The silence was crushing. The pain in Caren's chest suffocating.
She wished to fuck she hadn’t smoked her last cigarette.
Turned aimlessly in place for a moment, then checked her phone.
A new text from Sylvan: New place!!, accompanied by an address.
Caren put on her high school throwback playlist and cranked it up as loud as she could stand it. Pieced herself together as quickly as she could. She hadn’t spent any serious amount of time home alone since the night of the solstice. The sudden emptiness felt full of ghosts.
The shower water was cold—she’d forgotten no gas meant no hot water, too. She’d hardly slept, felt half-delirious by now. She was shivering so hard she kept making little buzzing noises through her teeth.
There was no bath towel on the rack, only a hand towel crumpled on the floor. Caren scrubbed her body with it, whimpering, halfheartedly singing along to “Bodybag” by Hit the Lights. Trying to contain this weird obsessive idea that had started creeping into the corner of her mind, that Luke was about to darken the bathroom doorway while she was standing there freezing and naked. Not warm, alive, familiar Luke. Dead Luke—changed and foreign.
And pissed as hell that she was living on without him. Pissed that she hadn’t found his killer yet and kicked the living shit out of him.
Pissed that she hadn’t yet recovered his missing fucking head.
She saw Luke’s head on her pillow again, smiling his dimpled smile.
Everything I do is for you, it said.
But you left, was the knee-jerk reply that flitted through her mind.
Followed by a frantic, penitent, I didn’t mean it.
The sudden rush of tears fucked up her carefully applied eyeliner. She had to start again from scratch. It was next to impossible to pull off wings with shaking hands, but she was determined to look her best. Hard to say if Sylvan was looking to fuck; he was more of a sentimental dumbass, not necessarily all about the sex. Either way, looking cute served Caren’s purposes. And hell, if it came down to jumping in the sack with him, she’d do what she had to. It was a small enough price to pay.
“I’m gonna fucking get to the bottom of it, okay?” she murmured out loud to ghost-Luke. “Whatever it takes.”
Her first stop after leaving the apartment was the “supermarket” (as the sign out front billed it) on the corner across from her place—a cramped, garishly lit convenience store offering a thoroughly random-ass selection of processed foods.
…And, more importantly as far as Caren was concerned, Marlboro Reds.
She housed two squares before hopping the bus to the address Sylvan had texted. Another after getting off at his stop.
“Jesus, Sylvan,” she muttered, slowing to gape as she passed by a Whole Foods on South Street. “Guess you got kinda bougie since the last time I saw you…”
She arrived in front of the well-kept three-story brownstone. Double-checked her texts again, sure she must have gotten the address wrong.
But no mistaking, it was Sylvan Zachry who answered the door. For all his apparently having dramatically improved his fortunes, Caren’s old hookup-slash-contact looked as scruffy as he ever had—same patchy stubble, same exact hair: ash-blond bangs hanging limply in front of his narrow gray eyes. Same snub nose, same boxy chin. Caren never had thought Sylvan was hot, per se. But he had kind of a nice smile. A puppyish appeal.
“Caren fucking Navarrete.” He wrapped her up in a bear hug, a little too tight. “How the hell’ve you been?”
“Eh—you know,” Caren grunted to his shoulder.
“Yeah, wow. I was like…super surprised to hear from you.” He released her, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on in.”
He stood back and waved her through the door, locked and deadbolted it behind her. Led the way through the little vestibule into the house proper, bare feet slapping on hardwood, long cargo pants dragging.
“Damn. This is your new digs? This is fucking nice.” Caren took in her surroundings—a high-ceilinged vestibule, a spiral staircase leading up two floors, a spacious open-floor-plan living area with a kitchen, dining area, and bar, most of which was covered floor to ceiling with rune-inscribed mirrors of all shapes and sizes. Basins full of crystal-clear water lined every wall. “Dude…since when are you so into mirror scrying? What happened to all your herbology and alchemy shit?”
“Oh, uh. Well, actually, you know, I just can’t be around that stuff anymore.” Sylvan pocketed his hands in his pants, shrugged. “Like. Finally got clean. So not taking any more chances.”
“Oh, dude! That’s rad!” Caren put on a big grin. “I kinda thought you had more of, like, a sparkle in your eye and a spring in your step.”
Sylvan chuckled. “Fuckin’ right, my girl. Six whole months sober.”
“That’s fucking awesome!”
“Thank you, thank you. Go ahead, have a seat! You like…want something to eat or drink?”
