Angelfire

TWENTY-THREE

DOC

Goldie was not all right. And it took no medical degree to know it. Like a man whose fever had just broken, he quivered in icy perspiration. He sat hunched over the bar, clinging to his mug as if it possessed powers of salvation, while Magritte hovered in suspended animation by his side.

I slid onto the bar stool next to him and leaned in, keeping my voice low. “What’s wrong, Goldie?”

He raised his eyes to my face, giving me a fleeting glimpse of a place even my deepest grief had never taken me.

I caught his shoulder in a hard grip. “Goldie, I have some valproate … enough to start you on a course-”

Lips pressed tightly together, he shook his head. “That’s not what this is, Doc. Valproate won’t help.”

“What, then?”

He looked me fully in the eye, and might have told me, when the old man came into the bar. Goldie’s revelation was lost in the moment, for here was Tone’s oracle-a living, breathing man. A blind man, appropriately.

We made introductions and he seated himself in a pool of lamplight between Tone and Enid, turning his face to Cal. “Bet you’re full of questions. Young people are, as I recall.

They think old folks like me are full of answers. Or just plain full of it.”

Cal said, “What can you tell me about Primal?”

“No patience, either. Want all their answers this minute.” He shook his head. “Primal. Well, I can tell you it’s not what it seems.”

Beside me, Goldie stirred, a strange mixture of pain and fascination in his face. He slid from his stool and moved toward the old man with the languid motion of a sleepwalker.

“You said you’d seen it,” Cal persisted.

“Papa Sky is real big on metaphors,” said Jelly. “He means to say he saw it in a vision.”

“Now, don’t you ever scoff at a blind man’s visions, Mr. Jelly,” said Papa Sky. “I see things a whole lot clearer sometimes than folks with two good eyes.”

“What did you see?” asked Cal.

“Chaos. With a kernel of will. A tiny, tiny kernel of will. The first shall be last and the last first,” he added cryptically. “The least shall be greatest and the greatest least.”

Cal traded a glance with Enid, disappointment written on his face. He erased it with a sigh.

“Papa Sky’s big on riddles, too,” said Tone. He turned to the old man. “If you could answer these folks straight up, Papa, it’d be best.”

“Sometimes a straight answer ain’t the best answer,” Papa Sky observed.

“Our friend Calvin is on a quest. His sister’s been taken by the Storm and he means to get her back.” Tone grimaced. “And save the world while he’s at it. But first he’s gotta pry Enid free of Primal.”

Papa Sky’s head swiveled toward Cal. “Imagine that. That’s a pretty tall order, boy.”

Cal twitched. “So everybody keeps telling me. But that’s it. That’s the quest. Crazy or not. We have to try.”

Papa Sky nodded as if in time to the music that drifted down on us from upstairs. “Oh my, yes. We have to try. Lord, if I’d’ve gave up every time I was so inclined, I’d’ve never made it all the way out here from New York.”

“New York?” echoed Enid. “That’s where they’re from.” He made a sweeping gesture that took us all in.

“Are they, now? Ain’t that a fluke?”

“What the hell possessed you to come to Chicago?” Enid asked.

“I come with a friend. He needed me. Turned out, I needed him, too. Never would’ve made it but for him. Would’ve died right there in Manhattan. He got me here an’ I got him here. So, I know what loyalty is and I can see that you do, too.” He leaned forward toward Cal. “Your sister’s name’s Tina, ain’t it?”

Cal was visibly stunned. I suspect he wondered, as did I, whether our new friend was a sage or a madman. “How … how did you know?”

Papa Sky laughed. “Well, maybe I overheard you talking about her. Or maybe that kind of knowing is what God give me to make up for these bunged-up old eyes. Or maybe-” He broke off and smiled. “What’s your plan, Mr. Cal?”

Cal told him, then added, “Before we can do anything about Tina, or the Storm, or anything else, we have to get into the Black Tower-the Chicago Media Building-and deal with Primal.”

Papa Sky scratched his bearded jaw. “Well, I have to say, that ain’t gonna be as easy as you make it sound. But, now the thing is, I might just know somebody who can help you out. I can’t promise, but I can ask.”

