Penult (Book Four of The Liminality) Page 5

  “The little Duster bitch? No way. She had to have help.”

  “Nope. It was all her.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure she had help. But … whatever. The point is … my spell craft is thin soup compared to yours. I’m better off working for them on this side, and they know that. Besides, I’ve never been to the other side. Everything I know about the Liminality is what people tell me. Guess I have too rosy a perspective on life.”

  “How’d you end up working for Frelsi?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Somehow they found out about me when I was just a cat burglar. I had the skills they wanted. So now I’m an independent contractor specializing in Facilitation. I don’t do the whole Hemisoul/Freesoul thing.”

  “I’m not sure how I can help. I haven’t made the crossing in months. I’m not even sure I’m capable anymore.” I glanced over at Karla, who was still holding onto that knife. “Did you hear anything about a war?”

  “I … I haven’t been either,” she said. “Not for weeks. Not since I came back from Wales.”

  I looked at Wendell. “See? Neither of us are any use to you guys.”

  Wendell grinned. “Oh? Too happy? Well, we can change that fast. Lots of ways to change that big time.”

  “Are you threatening us?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m betting you can find a way to get over there without our help. They tell me there are ways to summon them, without having to screw up your head. Zhang calls it the power of negative thinking.”

  “Surfing,” said Karla, looking at me.

  “Whatever.” Wendell shrugged. “These … roots, once you’ve been visited, they never go away. You might not feel them, but they’re there, lurking, waiting for your life to take a tumble. But the point is, there are ways of shaping your thoughts to fool the damn things. There are always to work the system. So don’t tell me you’re locked out.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?”

  Wendell’s face went taut. “That’s not an option. Zhang is expecting to hear from you.” A smile crept back into his features. “Listen. There’s no rush. I’m only asking that you try to make it over there when you can, and when you do, go see Zhang’s people. They’re expecting you. And no worries, they’ve got an alliance thing going on with the Dusters so it’s not like you’ll be going against your buds.”

  “An alliance? Really?”

  Wendell frowned. “Yeah. They were that desperate. I tell you, this whole thing has been bad for business. Demand for Facilitations has gone way down. A lot of Hemisouls are figuring they’ll give life another chance.”

  “Do you blame them?”

  “Shit, no. I’d be a hypocrite if I did. I’m just saying, business is slow.”

  Karla had a weird expression on her face. Wistful, but sad and lost. She was being so quiet. She looked more disappointed than scared. But was she looking at me like that?

  “Make an effort,” said Wendell. “That’s all I’m asking. And when you do, go see Zhang.” He gathered together the pile of brochures he had been perusing. “Well, folks, that’s pretty much it. Just try not to dilly-dally too much. Otherwise, we … uh … we might have to grease the skids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Just that, we have ways of … uh … altering your mood, so to speak. Facilitating a transition, in fancy terms. I don’t mean in a permanent way. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. Just … apply yourself. Go see Zhang as soon as you can. The gates of Frelsi are open to you. They’ll be expecting you.”

  He rose from the table, crumpled the brochures and tossed them in a trash bin along the wall.

  “So that’s all for today, folks. Just wanted to pass the word. I won’t be coming back unless I have to. Oh, and Karla. So sorry about your cousin. It was an honest mistake. You guys look so much alike. But she’ll be fine. She’s just a little bruised.”

  “You guys were the ones chasing Karla? But why? You knew where to find me.”

  “Thought it might be nice to have some leverage when you got out. So we thought. But that girl’s a slippery little thing. She’s got mad skills in evasion and misdirection.” But no worries. Go see Zhang and we’ll leave you lovebirds alone. Later gators.”

  He strode off the patio and struck out across the meadows heading towards the hills.

  ***

  We sat at the table and watched Wendell disappear into a speck in the distance before disappearing behind fold in the rumpled fields of green. I was relieved that he said nothing about the black card. I had half expected him to ask for it back.

  “Where is he going?” said Karla.

  “Who knows? Maybe he’s got a helicopter parked out there.” I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Feel better now? Now that we know who was following you?”

  “I do,” said Karla. “Now it all makes sense to me. They just want our … well … your … help.”

  “Yeah, well. Too bad they’re not gonna get it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’m not going back to the Liminality. Why should I?”

  “Our friends are there. They may be in danger.”

  “Let them come back here, then. They don’t need to stick around. Why put themselves at risk?”

  “Some of us don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “But … all I’m saying is that they can fade back temporarily. Wait for any trouble over there to blow over. And then go back, if they want.”

  “We don’t know what’s happening over there. And that’s easier said than done … for some.”

  “What happens there is none of our business. Why should we worry about the afterlife? We’re not even dead? I mean, let’s get on with life … with living.”

  “They won’t leave us alone till you go see Master Zhang.”

  “Who is this guy? Do you know him?”

  “He used to live in the Burg. In the early days, before Grandpapa lost his mind. He’s a good Weaver. One of the best.”

  “Honestly, what can they do to me if I can’t go back? I mean, is it my fault that I’m optimistic for a change?”

  A policeman stepped out of the lobby and looked around the patio, nodding to me when I glanced at him.