“Like…just water would be super chill. Thanks.” Caren settled into a wing-backed upholstered chair and stuffed her hands awkwardly between her knees; gazed up at an antique obsidian mirror on the ceiling right above her, on which was superimposed a silver-inlaid magic circle with a many-armed vortex converging on its center, swirling off into infinity.
Sylvan hovered for a moment, grinning blankly, then shuffled off around the bar to the kitchen. Caren watched him as he stood for several seconds staring into the well-stocked fridge before closing it again, washing a dirty glass in the sink, and filling it with water from a Brita pitcher sitting on the counter. He then scanned the contents of the freezer briefly before returning to Caren with the glass.
“Hope room temperature’s okay.”
“Yeah, totally fine.” Caren took the glass, clutched it in both hands.
Sylvan dragged another chair over, sat on its edge leaning forward, facing her. “So, wow. I mean.” He gestured aimlessly, grinned with all his teeth. “I, uh, I have to say, I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. How the hell’ve you been, girl?”
“Oh, you know…same old.” Caren took a deep breath, a little sip of her water. “Look, Syl, I can’t lie. I really came here for business as much as pleasure.”
“Oh.” Sylvan raised his eyebrows. “Sure, sure. That’s just kinda how it’s always been, right?”
“I seem to remember you run black-market alchemy shit for Meillassoux. Isn’t that right? Or used to?”
Sylvan chuckled weirdly, looked down, rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s, uh—yeah. That’s a definite used-to.”
“Okay…well, do you still know how to get in touch with him?”
Sylvan hesitated. “Can I ask why you wanna be getting in touch with Meillassoux’s people?”
“Dude. I wanna get in touch with Meillassoux.”
“He’s a dangerous fucking guy, Caren.”
“I’m a dangerous fucking gal.”
Sylvan chuckled, rolled his eyes. “Hard to argue with that. Look, I can give you the contact info I have. But you sure as hell don’t wanna tell him I sent you. Like, leave my fucking name out of it. Okay?”
Caren frowned. “Yo…seriously? Why? What’d you do, go and piss him off?”
“You…could say that.”
“Dude! How?”
“Uhhhh.” Sylvan grinned, ran a hand through his hair, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees. Fidgeted briefly. “You, uh. You know, Care. You remember how it was when I was like…still dealing with my problem.”
Caren hesitated, nodded. “I mean—yeah. You know I do.”
“Like, I barely knew which way was up. All I could think about was getting my next fix. My fucking business, my whole life was falling apart. You know.” Sylvan was quiet a moment, staring at the floor. “Things were…pretty touch-and-go for a while. Even after I got better there was just…so much debt. Motherfuckers coming around every day trying to collect.”
Caren frowned. “Syl…what did you do?”
Sylvan sighed, laughed, again raked his hand through his hair, which flopped right back down in his eyes. “Um. Well, see, Megyesi came to me. Or I mean, technically he sent someone. Anyway, he…kinda made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“…Megyesi?”
“You know. Kingpin of the Wyrms.”
“Dude. I know who Adrian fucking Megyesi is.”
Sylvan stared off, nodded vaguely.
“Sylvan,” said Caren.
Sylvan blinked as if waking up. “Yeah…I, uh. I mighta…kinda…sold out Meillassoux to Megyesi.”
Caren stared at him. “Sylvan.”
“The money was fucking good, Caren. You have no fucking idea.”
I wasted my fucking time coming here… What the fuck.
“…And Meillassoux’s still alive? And he knows it was you?” said Caren. “Dude, how the fuck did I not hear about this?”
“I guess it’s been kinda like, overshadowed by those Martial Magus murders.”
“Wait. So you’re telling me this just now happened, since the solstice? Like, within the past two days? You’re certain Meillassoux survived…right?”
Sylvan swallowed audibly. “Oh, yeah. He survived. Got a little scratched up. But I saw him escape with my own two eyes.”
“Dude. What the fuck are you doing still in town?”
“I’m actually leaving today. My flight leaves in just a few hours. And…I’m really sorry, Caren. I, uh…I lied to you. This isn’t my apartment. I’m just hiding out here. It’s actually an ex-girlfriend’s who happens to be out of town right now. I still had a key.”
Caren gaped.
Sylvan chuckled bleakly. “Caren…it was…it was so fucked up. It was so…” Again, he swallowed. “I set the whole thing up—told Meillassoux it was a secret meeting with a corrupt Khmun bigwig I used to run for, a lady Meillassoux’s been wanting to establish ties with. Anyway, so these supposed Khmun people show up, but really it’s Megyesi’s people. If you can really even call them people. I tried to get out of there before shit went down, but Meillassoux just kept fucking talking to me, wouldn’t fucking let me leave. Then, finally…” Sylvan looked pale. His eyes glittered through his bangs. “I mean…Caren. You know what House Megyesi does, right?”
