'Til Death (part fifteen of fifteen)

‘Til Death

A Trick Molloy Mystery

©2009 Michael A. Stackpole

Part Fifteen

That last burst of magick took it out of me. I sagged from the zip-ties. I tried to straighten my legs and take the pressure off my arms and shoulders. My quads screamed in protest. The attempt hurt more than everything else, so I just gave up and probably passed out.

Next thing I saw was another cousin, Malachi, kneeling beside me. I was on the floor, free. He held my head up and raised a bottle to my lips. Tea, with a dollop of my medicine. I drank. It helped. Then the world went black.

My next wake-up came at my grandmother’s house. I’d been tucked into cot in the basement. When one of my cousins was on the lam he’d get the room. It smelled of cedar and mildew. Formica floor, cheap wood paneling. My grandfather had done the build-out, proving once and for all that he wasn’t a carpenter.

Talia sat in the corner chair—a nice one that had been moved down from the living room. She was reading a book on Post-revolutionary influences in the Paris Arts Communities, 1865-1910. In French. Engrossing stuff. She didn’t notice I was awake.

That’s okay. It let me study her face. Those eager blue eyes darting. The smile. The little frowns as she worked something out. The way her hair glowed and lips glistened, very kissable.

“How are you doing, Talia?”

She smiled and marked her place before closing the book against her thighs. “I’m supposed to ask you, that. And make you drink this.”

I took the mug from nightside table. Tea and whisky, more of the latter. “She must think I’m really hurt.”

“She loves you, Trick.”

I sat up to drink. I felt stiff, but my skin felt better. “How bad was I?”

“Black and blue, here and there.” She nodded toward my splinted and arm. “I want you to get that x-rayed.”

I took a hefty slug from the mug. “Let’s let the docs deal with folks who need their help. I’m pretty used to dealing with broken bones.”

Talia looked away for a moment, then nodded. “You were straight with me, weren’t you, when we first started to get involved? You knew there would be things I’d not understand, and things I’d not want to see.”

I nodded. “But you figured you could handle it.”

“I did.” Her eyes tightened. “Your grandmother called to say you were okay. I insisted on coming. She tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted. I didn’t know what to expect.”

“Feel like running yet?” I tried to make the question light, but it twisted my guts to ask it.

“Not yet.” She smiled. “I’m still exploring. There’s more treasure to you than you think, Trick Molloy.”

She set her book aside. “You’re going to want to get dressed. We have an appointment.”

“Yes?”

Talia nodded solemnly. “There’s something you have to make right.”

While I pulled clothes on—fresh clothes I suspected Malachi or his daughter shoplifted for the occasion—Talia brought me up to speed on what had happened. When I’d not called Sniff, he got worried and went home. Loki apparently started picking up on my pain and reached out to Grandma. She called Talia, who told her about what we’d done with the money. Grandma then called Sniff, who got his van, and guided her with Loki, Malachi and another cousin, Barnabas, back to the warehouse. Barnabas drove. He likes driving, but doesn’t like heavy lifting.

Figured the rest of it was easy. Loki came to me like a moth to a flame, then torched Turpeluk. Loki’s much stronger than me but, so far, I’ve been able to shut him down. Malachi freed the girls and me, piled them into the van—excepting Irina. She came back to Grandma’s house with me and the crew and was upstairs.

We went up.

Irina was a wreck. She’d recovered from her physical injuries, but pretty much figured her life was at an end. Lou was gone. Her sister was dead. She was in the country illegally, so she’d be heading back to Russia. Her dreams were DOA in the USA.

My grandmother had been sitting with her and had calmed her somewhat. Irina looked like she could have used a lot of my medicine. She looked at me hopefully sometimes, then angrily, which made sense. I’d tried to save her, but my appearance led to her learning that Lou was dead. If I’d been inclined to place a bet, I’d have put money on her hating me for the rest of her life.

The doorbell rang, and my grandmother directed me to answer it. Talia stayed with Irina. I went downstairs and pulled the door open without thinking.

Quincy Fairfield stood on the stoop.

Another one who will hate me.

He smiled. “Oh, Mr. Molloy, I did not expect to see you. I should have known. You have good news, yes?”

“Come in, Dr. Fairfield. Please, sit down.” I guided him to the couch I’d recovered on days before. He sat on the edge, knees together, face expectant and hopeful.

