her tell it, Lee had quite the distinguished clientele, all of whom she and her brother planned to extort and blackmail into comfortable retirement. Things probably would have gone exactly the way they’d planned if it hadn’t been for Isabella, the wife of one of Lee’s more ardent customers, who got wise to where her husband’s money was going.
Stories of Whitechapel’s infamous Jack the Ripper murders had reached the northwest coast by then, and had inspired Seattle’s own copycat, who was attacking crib girls—indentured Chinese prostitutes—by the Seattle docks.
I shivered, remembering how Lee had described for me the way the merchant’s wife had drugged her with chloroform in the dark of an alley, her single scream muffled by the noise of the crowds out enjoying an unusually warm summer night.
She’d still been lucid when the woman began slicing into her beautiful porcelain face with a paring knife. The last thing Lee saw before she died was the knife coming towards her golden eyes. She’d been found in pieces the next day and carried to Lou. Lee’s brother did his best to stitch her up before raising her as a zombie. The grey china cracks running over her beautiful face were what was left of his handiwork.
I asked her once why she hadn’t found a pair of golden eyes, like the ones she’d lost.
“I like green,” she’d said. “It is a good reminder that I am not free from worldly cares. And Isabella had such beautiful green ones.”
I know when not to push for details.
I lifted my empty glass. Lee mixed me a second and then held it just out of my reach. “Quid pro quo, Kincaid,” she said, and nodded at Cameron. “You want your drink, you tell me about him.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
I told her everything, including my suspicion that Cameron was either one of Maximillian’s or a botched murder cover-up…or, however strange it might sound, both. Lee listened intently, stopping me only for the odd clarification. This time Cameron made no protest, but listened as if it was all news to him.
“The amnesia and slow regeneration is the strangest part, along with how he reacts to Otherside.”
Lee nodded. “As if his bindings are tentative at best. Are you certain Max is involved? It seems…” She tilted her head to the side and chose her words carefully. “Unlike him.”
“I know. But who else would it be? Unless you know of any other practitioners hanging around Seattle, down here or otherwise, who could rig those symbols. Have you ever seen anything like them? I mean, they look like a clock.”
She pursed her lips, considering. “With the lines set so precariously over the anchors, I’d say they were meant to destabilize, which doesn’t sound like Max. But there are traces of his work. If you were not telling me this story, I would have added you to that list of who could have done this.”
“Why would anyone want to set up a zombie like that?”
Lee eyed Cameron. The muscles around her eyes twitched with indecision and I realized she knew more than she was letting on. “Lee? What are you not telling me?”
“It is none of your concern, Kincaid.”
“ Lee , I have an unstable zombie here—”
But she only shook her head. “It is irrelevant and of no value to your current predicament.”
Like hell it wasn’t relevant.
“My advice to you, Kincaid, is to find Max and soon. Cameron’s bindings are unstable. If he didn’t raise Cameron himself, he will know who did. That is all the advice I can offer.”
“Bullshit.”
I didn’t get the chance to press my argument. With more grace than most professional dancers, Lee picked up another tray of formaldehyde-laced drinks, pivoted and headed over to the corner-pocket zombies.
“Great. Back to exactly where we started,” I said. Find Max, who wasn’t returning my phone calls.
I sipped the whisky sour. If Lee wasn’t going to part with the information, there was no chance anyone else in the underground city
Stories of Whitechapel’s infamous Jack the Ripper murders had reached the northwest coast by then, and had inspired Seattle’s own copycat, who was attacking crib girls—indentured Chinese prostitutes—by the Seattle docks.
I shivered, remembering how Lee had described for me the way the merchant’s wife had drugged her with chloroform in the dark of an alley, her single scream muffled by the noise of the crowds out enjoying an unusually warm summer night.
She’d still been lucid when the woman began slicing into her beautiful porcelain face with a paring knife. The last thing Lee saw before she died was the knife coming towards her golden eyes. She’d been found in pieces the next day and carried to Lou. Lee’s brother did his best to stitch her up before raising her as a zombie. The grey china cracks running over her beautiful face were what was left of his handiwork.
I asked her once why she hadn’t found a pair of golden eyes, like the ones she’d lost.
“I like green,” she’d said. “It is a good reminder that I am not free from worldly cares. And Isabella had such beautiful green ones.”
I know when not to push for details.
I lifted my empty glass. Lee mixed me a second and then held it just out of my reach. “Quid pro quo, Kincaid,” she said, and nodded at Cameron. “You want your drink, you tell me about him.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
I told her everything, including my suspicion that Cameron was either one of Maximillian’s or a botched murder cover-up…or, however strange it might sound, both. Lee listened intently, stopping me only for the odd clarification. This time Cameron made no protest, but listened as if it was all news to him.
“The amnesia and slow regeneration is the strangest part, along with how he reacts to Otherside.”
Lee nodded. “As if his bindings are tentative at best. Are you certain Max is involved? It seems…” She tilted her head to the side and chose her words carefully. “Unlike him.”
“I know. But who else would it be? Unless you know of any other practitioners hanging around Seattle, down here or otherwise, who could rig those symbols. Have you ever seen anything like them? I mean, they look like a clock.”
She pursed her lips, considering. “With the lines set so precariously over the anchors, I’d say they were meant to destabilize, which doesn’t sound like Max. But there are traces of his work. If you were not telling me this story, I would have added you to that list of who could have done this.”
“Why would anyone want to set up a zombie like that?”
Lee eyed Cameron. The muscles around her eyes twitched with indecision and I realized she knew more than she was letting on. “Lee? What are you not telling me?”
“It is none of your concern, Kincaid.”
“ Lee , I have an unstable zombie here—”
But she only shook her head. “It is irrelevant and of no value to your current predicament.”
Like hell it wasn’t relevant.
“My advice to you, Kincaid, is to find Max and soon. Cameron’s bindings are unstable. If he didn’t raise Cameron himself, he will know who did. That is all the advice I can offer.”
“Bullshit.”
I didn’t get the chance to press my argument. With more grace than most professional dancers, Lee picked up another tray of formaldehyde-laced drinks, pivoted and headed over to the corner-pocket zombies.
“Great. Back to exactly where we started,” I said. Find Max, who wasn’t returning my phone calls.
I sipped the whisky sour. If Lee wasn’t going to part with the information, there was no chance anyone else in the underground city
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