“Somebody… this friend you mentioned?” Cal asked. “The one who brought you here?”

Papa Sky nodded, then pulled himself to his feet. “Don’t you folks go runnin’ off and doin’ anything crazy now. You wait for Papa Sky to check things out.”

Cal glanced from Enid to Colleen to me, seeking accord. “I … I suppose we could wait a little,” he said, “but-”

The old man pointed an arthritic finger at Cal’s nose. “Don’t you do nothing crazy, Mr. Cal. Let’s see what my friend has to say.”

Colleen cleared her throat. “About what, exactly?” she asked. Her voice was frayed, her head propped on her hand.

I considered ordering her to rest, then discarded the idea as fruitless.

“Well, my friend is a queer sort of fellow. He got a lofty point of view, you might say. Gives him insights.”

“Could you bring him here so we can meet him-talk to him?” Cal asked.

Papa Sky smiled crookedly. “Oh my, no. He don’t go out. Well, not where folks’ll see him, anyway.”

“Shy guy?” asked Colleen, rubbing her eyes.

“A tormented soul,” answered Papa Sky thoughtfully. “A massively tormented soul.” He held out his hand. “Toney-boy, can you help me get where I’m going? You can come back to your new friends after, if you like. But I need a guide dog.”

Tone looked at Enid, hesitating. Clearly, it was leaving his old friend that gave him pause.

Papa coaxed, “I’ll let you play my axe.”

Tone’s eyes lit up with obvious pleasure. “Serious?” “Serious as can be.” He held out his arm and Tone took it. Before they could move, Goldie stepped in front of them.

“You said it’s not what it seems. What does it seem like to

you?”

Papa Sky paused and cocked his head to one side. “And you are?”

“Goldie. My name is Goldie. Which is neither here nor there. What does Primal seem like that it’s not?”

“It seems to be one thing when it’s another.”

Goldie rolled his head around on his shoulders as if every muscle in his neck had spasmed at once. “No, no, no. No games, please. Not now.”

Cal came to his feet and moved to lay a hand on Goldie’s arm.

Goldie shrugged the hand away. “Tell me, old man, tell me what you hear when it speaks to you.”

Cal flushed. “I’m sorry, Papa-”

“Oh, it never speaks to me. Not directly, anyway. But I hear it. Sometimes it sounds sweet and mild and wistful-like. And sometimes it blows like a storm.” A slow smile spread across Papa Sky’s face. “A man of many voices, is our Primal.”

“It’s not a man,” murmured Goldie, and Calvin shot him a troubled glance.

Papa, still smiling, shook his head. Then he and Tone moved around Goldie to disappear the way he had come in. A long silence eddied in his wake.

“Maybe we should follow him,” said Colleen.

Cal shook his head. “His friend could be imaginary, for all we know. I’d rather concentrate on the problem at hand: how we’re going to get into that building, find Primal, and confront it … whatever it is.”

“Them,” whispered Goldie.

Cal grabbed Goldie by both arms and turned him around so that they stood face-to-face. “Jesus Christ, Goldie, what is it?”

Goldie looked like a man with a message he did not wish to deliver. “When Primal reached for me and Magritte, when it called to us …” He hesitated.

“You said it was one voice in front of many,” prompted Cal.

“The many …” He shook his head. “Shit. They’re flares, Cal. A flare… collective. Resistance is futile. Oh, God.” He raked unsteady fingers through his long hair. “I don’t mean to sound flippant. But when it speaks, I hear flare voices.”

Cal’s face went completely still. “What do you mean you hear flare voices? How can you tell that’s what they are?”

“I can. I didn’t want to believe that I could, but I can, maybe because Magritte can.”

Cal glanced at the flare, reading confirmation in her eyes. “Why didn’t you say something before?” he asked Goldie.

“I didn’t know how,” Goldie said. “And I wanted to be wrong. And I was confused. One second I was sure this was the Source; the next second I was just as sure it wasn’t. Whatever it is-they are-there’s power here, and lots of it.”

Cal let go of Goldie and stood motionless. “Are you saying … are you saying flares are enslaving other flares?

Flares are binding Enid in this contract from hell? Turning his music into a-a weapon?”

