Jack Shadow Page 4

  It looked like we were finally getting to the night’s main event. I shrugged. “Damned if I know. Someone told me it was your fault, Blondie.”

  “Mine, Jack? Mine? All I did was hang around you.”

  “Hang around, Blondie? First time I saw you was—”

  “In your apartment, Jack? Sure. Just because you never saw me though, didn’t mean I wasn’t there. Maybe—maybe some other people saw me.”

  “Right. Because you made damn sure they did, huh? Why would you do that, Blondie?”

  “Maybe because you’re cute, Jack.” Blondie grinned again. She shrugged. “Think that was it, Jack? Because you’re—” she shrugged. Again. “—because you’re cute?” I waited. Then I waited some more. Blondie stopped grinning. “But, just so we’re clear Jack, I never actually did anything. Right? Nothing at all. And absolutely nothing that could be seen as threat to anyone, right? Anyone not you, that is. I just, like, hung around. Anything anybody—any anybody—might have assumed, that’s nothing to do with me, right?”

  Not a threat. To anyone. Apart from me. Because for some reason, the Dragon wanted me dead. But that’s how it is for gnats. Sometimes they get squished. “I guess not, Blondie.”

  “No guessing, Jack. Nothing. To do. With me. Right?” Blondie shimmered—into Twinkle. “So, Jack. I guess you have things to do, huh? Things to find out? Questions to ask? Maybe you ought to go ask someone who might know some answers? And we can’t have anybody getting, um, worried. While you ask your questions. Any anybody. Not yet, right Jack? So I’ll keep them off your back. While you—while you do what you do so well, huh?” Not-Blondie waved what was probably not a hand. The Fifth Avenue traffic roared by. Blondie took off—though not literally. She was being Twinkle, and Twinkles don’t have wings. Me, I took the foot-train to Harlem. It’s easier to spot a tail that way. There wasn’t anything to spot, so I picked a new no-questions-asked dive with a flickering neon sign and took a room. That’s what I was doing—a new room every night, and nothing left behind. You sleep on your own plastic sheet, and put their bedding back in the morning. That way, there’s less to trace. What you mostly don’t do is blow the place to matchsticks just before dawn. I didn’t. But someone did. See, dawn is good. If someone’s asleep, round dawn they’re in deepest REM sleep. Sound and sounder. So it’s a good time to make that someone dead. To squish them.

  I don’t squish.

  See, that’s the other thing I do. Round midnight, I took off out a window. Places nice folks don’t go, they’re squashed close up. Which is good. Out a window, up a wall, over a roof—there’s always another window open. You grab whoever’s there. A needle, and Mr Sandman couldn’t keep them deeper asleep. They get to use your bed, and you use theirs. In the morning, you switch back. It works. Makes you harder to track. And it works especially well if someone wants you dead. They get to blow some sucker not called you into whatever passes for glory.

  The matchsticks that used to be the GoodNight Motel said someone probably wanted me dead.

  Blondie was trying as hard as she could to tell me something, without saying what it was. Maybe she couldn’t tell me. So maybe it was time I found someone who could. And make them tell.

  See, that’s how it is. Sometimes, you got to find someone who can give you some answers. But before you can get the right answer, you have to have the right Question. So that’s why we’re here. Why you’re here.

  The Question.

  Chapter Nine

  Fay-Tal Attraction

  Boxing Day Night, 1887. Whitechapel, London

  If you have to make a professional’s life miserable, don’t ever try it while they’re working. Whether you’re their target or not, they’re looking for you. Because they’re looking for everything, looking for everyone. At least, the good ones are. So the best time is when they’re playing. Because even professionals stop looking properly when there’s a ball involved. Or, as it may be, a foggy night. If, that is, their thing is foggy nights. Which is why I was stood in an alley off Commercial Road.

  There’s nothing really difficult about time travel, though the ingredients are a bitch. Virgin’s Tears are getting real hard to come by. Not so much the tears—more the virgins. Which is mostly why there’s a crowd of unicorns hanging round near every street corner, looking hopeful. It’s not generally a problem. The few people who can see them are normally locked up pretty quick by the large number of people who can’t. Who are told to lock them up by the ones who know the unicorns are really there. So it evens out—Unicorn’s Horn is a lot easier than it used to be. And unicorn steak takes some beating.

