath his fingernails.

“
Ready?” he asked.

“
Not yet.” Bobby snapped open the pop. He took a healthy swig. “How many did you guys get last night?”

Richard looked up from the book. He met Bobby’s bloodshot stare.

“It was just me.”

“
How many?”

“
Five,” Richard replied.

The scars on Bobby’s forehead turned white when he frowned, like thick spider
webs on black silk. Richard’s mom had always said Bobby’s complexion had been beautiful, like mahogany, until he’d been caught in the trap.

“
Five’s a lot,” said Bobby. “First time ever I’ve heard you say five in one night.”

“
The Wards are failing.”

“
Reset them.”

“
Dad.” Richard tried not to sigh out loud. “It’s not as simple as that.”

“
Why not?” Bobby demanded. He took a handful of popcorn. “Seems simple to me. You got a problem with your perimeter, you fix it, or you end up dead. Planning to end up dead, Rick?”

His dad’s eyes were black as his skin, wide and dilated against bloodshot red.

“No,” Richard answered promptly.

“
Good.” He dumped the popcorn into his mouth, spoke around it. “You’re no good to me dead, Rick. No one else can get me the stuff you can.”

“
I know.”

“
I’m getting low again.”

Richard didn’t let his concern show. Lately Bobby’d been going through his pills with a greed that bordered on desperation.

“I’ll go, after,” Richard promised.

Bobby scrubbed his hands over his face. The tiger on his arm bowed and flexed.

“Good,” he said again.

He swallowed more
soda, finished the popcorn, and bent over his puzzle. The spotlight shone on his greying hair; it looked dirtier than usual.

“
Want a bath tonight?” Richard ventured. “I could get the water.”

“
That’s funny.” Bobby smiled a little, already engrossed in his puzzle. “My kid smells of battle and he wants to give
me
a cleaning. No.” He adjusted his reading glasses. “Book first, then you can go for the stuff. Bath tomorrow. Don’t bring gun powder stink back into my place. I taught you better. It gives me dreams.”

“
Sorry.”

“
I know.” Bobby picked up a puzzle piece, turned it over, set it down. “The day’s not getting any longer, Rick. Let’s go.”

Richard lowered his head over the book. He turned past the title page and the contents to the first entry, then began to read.

Bobby’s neighbor was back on her stoop when Richard stepped out into the afternoon.

The rain had stopped, but it was still cold. The woman stood in a wreathe of cigarette smoke, watching while Richard locked 2722. She’d traded her bathrobe for jeans and a sweater.

Richard tossed her a scowl. She puffed serenely on her cigarette. Sometimes Richard wanted to shout at her, howl like a wolf until he forced her to look away.

But he never did.

Instead he adjusted Winter’s jacket against the dropping temperatures. He hunched his shoulders, then checked his watch.

There was more than enough time left in the day to get Bobby his pills, and maybe something real to eat. If he didn’t linger too long he’d be back in the tunnels well before the trains stopped running.

Richard’s stomach rumbled. He wanted a kabob, and tortilla soup in a
Styrofoam bowl. Maybe he’d grab a another pretzel, this one for Bobby, with extra mustard. Richard never forgot his dad preferred extra mustard.

Richard licked his lips. Eagerly anticipating an afternoon to himself, he touched the modified Glock he wore in a clip on his belt for reassurance.

The woman at 2724 turned her head.

Richard forced himself to drop his hand, fingers relaxed. He’d forgotten, if only for a moment, that he had an audience.

“
Le feiceáil
,” Richard whispered in the Gaelic.
I am seen
.

The woman lifted her stare from his belt. She dropped her cigarette, ground it out beneath her bare heel.

“Boy,” she said in a voice made rough from the smoke, “your daddy ain’t never been worth your young soul.”

Then she turned her back on Richard, and went back into her home.

12. Rubies

Summer swung her purse as she walked.

“
Maybe less obvious,” Lolo suggested, dodging the little bag. “Or were you hoping to give that toddler a black eye?”

“
A red
Chanel
,” Summer hissed. “This season’s model. Do you know how hard it is to get ahold of one of these? I
have
to show it off. Everybody’s looking.”

“
It’s not
real
,” Lolo hissed back. “And they’re only staring 'cause you’re waving it like a flag.”

“
Just pay attention.” Summer pouted. “Yesterday was a disaster. Because
you
were busy watching the wrong people.”

“
I was paying attention,” Lolo complained. “I just figured you could handle an elderly transient on your own, being one of the chosen people and all.”

“
I handled him fine.” Summer swung her red purse with more emphasis. “
You're
supposed to be the body guard.”

“
This whole plan has been a disaster,” Lolo said. He hopped off the sidewalk, dodging a fat man in shorts, and then back off the street, narrowly avoiding a bike messenger. “It’s been three days. Nothing’s happened.”

“
Unless you count the transient,” said Summer. “Or the wannabe model who tried to squash Mistress Gabriel.”

Lolo grunted. He
scanned the faces of Sixth Avenue skyscrapers.