“I don’t know. I just know what I hear. What we hear.” Goldie looked to Magritte for support. “I don’t know what it means.”

“But now you’re sure it’s not the Source.” Was that disappointment or relief in his voice?

“I told you before-I’m not sure of anything. I’m still not. But if it’s the Source, it’s learned some new tricks.”

Magritte was watching him, eyes like dark moons. “The music in here-it’s like twisted blues…”

Colleen sat back in her chair, making it creak mournfully. “Now that’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” she asked. “The flares need protection from the Source; tweaked music protects them from the Source; if they can draw in tweaked musicians, they’ve got the real-world equivalent of a force field.” Unexpectedly, she giggled. “Real-world. Did I really say that?”

“Wait a minute.” Venus, who had been watching in silence, broke in. “Are you saying that Primal is a bunch of devas?”

Cal was staring at Colleen, brow furrowed, but when he spoke, it was to Jelly and Venus. “Do you know any other musicians who had contracts with Primal Records before the Change?”

Jelly looked at Venus and said: “One or two.”

Venus looked away across the bar.

“Are they still around?”

Jelly shook his head. “We … we just thought they found some way out. Except for Charlie Gwinn.”

Venus had wandered to the front window, to be silhouetted by the seep of light through the blinds. “Charlie…” she said, her face obscured by the slices of brilliance, “Charlie hung himself. Smashed his horn to pieces and hung himself. We buried him in the park.”

“Jesus, Lord,” said Jelly. “Do you think it was the same with him as with Enid?”

“Maybe that was his way out,” said Venus. “Maybe it’s the only way out.”

“No,” Jelly whispered.

“No, there’s another way, and we’re going to find it.” Cal looked to Jelly behind his bar. “How well do you know Papa Sky?”

“He’s a mysterious old dude,” said Jelly. “Keeps to himself mostly. Like he said, he came from New York a while back. Just showed up on our doorstep like a stray cat. Comes back every day to eat.” Jelly shook his head and smiled. “Man, but he plays a mean sax. Some sweet horn, too. A 1922 Selmar. You heard him bribe Tone just now. That old guy is the riff king. He’s teaching Tone to blow some serious chops.”

Venus snorted. “He could have the Angel Gabriel’s chops, Jelly. That doesn’t mean he’s right in the head.” “What about this friend of his?” asked Cal.

Jelly shook his head. “He’s a bigger mystery than the old man. Papa talks about him once in a while, but that’s about it. The way he tells it, this guy practically carried him all the way from New York.”

“So, what’s next, Cal?” Colleen asked him. “Are we going to wait for our new friend to come back, or do you want to just try to bust into that place on our own? Blind.”

Cal did not answer directly. “It’ll be dark soon.” He took a deep breath and released it. “I assume bad things come out at night around here.”

Venus turned back toward us, shaking her head. “Not in the Red Zone. Primal pretty much takes care of things there.” Her mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “It doesn’t let the creepy crawlies get to its people. One of the perks of being a normal in Primal Land.”

“Perks?” Colleen laughed without humor. “You can’t friggin’ get out. I know-I tried.”

Venus shrugged. “A trade-off, I guess. We can’t get out, but other things can’t get in. If we behave ourselves, we do just fine.”

Colleen shook her head. “That’s still a prison, any way you cut it.”

“Yeah,” said Venus. “It is.”

“And we could be trapped here,” said Colleen, looking to Cal to refute it.

In the lamplight, the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced. Colleen put on a brave show, always, but she had not recovered from her brush with Primal’s arcane fences.

“If this is a trap,” I said, catching Cal’s eye, “then I’m sure we will find a way to spring it. In the morning.” I canted my head subtly toward Colleen.

Cal glanced at her, then asked Jelly, “You have someplace we can crash?”

Jelly smiled. “That’s about the first sensible idea you’ve had since you got here. If you’re going to go out questing, you at least ought to do it on a good night’s sleep.”

I cannot speak to how good the night’s sleep was, but it was sleep, and welcome. We spent the night in what had been Jelly’s private residence. He now shared it with others who called this place home. Thanks to the cleverness of our hosts, we were blessed even with showers. They were hot, if brief.