  I’d followed her from the pub at Mitre Square. I made a mental note to take care of it. The pub, I mean. She’d made her way through the alleys the way she had every one of the last few nights. Sometimes she’d stop on a corner, say hello to some other girl on the night shift. They all knew her. Or enough, anyway. Too many would just make more work later.

  “’Night, Fay. You get home quick now!” She smiled at the latest one. I followed her as she slipped into another alley. That was when I heard it. Tap. Tap. Tap….

  It was time.

  If nothing else, he was thorough. He’d been keeping his pattern random, backward and forward. That was going to confuse the heck out of historians. This one was a backward, and he was a long way down his road. The stake through her stomach. The cut open chest. His knife careful and precise, the liver and heart extracted. Like I said. If you’re going to make a professional’s life miserable, do it when they’re having fun. So I stepped out from the shadows. “Hey, Jack.” Then I shot him.

  No. I didn’t kill him. He had questions to answer. Besides. He was Executive Suite. Dragon would have him tagged from zipper to zatch. I killed him, they’d smell it on me in a minute.

  * * * * *

  350 was tight. Wasn’t the first time I’d stashed someone there so we could chat a while. But I couldn’t have him running out on me while I did what needed doing. It’s kind of hard to run without legs. So I cut his off. It gave knee-capping a whole new meaning, except he didn’t have any anymore. Knees, that is. I sealed the ends of his legs in hot tar, so he wouldn’t bleed to death. And so it wouldn’t look out of place when I got rid of him later. Not yet though. Like I said: he had questions to answer.

  * * * * *

  1888. Whitechapel, London

  I was a little short on Virgin’s Tears. So when I got back to Whitechapel, a few weeks had passed. I figured that wasn’t good. I was right. When I broke into the morgue, Fay was gone. So I went to the pauper’s graveyard. Good job nobody was going to pay for cremation. I dug. When I opened the casket, she wasn’t happy.

  “Bloody hell, Jack. Took your time, didn’t you?” Yup. She was pissed.

  “Hello to you too, Prowess.” That’s the thing about being a Shape-shifter. Having your heart and liver cut out is more an inconvenience than anything else. “So. Who do we have to fix?”

  The cop was easy. Even police Inspectors take an occasional drink, and Edmund Reid was no different. First, Prowess fixed him so he got rid of all evidence there’d ever been an investigation. After he was done she sucked a bit harder, and he forgot everything. Like it never happened. An evening or so around Whitechapel, and nobody there remembered Fairy Fay. A little gasoline, a match, a little of Prowess, and nobody remembered there’d ever been a pub at Mitre Square either. Or the people in it when it burned down.

  The easiest person to get rid of? Somebody who was never there in the first place. So Fairy Fay went back to the land of the never-was, and a whole new set of web pages got a reason to exist. But that was OK. Web pages are like unicorns. Everybody knows people who believe them, or in them, are crazy. Which suits the Dragon just fine.

  That left Jack.

  * * * * *

  Back at 350, Jack wasn’t happy either. “Shadow. This time—this time you’ve really gone too far. You know you can’t kill me. And you know you can’t hold me here forever. When I get back and tell
The Master….” He stopped.

  “Yes. The Master. I’ve been hearing a lot about him recently. Who is he, Jack?”

  Jack laughed. “A nice try, Shadow. But you don’t sit at any table high enough to know about….” He stopped again. “Yes. A nice try indeed.”

  Damn. I was going to have to rebuild the bloody wall. Again. A few strokes with a hammer I kept for occasions like this, and Twinkle greeted the world. As in, not greeting. Being dead will do that. You didn’t need Jack’s surgical training to see she’d been dead for a while. “Nope. I don’t. Know any high tables, I mean. But she did,” I pointed.

  “But she’s … we’ve been tracking her for … I saw her yesterday!” If Jack hadn’t been happy before, he was even less happy now.

  “Yup. You’ve been keeping tabs on her, right? While she ‘followed’ me?” It was my turn. I grinned. “Well, we had quite the little chat, Twinkle and me.”

