Age of Wonders

SIX

November 2004

NEW YORK WAS FILLED with people like Jesús Sanchez and Ralph Norton, with odd powers that turned out to be amazingly useful and earned not fame and riches but decent livings. A man with telescoping legs who washed windows. A bartender with low-level telepathy who could tell exactly when you’d had too much to drink—and pick up secrets on the side. Any number of cops with strength, speed, and agility that helped them in their work. The stories might not have been sensational, but one organization seemed particularly adept at tracking down people with unassuming but useful powers.

Raleigh tried to get a wedge into the Public Affairs office at SCARE to get statistics on wild carders in both crime and law enforcement. Failed.

“I’m just trying to get some basic statistics. Can you at least tell me how many people with wild card powers are employed at SCARE?”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible—”

“You know my next step is to submit a Freedom of Information Act request, since staffing of government agencies is of public interest.”

The agent didn’t miss a beat. “We look forward to receiving your request, Ms. Jackson.” The line clicked off, and Raleigh dropped the phone back in the cradle.

Raleigh announced, to no one in particular, “Is SCARE or is it not the single largest employer of people with wild card powers in the United States?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked that question,” Suzy said.

“What if it is?” asked Liz, who ran the gossip column at Aces! “Does that mean the government really is going around scooping up everyone with wild card powers?”

“Not everyone, but a lot.”

“Other countries do it,” Eddie put in. “You know about MI7 in the UK, right?”

“The Silver Helix, yeah. They don’t really go in for publicity, though, not like SCARE.”

“Do they have anyone flashy we could do a profile on?”

“I’ll check.”

Raleigh interjected. “I mean, what does SCARE actually do? Besides give reporters the runaround?”

“Meddle,” Downs answered. “They meddle.”

“We are not doing an exposé on SCARE,” Margot Dempsey said. She just happened to be passing through the bullpen, a mug of coffee in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. She didn’t even look up from the paper. In the next half hour the group had come up with a list of a half dozen public Silver Helix members they’d try to get profiles on, and started a pool on how likely it was that they would be able to get interviews. The odds ended up thirty to one.

Raleigh left those stories to the other reporters and kept on with her own project. The pile of folders from Downs’ stash involving cops, special agents, criminals, crime, the mob, secret cons, and so on was big. Huge. She regarded it a moment.

“Or is organized crime the single largest employer of people with wild cards powers?” she asked in the next lull.

“If it turns out the Department of Labor has statistics on that, I’ll give you twenty bucks,” Eddie said.

“Cheapskate,” she shot back.

Dempsey poked her head back in. “We’re definitely not doing an exposé on the employment practices of organized crime. We’re an entertainment magazine. Entertain me.” She walked back down the hallway.

Raleigh and Eddie stared after her. “How does she do that?” Suzy asked.

So, tonight was the night. She, Gavin, and Aurora were going to have dinner together. They were nearing their first anniversary. It was well past time they met.

In the old days Aurora might have suggested whisking them off to Aces High, to show off her own social cachet. Raleigh had been to exactly one of Hiram Worcester’s famous Wild Card Day dinners as a guest of her mother. She’d been six, just old enough to be trusted with adult utensils and real glassware. She’d worn a green party dress with a crinoline, black patent Mary Janes, the works. They’d gotten their picture in a big spread in Aces! And yes, that picture was hanging in the apartment along with other publicity shots Aurora was particularly proud of. Back at the office, Eddie had found that picture and had a laugh over it. Raleigh was more faded jeans and crazy patterned T-shirts these days. She didn’t remember much about that night, except that she’d felt a little like Alice down the rabbit hole. Lots of people had oohed and aahed over her and she hadn’t said a word. They’d left early—bedtime and all that.

She did remember wondering if now her card would turn, if being surrounded by aces would make her more likely to turn an ace, and she could come to the Wild Card Day dinner on her own merits and show off her power to a laughing Hiram, winning the admiration of all—

There should have been other chances to experience one of New York’s premier social events, but then came Hiram’s fall, and Aces High had shut down. Another restaurant had filled its space atop the Empire State, but it wasn’t the same. Wild Card Chic was long gone, replaced by nineties cynicism and exhaustion.