I didn’t know what to say. I froze.

My grandmother came in from the kitchen with a hot cup of tea. She said nothing, as if she was a servant. Fairfield thanked her. The two of them, so courteous and cordial. I was going to shatter the man’s heart.

The print-outs had said it all. He loved Svetlana fiercely. She loved him in return. There really had been a connection there, a solid one. A deep bond.

And it was over. Sure, folks will tell you that love is eternal. Lots of crap about the dead looking down on us from heaven. They say it because they’ve got nothing else to say. And it’s not much comfort to someone who’s just lost the only shot at love he thought he’d ever have.

And yet I didn’t have anything better to go with.

I pulled the ottoman over and sat before him. “How much do you believe in miracles, Doctor?”

The old man smiled. “I am not terribly religious.”

“But sometimes, playing music, you touch something greater, right? Something that is more than you figure your effort and instrument could create?”

“I have had that experience.” The man’s expression soured. “Please, Mr. Molloy, I feel you are trying to deliver bad news. I can handle it. I am not as frail as I seem.”

“I don’t take you as being that way, sir. I just, um, I gotta do it this way, okay?”

Fairfield nodded indulgently. “I owe you that much.”

“I’m going to tell you a story. There were once two women. Sisters. Russian. They hated their lives and wanted to escape. The older sister and the younger made a plan. A pact. They would get away together, do whatever it took.”

“You are speaking of Irina and Svetlana.”

I held a hand up. “So the older sister found herself a man to be with here. That man was a friend of mine. He saved my life once. Irina was willing to come to him because she had found a wonderful man for her sister. She’d found you.

“My friend, he asked me to rescue Irina, and he got killed because of it.” I hesitated. “The people who were holding Irina and Svetlana wanted my friend to steal drugs for them. They were very bad men. My friend, he refused. So they sent him a message.”

Words failed me.

Fairfield figured it out. He bit his knuckle to keep an anguished cry trapped in his throat. He sank back against the couch, turning his face from me.

I didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t need to.

Irina appeared from the stairs and quietly came to the couch. She sat and gathered Fairfield into her arms. They clung to each other, united by the pain of Svetlana’s death. And more.

I retreated to the kitchen, giving them privacy as the truth dawned on me.

Cate hadn’t been wrong. Svetlana had been vanity on two feet. She had the depth of a pie-plate. She might have agreed to leave Russia with her sister, but anyone willing to abandon a child wasn’t going be someone who could understand the passion in those letters.

Svetlana’s letters hadn’t been translated by Irina, they’d been written by Irina. While Irina was romancing Lou, she actually fell in love with Fairfield. She so loved Svetlana that she was willing to live with a man she didn’t love, so her sister would be well cared-for. I didn’t know how long it would take Fairfield to figure out the truth, but he would. The two of them would blossom in each other’s company.

Talia slid a hand up my back. “All’s well that ends well.”

I shook my head.

She laughed. “You can’t argue with Shakespeare.”

I turned and pulled her into my arms. “That’s saying the ends justify the means. They don’t. Ever.” I frowned. “What I did to Fairfield was wrong. Inhumanly wrong.”

“But you saved Irina.”

“There are other ways I could have done that. Maybe Fairfield would have been part of it. Maybe not.” Hushed voices came from the other room. “Maybe it worked out this time, but never again. I’ve spent a long time wrapped up in myself. I’m coming out of it. Maybe. But to make sure I don’t go back. I have to draw a line. I can’t cross over.”

Talia took my face in her hands. “I love you.” And she kissed me. Good and hard.

And I hung on to her for a long time. And kissed back. Good and hard.

Talia smiled against my lips. “I could enjoy this for a long time, but it’s not polite when we have company.”

“No, no, I guess it’s not.” I smiled. “And I could enjoy it for a long time, too.”

And I meant it.

That other thing would just have to wait.

If you are enjoyed this story and want to support the free blogging of fiction, you can purchase a copy from The Stormwolf Store. It costs $3, and your purchase goes a long way in making sure I have the time to write more stories like this.

If you were wondering how we got here, please visit the Stormwolf Store. The short story “The Witch in Scarlet” is the Trick Molloy tale that immediately precedes this one.