“
The girl screamed like a banshee.”

“
A true
ban sidhe
’s scream would melt your bones,” replied Summer, nose in the air. “Isn’t that right, Mistress?”

Gabby paused in grooming her tail. She considered Summer from beneath the fall of Lolo’s hair.

“My sister had some of the Foresight,” she said mildly. “Gloriana kept her at Court. When she lamented a death it’s said she could set spring birds to singing.” Gabby patted at her whiskers. “She passed long before I was born. I wish I had heard her song.”

Summer swung her purse in silence for an entire block. When they passed the Macy’s building, she pa
used in front of the store, regarding her reflection in the glass.

“
Mama never tells me stories,” the girl said quietly. She preened, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “And Papa’s frighten me. Winter knew prettier things, like about the Diadem Dragons, and the Flower Forest, and the women who spend their entire lives embroidering Gloriana’s mantle with golden thread.” Her reflection shrugged. “Could be he made those things up. Winter’s a good liar.”

“
Much like his sister,” Gabby said sharply. “Winter may have told you about the Dragons, and the Flower Forest, but Gloriana’s mantle is a close-guarded secret.”

Summer lowered long lashes, shielding her eyes. She turned from the windows, stepping back into the bustling crowd. Lolo dogged her heels. Gabby could feel the boy’s concern in the set of his shoulder.

“Very well,” Summer admitted. “Katherine told me that last bit. I didn’t know it was a secret. It sounded lovely.”

“
The women who work their fingers to bloody bone on Gloriana’s whim might disagree.” Gabby cautioned, “Don’t confuse the Grey Lady’s attention for friendship,
Samhradh
. She’d as soon kill you as kiss you, and she’s wanting your mother’s crown.”

“
You don’t know that!” Summer argued. “Truly, she only wants what we all want: to go home. She doesn’t mean any real harm.”

“
She let her dog chew on Gabby,” Lolo pointed out. “Or have you already forgotten? And your home is here. What’s wrong with here?”

Summer stopped dead. Sixth Avenue foot traffic broke and flowed around them, unaffected.

“You wouldn’t understand!” She stood toe to toe with Lolo, almost shouting. Temper made her eyes spark. Her dark hair rose to dance on a breeze that didn’t exist. “Family’s never mattered to you. You don’t even care who your parents were!”

Lolo didn’t back down. The heat of anger off his skin made Gabby’s whiskers quiver.
“I know who my parents are.”

“
A famous actress and an ambassador to the Middle East?” Summer’s eyebrows rose high. “Or was it a politician’s wife and her husband’s ex-Seal body guard? I think it must be a human thing, making up stupid histories to suit your mood.”

“
Just because I don’t spend all my time sulking over some secret lost homeland doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” Lolo shouted. A woman carrying a striped umbrella spared him a brief glance, but none of the other humans on the street looked their way.

“
It is not
lost
!” Summer yelled. “It’s
stolen
!”

Clutching the little red purse against her chest with both hands, she turned and stormed off, pink trench coat flaring.

“Don’t lose her!” Gabby pulled on Lolo’s ear.

“
As if I could.” Lolo turned his head sideways, and spat on the sidewalk. “She stands out like a fucking flamingo in drag.”

Still, Gabby ran nervously back and forth across his shoulder as he slipped into the moving crowd.

“Chill,” muttered Lolo. “I’ve got her. And even if I didn’t, she’s not dodging Malachi and Barker. Malachi’s gonna be pissed.”

“
I’m ‘pissed’.” Gabby peered through his braids at the bustling sidewalk ahead. She thought she could just make out Summer’s floaty pink coat, several yards ahead.

“
What was she thinking, making a scene?”

“
It’s Summer. She’s getting bored. Flinging around a knock-off and marching up and down Sixth Avenue gets old after the third or fourth day. Can’t say I blame her,” he muttered. “But I can’t say it was fair she took it out on my, like, heritage.”

“
I shouldn’t have mentioned Liadan,” worried Gabby. She smoothed her whiskers nervously.

“
Probably,” Lolo agreed. “But if you hadn’t, she’d’ve had a hissy over the weather, or her hair, or something. She’s tired of hiding.”

“
We’re not hiding,” argued Gabby. “We agreed we’d -”

“
Oh, great,” interrupted Lolo. “What’s she doing, now? Attacking an old lady?”

“
What?” Unable to help herself, Gabby clamored up Lolo’s braids, and perched atop his head. “Where?”

“
There.” Lolo broke into a lazy jog. “Don’t worry, Barker’s got it. He looks mad, too, in a sort of spooky, cold-as-ice way. Someone’s gonna get an earful, and it’s not grandma.”

Gabby could see Barker, now. He sto
od out against the press of day-shoppers and tourists. Barker, with his dark skin and fire-red hair would stand out in any surroundings, but the humans, in their usual way, refused to see him.

Except for the old woman, who had given Summer her back and was scolding her guardian instead.

“Mugging gone bad,” Lolo decided as they edged into the commotion. “Summer’s flashy purse caught the wrong sort of shark.”

