The fight drained out of her like water from a sieve and Emma’s knees buckled. She felt herself slipping until the gunman wrapped his hand around her mouth tighter and yanked her up. He pointed his piece at Al Conroy and told him to sit down. Emma darted her watery eyes around the cabin, as much as she could without her moving her head and giving the gunman an excuse to wrench her neck again.
The dark space of the cabin felt like a cave around her, empty of any help or light or safety. Even Al Conroy’s eyes were bugging wide as he looked over Emma’s shoulder. Another man’s voice came into the cabin then, and Emma felt the gunman shift in place, like he was trying to pivot around to face whoever stood behind him.
Emma recognized the new voice and knew it was one she shouldn’t be hearing. The gunman took his hand off her mouth and gripped her arm. He turned her around to face the hidden speaker and Emma felt the cabin floor dropping out from under her. The air of the room shook, rippling before her eyes. A thin film fluttered, like a curtain, and a dirty tramp stepped out of nowhere to stand in front of her.
“No!”
Emma hollered, pushing back against the gunman and overbalancing him. He stepped to the side, holding the gun out in front of him, aiming at the scruffy, smelly tramp standing just inside the cabin door.
Emma’s mind went in every direction at once.
He went out that door when we were over Chicago City. He can’t be here. Not now.
Emma moved away from the gunman, frantic thoughts still weaving through her head. The Conroy kid rushed into the cabin and pulled up at the entrance to the bunkroom corridor, with his hair sticking out every which way. He slapped his hands over his mouth as he took in the tramp.
“Why don’t you go out the way you came in, pal?” the tramp said from under his whiskers and through cracked lips. He stepped to the side, and lifted a hand to show the path to the door was clear. “Last time I was in this ship, I was the one holding the gat and facing a guy who looked a lot like I do now. Things didn’t go so well for me, as you can see. So maybe you want to think twice about trying a stickup.”
“You a . . . You some kind of ghost? What are you?” the gunman said.
Emma shifted farther away from the gunman, who’d forgotten about her as far as she could tell. She hoped he didn’t remember all of a sudden. Emma kept backing up until she came up against the kid. They both edged back into the corridor.
The tramp stayed by the cabin door, but kept out of the gunman’s way. Emma got look at both men now. The gunman was scruffy and thin, like he hadn’t eaten in a month of Sundays, and he was nobody she knew. But the tramp—Emma took a good look. Good enough to know the madness she thought she’d left behind in Chicago City had followed her. Mitchell Brand stood before her, covered in grime and filth, looking nothing like the newshawk he’d once been and every bit as threatening as the last tramp who had come out of nowhere to stand in the airship’s cabin.
“Brand?” she asked, holding a hand over her heart and keeping the other on the wall behind her, as if touching something solid might keep her from blowing away into the night outside.
“Yeah, it’s me,” the tramp answered, not taking his eyes from the gunman. “Looks like we meet again, and in this damn ship. You still got a grudge against me for Saint Valentine’s?”
Emma shook her head in reply, not wanting to say anything to the man standing in front of her. As she stared at Brand, his face shifted, grew darker, more threatening. Was he going to turn into the monster now? Had he killed it only to become its replacement?
The gunman cut in on her thoughts by pulling back the hammer on his pistol.
“Enough chatter. I don’t know where you came from, or what you are, but this operation runs on two rules: me, and this shooter in my fist.”
Brand sniffed at him. “That’s a low pair. Put it down and get out.”
The gunman lifted the pistol and aimed at Brand’s chest. “Fine by me if you want to die, friend,” he said, and fired.
Brand jerked back with the impact, but kept his feet. He stepped forward and the man fired again. Then again. Each shot made Brand twitch like he’d been socked by a two-bit palooka, but he kept moving.
“Die, dammit! Die!” the gunman yelled as he emptied his piece, all six shots right into Brand’s chest. Emma watched it all with her mind half in shock and half sure that she and Eddie would see New Orleans after all.
~•~
Aiden stared, struck dumb as a box of bricks, while Mr. Brand stepped close enough to grab the gunman. The guy flailed out, trying to bash his pistol into Mr. Brand’s face. But Aiden’s old boss sidestepped and brought his arms up and around the gunman’s chest, lifting him off the floor. In a flash, both men disappeared from the airship cabin, leaving only a sliver of sparkling darkness that flickered and vanished like a curtain falling across a window.
Aiden’s pa came to him, keeping his eyes on the space where Mr. Brand had just been.
“Aiden, you go on, get back with your mother. Make sure she’s okay. I’ll stay here with Miss Farnsworth and—”
“No, you won’t, Al,” Aiden’s ma said from the corridor behind him.
“Alice—”
Aiden had words of warning for his pa, too. He’d seen how his father kept eyeing Miss Farnsworth the whole time the gunman and Mr. Brand were in the cabin. It wasn’t just a look of concern in his eyes.
There was something pushing its way out of his pa, something Aiden knew himself because he’d felt it, and he knew it wasn’t something his pa should feel for anyone but Aiden’s mother. Before he could open his mouth, the cabin shimmered again and the space in front of Aiden shook. His pa leaned away, and put a hand up to shield his eyes. Aiden’s ma crossed herself and began to pray. Miss Farnsworth stood back, too, but she kept her head up and her hands free.
A film pulled aside and Mr. Brand stepped into the space of the cabin, right next to his old desk like he’d been standing there all along, hiding in plain sight.