By unspoken consensus, we granted Goldie and Magritte the right of a room to themselves. The rest of us slept in a pleasant bedroom made up with a large canopy bed and several cots. Colleen first opted for one of these, but after some argument, Cal convinced her the bed offered the best chance of comfort. She agreed, but only on the condition that one of us share it with her. It was not an unreasonable request; we had shared tents, plots of earth, and straw bales for months.

Calvin, eyes spilling worry, took me aside to ask, “Is Colleen all right, really?”

“You know Colleen. It is impossible to tell how much discomfort she is hiding.”

Cal glanced over to where Colleen sat cross-legged before a potbellied stove, drying her hair, wearing nightclothes composed of long, gray thermal underwear and a man’s red and black plaid woolen shirt. Shapeless, androgynous. “You take the bed. In case she needs you.”

I closed my eyes and thanked God my friend could not possibly see the precipice my thoughts teetered above. “Da,” I answered, not trusting myself to say more.

“So, who’s my bunkmate tonight?” Colleen had gotten up from the stove and moved toward us, combing her hair. It had grown in the past weeks and curled disobediently around her ears, framing her face.

Cal nudged my shoulder. “Here’s your man,” he said. “He looks like he could use a soft feather mattress and a down comforter, doesn’t he? Besides, I’m not really ready to turn in yet. Enid and I are going to do some sleuthing. See if we can find out a little more about Papa Sky and his mysterious buddy. Maybe unearth some more tales of disappearing musicians.”

“Good luck.” She yawned. “Jeez, I’m tired.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight,” he said, touched my shoulder again, lightly, and left us alone.

Neither Colleen nor I spoke again until we lay side by side under the canopy, veiled slightly from each other by the semidarkness of the room. Firelight wove itself through the bed curtains and played across the ceiling, having crept from the slotted door of the wood stove, which Colleen had carefully banked down for the night. There was moonlight, too, equally clandestine, slipping between sash and sill. It was a luminous violet.

We lay in silence for a time, then she reached up and knocked on the headboard. “God, this thing reminds me of my childhood. I ever tell you about the bedroom set from hell?”

“No, I don’t believe you did.” I glanced sideways in time to catch her grimace.

“I was about, oh, thirteen, I guess. We’d just moved… again, and Mom wanted to make up for it by buying me new bedroom furniture. Well, I’ll tell you, what I really wanted was Mom and Dad’s bed. Big, old, heavy, mahogany four-poster. I came home from school one day and here was this wretched gold and white French Provincial thing with dust ruffles and pink roses all over the quilt. Pink, for God’s sake. She’d bought me her dream furniture, not mine. I wanted a pirate’s bedroom, not a princess’s.”

Pirate Colleen. I could almost picture her at the helm of a ship flying the Jolly Roger. I smiled in the soft darkness. “Did you tell her?” I asked.

“Yeah. Eventually. She really did feel bad about it. About six months later she bought her and Dad a new bed and gave me theirs.” She reached out a hand and tugged at the brocade draperies. “Okay, so this isn’t exactly a pirate’s bedroom, either. More like a lord and lady’s. But it’s closer. I asked her why she got me that trashy white stuff, and you know what she said? She said she thought I was just pretending to be a tomboy. So Dad would treat me like the son he never had. She was afraid I thought Dad had wanted a boy and that was why he’d taught me to play baseball and shoot and ride a horse.”

“But you weren’t pretending.”

“Hell, no. And neither was he.” She rolled over on her side to look at me. “Pretending sucks, Viktor. Promise me you won’t pretend with me.”

Were I not a doctor, I would have sworn my heart had stopped beating in my chest. “What do you mean? What pretense would I make with you?”

“The ‘old bull’ shit. You’re not old, Viktor. But you’ve let yourself feel old. You don’t have to explain why. I know why. But it’s a lie you’ve made up about yourself and I don’t buy it. Neither should you. Promise me: no more old bull shit.”

“Yes, boi baba. No old bullshit.”

“Okay. And you can also stop pretending to be a father figure.”

“Colleen…”

She raised herself up on one elbow and looked down into my face. “Viktor, you are not my father.”