No, a high-end intimidating dinner was not the way to go. They arranged to meet at Ramenrama, Raleigh’s favorite Jokertown restaurant from her college reviewing days, an Asian fusion place with lots of character and excellent food, a block or so off Delancey Street. Bowls of steaming noodles and Japanese pop music on the PA. Comfortable and interesting, something to talk about if the conversation died. Her mother liked it well enough, but Gavin had never been, and Raleigh treated the outing as just the littlest bit of a test: how would he do, in a place where the jokers outnumbered the nats, or the seeming nats?

Bundled up in coats against autumn’s first real chill, they waited on the sidewalk. Raleigh made sure to get there first, with Gavin in tow. Claim the high ground, as it were. The sky was dark, and street lights shone off the wet sheen of a recent rain. Late-afternoon traffic swarmed, people heading home from work or heading out for the evening. In just the few minutes they’d been here, a dozen had walked by wearing masks—a sure sign they were in Jokertown. The masks weren’t as ubiquitous as they’d once been, when people here were more invested in hiding their identities or deformities. The younger generations tended to flaunt their faces with the extra noses and feathers for beards and the like. These days the masks were a retro fashion statement as much as anything.

Gavin stared at a giant of a man across the street, eight or nine feet tall at least, with bony-looking green skin, and hooded red eyes. He wore an ordinary parka and big fuzzy earmuffs against the cold. Meanwhile, a young woman in shorts and a sweatshirt with a weirdly shaped torso—barrel chest, wasp waist—ran by fast enough to blow out a wake of trash behind her. “You don’t spend a whole lot of time in this part of town?” Raleigh asked.

“Not really,” he said, breathing out a sigh. “Does it show?”

“Don’t stare, you’ll be fine,” she said, and he smiled.

They had warning, when Aurora approached. She always gave a warning, a shimmer of red, a spark of orange fading to white. Muted, when she wasn’t actively controlling it, but still visible. She hopped out of a cab a block away and hugged her stylish black felt coat tightly around her as she marched up the sidewalk.

Before Raleigh had a chance to make introductions, Aurora looked them both up and down. “Hey there, I’m freezing, let’s get the hell inside, shall we?”

Gavin immediately relaxed a notch.

The interior was simple modern furniture, exposed ceiling from which hung a mix of Asian-style lanterns in every color imaginable. Sprawling bamboo plants softened the corners. The place was full; about half the customers and waitstaff were jokers. One of the reasons Raleigh liked the place: everyone got along and seemed happy to be here.

While they were arranging themselves around a black lacquer table, Raleigh made proper introductions. As expected, Aurora went in for the hug and Gavin blushed and made some aw-shucks noises but was a good sport about it. They ordered drinks, appetizers, and there was small talk around bites of food—How is work at the library? You grew up in Brooklyn? An amusing anecdote about Aurora’s latest audition for a director who didn’t remember drunkenly spilling a bottle of champagne on her a decade ago.

“I didn’t get the part. Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him about the champagne,” Aurora said, winking. “You don’t realize what a small world this is until you look around and see there’s nobody left you haven’t worked with at least once.”

“You ever think about acting?” Gavin asked Raleigh, who immediately shook her head, Aurora along with her.

“I don’t have the patience for it. I watched Mom on a movie set for exactly one day before I was bored out of my skull. You don’t just have to be good at the job, you have to be good at the job doing the same thing over and over again for hours on end.”

“My kiddo’s too smart for acting. She was meant for bigger things.”

“Oh, Mom.”

“Raleigh still hasn’t told me how you met,” Aurora said to Gavin. “Maybe you can tell me the story.”

He shrugged. “Just a classic story of two kids at the reference desk. She kept asking questions and I kept answering them. Then she gave me her phone number.”

“To call me with the information you found,” Raleigh said.

“Yes, and ask you out for coffee. I think I impressed her with my amazing ace superpower.”

Aurora sat up. “You’re an ace. Really?” She gave Raleigh a look, concerned and motherly. Raleigh realized she hadn’t told Aurora about Gavin’s power. It had seemed irrelevant. Gavin just threw off the statement like it didn’t mean anything. Party trick, he called it. Something to keep a conversation going, like showing off your double-jointed elbow.

“More like a deuce. But yeah, wild card positive.” He spread his arms like he was embarrassed.

“Well, so am I. Technically a deuce, I mean. It’s not like I can control electricity or anything, but isn’t it hilarious how everyone goes out of their way to not call good-looking women anything but an ace?”

Raleigh said, hoping to change the subject, “To give Peregrine credit, she points that out all the time.”

