Chapter 24 - The Man of Wind and Moss

When Marco walked into the café, he knew he was screwed. It was the way she lifted her head up from her books, like a giraffe with a blood rush and a bone to pick. He was locked in place. A surge of emotion, mostly fear and desperation, washed through him. That and guilt. He hadn’t seen her since the scrying. He never told her what happened outside of 5 Point.

The arrival of the man outside Paula’s door had only happened the night prior. Not fourteen hours ago. After he scrambled back inside, he dug through Paula’s medicine cabinet and piled melatonin into his mouth. The taste and texture reminded him of gummies he had to take as a kid, and the sensation of feeling like a kid didn’t help. The melatonin led to anxiety dreams—anxiety nightmares, really—and the secateurs were back. In the morning, he finally called Sasha, and they agreed to meet at a coffee shop not far from her apartment. The days of spring rain were slowing down. The sun was out, and it was hot, baking the wet streets and bringing out a rank steam from the gutters and drains.

He ordered a double espresso, and he pulled out the chair and sat across from her. She was in jeans and sandals and a tank top. Her hair, in its new bob, hugged at the frames of her blue glasses, and it made her look like she was underwater, staring at him through a periscope. Or, glaring at him, rather.

“Tell me about last night,” she said.

“I was at Paula’s. I was house-sitting. And then there was this banging on the door. It was a guy—”

“It was Dean.”

“I don’t know that,” Marco said. “I didn’t see his face.”

“You know that it was. Stop lying to yourself.”

Marco considered it. He nodded. “I was terrified. My heart was pounding. I told him to fuck off. Then he jammed an arrow in my door.”

“Oh my God,” Sasha said. She dropped her face in her hands.

“And then . . .” Marco went pale. His voice faltered. “He wrote that he found me.”

Sasha nodded like all of this was by the books.

“What did you do?”

“I told you; I locked the door and didn’t let him in.”

“You know what I mean, Marco, don’t be obtuse.”

Marco pulled his eyes away from Sasha. He looked across the café to the windows beyond. The sun reflected off of street signs and store front windows. It was sunny out. Hot. The streets were crowded. He took a sip from his espresso, and it was gross and acidic, and he never even liked espresso why did he order it and he felt her thin fingers grip his hand, demanding his attention.

“After we saw Monchito, you stormed out of my apartment. What did you do?”

“I did the right thing,” Marco said. “I did something good.”

“Pray tell.”

“I went to a Black Arms show and I found the guy who sold you Zaäper. The one that called you a chink. And I got him.”

Sasha was nonplussed. She swallowed the information like a wad of gum. “What do you mean you got him?” she asked, lowering her voice.

Marco reddened. He touched his amulet, but it wasn’t doing anything. It probably thought he was screwed too.

“Did you . . . kill him?” Sasha whispered.

“No,” Marco said, looking around. “No. He was standing at the top of this big staircase and I . . . shoved him.”

“Marco.”

“He hit the ground and, you know, it sounded pretty bad. I told him to stop giving Zaäper to people. And I called him a fat fuck.”

“And what did he say?”

Marco feigned like he was trying to remember, but he remembered it clear as day.

“He said I cracked his head open. And then he said, ‘You should’ve killed me. I’m gonna tell him what you did.’”

“Oh my God.”

“But then the stage doors opened, and I ran for it. Look, his friends saw him and helped him. There’s no way he died.”

“Marco, that’s the problem. I told you not to do this. I said, ‘we’re not out of the woods yet.’”

“There’s no way he knew it was me. He couldn’t even see my face.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because I was a silhouette. I was doing it smart. I had the light behind my head.” But then Marco remembered the amulet. It did glow awfully bright when he pulled it from his shirt.

“What? Say it.”

“I mean maybe there was some light when I pulled out my necklace. It shined pretty bright. But, Sasha, c’mon. Even if he did see my face, he doesn’t know who I am!”

“But he must’ve recognized you. And if he recognized you, then he linked you to me. And if he linked you to me, then he probably told Erether to check the files for the most recent witchy Chinese girl that prayed to him.”

“Oh goddammit, what do you think there’s some sort of database? Like an Excel sheet?”

Sasha crossed her arms. “Marco, this is serious. Like really fucking serious. How could you have done this?”

“How could I not have? How could I let these occultists freaks just wander around? How could I just let them take advantage of us? Sasha, I had to do something.”

“We were in hiding.”

“I understand that. But listen to me, I would’ve gotten payback eventually. Whether Pansy’s baby was unborn or ten years old, whether Dean got to play daddy or not. I would’ve come out of hiding and hurt that piece of shit. Believe that.”

She sighed and shook her head, annoyed. But somehow, miraculously, the sentiment seemed to get through to her.

“Well, we’re back in the spotlight,” Sasha said. “And there’s no more smoke and mirrors.”

Marco nodded. “You for Doll. Pansy for her kid. And now there’s only one outstanding balance.”

Sasha leaned forward and held his hand. “Dean is going to come for you.”

“I know.”

“And he’s got a taste of the good life. He was out of the woods. They were happy.”

“I know,” Marco said. “I have to get him before he gets me. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be a part of this anymore. Your debt is settled. This one’s on me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sasha said. “You stood by me when I fucked up. I’m going to be with you for this one.”

“You really don—”

The vomit came out so fast it knocked the coffee off the table and splattered all over Sasha. People in the café gasped and yanked their chairs and bags out of the way. Sasha sat there, covered in it. Her reaction so delayed that her hands were still on the table. The leaves that covered her were brown and wet and beetles shook off their wings and tried to fly. Streams of mud slopped onto the floor. Marco gagged some more and started to choke. Reflexively, he opened his mouth and pinched something in the back of his throat. He pulled out a series of crumbled, pukey flowers like some fucked-up clown doing a trick with scarves.

When he was done, Sasha wiped the lens of her glasses and Marco admired the wet woods that he brought into the café.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate your help with this one.”