I looked up at her for what seemed an eternity, her face illuminated by the warm, red amber of firelight on one side and cool moonlight on the other. Fire and ice.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her, and sleep, and awaken in the Preserve where there was no quest and no danger and no dreams of blood and death. I wanted more than that, and it terrified me. She terrified me. I tried desperately to call Yelena to mind, but she would not come. She left me alone with Colleen.

“No,” I whispered. “I am not your father.”

She gave me a smile that was at once smug and shy, then put her head down on my chest, wrapped her arms around me, sighed deeply, and slept.

I lay awake as long as I could, savoring her nearness, while my heartbeat slowed and desire ebbed.

By morning I had convinced myself I had suffered some sort of mental confusion. I was glad, desperately glad, that I had not acted out of misbegotten passion. Colleen could not possibly have meant what I had taken her to mean through my veil of exhaustion. I had seen her with Cal. I had seen the way he looked at her, spoke to her, touched her. I had seen them kiss.

Certainly, my dear friend Colleen had only meant to keep me from becoming old before my time.

I might have asked her, but she had risen and was gone; only Enid still snored peacefully in a nearby cot. That was good. It saved me further confusion, further possibility of betraying myself. Daylight grounded me, ordered my thoughts. I was well-rested, sober. And I recalled clearly that I had not let slip anything revealing. I recalled, with equal clarity, that I had promised to forswear pretense. Honor would have me go to Colleen and confess… what?

Say it, you old fool. What possible good is to be gained from lying to yourself?

Old bullshit, indeed. Here I was late in my forties, pretending to myself that life was over. I had told myself life was over when I took up that damned hot dog cart. And since then, since I had given up on myself, look where I had been and what I had done. And I had not taken a single step of the journey without repeating that old chestnut: Your life is over, Viktor Lysenko. You are an old, dead, hollowed-out man.

I sat up in the empty canopy bed, hand over my heart, and felt it beating. I was not old, she had said. Most assuredly, I was not dead… yet. And at this moment, I did not feel hollow. Truthfully, I had not been hollow since Cal brought me to his apartment to examine his sister. Since the four of us had set foot on the road together. With that first step outside myself, the cavity within had begun to fill, until this moment when I was forced to recognize that it was half full. Perhaps more than half.

Downstairs in the restaurant, breakfast was on. It was simple but substantial fare, and it seemed the whole neighborhood, such as it was, had shown up to partake. I took bread and porridge to a table near a window, where Colleen sat drinking hot tea.

She smiled at me as I sat down across from her. “I’d kill for some coffee,” she said, “but Jelly says they exhausted the supply about three weeks ago. He thinks he can arrange to get some more from ‘a certain warehouse on the waterfront.’ We’ll probably be out of here by the time he gets the deal set up.” She cocked her head to one side and checked me over thoroughly. “You look better this morning. Still like to see you get rid of those dark circles under your eyes, though.”

“I feel much better this morning. But I’m afraid the dark circles are a permanent fixture. You didn’t give me a chance to check your burns this morning.”

“You mean that little rash?” She leaned forward into the wan sunlight. Her softly tanned face was completely unblemished. “All gone. And I slept better than I have since we left the Preserve. Thanks. You make a nice pillow.”

Her green eyes were warm and open down to her soul, but she did not speak of last night, nor did I. There was nothing I could say, no question I could ask, that would not lead somewhere I was uncertain she wanted to go. I would die before I shattered these comfortable bonds.

Cal came in before long, trailing Goldie and Magritte. The three of them generated sufficient nervous energy to power Jelly’s cook stove. When I thought Cal would be unable to resist a blind thrust into Primal’s domain, Papa Sky reappeared on Tone’s arm. He accepted his breakfast with sincere gratitude and sat at table with us. Calvin showed admirable restraint, holding his questions until the old man had done with his meal.

When Papa had finished, he put aside his porridge bowl, picked up his mug of chicory and sat back with a sigh of contentment, his face warmed by the crimson stained sunlight that poured through the street-level windows. “So, you still want to go charging off into the heart of darkness, do you, Mr. Cal?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“Surely you do. You could stay here. Here, you don’t have to search and Enid don’t have to play.”

