Briarpatch by Tim Pratt (22 page)

But the front door wasn’t open. Instead, he saw corridors all around him, five tunnels branching off from this room, passages that had been invisible—or, at least, unnoticed—a moment before. They must be paths into the place Arturo called the briarpatch, which meant—what? That Ismael had something to do with that place too?

Darrin was out of his depth here. He was no detective. He didn’t even like mystery novels. He had a good mind for systems—chess, coding, music, cooking—but he faltered when it came to matters of art and intuition, which was why so many of his photographs were technically proficient but lacked that indefinable aspect that made light and shapes into art.

So . . . was the briarpatch a system, or an art? Could it be deciphered, or must it be interpreted?

He took a step toward the nearest corridor, and his perspective shifted—he was looking down, as if from a great height, onto a salt-white plain, marred by a speck of black and speck of red. There was no sense of scale, so he couldn’t tell if the black and red were bits of blood and pepper on a tablecloth, or mountains on a salt flat. The vertigo of standing upright and looking down was too much, so he retreated to the centre of the living room again. Those passageways had an allure, but he remembered the beast from the bone pit, and his curiosity was dampened.

He’d come here to find evidence of Ismael’s complicity in Bridget’s death, and had instead found intimations of something more vast. Darrin had never been one to rush into things without sufficient information—he was a researcher, a devotee, a student by nature. He preferred to be prepared, and now he needed guidance. When he got home, he’d look for Arturo, and ask for his help. If he encountered Ismael now, what would he say, what would he do?

Darrin eased past the twisting passageways, toward the front door, and out into the brightness of the ordinary world.

1

“Oh, fuck me
sideways
.” Ismael stopped dead on the sidewalk and leaned heavily against the stucco wall of an apartment building.

“What are you on about?” Echo said, frowning. Ismael was usually placid, infuriatingly so, but now he was almost shivering. They were less than a block from Darrin’s house, and Nicholas was already there, waiting for them.

Ismael extended his arm and pointed at a car parked by the curb. It was an off-white, battered four-door giant of a sedan with curiously bulging tail lights, and Echo had a vague recollection of seeing it around here before. Somebody had probably abandoned it.

“What about it?” she asked, walking toward it. She reached out and touched the trunk, and Ismael sucked in a breath suddenly, as if he’d just watched her plunge her hand into fire. She looked at him curiously, wondering if his face was paler than usual or if it was just a trick of the light.

“Wendigo.” She frowned at the name on the trunk. She’d been stealing cars since she got her learner’s permit, and she’d never heard of a Wendigo, but then, she never bothered to steal anything this old. She walked around the side and looked in the window, and saw the back seat was filled completely with papers. The passenger seat up front was filled with papers that spilled over into the driver’s side. She jiggled the door handle, but it was locked.

“Don’t touch it,” Ismael said, hoarsely, as if just finding his voice. “I know you don’t have a death wish, Echo, so get away from that thing.”

“Thing? It’s called a car, Ismael.” She rejoined him on the sidewalk. “They invented ’em about a hundred years ago. Detroit rolling iron, and it’d be a real bitch to parallel park, but I bet it’s a smooth ride, assuming the suspension isn’t shot.”

“That is not a car,” Ismael said. “At least, that’s not
all
it is. It’s a fucking
apport
. The biggest one I’ve ever seen. So big it makes my head ache.” He levered himself off the wall and stood upright, but only to take a step away from the Wendigo. “That car is from some other Detroit, where ghouls work the night shift in the auto plants and there are alien graveyards on the
moon
.”

“Oh yeah?” Echo said, somewhat interested. “So it’s briarpatch shit, is what you’re saying? A really
unlikely
car? If it bothers you so much, we can set it on fire. Smash a window, spray some accelerant on all those papers in the back, and light a match. Whoosh. No more scary car.”

“Echo, I don’t even think it would burn.” Ismael backed up farther, then started across the street toward the opposite sidewalk.

Echo sighed and followed. “It’s not going to bite you, Ismael.”

