Dead Harvest

13

The bell above the door jangled as I stepped inside Shangdi Antiques on Eldridge. My sinuses prickled with the spicy scent of old wood and the dust of times gone by. The shop itself was tiny, and its wares were stacked atop each other at random, creating an accidental labyrinth whose walls remained standing in sheer defiance of the laws of physics and common sense. The sign in the window read "Rare Objects Our Specialty!" I hoped that it was true. Eldridge, it turned out, had no shortage of antique shops. This was the third place I'd visited today, and so far, I hadn't found any Wai-Sun. I couldn't help but think that Kate was running out of time.

"Can I help you?"

The call came from somewhere deep within the stacks, the English unaccented but nevertheless spoken with the melodic tones of one for whom Mandarin is his native tongue. I traced the voice back through the narrow winding aisle, nearly toppling an ancient bamboo birdcage in the process. I emerged to find a man standing behind the cluttered antique desk that served as the store's counter and polishing a small lacquered box with an oiled rag. He was short and stout, clad in a worn blue button-down and a dusty pair of suit pants. Thin wisps of white hair lay across his pate in a halfhearted comb-over. As I approached, he set aside the box and smiled.

"I hope so," I replied. "I'm looking for a man named Wai-Sun."

His smile faltered. "And what, pray tell, do you want of this Wai-Sun?"

"I've lost something, and I was hoping he could help me find it."

He gestured toward the piles of antiques surrounding us. "As you can see, we carry here a great many things — I am certain whatever it is you're looking for, we can find for you a suitable replacement."

"What I'm looking for is a girl."

Something flickered in his eyes. Fear? Suspicion? "I don't understand," he said.

"I think you do."

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" His hand crept toward the register. His eyes never left mine. If this was indeed my guy, I didn't want any part in whatever he was reaching for.

I raised my hands in what I hoped was a placating gesture. "My name is Sam Thornton. I'm here because a girl has gone missing, and it's important that I find her. I spoke to Merihem, and he told me you may be able to help."

The man broke into a smile, his hand no longer creeping toward the register. "Merihem sent you, did he? That bastard owes me fifty bucks. Sorry about all the subterfuge, but when one deals in items such as mine, one must be careful of the company one keeps. So you say you've lost a girl, eh? Let's see if we can find her, shall we?"

He removed from a desk drawer a worn wooden top and a creased map of the city, setting both on the desktop. I eyed them with suspicion. "That's what's going to help me find her?"

Again, Wai-Sun smiled. "Mystical objects need not be as elaborate as one might think. After all, appearances can be deceiving. So your girl — do you have anything of hers? A lock of hair, perhaps, or an article of clothing?"

I shook my head, and he frowned.

"No matter," he said. "I think I have something in the back that might do the trick."

He brushed aside the curtain that separated the front room from the back, and disappeared into the murk beyond. "So, this girl, she is of some importance, is she not?"

"She's my mother's sister's girl," I lied. "I was supposed to have her for the week, and she ditched me so she could meet up with her boyfriend. If I don't find her, Mom's gonna have a fit."

"Come now," he said, "there's no need to bore me with your falsehoods — I am merely making conversation. Your secrets are your own." Behind the curtain, something clattered to the floor, and Wai-Sun cursed softly under his breath.

"You need a hand back there?"

"No cause for alarm — I'll be out in a moment!"

There was something about his tone that didn't ring true. It was too cheery. Too earnest. Too at odds with the whispered epithet I'd heard him utter mere seconds before.

Something wasn't right here.

Silent as death, I ducked behind the desk and approached the curtain. The racket in the back room continued. Gingerly, I pushed the curtain aside.

Wai-Sun lay in the center of the storeroom, glassy eyes staring upward toward the ceiling. The floor around him was thick with congealing blood, glistening in the lamplight. His face was twisted into a rictus of pain, and he looked as if his throat had been ripped clean from his body. Well, anything but clean — tattered shreds of flesh clung to the ruined remains of his neck, exposing pink-white glimmers of bone beneath.

My Wai-Sun was standing, his back to me, in the far corner of the room, ransacking a set of small wooden drawers mounted above a rough-hewn workbench. His clothes, his hair, his everything, were identical to the man who lay lifeless on the floor beside him.

Too late, I realized what happened: that piece of shit Merihem had set me up.

Suddenly, my Wai-Sun straightened and turned.

"I really wish you hadn't done that," he said. Seeing him there, hearing him speak while two feet away he lay dead in a pool of his own blood, set my head and stomach reeling. "If you'd simply given us the girl's location, I might have let you live." His eyes flickered with black fire, and his features became suddenly vague — a mere suggestion of the Wai-Sun that lay ravaged at my feet. He seemed somehow to expand, his small frame suddenly filling the room. All around him was a halo of shimmering, liquid blackness, like silk fluttering weightless in an underwater current.