Gabriel cursed loudly in the Gaelic. She
sprang from Lolo’s head and ran across several unresisting mortal shoulders to Summer.

“
Foolish, disrespectful daughter!” She clung to Summer’s collar. “Your mother will lock you in your room until spring!”

“
Maybe,” Summer agreed, watching with fascination as Barker attempted to calm the angry mortal. “She tried to take my purse. I thought maybe it was Smith in disguise.”

“
As an elderly human woman?”

The woman in question beat at Barker with her gnarled fists. He winced and snarled, yellow eyes bright with irritation.

“Monster!” the skinny thief shrieked. “Get behind me, Satan!”

“
She’s crazy,” said Summer. “The Sighted ones always are. Mad as -”

She broke off when Lolo inserted himself between Barker and the thief. Gabby wondered if it was only now occurring to the girl what it meant that Lolo had found Winter in a bustling D.C. market at the tender age of four.

“Shut it, grandma.” Lolo spread his fingers, revealing a fan of human money. “Cut your losses and run. You don’t wanna get into this, trust me.”

The woman bared stained teeth in Barker’s direction, then tossed a scowl at Lolo.

“Five dollars?” she scoffed. “Five dollars won’t get me candy.”

“
Five dollars’ll get you a coffee. Street candy ain’t my thing; it rots your brain. Take the money and get lost, grandma, before my friend breaks your face.”

The human snatched the money from Lolo’s hand. She stuffed it under her worn hoodie, then sketched the sign of the cross with an arthritic finger.

“Go back where you came from!” She spoke to Barker, but she looked over her shoulder at Gabby and Summer. “We don’t want your kind here, in our business.”

“
Too late, lady,” Lolo muttered, watching as she stomped crookedly away down the street.

“
Well,
that
was exciting,” Summer huffed. She scrubbed a hand on her thigh and shuddered delicately. “That woman was filthy. Can we all agree this is a waste of time, and go back to the hotel?”

“
No,” Malachi said, detaching from the shadows at the base of a concrete building.

Summer jumped in surprise. Gabby didn’t.

“My lord?”

“
Keep walking,” the Prince of Fairies ordered. “South, toward the Flatiron. Don’t hurry.”

“
He’s here?” Barker ranged himself alongside Summer, gently urging her forward.

“
Keep walking,” Malachi repeated.

He cupped his hand, scooping Gabby from his daughter’s shoulder. She ran up his arm.

“What is it?”

“
Katherine Grey neglected to mention the sword’s iron-forged,” he said softly. “It stinks of the church, the old church.”

“
What?” Gabby squeaked. “Impossible! Even Gloriana would never - “

On Summer’s other side
, Barker plucked free the red purse. In his hands it shrunk to the size of a pack of cigarettes. Deftly he tucked the packet into his jeans. Summer watched without protest, eyes round.

“
Gloriana did,” Malachi said. “
Samhradh
, walk.”

Barker’s hand fell on Summer’s shoulder, slowing the girl back from an increasing trot to a more normal stroll.

“It would explain the human,” the Prince of Fairies said. “One of her own folk couldn’t carry it.”

“
Five centuries of exile didn’t satisfy her ire?” Barker said on an animal hiss. “Now she’s sent a human with sanctified iron to hunt among us?”

“
Lady Katherine said the rubies will draw him.” Summer looked at her father, frightened. “Was it a trap?”

Gabby felt her lungs constrict in fear. She’d lived a very long time expo
sed to iron; in the mortals' buildings, in their transportation, even on their bodies. To some extent, most of the exiles had grown immune.

Christened ir
on, iron sanctified by the old church, that was a different matter.

“
Where is he?” She launched herself from Malachi to Barker and back again. “What will we do? We mustn’t lead him to milady.”

“
He’s close,” Barker answered. His eyes burned yellow with fear and hatred. “I can feel
it
.”

“
Get rid of the stones,” Lolo said. “Drop the loot.”

“
No,” Malachi said, sharp. “Mayhap Gloriana sent him back with the sword and the rubies. Mayhap she’s naught to do with him. Either way, he’s come between worlds. We need him.”

“
Papa . . .” Summer quavered, then cleared her throat. “What do we do?”

“
He’s here,” said Barker.

He stopped, shoving Summer behind his back. The pistol in his hand reflected sunlight dully. Gabby saw the mortals nearby take notice.

“Stand down!” Malachi hissed.

Barker
waited, quivering, but the gun in his hand was steady, trained on the crowd ahead. A child screamed. Summer took a step back from the dark fay, and stumbled against Lolo.

Gabby briefly registered the shining knife in Lolo’s fist before the humans in the street began to break and flee, scattering.

She felt him before she saw him, felt the weight of consecrated iron filling her bones and flattening her lungs. She lost her grip on Malachi, and tumbled to concrete. Barker dropped to his knees at her side, gasping. His pistol clattered on the sidewalk, spinning.

Malachi’s bronze sword hummed as he freed it. The Prince of Fairies seemed to stretch large as a shadow.