“Staying here doesn’t get my sister back,” said Cal. “Staying here is giving up-not just on Tina, but on everything. I can’t do that. I couldn’t live with knowing I’d done that.”

Papa gazed at Cal in such a way that I almost believed he could see him. “Well, you got this far. I didn’t figure you for a quitter. You’re a lot like my friend in that, Mr. Cal. He understands your desire to persevere.”

“Does that mean he’ll help us?”

“He can’t do miracles. But he did tell me some things. About that Tower? He says you oughta find the seventh floor real interesting.”

“Why?” Cal glanced at Goldie, who sat at one corner of the table with his back pressed against the wall. “What’s on the seventh floor? The legal records? Primal? What?”

“He didn’t enlighten me on that point, son. He just said to tell you that you’d find the seventh floor of interest. His words. He also suggested you leave Enid and the pretty flying lady outside the building. Said it’d be bad for both them in there. And he said you should go in through the car park underneath. There’s a delivery exit on the northeast corner, and a fire stair that goes up from the sublevel. Now, I’ll tell you something I know. You go in there, you gotta be ready. Up here.” He tapped his temple. “I told you before, that thing ain’t what it seems. You gotta watch yourselves and keep your heads in what you’re doing.”

“You’ve said that before-that it’s not what it seems. But you won’t say what that means. Primal is powerful-we understand that.”

Papa Sky sat forward in his chair, blind eyes on Cal. “Primal is a trickster.”

“Puppet-master,” murmured Colleen.

Papa Sky cocked his head toward her. “Smart girl. Don’t forget that.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Primal,” Cal pressed.

The old man shook his head. “I only know what I hear and see and feel. I know what my friend tells me. He’s a very observant soul, my friend.” He finished his drink, then rose and held out his hand. “Toney-boy, it’s time for me to go. Could you take me to my place?”

Tone got up from the table and came to Papa’s side.

“Oh, yeah, one other thing.” He felt in his coat pocket and drew out what looked like a small triangle of shell-hard leather. He held it out to Colleen. “I’m supposed to give you this.”

Colleen took the bit of hide and turned it on her palm. “Weird. What is it?”

Enid leaned across the table. “Looks kinda like a guitar pick. Too thick, though.”

“You feel anything from it, do you?” Papa Sky asked Colleen.

She stared at it, then enclosed it in her fingers. I found my muscles knotting, as if I believed this harmless old blind man might put something in her hand that would injure her. Yet, had he not himself observed that some things were not what they seemed?

I shook myself. Whatever else this changed world did to me, I could not let it turn me to knee-jerk distrust.

Colleen looked up at Papa Sky and shook her head, then apparently remembered he couldn’t see her. “No. No, I don’t feel a thing. Am I supposed to?”

“You ain’t been touched by the Storm, girl. You’re as pure as you were before the change was made. Backwards as it seems, that means you can see stuff that can’t be seen by them that’s been touched. But that stuff can hurt you like it can’t hurt them. My friend says you carry that on you all the time, you’ll get through. Wear it next to your skin,” he added, and shuffled off on Tone’s arm.

I looked at the thing in Colleen’s hand. It was dark, gray-green, and oddly textured. Hesitantly, I put a finger on it. It sent a strange, uneasy tingle through my fingertips.

Cal reached over and took the thing out of her hand, then dropped it as if it had burnt him. It fell to the table with a click, firing a faint blue spark. “Damn,” he murmured. “I don’t like the feel of that, Colleen. It’s …” He shook his head, wiping his palm on his jeans. “I’m not sure you ought to carry it.”

Colleen retrieved the strange chip and slipped it into her pocket. “After colliding with Primal’s little force field, I think I’d just rather be safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” murmured Goldie, “but which is which?”

Cal swung into high gear then, formulating plans. He, Colleen, and Goldie would try to gain entrance to the Black Tower; Enid, Magritte, and I would remain outside, on watch. We would rely on Magritte’s connection with Goldie for instant awareness if anything should go awry inside.

