Spade followed the roads back to X, just as Charien had instructed him to do. Spade could still hear the man’s sly, soniferous tone, calmly commanding him to follow Crow’s orders. Charien’s cold eyes belied the softness of his voice, the kind of voice that could lull prey to sleep.
Spade had never encountered a predator like Charien. Maybe they had more in common than he thought. The thought unnerved him. Spade was also a predator, but it never felt like a choice. The thrilling jolts Spade experienced when he dismembered bodies were guilty pleasures, as if he enjoyed it despite himself.
At the ripe age of ten, Spade had learned to harvest corpses before he had fixed his speech. Dral mocked him for the stutter he developed as a kid, the motherfucker. Spade dropped the tic years ago after Coren spent countless hours coaching him through it. Or maybe Dral had beaten it out of him. The past was always a little blurry.
As the streets of North Side stretched to the South, Spade thought of his own hand gripping a rusting scalpel above a fresh corpse. He couldn't have been older than eleven. The memory of the dead man lingered with each step. It had been another harvest that he performed for the Youths, as so many others that came before it.
The man had been homeless, but alive. He had minded his own business, absently reading an old paper. Harmless. He didn't deserve what happened to him. Dral’s fist collided with the back of the man’s head, over and over, until the man bent over with shallow breaths.
He'd died slowly. Before the body even cooled, the Youths told Spade to get to work. He didn't have a choice. Spade performed the bloody task on the sidewalk in plain view, hoping somebody would say something. But nobody stopped them. The street emptied as people found different routes to take to avoid the scene. Quiet descended. The bantering of the Youths was muted, reaching Spade’s ears faintly. He could hear only his own ragged breaths.
The Youths shoveled the man’s organs into coolers full of ice. The dead man’s lips swelled and puckered like a fish–why was he thinking about this now?
Spade stopped walking, the memory still lingering. His attention was caught by something that struck him with immediate familiarity. At first, it seemed to be another pockmarked sidewalk: an old stain, possibly blood, mingled with scuffs of dirt. The door of a nearby convenience store swung open, and a woman walked out carrying a six pack of beer.
The woman scrunched her face at Spade as she walked by, somehow sensing that he was trouble. He stuck his tongue out at her. She smiled and sighed. “You boys.”
Spade watched her walk away, only momentarily distracted. The haunting familiarity of the sidewalk set in again. This had been where the homeless man sat when the Youths found him. It must have been one of the man’s favorite haunts, his last loitering place before he died.
Rest in peace, old man.
Spade shoved his hands in his pockets and continued to pace down the street. He hung his head, feeling a weight around his neck. His stomach sank into a mire of that emotion he hated so much–guilt.
He kicked the road, adding another scuff to the toe of his boot. Why couldn’t he forget? His head was full of ghosts, and today they haunted him thoroughly. Charien would never feel this way. For all the things Spade saw Charien do to Ashe, Spade knew it was worse when they were out of sight.
Some people pretended to be monsters. They did horrible things, but the guilt always ate them later. Dral and the Youths were monsters, but Spade didn’t miss the way they drank after every harvest as if to drown the guilt.
Charien was something else. A true predator. A man concealing animal cruelty beneath a placid surface. Calm waters and dark depths. He didn’t need the drinks or drugs to tolerate what he did. Charien could live with the stark and sober truth, and that was terrifying.
Spade returned to X through one of the auxiliary entrances scattered throughout the Gate. This entrance required that he skirt through the remnants of a gas station to a service door that led deep into the Catfell aqueducts.
He entered Crow's office without knocking. The TV on the desk played a talk show where a man described the uptick of Arothian possessions in young girls. The man used clinical terms Spade didn't understand, describing the possessions as mental illness.
What could be causing mass psychosis in girls so young? Spade had a few guesses. None of them were pleasant.
Crow sat up in his chair and wiped the crust from his eyes. “What do you want?” he barked.
An uneven flush spread across Crow’s face, framing his sallow eyes. The yellow whites of his eyes signaled a sickness deep inside his body. Spade had seen enough organs to recognize the signs of early kidney disease.
“You look like shit,” Spade said.
Crow smiled ruefully. “Listen, kid, we can’t all be sixteen and full of sunshine. Give it a few years, you’ll look just like me… if you even make it that long.”
