"You could hunt with the Raven on your shoulder. But this Wolf always wants to hunt alone, doesn't he?The Owl could give you eyes in the night, but you think you've eyes enough, don't you? And the little one, the Dove who could coo secrets to you? Him you'd close your jaws on with one great snap. Stupids. Four great stupids, the lot of you. The world cries out for heroes, and what are we given? Three scatterbrained birds and a mangy dog."
She released his hair with a final shake and leaned back in her chair, breathing heavily. She half-lidded her eyes. Stepovich felt as if a great pressure had lifted from him. Someone made a peculiar scratching sound right outside the door, but before he could react to it,Madam Moria lifted her head. "I don't care!" she cried out defiantly, and he wasn't sure if she addressed him or not. "I'm too old to fear you, you patchwork demon! Run and carry tales! You're not the only one who can tattle little secrets!" Her voice seemed to catch on the final words, and she leaned back suddenly in her chair with a wheezing sigh. Her shriveled lips sank in on themselves, her eyes faded deeper into blindness.
"Madam Moria?" he ventured.
She took in a deeper breath, blinked several times. She reached for her black cane, thumped it weakly on the layered rugs. "Where is that tea?" she demanded, but her demanding now seemed more piteous than imperious.
"I'll check on it," Stepovich told her, and started to stand up, but Ed was pushing the tapestry aside with his back and ushering in a small tray. It was silver, the etched pattern old and lovely under the patina of years. A fat ceramic pot sat on it, and beside it an elegant cup of fluted bone china. None of the items matched, yet they obviously belonged together just as old friends do.
"Pull up… that table. Any table." She seemed suddenly a very old woman in a way she had not before. Stepovich didn't even smile as Ed carefully poured her tea and offered her the cup. She took it,and though her hand trembled, not a drop escaped as she raised it to her mouth and noisily sucked at it.
"She tell you anything?" Ed asked in an undertone.
Stepovich shrugged. "Not really," he answered, and wondered why it felt like a lie.
Ed went into a heavy crouch beside her chair."How about it. Madam Moria? Can you tell us anything about Cynthia Kacmarcik?"
"I can tell you she made better tea than this! Who taught you to put water only warm on the leaves?Better the steam stands out a foot above the kettle before you pour it! Tea like this, Cynthia would pour on the floor!"
"But can you tell us…"
"Young man, I am tired. You think an old womanlike me, she can stay up all night and talk and not be tired? Stupid. You want to know more, you come back another time."
"Maybe you could just-" Ed began, but Stepovich shook his head at him silently. Ed got the message and rose.
As they turned to the door. Madam Moria thumped a cane on the floor. "Fifty dollars!" she said, when Stepovich turned back. "You think I do a seeing for free? No! Fifty dollars. Wolf."
Ignoring Ed's incredulous look, Stepovich gave her the twenty-three he had in his wallet. She took it disdainfully. "Next time you come, you bring the rest.Or I will tell you nothing at all. Nothing at all."
They were in the Cadillac and headed back to Stepovich's before Ed spoke, "Not healthy," he observed, shaking his head.
"Well, she's pretty old," he conceded.
"Not her." Ed snorted in disgust. "She's a healthy as a horse, behind the phony wheeze of hers. Hell, that cast-iron teakettle of hers must weigh twenty pounds. If she's hefting that every day, it's probably as good as a Jane Fonda workout. Her hair hasn't even gone grey.No, I wasn't talking about her. I mean you."
"Me? I'm not sick. A little indigestion now and then, but you show me a cop who doesn't get an acid stomach, and I'll show you a cop who's too dumb to be scared."
"Naw, Mike." Ed gave a sigh. "It's the way you're living. It's starting to bug the shit out of me. At first,I thought, well, it's just going to take him a while to get used to things. But it's been more than a while,and you just aren't adapting."
"What the hell do you mean?" The sudden anger he felt was unreasonable in its intensity.
"I mean like that kitchen of yours. It doesn't look like you live there. I mean, it's more like you're camping out for the weekend, and expect to go back to Jennie and the kids next Tuesday or something."
"I don't like clutter."
"The hell you say. I'm not talking about clutter.I'm talking about having something besides ketchup in the cupboard, or more than three forks in the drawer. When's the last time you bought a carton of ice cream, or ate some meat that didn't come out of a can? You don't even have a real salt shaker, only those cardboard things from the store. And I'm talking about having books. You used to read all the time,in the break room. And I'm talking about the way you fall asleep on the couch most nights rather than go to bed and admit you're sleeping alone. And why you're sleeping alone, I don't know. And-"
"Ed. Give it a rest, okay?"
"I've given it a rest too damn long. You can't just put your life on hold. You got to-"
"Look." Stepovich was having trouble keeping his voice level. "You've made your point. Let it go. I know you're my partner, and-"
"No, Mike. I'm not your partner. And that's another thing. Who's your partner is that big green kid who isn't learning a damn thing because you aren't bothering to teach him. 'Cause you think maybe he isn't permanent. Well, you ignore him long enough,he damn sure won't be permanent, because he'll be dead."
"Let me off here," Stepovich's words were cold and hard.
"Oh, fuck you," Ed replied unhappily, and drove the rest of the way to his apartment in silence.
NINE
The Old Woman and the Devil
It seems like I been on this road
Ever since I was a kid;
I could tell if I was sorry
If I remembered what I did.
"RED LIGHTS AND NEON"
The Gypsy spent the night below the freeway bridge,waking up to morning fog and a promise of more snow. He stared straight up, unmoving, and tested his memory. Yes, he was the Gypsy, a name that would do for now. And, yes, he had sworn, long ago,to bring light to the world below-Her world, if you will, because all worlds that don't have the warmth of the sun, the promise of the moon, or the beauty of the stars are Her domain. He had sworn to bring the light to a dark place, in spite of Luci; that much he remembered.
But what had She done that made the memories come and go? And what had happened so that She was now in his world? Had he ever known? Would it come back, the way his recent past was beginning to?Most of it was there: The capture by the cemetery,the knife, the Wolf Who Waited Before Striking. All that was missing were his brothers.
He pulled himself up, and breathed city air, faintly cloying with traces of exhaust and humanity. Cars and trucks roared by overhead, and he marveled that man could build bridges that would stand up to such traffic.Harsh fog from the sewers swirled before him. He called to it, "Stay, brother mist. Stay and speak to me. You who travel beneath our feet through the length and breath of the city, you who hear all we say, stay and tell me whereto find the old woman." On a sudden impulse, for no reason he knew, he threw a piece of garlic and the cord from his trousers into the mist, and was not surprised when he failed to hear them strike the ground.
The warm air swirled before him.
It was no voice that spoke out of the mists, but the Gypsy heard words saying, "You must do this no more."
"Do what?"
"Use the skills of another world in this one. This time, I can protect you, but-"
"Protect me from what?"
"Those skills have no place in this world, and your memories of this world have no place in the other. You cannot have both."