We prepared as if for battle, taking only emergency food and water, concealing small weapons. Except for Goldie. Goldie’s arsenal consisted of such things as his rattle, a wooden flute Kevin Elk Sings had given him, tiny bells laced upon a string about his wrist. Only when Colleen pressed him did he consent to slip a knife into his boot.

As preparation went forward, I was consumed with a sense of dread. But as closely as I watched Colleen, I saw in her nothing but a bulldog’s determination. When I would look up to catch her watching me, I would wonder if she feared, as I did, that she might walk into the Black Tower and never come out again. I could not help but remember that in my nightmares the Tower was associated with loss.

For me, the tension was unbearable. While they pored over Cal’s map, settling on a route that would take us into hell, I slipped into the scullery off the bar and made myself busy finding odds and ends that might have medicinal value. I am not a man who paces the floor. Action must at least seem to have meaning.

Deeply engaged in some inconsequential task, I didn’t realize I was not alone until I heard the door click shut behind me.

“I think you’ve got enough stuff there for a field hospital, Doc.”

I turned.

She was dressed from head to toe in black leather: leather pants, a jacket that hung to mid-thigh. She was a biker Valkyrie. She grinned at me. “Venus’s stuff. Pretty tough, huh? At least, it makes me feel tough. Leather’s good protection.” She patted her thigh, then took another step into the room. “Time to go.”

I was mute.

She gave me a long, level look, then dropped her eyes to the floor. “Look, Viktor. I’m pretty dense a lot of the time, but I don’t have to be hit over the head more than two or three whacks to know … What I’m trying to say is that I think there’s something we need to, um … to work out here.” She paused, raising her eyes to my face. “Isn’t there?”

No pretense. I had promised her that, and I knew it would be impossible for me to break a promise to Colleen. “Last night,” I said, “you accused me of playing the father figure for you. I suppose I have done that, at first unintentionally, and then… with purpose. It was a safe role. But you are right when you say that I am not your father.” I halted, the impossible words frozen on my tongue. “Dear God, how can I say this to you?”

She took another step in, her eyes searing my face. “Just say it.”

“Colleen, the feelings I have for you are not a father’s.” She hesitated, as if waiting for me to say more, then shrugged. “And this is a problem?”

“Is it not a problem? I am old enough-”

“To know better. So am I, come to it, but self-knowledge hasn’t been a real high priority for me until just recently.

Look, Viktor, here’s the flip side. I’m not your daughter. I don’t want you to think of me as a daughter, or treat me like a daughter. I want…”

She struggled for a moment, her eyes locked with mine, then muttered, “Dammit, Viktor.” She took a final step, put her hands to my face and kissed me.

I ceased to analyze and agonize and simply allowed myself to live inside the moment, allowed the cascade of emotion to flow over and into that hollow space. The kiss began with tender discovery and ended with a passion that stunned me to the marrow.

So, this was rebirth.

Finally, Colleen drew back in my arms, releasing a long sigh. “Glory hallelujah,” she said. “You know, I came in here thinking that I was going to tell you how I felt because, well, who knows if we’ll have another chance, right?” She looked up into my eyes, stunning me anew. “But I promise you, Viktor, we’re going to come out of this alive.”

“If you say it, I have no doubt,” I said.

In the hallway outside, someone called our names. Cal. I felt a sudden, swift stab of guilt.

“Damn,” said Colleen, and moved to answer his call. Like a sleepwalker, I followed.

He was standing in the hallway behind the bar, and saw us the moment we emerged from the scullery. “I was wondering where you two went. We’re ready to move out.” He scanned our faces, then asked, “Something wrong?”

Colleen smiled. “Not a thing. Just wanted to make sure Doc wasn’t assembling an entire MASH unit.”

Cal nodded, but as I passed him on the way into the bar, he laid a hand on my arm. “She’s all right, isn’t she?”

I could barely look him in the eye. Stupid, yes? Perhaps it was only in my mind that Colleen and Cal belonged together, but I suspected the connection existed in his mind as well.

“Don’t let her take unnecessary risks. I shall ask her to do the same for you.”

Cal grinned and pressed my arm. “Thanks.”

There was about him the exhilaration I have seen on those who are about to go into battle. In Afghanistan, where I was stationed at a field hospital, I saw it every day on young, ardent faces. At the time, I was horrified by how eager they were to die. I have come to understand that it was not death they yearned for, but action. Action of any kind. Anything but the waiting.