The organs of alcoholics were never worth harvesting. Smokers, drinkers, and the syphilis-scourged–these bodies were worth very little on the market. Spade shook his head, realizing the direction of his thoughts. People weren’t just meat, and he wasn’t a guts cutter anymore. He had to be more than a vulture picking at the dead.
“Charien said you had something to say to me,” Spade said.
“Yeah, yeah…” Crow’s voice trailed off, as if trying to remember the last twenty-four hours. “You’ve been with us long enough that it’s time for you to prove yourself. You need to make your first kill for X, or you’re out.” Crow emphasized the word, but he didn’t need to for Spade to know what he meant. Crow wasn’t the first to threaten Spade’s life. “No more piddling around with that jackass Silas. Even those bullshit contractors have to prove themselves.”
Spade thought it was funny that Crow considered him different from the contractors. X could sink into a pit for all he cared. It was already half-way there. He was only there for the paycheck… and the girl. He thought of Ashe. If it wasn’t for Knight, Spade would run away with her the second she asked. But she wouldn’t ask that, not yet at least. They all had their reasons for staying.
“Easy,” Spade said. “I’ve killed before.”
“Cocky, huh?” Crow rifled through the drawer of his desk and pulled out an envelope. Spade’s name was written in bold ink on the front. He flung it in Spade’s direction. “Here you go, killer.”
Spade opened the envelope. His fingers faltered at the sight of the name written on the note inside. He looked up at Crow, only to see the older man’s self-satisfied expression.
“What the fuck is this?” Spade waved the note in the air.
Crow shrugged. “What did you expect, kid?”
“You want me to kill Dral?”
“He’s like all the other punk gangs: a nuisance, like roaches.” Crow kicked his worn loafers on the desk. He flicked open a lighter and lit a cigarette. The billowing smoke did nothing to dampen the stench of stale whiskey. “We stomp them out every so often, but they always come back.”
“As if they have a choice.”
Crow tapped the cigarette against an overfilled ashtray. “You’re one of us now; time to start acting like it.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to kill him? He’s always surrounded by at least twenty guys!”
“Not so cocky now, huh?” Crow laughed and wiped his eyes. "That's the gig, kid. Take it or leave it."
Spade clenched his teeth. “Leave it. You're asking for the impossible.”
Crow leaned forward, his yellowed eyes fixed on Spade. “Then you’re out.”
I'll kill you, essentially. He was fucked.
Spade’s ears started to ring. The faint, piercing noise had returned on and off since the beating. He could swear something was loose in his head, but it was a memory he couldn’t quite dislodge. If he ended up in the corpse cart again, he wouldn’t bother to crawl back out.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” Spade said, his voice stiff.
"Atta boy." Crow
Crushing the envelope in his hand, Spade left the office. Silas slowly ambled ahead, his uneven gait evidencing a slight limp. Spade launched toward him, gripping Silas’s shoulder and forcing the man to face him. Silas made a strangled sound, but that didn’t stop Spade from punching his shoulder.
Silas rubbed the injured spot. “What’s that for?”
“For leaving me,” Spade spat. “Some partner you are.”
Wearing an amiable smile, Silas waved him off. “You have it all wrong. Who do you think tipped off Charien about Dral and his boys, huh? It wasn’t Her Holiness Evonry.”
“You want me to thank you for that?” Spade’s voice rose sharply. “I don’t need that bastard’s help!”
“I get it. I’m no fan of the man myself, you know–but I’m no fighter. I did what I thought was best at the time.”
“You ran and squealed to that rapist fuck,” Spade sneered.
“Hey, keep your voice down.” Silas hushed him with the flap of his hands, glancing around to assure no one else was nearby to overhear.
Spade spoke louder. “Why should I? Did you see that stupid shirt he was wearing? The one that makes him look like a fancy piece of shit?”
“Pick your fucking battles." Silas jabbed Spade in the chest with his finger. "What’s wrong with you people? You’re all hotheads. What I did was a political move. Everyone got what they wanted, minimal trouble. Why make it so personal?”
Spade hunched slightly, his posture less aggressive as his anger deflated. “Crow gave me a contract.”
Silas lit up. “Hey, finally! Here’s your chance. What is it?”