  “Twinkle?”

  I sighed. “Twinkle. We didn’t exactly get down to names, Jack. Anyway. We had quite a little chat. I’m good at chats. Right, Jack?”

  “Do at least try, Shadow. I don’t know how you did it, but it doesn’t matter. She was just a Cleaner. There’s nothing she could have told you about—about matters.” Jack didn’t grin. I guessed he figured he was about to find out how good I was. At chats. Which was fine by me, because he wasn’t.

  I grinned. “I guess you’re right, Jack. I guess there’s no chance those high tables thought your … amusements … were getting risky. That you were getting sloppy. That they put one of their best in your pocket, to maybe find out. No chance, right Jack?” Getting Jack on edge would make things easier. So I pulled a knife from my boot, and put him on edge. Throats aren’t any good if the mark knows you can’t kill them, but stomach wounds bleed big, and you can always sew them up. “So, Jack. Since you don’t know what I know, you won’t know when I know you’re lying. You know?” I stopped, just to check if my ‘knows’ were in the right place. They were. “So. The Master. What do you know, Jack?” I lit a flame under the tar I’d used to seal his legs. I grinned. Normally the grin was just for effect. Normally, like I said, it was just a job. It was this time as well. But this time was different. This time, I was working for me.

  I figured the grin should have just about done it. So I hit him. Hard. He went out like a light. Which let Prowess stop being the extra layer of wall behind me. She grimaced as she slithered down. “Damn. I hate that. You get used to legs and—” she shuddered. Or shivered. “—and bits.”

  “Is he ready, P?”

  A bit of Prowess oozed over to Jack. Then it stopped. “Ready for what, Jack? What do you want?”

  “Everything, P. Hell, I don’t even know the right questions yet. I need everything, and I need to be able to ask him stuff I don’t know.”

  Prowess’ face went hard. As though she wanted to make a point, she grew another face and that one went hard as well. “That’s big, Jack. Damn big. You see….” She looked at me. “Well, no. You probably don’t. What do you think memory is, Jack?” I waited. She was going to tell me anyway. “You see, memory—it’s not all that chemical nonsense they talk about. It’s your soul, Jack.”

  Which was interesting. Because I remembered things. Which meant….

  “No it doesn’t, Jack.” Prowess apparently couldn’t read my mind. Blondie was different. Of course, most people couldn’t walk out of walls either. Not that Blondie was exactly people, so that’s just what she did. Walk out of the wall. Prowess’ brow furrowed. Her eyes started to glaze. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” Blondie sounded amused.

  “Powers above! She’s a dragon, Shadow! What the—” Prowess stopped. She thought a moment. “Yes. I do believe the moment is appropriate for this sort of thing. What the fuck have you got me into, Jack?”

  Blondie grinned. “He’s a little puzzled, my dear. You told him he has no soul. But he remembers things. So he thinks you’re lying. Are you lying, dear?” She grinned wider. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. No, Jack. She isn’t lying. Yes. What people call memory is really their soul. Little bits of their soul that get scraped off at different times, in different places. Little bits of their soul the rest of their soul is always connected to. But you? You have—something else. And no. I’m not telling you what it is. Not yet.” She grinned again. I had a feeling there were a lot of things Blondie wasn’t telling me. But we’d get to those. Whether Blondie knew it or not. She winked at me. Which meant she probably did. And didn’t seem too worried.

  Prowess pursed her lips. “Whatever, Jack. But what it means is, I can’t do what I do. Eat. Bits of him, I mean. I have to take it all, Jack. All of it. I have to take his soul. And I’m not doing it. Unless….”

  That’s how it always is. In the end. There’s always a price. Always an ‘unless’. “Unless what, P?”

  “Unless I get you too, Jack.” Blondie smirked. Me? I waited. Prowess spat at Blondie. “Don’t be so tiresome.” She looked at me. “No, Jack. Not that. Not that it wouldn’t….” for a moment, she looked thoughtful. Then, “No. Not that. You’re the only person I’ve never been able to read, Jack. So that’s what I want. To read you.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing to read, P. What you see is what you get. I’m just a guy who walked out of a bar.”