"No," I said. "You wouldn't have."

"Sounds nice, though, doesn't it? Merciful. Of course, I've never been much for mercy." The darkness pressed against my mind, obliterating all thought. I tried to tell my legs to run. They weren't listening.

"Who are you?"

"I think you misunderstand the situation, Collector. I'm the one who'll ask the questions. Now tell me — where the fuck is the girl?"

"You don't listen well, do you? If I knew where the girl was I wouldn't be here. Of course, Wai-Sun could've probably found her for you, if you hadn't gone and torn out his throat."

"You expect me to take criticism from a monkey? Wai-Sun was useless. He might as well have thrown open a window and shouted for her, for all the good he did. No, to find her I need someone with a connection to the girl — which, for the record, is the only reason you're still standing."

"If you think I'm going to deliver her to you, you're out of your fucking mind."

I didn't even see him move. One moment, he was standing half a room away. The next, his hand was on my throat. His eyes met mine, and I was plunged into darkness so complete, for a moment, I thought I'd ceased to be. Then he threw me across the room, and the darkness lifted.

I crashed into a stack of half-assembled wooden chairs. He was on me in a flash. He yanked me from the rubble by my arm. Something in my shoulder snapped. "I think with the proper encouragement, Collector, you'll tell me everything I need to know." He let me go, and I tumbled to the floor. Then he kicked me so hard my vision went dim and my mouth filled with the copper tang of blood.

The kick lifted me up off the floor and sent me sailing across the room. I slammed into a bank of shelves and crumpled to the floor, the shelves crashing to the ground atop me. Pain blossomed in my head and in my chest — exquisite, clarifying — and the world snapped back into focus. I clambered to my feet, shrugging aside the splintered wood and shards of glass that used to be the contents of the shelves.

I flashed him a half-crazed smile of defiance. "So tell me, demon, do you have a name?"

Again he struck. Just a momentary blur, and then darkness enveloped me, and I saw nothing. Great claws dug into my chest and I was lifted skyward, slamming into the ceiling before falling back to the floor, the storeroom rubble scratching and piercing my skin. I coughed and tasted blood.

"Are you the one who did this to her? Killed her family, set her up?"

The blow came from behind this time. It was like a fucking bus. I ricocheted off the workbench and smacked head-first into the wall before tumbling to the floor. A close one, I thought — if I hadn't gotten my arms up in time, that woulda been curtains for this meat-suit. Two in two days — it might have been some kind of record.

Then again, if I had died, I would have missed out on all this fun.

"You can make all of this stop, you know," the demon said to me. "Just help me find the girl, and I've no further quarrel with you. I promise I'll dispatch this vessel of yours quickly and you'll be free to go about your wasted, scavenging existence."

"That's a lovely offer, really." I lay prostrate on the floor, and drew breath in ragged, hitching gasps. "And after careful consideration, I've decided you can go fuck yourself."

The gap between us disappeared. A hand, cold and unyielding as marble, closed around my neck. My ears filled with the sickening noise of my own strangled gurgles; my legs pistoned in the rubble. I was running out of time.

"Wait!" I squeaked, and the grip slackened, just a shade. "Wait. I'll help you find her." The demon released my neck, instead grabbing me by the collar and dragging me out into the front room. He dropped me to the floor, and, once again Wai-Sun, wiped blood — my blood — from his hand onto the wooden top, smearing the rest onto the map.

"You have made a prudent choice, Collector. Once I have the girl in hand, you have my oath that I shall kill you quickly."

I nodded, and spat blood onto the painted concrete floor.

"Now — clear your thoughts. Think of nothing but the girl. If you attempt to deceive the map, I will find out, and when I do, your suffering to date will be nothing compared to what you have in store. Are we clear?"

"Clear," I rasped.

The false Wai-Sun closed his eyes. I didn't. Instead I watched him as he descended into trance, my grip tightening around the dagger I'd snatched up off the floor of the storeroom. It was an odd little thing — pure silver by the look of it, with an ornate filigreed handle and a series of characters etched along the blade, in what to my eyes looked like Aramaic. I didn't know for sure if it could hurt a demon, but Wai-Sun's talents were acknowledged by Merihem and this creature both — the way I figured it, this was the only shot I had. All I could think was I'd better not miss.

