James Baldwin - Stained Glass

“I know,” I replied. “But I didn’t think to remark on it.”

He laughed uncomfortably. “Well, you have to admit that mafia guys generally aren’t real tolerant of anything outside of their zone. I know a few guys that got killed coming out of clubs and bars. People beat on them.”

I was unsure what to make of that information. I fell back on the default that I’d learned from growing up with Mariya and Vassily: Thank people for their time and at least pretend to be grateful. “Thank you. If I seem unresponsive, it’s because I am in a lot of pain.”

“No worries. I just figured I’d show you some honesty. Might be the last time I have the chance. No matter what Jenner decides, I have to back her.”

“You don’t have to back Jenner.” I stopped for a moment, turning my head to regard him with what I hoped was a steady eye. “It doesn’t matter if she’s an Elder or not. Power only exists when people comply without question.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” With a final uncertain smile, as brief as it was forced, Zane left me to the plink, plink of falling broken glass, and the frustrated recollection that I still had to talk to him before Saturday.

Healing was uncomfortable work, made more uncomfortable by the sudden emotional intimacy I’d neither wanted or expected from a man who was not yet my friend. My knowledge of homosexuality was limited to assertions by adamantly heterosexual muzhiki that gay men were cross-dressing, confused people who were dangerous to children and/or ‘turned’ in prison. Given what I now knew, their hatred of gays was as shallow and suspect as everything else the Organization accepted as being ‘right’. Anyone who could fuck and torture children didn’t have any right judging someone like Zane.

Grinding my teeth, I grasped the largest piece of glass in my leg and pulled it free, holding it up to the light to get a better look at it. I could see the same crackled texture within the material that I’d seen in the knife. Now that it was under normal lights, the pattern was far subtler… but as I studied it, looking for some reason why it was still strong enough to stab with when it looked like it should have crumbled, I noticed something.

The crackle was formed by tubules: tunnels, like a tiny ant colony. I waited, breathing through my teeth as I fixed my gaze. There were things crawling inside the tubes, tiny translucent mites so small that they were invisible unless you got within nose distance of the surface.

The vivid image of Mason vomiting broken glass flashed through my mind, and I stared down at the pile of discarded, bloody shards in the sink as realization dawned. Mason’s chest wound. The knife. Duke.

“ Meni tse treba yak zuby v dupi !” I threw it down with a clatter, and stumbled off at a limping run, Wardbreaker in hand.

My punctured leg quivered and nearly gave out as I stumbled into the bedrooms, searching each one. Angkor was laid out on one of the beds, piled with blankets. Someone had cut his collar off, and it lay broken on the dresser beside him. Binah was curled up in a slumbering ball on his knees. I went to the den: the TV was on, and the smell of tea was on the air. When I staggered over to look into the kitchen, Talya turned to me and smiled for a moment before her expression turned to one of obvious concern.

“Rex, you look terrible,” she said. “You need—”

“Where’s Duke?” I said. I hadn’t bled to death, but I had bled enough to feel weak and parched.

Talya’s eyes widened. “He went to go get pizza… we decided we were too tired to cook. Why? What’s wrong?”

“The glass is a vector.” I let go of the doorway and moved back. It felt like I was laboring for every breath, but I could still speak. “It carries something, a virus or a parasite that mutates your Ka and corrupts it. Lily and Dru had it: they had it for a long time. Mason has it. Duke was stabbed with it. We can’t let him back in the house. Does he have keys?”

Talya was frozen with shock and indecision. “I… Uh…”

“Does he have keys to the apartment?”

“No. Zane took them and gave them to Stitch and Marcus,” Talya said. “They’re downstairs in the shop, to make sure that the fat guy doesn’t escape or anything like that. I… how long before…?”

“It might only have been a few minutes or hours for Mason. Onset of the symptoms might vary from person to person,” I said. “We can’t let Duke inside. We need to call Jenner. Can you talk to the others? Stitch and Marcus?”

The girl swallowed, chewed on her lip, then straightened. “I’ll try and explain it to them. And I’ll call Jenner. Will he be okay if we get to him quickly, I mean… and what about you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a Weeder. Maybe it won’t infect me at all.” Haltingly, I reached out and patted her shoulder with my better hand. It was not something I’d ever done before, not with a person as unfamiliar to me as Talya, but I couldn’t deny that something about her made me feel protective. Fraternal, maybe. “I’m going to go and talk to Vanya while there’s time. Before I go do that, I want to go check something on Angkor.”

“No worries. If we get him now, we should be able to do something .” She smiled, wanly this time, and returned the pat on my forearm before we broke for the front door.

The two Tigers were smoking and watching TV in the back office of the parlor. Talya split from me and went to talk while I headed for the door leading down and tried to summon energy I simply didn’t have. Usually, I could mine myself for momentum, but it was all I could do to shuffle down each step. My chest was tight, my body was wracked with sharp pain, and I was burned out. Tired… very, very tired.

The Tigers had stripped Vanya and chained him on his feet, arms raised overhead. His wrists already swollen and bloody from the handcuffs keeping him fixed to one of the overhead beams. He was precariously balanced on a short plastic footstool, wobbling as he continually tried to find leverage against his bondage and a comfortable position for his injured leg. Neither were possible. He could barely fit one foot on the stool, let alone two. It was an agonizing way to position someone, and my regard for Zane rose a notch.

“I hoped to never have to see you in your underwear, Uncle Vitas,” I said, using the nickname he’d earned so long ago. We were both Ukrainian by blood, and we both spoke Surzhyk, the hybrid dialect common to the part of the continent where we drew our blood and history. “It’s an unfortunate sight. You look… itchy.”

Vanya spat at me, but even that motion threw him off balance. The mucus landed on floor to my right.

I watched him for a few moments, tapping the Wardbreaker’s silencer against the palm of my other hand. Exhausted as I was, seeing Vanya like this – sweaty, his remaining hair plastered to his face, bloody and stripped of his dignity – was gratifying. He was used to being on the other end of the stick. “As much as I hate you, I have to admit. You’re smarter than I ever believed. What do you think of chess, Vanya?”

“I think you’re fucking dead! Sergei’s coming after me. The Deacon’s comin’ after me. You’re dead!”

“No,” I replied, watching him steadily. “I’m not. Not for lack of trying. Because you’re smart… but your plans were based on a flawed premise. You believe all men are like you.”

Vanya continued to curse and writhe, but the struggle was wearing him out beyond endurance. I walked up to him, circling around behind him slowly. His skin tensed. I saw it in his tattoos, the way his scars and flab changed shape.

“So… you have been part of the TVS for long enough to go through an initiation,” I said, from behind him. “And Lev was almost certainly involved. Did Jana bring you in, or was it the other way around?”