  Karla looked troubled. “Let’s go back to the room. I need to talk to you … someplace quiet and … private.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “First we need to talk.”

  ***

  The bed was made and everything in the room had already been tidied up while we had been out. Karla sat on the bed and motioned for me to sit on the little armchair across from her. Her eyes were flitting all over the place.

  “Are you okay? What’s up?”

  She looked straight into my eyes, her gaze unwavering for a change. I could see myself reflected in the black mirrors of her pupils.

  “I’m done here. I don’t want to live.”

  Those words should not have surprised me. Every soul who had ever been to the Liminality had harbored suicidal thoughts. That’s how we all ended up there, by edging to the brink of ending our lives. An honest death wish was the scent that brought roots, those agents of the Reapers, out hunting after our souls.

  But I thought things would be different now. We were together, with nothing to keep us apart. I thought that would have at least made her hopeful, and given her a reason to live, the way the havens of Root had once given us all a second chance at existence. Was the prospect of a life with me not enough to keep her going? I was stunned.

  “You don’t want to be … with me?”

  “Of course I want to be with you. I just said … I don’t want to live.”

  “I’m … speechless.”

  “My dream James is to be with you … forever … as Freesouls. I am thinking next time we are in the Liminality together, we make our way to the glaciers. And then, when we are back here … together. We … take each other’s lives.”

  “What? Suicide? You
want us to make a fucking suicide pact?”

  “Or maybe … this man we just meet … this Facilitator … maybe he can do it. What do you think?”

  “Wendell? You want Wendell to kill us? Are you crazy?”

  “Okay, then me. I’ll do it. We’ll … do it together.”

  This was insanity. Yet, there she was, perfectly calm and serious. I detected no sadness in her now. There was hope in her eyes. Wistfulness tinged with longing.

  “Karla. Nothing personal, but I’m not ready for this kind of commitment. I’m not ready … to die. I love you, but—”

  “But it’s not really a death. We both know that.”

  “But we lose … all this. I waved my arm towards the window and the storybook scenery that spread in all directions. We lose … this world.”

  “There are pretty places in Root. And other worlds … with bigger possibilities. Anything is possible in the Liminality.”

  “But … it’s the same here. Maybe it’s a little bit harder but … anything is possible here. Anything.”

  “For you, maybe. Not for me.”

  Again, I didn’t know what to say. I struggled to find something that would give her a reason to live, if being with me wasn’t reason enough.

  “What about Izzie?”

  She frowned. “What about her?”

  “Don’t you want to find her?”

  “I told you, there may be nothing to find. I think there is a good chance she might be gone.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “But what can we do?”

  “I can help you look for her.”

  “I have looked. Everywhere. Brynmawr. Cardiff. London. Glasgow. And besides … you were deported. They won’t let you in.”

  “No problem. I’ve got a fake passport.”

  Her eyes softened. A slight tremor came over her. I could see that I had dented her armor. She had lost some of her conviction.

  “How about we go back to Wales? Give it one more shot? And if we can’t find her, then we can talk about … other options. Okay? How about it?”

  Her eyes were weepy and her lips trembled. I took her hands in mine. They were stone cold.

  “Okay,” she said, weakly.

  Chapter 6: London

  It occurred to me that I should have taken the opportunity to press Wendell regarding Isobel’s whereabouts. If his people had been keeping tabs on Karla, they probably knew something about Izzie as well. Back when he first tried to recruit me to become one of his Facilitators aka assassins and I had showed reluctance, he had actually threatened her safety.

  Coercion came easy to guys like Wendell. Blackmail was the favorite tool in his motivational tool box.

  But all that was water under the bridge. Nothing to be done now but to go and search for Izzie on our own.

  I rummaged through the folio I had taken from the Rutland safe deposit box, selecting a Canadian passport with a recent picture of me that I didn’t remember posing for. The name next to the picture was David M. Rooney. There you go. No longer was I blacklisted with UK immigration. It was going to be hard getting used to Karla calling me Dave.

  We went back down to the restaurant and had a real dinner, and afterwards spent another night enjoying each other’s bodies. Karla sure didn’t act like a girl who wanted to die, not that we couldn’t keep on making love on the other side.

  Our pillow talk that night dared not broach the topic of death wishes or suicide pacts. Maybe she sensed that I didn’t want to hear about it. We spoke only of logistics. Where we would go first. How we would get there.

  In the morning, we packed our few belongings, grabbed a quick breakfast and made our way down to the bus stop. I wish we had a few more days to stick around the Dolomites, because I liked it here. I would have liked a chance to explore the place.

  I hoped we could come back here again someday, preferably with Karla in a better frame of mind. The bus careened down the switchbacks to the lowlands and Bolzano where we caught a train to Milan, and then a budget flight to London City Airport.

  The black card went through without a hitch and my fake passport worked like a charm. We breezed through customs, this time with no strange blonde ladies to accost me.

  It was time to draw from my box of tricks again, this time the key I had found in that old lady’s safe deposit box in Rutland. I called the number on the tag and listened to a recorded message on the other end: ‘1137 De Vere Gardens, Kensington.’ I Googled it, and found it was just off of Hyde Park, in what had to be an extremely ritzy neighborhood given its proximity to Kensington Palace.