He paused for a moment, clearly still uncomfortable, even with the width of the street between himself and the Wendigo. “You actually have no idea whether or not that is true,” he said, then continued up the street, hurrying as she’d never seen him hurry. Not quite running—he didn’t strike her as much of a runner—but coming awfully close. She glanced back at the Wendigo. From the front, it looked stranger, with pop-eyed headlights and a great chrome grille that seemed caught halfway between a smile and a snarl.

Echo grinned back at it.

“All right,” Ismael said a minute later. He glanced back down the block. “We’re out of that car . . . that
Wendigo’s
sightlines, assuming it can see. This will do.”

“What will do?” Echo asked. They were almost directly across from Darrin’s house, near the walled courtyard of a small apartment complex.

Ismael took her hand and pointed. With him touching her, she could see the briarpatch, and there was an entry point here, a set of steep, narrow stairs leading down to a bush-lined path. She grunted. “There’s blood on the steps.” A splash of red marked the concrete halfway down.

“Does that bother you? I was under the impression you rather liked blood.”

He let go of her hand, and the steps vanished from sight. That irked Echo, as always. Ismael said that most people, once shown the briarpatch, could see it by themselves forever after, or at the very least catch glimpses. It was an effort for them
not
to see the secret corridors into the liminal world, he said. But no matter how many times Ismael showed her that world, or how many times she ventured into it even, it was closed to her without help. Ismael said it was because she was too much a creature of the physical, the present, the here-and-now—too much a woman of flesh and appetites. Echo didn’t disagree with that assessment, but it pissed her off that things she considered her signal virtues kept her from exploring that other world on her own. When Echo was pissed off, she tried to hurt the things that pissed her off, but in this case, that meant somehow hurting the fundamental substructure of the world, and she wasn’t sure yet how to go about that. She was confident that she’d figure it out eventually though. “So you’ll hide on the steps, then, and wait for Darrin?”

“That is the plan. Just make sure he has good reason to flee.”

“Oh, he’ll run off. Believe me. He loves Nicholas like a brother, and he’ll be more sad than pissed off, I bet. I doubt it’s going to turn into a crime of passion in there. But what if he, you know, sees you on the steps? He can see into the other world and all that shit, right?”

“It’s possible,” Ismael admitted. “But the stairs are steep, and I’m good at being inconspicuous.”

“Whatever,” Echo said. “I don’t see why all this emotional trauma is necessary, if he can already see the briarpatch.”

“I need him to be broken,” Ismael said simply, “so that I can convince him only I can put him back together again. He must have nothing left holding him to this world, so that nothing will prevent him from entering another for as long as it takes.”

“Ah,” Echo said. “Okay. I think you just like fucking with people’s heads. That’s all right. I can respect that. So after you talk to Darrin, assuming he doesn’t bash your brains out on the curb because of what happened with Bridget, we’ll meet you later on, back at your house?”

“Yes. I’ll determine whether or not Darrin needs another . . . jolt to his system, to fully loosen his ties to this world.”

“Cool,” Echo said. “Because, like I said, you owe me big time for this, and I mean to collect.”

“I can’t wait. Now, go. Don’t keep Nicholas waiting.”

Echo sniffed. Ismael vanished from sight, stepping down onto a stairway she couldn’t see. She really needed to do something about her inability to navigate the briarpatch, but if it meant cultivating a Zen-like detachment from, or even a burning hatred for, this world, it probably wasn’t worth it.

She went to Darrin’s door and let herself in.

2

“How’s this?” Echo emerged from the bathroom dressed in an outfit that consisted of little more than black leather straps held in place with metal o-rings, a narrow leather collar around her throat, and a metal leash dangling down her front. She wore knee-high black boots with spike heels. She’d stolen the boots from a stripper she knew, and they fit perfectly, because Echo was lucky like that.

Nicholas stared at her. “Whoa. Wow. That’s . . . wow.” He was sitting on the low couch by the front windows in the living room, keeping a lookout for Darrin’s return, but now he was staring at her, of course. Echo said, “I thought wearing something elaborate was best. I don’t want Darrin thinking this was some temporary indiscretion, some momentary lapse of judgment. It has to look
planned
, you know? Like we’ve been getting together for a while, probably. Nothing says premeditation like a leather harness.” She’d also made a point of refusing to be even a little bit kinky with Darrin, though he liked a little spanking and scarves-on-the-headboard light bondage, as so many men did. She’d demurred, saying such things turned her off, and they’d had a straightforward if vigorous sex life instead. Seeing Nicholas get what he wasn’t permitted would make Darrin feel even more betrayed, she reasoned.