In the bar, we prepared to move out, grimly purposeful. I looked at the leather-clad Valkyrie and wondered if this hard-bitten warrior was really the same woman who had just come to me quaking with uncertainty. Already, my arms felt the ache of returning emptiness.

“This is it,” Cal told me, patting the sword at his thigh. He looked over at Tone and Jelly, who hovered uncertainly behind us. “Wish us luck.”

Tone shook his head and held out one hand. “You’re a crazy shit, Calvin. Hope you’re a lucky shit, too.”

Cal took the hand and shook it.

We headed up the stairs to the street then, Goldie trailing the double tether that joined him to Magritte-nylon and light. My connection to Colleen was, blessedly, invisible. Before Cal could lay a hand on the door, it opened, admitting a shaft of amber light. The soft radiance framed a short, misshapen figure.

“Boy howdy,” said Goldie. “If it ain’t the prodigal troll.”

Enid swore, Colleen threatened, and Howard Russo shuffled from one foot to the other, glancing at each of us in turn. He looked down at the floor, nudging a knothole with his toe as if he might cover it up or erase it.

He finally looked up and met Cal’s eyes. “I feel like shit,” he said. “I’m not a bad man. Just a scared man. Just wanted to go home. Couldn’t get out.” His eyes darted about, making him look like a trapped thing. “It wouldn’t let me out.”

“So you came crawling to us,” said Colleen. “How noble.”

Russo nearly snarled at her. “Didn’t have to. Could’ve gone to Primal. Maybe if I gave him something he wanted, he’d cut me loose.”

Colleen snorted. “You would’ve cut a deal for Enid? Fed him to the contract so you could get out of it?”

Russo’s eyes snapped to her face. “Would’ve. Didn’t. I didn’t. See?”

Colleen ran a hand through her hair, leaving it in wild disarray. “So that’s it? You’ve come back to apologize for dumping our asses on Primal’s doorstep?”

“No. To help.” Russo turned to Enid. “Feel like crap. I like you, Enid. Always have. Didn’t want to hurt you. Just got cold feet.” He curled his bare, gray toes as if to illustrate. “Came back ’cause I can help you get in. I can set you up to talk to Primal.”

“Set us up,” repeated Colleen. “Good choice of words, Howie.”

The color of Russo’s face altered subtly. “Wouldn’t do that. I mean it.”

Cal was focused tightly on Russo’s face. “All right. Let’s assume for a moment that we take you up on your offer. How do you intend to get us in?”

The big milky eyes were suddenly very direct. “I only look useless. Primal’s got my contract, too. He wants something from me.”

“What?”

“I’m a manager. Manage talent. S’posed to help him hang on to what he’s got.” He turned his milky gaze up into Enid’s face. “I let you get away. Let a couple others get away, too. S’pose he figures I owe him something for that.”

Enid took a step back, steadying himself against a table. “You let me get away?”

Russo nodded. “He was pissed as hell. That’s why he took over the contract.”

Cal dropped his gaze to the floor. “All right, Howard. You come. But for your sake, be straight with us.”

“Straight,” said Russo, making a vague gesture over his heart.

We walked out into the amber daylight then. At the top of the steps, Colleen paused to adjust the crossbow that hung beneath the skirt of her jacket.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “You have the talisman Papa Sky gave you?”

She smiled and fetched the thing out of the front of her shirt. She had cut a hole into it and hung it on the chain that bore her father’s dog tags. She laid the charm and tags in my hand. They still carried the warmth of her body. I felt a soft tingle of something more from the strange chip of leather.

“I’m taking all my good luck into that place.” Her smile became lopsided, eyeing me. “Well, almost all.”

Around my own neck, I wore a silver cross. Nurya had made up the fable that reformed vampires haunted the blood bank at the hospital and that the cross would protect me if one of them should “fall off the wagon,” as the Americans say. I pulled the chain off over my head and draped it around Colleen’s neck, then returned the charms to their place.

Her smile was gone. She grasped my hand and held it over her heart for an instant before we turned and went after the others.