  Karla was leery about going there but I insisted we check it out. When we arrived, we found a dense block of nicely kept apartment buildings. Number 1137 was a green metal door in a wall of beige and brown stone, the number in bronze gone green with verdigris.

  We unlocked the door went up the stairs to find a fully furnished flat with a well-stocked fridge and pantry. It looked like someone lived there, apart from the fact that there was not a speck of trash in the bins, and the end of the toilet paper was folded into points like they do in nice hotels.

  “Who lives here?” said Karla, hovering in the foyer, reluctant to touch anything. I plopped down onto a humongous leather easy chair and clicked on the TV.

  “It’s ours for now. Enjoy it while you can.”

  “No, really James. Who owns this place?”

  “I don’t know. Wendell’s bosses I guess. The rich people who go to Frelsi. But it’s cool. We can stay here. They gave me the key. Right?”

  “They gave you or you took it?”

  It took her a while, but eventually she relaxed enough to explore some of the cupboards and closets.

  “There is pasta here. And sauce in jar. You like pasta?”

  “Sure,” I said, as I flipped through the channels.

  “Pesto or marinara?”

  “Um … I don’t care. Either one. They both sound good. Need some help?”

  “No. I can manage.”

  It felt weird have Karla in the kitchen making us dinner. Like we were an old married couple or something. I caught up on the news. I was kind of out of touch. They only let us watch CNN and Fox News in prison. The BBC gave the impression that we lived in a way more nuanced and complicated world.

  The doorbell buzzed. Pans clattered on the kitchen floor. Karla burst from the kitchen in a panic.

  “Whoa kiddo! Calm down. Let me go see who it is.”

  I was a little freaked out as well, I had to admit. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with one of Wendell’s people. I looked around for something I could use to defend myself just in case, but all I could find was an umbrella.

  I tiptoed down the stairs and peeked through the peephole. There was no one standing outside. When I inched open the door I found a cardboard box filled with perishables: a bouquet of flowers with fresh baguettes, milk, cheese and a small basket of apricots. I could get used to this kind of lifestyle. It was like being a rock star without the annoyances and obligations of fame.

  I brought the stuff up to Karla and she looked at the stuff like it was poison.

  “See?” I said. “I told you we’re welcome here.”

  She broke the baguette open and sniffed. “It’s fresh.” She broke out into a big smile. It was good to see her starting to get into it.

  “Smells great!”

  She scrunched her face at me. “It’s just sauce from a jar. I wish I could make fresh.”

  I went back to the news. She called me into the dining room when dinner was ready, greeting me at the entrance with a glass of bubbly.

  We sat down, with a steaming bowl of pasta with pesto between us. A board with sliced prosciutto and Romano cheese, some olives and artichokes.

  “How much you pay for this place?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “It’s … free.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing is ever free. I hope you will think about helping them.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll
think about it. Don’t know if I’ll be much use though, if I can’t cross over.”

  “You need to at least try,” she said, twirling her linguini into a spoon.

  I nodded, to humor her, and mumbled through a mouthful of noodles.

  “I am thinking,” said Karla. “We can go up to Inverness tomorrow. That is one place I haven’t looked for Izzie. I was afraid to go there by myself, because … of Papa.”

  “Um. Sure,” I said. “We can do that. Whatever you think is best.”

  “We can find Sturgie; get him and his friends to help us. Around Papa’s people, I would feel better if we have safety in numbers.”

  “No problem. He’s still going to school up there, right?”

  “College? Yes, I think so. He was only in his second year last time we saw him.”

  “Maybe we should rent a car. What do you think?”

  “You have enough money?”

  “I have the card.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think it is such a good idea to keep using this credit card.”

  “Why not? They gave it to us. I mean, if they want us to work for them, they should be willing to cover our expenses. Right?”

  “You have decided? You are working for them?”

  “Well, no. But….”

  “Don’t use that card anymore. Please. It’s not right.”

  “Karla. It’s fine. Really. These people are rolling in the dough. Rich people die and leave them everything. I wonder what kind of car we should rent. It would be nice to get something upscale. I always wanted to drive a Jag.”

  ***

  We had another glorious night all clean and cozy in a big, soft bed. All this luxury and companionship was making up for all those long nights in prison on that hard, thin pad they called a mattress.

  Karla nixed my rental car idea. She insisted that we pay cash, so we had to take the train. Again.

  I got us a pair of Oyster cards and we took the tube to King’s Cross Station, grabbing a couple of cucumber and goat cheese sandwiches from Pret to take along for the ride. We had an hour before the train left so we hung around in the food court and shops in the building besides the platforms.

  I was checking out a magazine rack when this heavy set red-haired woman made a bee-line over to us, cutting off a group of travelers dragging suitcases. She was pale and bookish, with round rimmed Harry Potter-ish glasses, freckles and a pug nose. She came right up to me.

  “You’re James,” she said, without a shred of doubt. “This must be Karla Raeth. Hi. I’m Sophie Cryer.”