  “That’s what you are now, Jack. But it’s not what you were once. So if ever you find out, I want it. I want it all.”

  “You’d better agree, Shadow.” For some reason Blondie sounded excited. Which probably wasn’t good. But I still needed what Jack had. And Prowess? The wall had a lot of space left behind it. If I needed it. “Sure.”

  “And done!” Blondie wasn’t just excited. She was on fire. Literally. A ball of flame sprang into life round her. “Oh. Sorry. Never mind me.” I had another feeling. That something important had just happened. And I had no idea what it was.

  * * * * *

  September 8th, 1863. Baie Sainte Marie, Nova Scotia, Canada

  A cold wind blew along the beach. I dropped Jack from where he’d been slung over my shoulder. Prowess’ smile was as cold as the wind, and then some. “So what do we do, Jack? He’s empty now. You going to kill him?” I told her about the tag. Told her how the Dragon would smell it on me if I killed him. Prowess frowned. “But—but he’ll be dead anyway, won’t he?”

  I could see P’s lips moving as she tried to work out how a guy who was going to have been dead for a hundred and fifty years wasn’t going to be dead when we’d taken him from. And if that sounds confusing, you’re right. It is. Lucky for me, that’s not how it works. “He’s Tagged.” The look on P’s face said that didn’t help. I shrugged. “The Tag’s in his head with him. Say I Tagged you yesterday, at Carnegie Hall.” Prowess looked pissed. I sighed. “OK, I didn’t. But say I did. Tag wouldn’t know you was here in the Back-Along. Just know a day was gone and you wasn’t dead. But you die? The Tag wouldn’t know when. Just that it happened so many days after they was set on you. But they’d get a print of every soul near you the moment it happened.” It wasn’t like that at all. But it was close enough.

  “So what do we do, Jack?”

  “Can you put anything in him? Anything at all?”

  “There’s always a bit left. A fragment. A scratch of his soul. So yes. A few words, maybe.”

  “Well then. Not Jack. Jason. John. Something beginning with J.”

  Prowess eyes looked far away, across a distant horizon of years. “I knew a boy once. Jerome….”

  “Where was that, P?”

  Prowess smiled, her eyes still distant. “What? Oh. Trieste. But….” Her eyes focused back on the here and now. “But no matter.” Her eyes focused on Jack. “There. It’s done.” We left, the same way we came. Someone would find him. Soon enough.

  See, that’s the way it is. There’s always something somebody wants. And there’s always a price. The trick is to make sure somebody else pays. Like now. I guess that’s a question for you. Who’s going to
pay?

  But it’s not the Question. Or maybe … maybe it is.

  Chapter Ten

  Neck-Stacy

  I had a Dragon that wanted me dead, and a dragon who wanted—well, one thing she wasn’t getting for sure and certain. And something else. I had an idea about what the something else was, but not the why. And of all the letters in the alphabet, why’s the one you need most. Blondie was real good at turning up where I didn’t want her, but not so hot at coming when I called. Then I realized. I’d never called.

  I figured 350 was as good a place as any. So I got me a chair, sat down, and I did it. I called. “BLONDIE!”

  “No need to shout, Jack.”

  She walked out of the wall. Again. I made a mental note that putting her behind it one day might not be the smart thing to do.

  Blondie grinned. “Probably not, Jack. But it might be fun if you tried.”

  I pointed to the Stetson on the table next to me and raised an eyebrow.

  Blondie sighed. “But my way’s quicker, Jack!”

  I sighed too. And put the hat on. “So tell me about the necklace.”

  * * * * *

  1446. Sighişoara, Transylvania

  “And this is….”

  The red velvet, she thought, was a little over-done. And there was too much gold. She’d never understood why they were so in love with it. After all, it wasn’t hard to make. One the other hand, she wasn’t here for his gold. Though making it hard was—she grinned. “Drágám! It certainly is!” She smiled wider. “And, perhaps, not only is it—” She threw herself back on the bed “—what it so clearly is, but might it not be a little warm as well?” She reached up and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. As he fell towards her, she tugged harder, tearing his shirt open. “Perhaps we are wearing too much?”