The demon began to hum — a low, atonal, guttural tone, which was soon accompanied by a second higher one, and then one higher still. The top righted of its own accord and began to spin. At first, it skittered wildly around the table, and then it settled into an elliptical orbit. I tried to force any thought of Kate from my mind, which was about as useful as, I don't know, something not so useful. The top's orbit began to decay — it spun in ever smaller ovals, until it had centered on an area of maybe six by nine blocks. At least she was still somewhere on the island, I thought, but this had gone on long enough — any longer, and I'd be giving up the farm.

I dove toward the false Wai-Sun, drawing the dagger high overhead and plunging it deep into his chest. His eyes snapped open, and he staggered backward. The humming ceased, and the top skittered off the desktop and across the floor. The demon's eyes registered shock and surprise; he backed into a cherry end table and stumbled. His mouth opened, and closed, and opened again, emitting a dry, whistling rasp that built upon itself like waves capping against the shore. Tears sprung up in his eyes and spilled down his face. Soon his whole body was shaking, and he doubled over, bracing himself against the corner of the desk.

The demon, I realized, was laughing.

He said, "You fool. Did you really think that pitiful blade would hurt me? I'm a fucking demon. But don't worry — that's one mistake you won't have long to regret."

He approached, slowly this time, as if savoring the moment. I backed away. My hip connected with a mahogany buffet, and I tried too late to scramble over it. He backhanded me, and I sailed across the room, toppling a pile of furniture and sending a half-dozen vases shattering to the floor.

I made for the front door of the shop, but my way was blocked. The demon just smiled. I clawed at the mound of junk that barred my path, tossing anything and everything toward my assailant in a desperate attempt to slow him down long enough to make my escape. I bounced a pearl inlay music box off his temple, but it left no mark, and he just laughed — that horrible, wheezing laugh, like dry leaves on pavement. I heaved a wooden chest to the floor between us, but he simply gestured, and it moved aside. It was clear he was enjoying this.

I flung myself atop the pile as the demon closed the gap. As I clawed my way to the summit, he grabbed my leg in an iron grip. I kicked at him with my free leg, connecting with his jaw. It was like kicking a fucking tree. But daylight was so close, the shop door just a few feet beyond the mound of junk I lay atop — surely he wouldn't chase me into a crowded street?

I was pretty sure I knew the answer to that question, but still, I had to try.

Despite my efforts, he dragged me backward, daylight dwindling to nothing as I slid backward down the pile, loosing a small avalanche of timeworn junk. I grabbed whatever I could and winged it at him — a wind-up clock emblazoned with Mao's wizened face, a cane in the shape of a serpent — but still backward I slid. As he dragged me down to face him, my hands closed on a small ceramic Lucky Cat, the kind you'd find in Asian restaurants the world over, this one chipped and faded and ugly. But I was too late: his eyes, black as starless night, bored into my own, until nothing left of me remained, it seemed. His brittle cackle filled my head as I tumbled toward oblivion. In one last frantic act of rebellion, I brought the cat down hard onto his face. The way I figured it, if I was going down, I was going down swinging.

Something happened then, or rather several somethings, in such rapid succession it's not clear just what happened when. The darkness lifted, and consciousness returned, streaming in pure and true like first morning light. The demon released his grip, and I fell limp to the floor at his feet. A horrible, piercing shriek filled the air, rattling windows in their casements and setting off car alarms for a dozen blocks around. And, as I watched him stagger backward, the demon grew pale, indistinct — his insubstantial hands clawing helplessly at his torn and shattered face, the sharp edges of the broken figurine slicing through his flesh like so much Jell-O.

I skittered backward on the floor away from him, pure animal instinct urging me to flee. The demon fell to his knees, and then toppled to the floor — now charred black beneath him as if from fire, though just feet away, I felt no warmth. The shriek died to a whimper, and then fell silent. A voice — no longer connected to the transparent waif of a body that lay before me, but instead comprised of the myriad creaks and roars and scratches and whispers of the buildings and traffic and scuffing shoes and whooshing fabric that surrounded me as I lay on the floor of the dead Wai-Sun's store — called to me, full of hatred and menace and fear:

You have no idea what you've just done. You've sealed your fate, and the girl's as well. You cannot kill us all, Collector, for we are Legion — and you cannot keep her from us forever. My brethren shall dine on the tender flesh of her soul.

Then the body before me burst — thousands of horrid, nameless, mewling things pouring forth from it and scattering to all corners of the store, disappearing into the murk. After a moment, their unnatural squeaking had ceased, but still my skin crawled from the sight of them, and my teeth were set on edge. I pushed aside furniture, sure they were still there — watching, waiting — but whatever they were, they were gone now.

I didn't have a fucking clue what had just gone down, but of one thing I was sure: whatever just happened, I was suddenly alone.