9.03
I clenched my fists, but neither was in particularly good working order. My left hand was split in two, the wrist of my right hand butchered by the way I’d slammed it through the side of the bridge.
Getting to my feet was a slow process, made slower by the fact I couldn’t use my hand. Elbow on the railing, which wobbled unsteadily as I put my weight on it, a piece of signboard bowed under my weight as I planted one foot on the ground and used it to stand.
Ms. Lewis was already walking away. Her suit and clean, shampooed blond hair were eerily out of place in here.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I looked for Carl. He was gone. For the time being, I was sure.
Bystanders stepped out of Ms. Lewis’ way, giving her a wide berth.
“Don’t walk away from me,” my voice was low.
She didn’t respond. She kept walking.
I hobbled after her.
She paused, and I took that as my cue to stop. Which was great, because I was aching in a dozen places. My leg, my hands…
“Talk to me,” I said. Demanded.
“Talk to you?” She turned. “Who are you? Keep in mind, that’s a very complicated question.”
“It doesn’t need that complicated or loaded an answer. I’m Blake Thorburn.”
“‘Blake Thorburn’ has no power. He has minimal presence in the material world. He has a minimal presence here. The spirits no longer pay him any mind. He can lie. Did you know this? Your words have no substance anymore. The only person who actually knows about you is your goblin queen friend, and she recently finished a ritual that obligates her to stay in Jacob’s Bell. You can’t throw your name around if it has no weight.”
“You still know about me,” I said. “How?”
“Yes. The demon primarily cut connections to those who were gathered outside the building. When you lost your grip on the world, other connections broke. Your home, your parents, your little sister… I held onto mine, as your goblin queen friend did.”
“And I know about me,” I said.
“You do,” she said.
“Why?”
“That would be telling.”
“I want out of here,” I said. “You can’t tell me you don’t have any use for me anymore. Just take me out of here, let me see to my affairs, and then you have me at your disposal.”
“Whether you’re talking about the errand I promised or joining the firm, we’re simply not interested. You’ve served your purpose, you’re spent, as currency goes. Inviting you back would only undermine everything we put in place for our client.”
“Undermine?” I asked. My mind raced.
“I understand you’re upset, Mr. Thorburn, but I offered you a means of extending your very short stay in the world, and you refused it. You’ve effectively ceased to exist, and right now, you’re wasting my time. If you wish to continue this conversation, I may have to bill you for your time,” she said.
A pause as I glared at her.
“You went considerably out of your way to refuse our last offer. I don’t think there’s anything I could tell you here that would be worth the price I’d exact.”
Undermine. It was an idea to latch onto.
If the idea had been to simply bring Rose into the world, they could have set up what they did and simply killed me.
Rose hadn’t become a practitioner, purposefully screwing up the awakening ritual, but she had learned. She’d studied.
I’d been there for a reason. Buying time. Buying Rose time. I’d been there to absorb the initial hostility, to put Rose in a good position. Then Grandmother’s ideal heir, custom made, got placed in the real world, replacing me, consuming my energy to become real. Any enemies vicious enough to put her down would be bewildered. Rose, knowledgeable enough to know what to do, would capitalize on the confusion that came with her appearance.
Except I’d gone down in the messiest way possible and buggered up that part of things.
Isadora had known it, and she’d tried to offer me a clean death rather than this. Or whatever fate I was running headlong towards. Rose had maybe known it. Laird had known it.
I could understand Isadora knowing because of what she was. I could understand Rose knowing because she’d been tipped off. Given a nudge or some lawyerly advice. How had Laird known?
“I was the sacrificial pawn, then,” I said. “That’s all it amounts to? I die, so Rose can live?”
“Effectively,” Ms. Lewis said. “You were polite in our conversations, and that’s more than some of our more manic or deranged clients manage. I noticed your call, however small your voice is, and I thought I would stop by to urge you to make peace with your circumstances.”
“Peace?” I asked. “Peace? Here?”
“It would be for the best,” she said.
“This isn’t the kind of peace I want,” I said. “I’m really fucking tired of people trying to get me to lay down and give up. To accept their fucking idea of peace. I want my peace, damnit!”
“Yet the alternative to our idea of peace was and is an unquiet end. You’re standing in quicksand, Mr. Thorburn. Thrashing means you only sink faster, exhausted and frightened. Go still, wait, and you might remain in the quicksand, but it won’t be quite so unpleasant.”
“No,” I said. “That’s not me. I’d rather go down fighting and stupid. Foolish. I’m asking for your help because I have to keep going somehow, and I can’t keep going here. Not with the price involved, not when it’s going to grind me down and make me something different.”
She tilted her head a little. It was unsettling how the gritty droplets that occasionally rained down from the ceiling weren’t touching her. This place wasn’t touching her.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “You can’t give up, and this may be the worst place for you to be…”
Despite myself, I checked again. Carl was still gone.
“…But you won’t get help from me. Unfortunately, that puts me in an awkward position.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I put you in an awkward spot?” I asked, infusing my voice with weeks worth of repressed sarcasm.