Spade’s pinched expression made his feelings clear. “I’m supposed to kill Dral."
Silas’s smile vanished. “Oh. Ah, sorry. Tough break.”
Spade nodded. He had witnessed Dral cave in faces with his bare fists. It occurred to him, then, that Dral might have gone easy on him during the night of the beating. Spade had seen him do far worse. “What do I do?”
With a steady gaze, Silas grasped Spade’s shoulders in a comforting gesture. “The best killers aren’t always the biggest guys. Little guys like us have to be smart. You can’t take him in a fair fight, so don’t. Use your brain. Think.”
But Spade couldn’t think. Every fantasy he had of killing Dral happened in an alternate universe where Spade was a foot taller and had muscles he could only dream of. He stared at Silas flatly.
Silas laughed and slapped Spade’s shoulder. “You’re fucked, kid. You’re a shrimp and dumb.”
“Spit out your great idea already.”
“Use the resources available to you! What tools or weapons do you have? Better yet, who can help you?”
“Nobody’s ever helped me.”
Silas exhaled in exasperation. “You know Ashe is actually a killer, right?” He spoke slowly, as if Spade was a child. “A good one. You two have a lot in common. Get her to help you.”
Spade tried to picture Ashe's tiny fists up against Dral. It was almost comical. “She can’t take Dral in a fight either.”
“Aroth!" Silas threw his hands up. "Nobody’s fighting anyone! Use her as bait, you idiot! Dral likes ladies, doesn’t he?”
Spade scowled as a thousand images of Dral groping women flashed through his mind. “Yeah, I guess so. He spends a lot of kraks on them.”
“Then you know what you need to do. Set the bastard up and get him when he’s got his pants down. Oldest trick in the book.”
Spade’s stomach dropped. He didn’t like imagining Dral feeling up Ashe. He especially didn’t like the idea of her being just another one of Dral’s girls, even if it was a trap. But he knew Silas was right.
“Okay,” Spade said softly. “I’ll ask her.”
+++
If Ashe didn't want to help him, she shouldn't have brought him to X. Spade told himself this as he walked back to her room, which had become more of a home to him than the orphanage. Still, deep down, he knew what he was asking of her–and it was a lot.
I'll make it up to her, he thought. He had no idea how, but that could come later. For now, he needed to keep his ass off of the corpse cart.
Spade stopped cold in the doorway of Ashe's room. Charien’s long figure stooped over the bottom bunk, his manicured fingers folding the flirty lace and fabrics that Spade recognized as Ashe’s clothes. Charien made neat piles inside of a suitcase open on the bed.
Spade hesitated, considering whether he should march inside or leave and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. He hardly had time to think before Charien acknowledged him.
Charien stood at his full height. The legends exaggerated his height, but Charien was still nearly the tallest man Spade had ever seen. Nearly. Dral was taller and bulkier compared to Charien’s lean form. Spade wondered how a man so slight ever became a legend, but he knew better. Appearances were deceiving.
“There you are,” Charien said. He regarded Spade, his pupils thin in the dim light. It was unsettling, the kind of eyes that looked at you from the darkness. “Congratulations. You have your own quarters. Quite a rare privilege for one who has not yet proven himself.”
“What did you do to her?” Spade stormed into the room, his fear quickly fading. “Where is she?”
“She’s fine. The girl is always fine,” Charien replied. “You could even say she has a knack for it. I would be more worried about yourself. Crow has tasked you with your first kill, hasn’t he?”
“So?”
“I can’t help but wonder how you feel about turning on your former comrades.” Charien mused lightly.
Of course Charien already knew about Dral and the Youths. Nothing got past the man. A part of Spade wondered how much say he had in the target. Charien scanned Spade’s face, smirking when he noticed the tremble of the amateur assassin's expression. Spade’s jaw tightened.
“Fuck off," he snapped, unable to reign in his temper. "As if you care.”
Charien placed his fingers beneath his chin, appearing demure with his gentle smile. “Loyalty is important. There’s so little of it these days.”
“It goes both ways,” Spade responded sharply. “You can’t demand it. You can’t beat the shit out of someone and expect them to care.”
“My, did someone hurt you?” His smile widened to display a couple of silver-capped teeth, which were common in the Gate. “Your former gang, perhaps? Tell me, did they beat you? Leave you for dead?”