“That makes sense,” Nicholas said, staring at her breasts. That was okay. That’s what she wanted him to do. “Uh, does Darrin have condoms? I didn’t bring any.”

Gotcha
, she thought. Echo crossed her arms. “Excuse me? What do you need a condom for?”

Nicholas looked away. “Shit, don’t get all offended, it’s not like I think you’re diseased or something, I just take precautions, hell, you don’t know where
I’ve
been—”

“You misunderstand, Nicky. You don’t need a condom because you’re not putting your dick in me. Please. You’re such an idiot.”

He scowled. “What are you talking about? That’s the whole reason we’re here, so Darrin can catch us fucking and feel betrayed or whatever it is Ismael wants. You even
said
we’d be screwing—”

Echo sat in the armchair across the room and crossed her legs almost demurely. She twirled the end of the leash around her finger. “Have you never seen a movie, Nicholas? I don’t mean a porno, but just a regular movie, with a sex scene? You think the actors are really fucking each other? When Darrin comes in and sees me dressed like this, on my knees, with you sitting on the couch with your pants down, and this leash in your fist, he’s not going to come over and make sure I’ve actually got your dick in my mouth. When I look over at him, and lick my lips, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and say, ‘Hi, hon, I didn’t think you’d be home so early,’ he’s going to feel plenty betrayed. I don’t need to let any part of you touch any part of me. I’ve never had a taste for aging frat boys, Nicky.”

Nicholas threw up his hands. “Whatever, shit, it’s not like I’m dying to tap Darrin and Ismael’s sloppy seconds.”

“Some days, I fuck them both in one afternoon,” Echo said, though it wasn’t true. “But not you.”

He turned around, rather violently, and looked out the window again, watching the front walk. Echo grinned, pleased with herself. If Nicholas had suggested they just pretend to fuck, or expressed discomfort at the idea of actually sleeping with her, she would have insisted they do the deed, to make sure it was as realistic as possible, etc. Nicholas was so easy. She could jerk him around in any direction she wanted.

Echo didn’t figure Darrin would be along too soon, not with Ismael’s whole house to ransack, so she went into the kitchen, got a glass, and opened a bottle of red wine. She read the note Darrin had left on the counter and nodded. Better and better. Now she could plausibly say she hadn’t expected him home so early. Beautiful.

She stood sipping by the sink, looking out the window into the neighbour’s back yard. The Cambodian man who lived there was working in his garden, and when he glanced in her direction, Echo waved merrily. He didn’t react, just went back to work, and Echo pouted. There was probably a glare from the sun on the window, hiding her from view. Too bad.

Echo leaned back against the counter and wondered if she should get something to eat. She tugged at the leather strap running up through the middle of her ass like the world’s most uncomfortable thong. She did kinky stuff, sometimes, for fun, but she was pretty much always the dominant party. She much preferred making other people uncomfortable to being uncomfortable herself. Seeing her in the submissive role would hurt Darrin more, though, she figured. It was too bad. She liked the guy okay—he didn’t seem to want anything from her, and he went along with her so easily she almost never felt the need to needle him.

She was on her fourth glass of wine, and feeling good, when Nicholas called out, “He’s coming!”

“You won’t be,” she muttered, put the glass down, and headed into the living room.

Nicholas was tugging his pants down, revealing a nice-enough looking dick, semi-erect, bigger than Darrin’s. Why did the assholes so often have nice cocks? “He’s just coming down the block, he’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

“So sit yourself down.” Echo put her hand against his chest and gave him a little push to make him sit on the couch, his pants and underwear still pooled around his ankles. She took a pillow from the couch and knelt on it between his legs. His erection grew, and she smiled—it was so easy, but Echo took satisfaction in the easy things, too. She handed him the end of the leash, and Nicholas tugged it, experimentally, but a bit hard. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “Try to put that thing in my mouth, and you’ll lose as much of it as I can bite off.” The erection wilted a bit at that, and Echo laughed.