Easter City by iancrooks

off the last step, I spun around, trying to locate the
source of the sound, knowing it came from the auditorium. I
probably looked like one of those Main Street druggies,
slip-sliding around the lobby. Past the restaurant—back to the
other side to open a locked door. I was loud about it, so it was no
wonder that a few minutes later, there were footsteps on the stairs
and a man in a uniform hissing at me. “Usher! Where the hell have
you been?” He had a throaty accent.
      I didn’t register what he was saying
until about the third yank. I whirled to face him. He was shouting
that he wasn’t paying me to screw around and how he’d be halving my
salary. I guess the guy was supposed to be my boss, but he was
wearing an outfit that looked just like mine. Maybe the handlebar
mustache gave him superior rank.
      Anyway, when I didn’t respond, he
accused me of being a ‘speed demon’—my eyes were probably wild and
red and big as bulbs—and grabbed me by my shirt collar and dragged
me across the hallway to a set of doors under the staircase that I
had overlooked.
      He was about to open them but, just
then, there was a resounding knock on glass. We looked at the lobby
doors. It was dark outside and snowing heavy, but by the
streetlights, I saw a pair of squat redheads with their fathers. I
thought the kids looked a little battered—the fathers, a little
more than pissed.
      My boss looked
outside, squinted, frowned and pushed me toward the auditorium
door. “Allé! Go !”
he shouted, and sped off to let them in. I watched him before
sealing my fate in the auditorium. His pants were really tight and
his butt looked like an ‘escort’s’ and the way he was fast walking
made it look like a curtain pole was stuck up his ass. I chuckled
softly, suppressed the overwhelming urge to scream and drop to my
knees and sob, and opened the door.
      The auditorium was just how I dreamt
it: brocade curtains drawn back—Julia in her blood dress, her
assistant twirling her around the stage. The room was dark and
Julia had the audience’s attention so I slipped in, unnoticed.
      Someone flashed a dim light at me at
the back of the theater and I followed it blindly, picking up my
pace when I saw that it was Joq. He was seated off to a corner of
the room against the back wall. I waded through rows of Wealthy
Devils—most of whom pushed me and cursed at me to get out of the
way. When I broke through the aisles I hurried toward Joq.
      He stood but sat down again when I
took the seat next to him, and flash his light in my face.
      “‘ere ‘e ‘is! The axis o’ the world,
this one! Where’ve you been, Nipple? I loaded the car by meself,
an’ I’ve been stuck usherin’. Not that I mind helpin’ these
generous wealthy folk to their seats, but that frog-lookin’ manager
was all over me delicate ass when you didn’t show!” He patted his
bulging watch pocket. “A lot of tips, these people give. Show’s not
‘alf bad either! Cranston’s been trainin’ this one well, ‘e ‘as.”
He pointed the flashlight handle at Julia, who was getting into a
curtained rolling cart. “We might can stay to watch the rest, yeah?
Who knows when we’ll get to see the Mystical Julia again—”
      The light swept my hands. I saw Joq’s
pale lids for a moment, then he looked at me. He sounded choked up.
“‘ere, Nipple… What’s—er—what’s that? It’s not blood, is it? I felt
a tear slide down my cheek which was enough to make Joq click off
his light and sigh and rub a hand across his face. “You er—that
is—where ‘ave you been! What ‘ave…I mean! You know what this means,
Nip! You can’t kill a Wealthy Devil! It’s—”
      “Joq.” My voice was hoarse and my
hands were trembling like leaves in autumn. “Joq we’ve got to get
out of here.”
    Go Joq shook his head and said, “You’re
right. We have to leave.” There was no trace of accent in his
quavering voice. “But we can’t make a scene, yeah?