Spade shifted from foot to foot, the only sign of apprehension he was willing to show.
Charien titled his head. “Why don’t you let me have your contract? It will be no trouble for me. And you look like you could use a rest. You ought to lay down.” He put the last of Ashe’s clothing in the suitcase and closed it before removing it from the bed. His free hand swept over the bedding. “There you are.”
Spade eyed the bed with disgust, as if a horde of insects had erupted from the sheets. But, no, it was a normal bed. It had been cleaner before Spade and Knight started sleeping in it. Spade had only recently learned about the usefulness of the cramped, communal showers X offered. But the idea of laying down in the bed after Charien had touched it made his stomach lurch. There were kinds of filth that weren’t apparent on the surface.
“Why don’t you fuck off from my room, huh?” Spade took a heavy step forward, shoulders squared, his face a challenging sneer. “Stop touching my stuff.”
Amusement lit Charien’s face. He held up one of his hands as a show of mock defeat, the other clutching the suitcase. “Yes, you’re quite right. How rude of me. I apologize.”
Charien walked toward the door with a careful, precise gait. The man never missed a step, even as Spade’s glare threatened to nail him to the floor.
“Enjoy your new room,” Charien said. “The former occupant has more comfortable quarters now.”
“Under you?” Spade spat.
“Or beside me. Whatever the occasion calls for.” Charien lifted his chin. His tall frame brushed the top of the doorway. There was no escape. “Regardless, you won’t be seeing her again.”
“We’ll fucking see about that.” Spade imagined lunging at Charien and forcing that arrogant man to crumble.
Charien’s brows lifted slightly. “Is that right? And how do you intend to see her?”
Spade smiled. “It’s not up to me. It’s up to her. It’s obvious. You don’t control her. She does what she wants.”
Charien’s expression fell. All traces of gentleness disappeared. “I see.”
“And if she really wanted you, she wouldn’t be all over me, would she?”
“Yes, you would think that.” The rage was palpable in the curl of Charien’s lips. The more upset Charien became, the more the man’s eyes seemed to hold Spade in their mesmerizing power. The eyes of a snake coiled before it strikes.
Spade averted his gaze, breaking the spell. I know what you are.
There would be a time for Spade to regret his words and to think of the things Charien would do to Ashe in retaliation. But nothing could be further from Spade’s mind at that moment. He saw what Charien was with the cold clarity of rage.
Monster.
Charien laughed lightly, dissipating the tension. “Oh my, you’re obstinate. What a personality you have! I’ll simply have to keep my eye on you. Won’t Crow be delighted when I tell him about his new recruit later?”
Spade didn’t even know what the word obstinate meant, but he got the point. “Fuck off.”
“Oh, I’ll get to that. Don’t worry.” Charien leaned against the doorway, lingering as if he owned the place. And he did. X was practically his, not Crow’s; that much had become apparent in Spade's short time there. “Simply humor me, will you? I have a prediction for you. One based on my observations and experience.”
Spade huffed. Great. More bullshit.
Charien continued to pontificate, like a professor teaching not-so-bright students or an Erestellian preacher espousing Evonry’s sacred principles. “Personalities like yours tend to go two ways: either you will die young, unable to back up your stubbornness with strength, or you will go on to do great things. But I only know of one very stubborn man who actually succeeded where the rest died or faded away. I hear he’s a very important man now. A politician.”
Spade stared at him in contempt, waiting for this dull conversation to end.
“I don’t think you’re like that man,” Charien said. “I think you’re one of the many who will die and be buried in the Gate. That you crawled out of the corpse cart the first time was a fluke. You won’t crawl out next time.”
Spade’s nostrils flared. What a blowhard. He grabbed the door and attempted to close it on Charien.
“You said it yourself: it’s my room. Get the fuck out,” Spade said. “I have a job to do.”
Charien pressed his dress shoe against the door to prevent it from closing. “Of course. Good day to you, new recruit. I certainly look forward to seeing your work on this new contract.”
Charien finally allowed the door to close, leaving Spade with his racing thoughts and rapidly beating heart. He had to find Ashe before Charien did. He wanted to protect her, but he also needed her. He saw no other way to complete this contract.
He knew one thing for certain: it wouldn’t be him in the corpse cart.
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