Aurora said, “Since you’re the one who brought it up, you have to tell: what can you do?”

Gavin met Raleigh’s gaze. She had her lips pressed tight in a fake smile that she was sure he’d see right through. He picked up the photocopied daily-specials menu, passed his hand over it—and the print disappeared. He offered Aurora a plain white sheet of paper. She stared at it.

“And you work in a library?” Aurora exclaimed.

“That’s exactly what Raleigh said when I showed her.”

“Hm, I wish we still had the Wild Card Day dinners at Aces High, Hiram would have adored this. But … you two have talked about this, right? You know what this means?”

“What does what mean?” Gavin said, chuckling.

Raleigh didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. “We don’t need to talk about this right now, Mom. It’s okay.”

“But you’ve told him, haven’t you?”

Raleigh would love it if her card turned right then and there and gave her teleporting powers so she could instantly be somewhere else. Gavin was drilling a stare into her, and Raleigh was looking everywhere but at him.

“Oh,” Aurora said softly, and reached for a pot sticker. “Anyone want wine? Where did our waiter go?”

Gavin said, choosing his words, “So … I take it that means you’re also wild card positive. Ace? I mean, I’ve studied you pretty carefully and I don’t think you’re a joker—”

“Latent,” Raleigh said. Gavin slumped back in his chair, and the pity in his gaze overcame his brief flash of anger. Looking at her like she was already dying in front of him. That was why she hadn’t told him. “Most of the time I don’t even think about it—”

“Which is stupid,” Aurora said. “You can’t not think about it, honey—”

“It’s not important,” Raleigh insisted. “It’s not relevant.”

But Aurora had already launched in on the tear. “I know this isn’t any of my business and maybe you two aren’t serious enough to start talking kids. But if you’re both positive, you can’t. Never mind what I think about being a grandmother or not, that’s a conversation for another time, but you know what the odds are—”

“You were totally fine with those odds, once upon a time,” Raleigh countered. Aurora clamped her mouth shut and glared.

Gavin had slid further down in his chair, his hands pressed together in front of his face. He just stared at Raleigh and seemed to be thinking hard. Raleigh pushed away from the table and stood. “Gavin, you want to take a walk? Maybe just around the block.”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Quickly, he also stood.

“Mom. Sorry. We’ll be back in a second.” Or at least, Raleigh would. She had no idea how this was going to go.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Aurora said blithely.

Gavin grabbed his coat and was out the door without a backward glance. Raleigh followed.

The wind was bringing in a storm along with dead leaves, dust, and cold. They walked side by side, dodging pedestrians when they had to, hands shoved in coat pockets, before either of them spoke. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Gavin finally asked.

After a moment she said, “I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, I guess. Everyone always feels sorry for me. And they shouldn’t.”

“You’re sure you’re latent and not something else?”

“Well, Dr. Finn says I might have a plaid kidney. But yeah, pretty sure it’s latent.”

“You could have said something. When I brought up kids. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up kids, maybe it was too soon for that. But you should have told me.”

“Because we shouldn’t have kids together.”

“No, absolutely not, given the odds.”

Any kids they had together would be positive for the virus. Would suffer the odds and probably die of the black queen. No, neither one of them was a gambler, not like that.

He put his back to a brick wall and looked out. “Being here doesn’t bother you? Doesn’t remind you about what might happen?” A figure passed by, not bipedal, with too many limbs and moving strangely under a wide coat.

“Maybe I want to be reminded,” she said.

“You were born wild card positive, then. That means your dad—”

“Guess so,” she said.

“Who—”

She put up her hand. “Don’t ask. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“My mother was a popular actress in the swinging seventies. I’ve been doing some research, but…” She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about this.

“Lots of secrets, then.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. Preparing to say goodbye, to watch him walk down the street and return to the restaurant alone.

He said, “But also you should have told me because I care. Sure, I’ll worry about you but I was already doing that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really tell anyone about it. You did feel sorry for me, for a minute. I could tell.”

“You could tell, huh? You know me that well?” She didn’t know him. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t want this to change anything. But it had. He went on, “You write about this every single day. You dig into other people’s secrets like you’re in a sandbox. But you can’t talk about your own?”

“Nope,” she said, her smile pained. “Look, Gavin, I know the kids thing means something to you, and if it’s a deal breaker I understand—”

He touched her shoulder, pulled her hand out of her pocket to squeeze it. “Not a deal breaker.”