Caren just nodded.
Sylvan shook his head slowly. Stared off, haunted. “It was a goddamn blood bath.” He dropped his face into his hands, spoke muffledly through them. “Meillassoux’s most trusted advisor was the first to go down.”
Caren rubbed her temples. “Sylvan.”
“I know. I know. I should have just gotten out of Philly to begin with. Left all my debts behind, started over somewhere else. I thought I was in trouble before… Now I’m fucking finished in this town.”
Caren’s chest throbbed. “Dude’s gonna be wanting your head on a platter right about now. That’s for sure.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m still in town tomorrow morning, I’m dead fucking meat.”
Caren lifted her gaze, let it settle on Sylvan. Stared at him long and hard.
“Look, Care,” he went on, “I’m really, really sorry I can’t help you out more. You have no idea how sorry. But here: I’m more than happy to give you all the info I have.” Sylvan grabbed his phone, thumbed the screen briefly. In her coat pocket, Caren’s own phone buzzed. “Like, it won’t get you much of anywhere, pretty sure, but you may as well try. Just, you know…for your safety and mine, for the love of God, don’t bring my name into it.”
Caren zoned out on the floor. “Yeah…of course.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
This was my best shot…
It’s gonna take for-fucking-ever to get close to a gang boss now, unless Des turns up something extremely fucking good.
Caren started banging her fist against her thigh. Chest throbbing dully.
Heart: Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“You okay, Caren?” asked Sylvan.
“Yeah,” said Caren, not really hearing him.
Caren. Everything I do is for you…
“Well, look,” said Sylvan, “I’m really super glad you called. It was…nice to see you one last time before I fuck off forever.”
Caren felt sick to her stomach.
I’ll make sure they never fuck with you again…
“I hate to say it, but…I really should think about getting going,” Sylvan went on. “Give myself plenty of time to get through security. Really don’t wanna miss my flight.”
“Right.” Caren got numbly to her feet.
Realized she was still punching her thigh. Flexed, relaxed her hand.
Found it once more forming into a fist.
“Well,” she said. Cleared her throat. “Good luck, Syl. I hope things work out for you.”
Sylvan took her curled-up hand, clasped it between both of his. “Yeah, thanks. That really means a lot. Lemme walk you to the door.”
Caren’s phone buzzed again.
She got it out, glanced at it.
Besides the contact Sylvan had sent her, there was a new message from Grenville:
Update?? I’m done with crime scenes. Nothing new to follow up on yet, but some info stored for later. Met a mundane who’s a little too savvy, not sure anything he told me was useful. Got what I could out of him, gotta have him mind wiped now
“‘Info stored for later’…?” Caren muttered. “Fuck.”
“What was that?” said Sylvan.
Caren…
I really will fucking kill him if you want me to.
“Hey. Syl?”
“Yeah?”
Caren looked him in the eyes. “How’s your kid been doing lately? Samantha?”
Sylvan shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m—oh God, Caren. Like. You know how it is. I’m fucking keeping my distance, right? Like. C’mon. Take a look at my life.” He gestured vaguely. Grinned. “Girl’s better off with no dad than with a dad like me.”
…Do you want me to?
Pain shot lightning spider limbs through Caren’s chest. “Listen, I’m…really sorry, dude.”
“Eh. What have you got to be sorry for?”
Caren fired up her super-speed agimat.
Sylvan never saw the baton coming.
Seconds later he was prone on the floor, his hair sticky with blood.
Caren’s hands shook violently as she cleaned the baton and stowed it.
Snapped the bracers in place.
Uncorked the bottle of Morphean miasma.
Clumsily soaked a rag and held it over Sylvan’s nose and mouth.
Gripped his wrist. Timed his pulse as it slowed.
Warm blood thump-thumping in the veins.
What felt like decades later, Caren straightened.
Lit a square. Took a drag.
Got her phone out. Hands still shaking.
Dialed the number Sylvan had sent her.
“Who’s this?” came a velvety baritone.
“I wanna talk to Soren Dreyfus-Meillassoux.”
A pause. Once again, “Who is this?”
“Caren Navarrete.”
Another pause—then the faintest of snorts. “The ratcatcher?”
“Yep. Tell Soren…” Caren stared down at the prostrate form of Sylvan. Heart thump-thump, thump-thumping in her ears. “…I’ve caught him a rat.”
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