“I really like you,” she said.

And he kissed her. A weight came off, and she let herself rest against him, as he folded her safely in his arms. “We should go rescue your mom,” he said finally.

“Not if she’s flirting with that cute waiter with the blue skin.”

“She was flirting with him?”

“Oh yeah.” Hand in hand they walked back to the restaurant. “You want to know another secret? I’ve never told anyone this. Not even my mom.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow; definitely interested.

“I gave myself an ace name. Just in case. I must have been about ten and I got it into my head that if I acted like an ace hard enough, I’d turn up an ace when I hit puberty.”

“Oh my God I want to hear this. What was it?”

She took a deep breath and felt herself blushing. There was a reason she hadn’t told anyone this. “Glitter Girl.”

“Glitter Girl?” he said, started to laugh, then stifled the laugh. “That’s kind of adorable. Aurora and Glitter Girl. That sounds like a team.”

“I know. It was so goofy!”

“You could have worked up an act. A song and dance routine.”

“Please, no, stop.”

“And you never told your mom this?”

“No. And you can’t tell her. She’ll never let me live it down.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Leverage.”

She laughed, grabbed his collar, and kissed him.

Raleigh had a list of names on the bulletin board. Each name from Digger Downs’ files seemed to lead to five other names. As if the powers, the expressions of the virus, attracted each other. Sanchez’s story led to a list of gangs that made up a tapestry of New York’s underworld: Demon Princes, the Werewolves, Shadow Fists. Never mind the totally mundane and still dangerous Mafia. One name, a dangerous ace, came up over and over again: Demise. James Spector. He had his own file in Downs’ archives, and it was filled with darkness.

She almost went back to show business, rather than tackle this nightmare.

Spector was dead. Most people connected with Spector were dead. That seemed to be the most common result of coming into contact with the man. Except …

She found another name, drew another line on her board of associations, and called Our Lady of Perpetual Misery to make an appointment.

Jokertown’s religious center and long-standing cultural icon, Our Lady of Perpetual Misery, was at its third location—it had been the target of multiple hate crimes over the years, including a fire at the last location that had killed over a hundred parishioners. Still, the church was an institution that persisted under the leadership of Father Squid.

Raleigh found the rectory next door and knocked. A joker answered, a big man in a cassock who filled the doorway. His face was clammy and gray, and a cluster of small, twitching tentacles grew where his nose should be, covering his mouth like an unkempt mustache. His large, round eyes were gentle. He seemed like the kind of man who would stand between you and harm if the need arose.

“Hi, Father Squid?”

“You must be Ms. Jackson.”

“Call me Raleigh, please.” She held out her hand for shaking, which seemed to startle the priest for a moment. His own hand—gray, with circular impressions like vestigial suckers—emerged from the wide sleeve of his cassock. He folded her hand in his own, and his skin felt chilled. He invited her in, and had tea waiting on a coffee table in a sparsely decorated parlor. Raleigh felt like she’d gone back in time to a British period mystery.

“You want to know about Father Henry Obst?” Father Squid asked, settling his bulk on a wide sofa while she took the chair opposite.

“I’m working on some stories about how people affected by the wild card virus get caught up in crime. His name came up. I was just hoping to get his perspective but I can’t seem to track him down. I hope … Is he all right?”

He made a thoughtful grumble, a little like surf rolling into a cave. “Father Henry was here to manage the parish while I was on the World Health Organization Tour. My goodness, that was a while ago now, wasn’t it? Nineteen eighty-seven? I have to admit I haven’t really spoken with him since. I’m afraid his time here wasn’t idyllic.” He chuckled wetly.

“Maybe enough time has passed he’d be willing to chat.”

“Ms. Jackson—I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But I know some of what went on back then, some of the people involved. Very unpleasant business. You might not want to turn over some of these stones.”

“Surely it was so long ago—”

“Yes, and some of these people have long memories. If they’re quiet now—you might not want to shake them awake.”

The warnings only made her want to delve more. This was history, it needed to be brought to light. But she placated the old priest. “I understand. I’m not trying to solve any crimes here or expose any dark secrets. It’s just curiosity.”

“I can tell you what I know about what happened, but I’m afraid I must respect Father Henry’s privacy. I cannot tell you where he is.”

She could still try to track him down. How hard could it be? How many priests had ever come through Jokertown? He had to have left a trail.

“I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me, Father. Is it okay if I record?”