~•~
“Miss Farnsworth,” Brand said to Emma but with his eyes on her feet. Now that she didn’t have to keep one eye on a gun that might end up pointing her way, Emma left the corridor and stepped into the cabin. She spent a few breaths taking in Brand’s appearance. His clothes had changed a lot from the last time she’d seen him. He looked like any bum, with a face full of whiskers and smears of who knew what. The rags he had on spoke of three rough and tumble days spent on the streets.
“Conroy,” Brand said then, nodding at the kid.
“I’m— I’m Aiden’s father,” Al Conroy said, coming out from behind Emma and sticking out a hand. Behind them, in the corridor, the wife kept up her chanting and mumbled pleas to the empty sky. Emma wanted to whack her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was the first time since she’d met Alice Conroy that the woman seemed to have something other than venom rolling off her tongue.
Brand shook Al Conroy’s hand and Emma took the opportunity to get some questions answered. She stepped up closer to Brand and leveled a finger at his grimy mug.
“So you just pop up when you’re needed? Like my father did? Is that how it works now? Because we sure could have used your help before that guy got in here and had his hands all over me.”
She knew it wasn’t fair, but she needed someone to holler at. It wouldn’t do any good giving it to Al Conroy. The way his eyes kept roving, he’d probably just take it to mean she’d rather he was the one pawing at her.
“I got here when I could. If you remember, you let me out a few floors above Chicago City. Forgive me if I had some trouble catching up with you.”
“So how is that, Mr. Brand?” the kid asked, coming into the cabin, too, and smoothing his hair with both hands. “I mean, you know, you went out the door, and that thing was with you. The—”
“Yeah, your pal, Larson,” Emma said, remembering the other tramp’s name. At least the name he’d used when he wasn’t a snarling beast with teeth and claws and covered in fur and blood. “What happened to him?”
“Turns out the gods don’t like it when one of us flubs the job. I don’t know the details, but the way I hear it, Larson had too many chances and didn’t make the most of ‘em.”
“So are you—?” the kid started to ask.
“He’s gone and you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Or that thing he turned into,” Brand said.
“But how’d you come back?” the kid said.
“Like I said, Conroy, I jumped from this ship. We all like to think we’re in charge here, but you know same as I do it’s the gods who run the show. So you don’t like your cards and decide to fold, they just put you back in the game. Only thing is,” Brand said, scratching at the whiskers on his cheek, “they figure it’s best you stay at rock bottom from then on. You get turned into a mailbag with legs,” he said. “And you hop to when you’re told. Otherwise, you’re on your own time, but you don’t get much to work with.”
Finished with his little speech, Brand pointed his eyes to the cabin floor.
“So what happens now?” Emma asked.
“I’ve done what I can,” Brand said, taking a slow step to the cabin door. “There’s nobody down there to give you any trouble, but I wouldn’t bet on it staying that way. Gas up, but do it quick. And wherever you’re heading, stay low and out of sight.”
“Like we’d do any different,” Emma said, moving to the cockpit as she spoke. “We’re all on the lam.”
“It’s probably worse than that, Miss Farnsworth. The gods know what you did back in Chicago City. What all of us did. It’s as much your head as mine that’s on the block. That goes for your jazz man, too, and his pal.”
Emma froze in a crouch, half sitting in the pilot’s chair. She bristled inside but kept her teeth together. Turning to face Brand, she let her eyes tell him he should use Eddie’s name the next time.
If there is a next time
.
Brand peeled aside a filmy layer of air. Emma’s eyes narrowed against the glimmering space it revealed.
“What’s back there, Brand?” she asked, unable to stop her voice from quavering.
“Memories, Miss Farnsworth, and the only place I’ve got left to call home. Right here,” he said, stepping to block her view. “Right here it’s memories of every man and woman who’s ever stood in this ship.”
Emma reeled aside, ripping her gaze from the flickering images that had begun to take shape behind Brand.
“Conroy,” Brand said, taking in the cabin and the airship itself, “take care of this pig for me, will you? Miss Farnsworth,” he said, gripping his hat brim. “She’s all yours.” Brand looked at the kid’s father then. “Mr. Conroy, a pleasure.”
“Yeah, likewise, buddy. But—”
“Sorry, I’m out of time.”
Brand whipped his hand and the curtain-like veil lifted around him. He slipped behind it and out of sight, leaving the others standing in the cabin. Emma stepped forward, daring against her beating heart to stand up and touch the space where Brand had been standing. She heard a thump behind her and spun around. At the entrance to the bunkroom corridor, Alice Conroy was lying flat on her face and out cold.
Chapter 2
Aiden’s ma went down like a prize fighter in the tenth round, just dropped flat on the floor. Her white dress was all smeared with dirt and stains from what they’d been through in Chicago City, and her hair was a rat’s nest. She looked like someone else, someone he didn’t know or had never seen before.
Aiden’s pa went down on one knee beside her head and put his hands on cheeks.
“C’mon, Alice. Stay here. Stay here with me. And with Aiden.”
Aiden stooped and then kneeled next to his father, putting one hand on his ma’s arm and giving a little squeeze.
“She okay, Pa?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking her gently as he rolled her onto her back. “Alice? Alice!”
She snapped out of it in flash and heaved in a deep breath. Her fingers clutched at the air and Aiden’s pa held her still with his hands on her shoulders. She bucked and shook on the floor. Her teeth clamped together and she whipped her head side to side as her eyes flashed open and seemed to stare at something far off in the distance.
“Get her feet, Aiden!” his pa said.
Aiden moved slow, like he was dreaming. He had to be. His mother didn’t get fits. As he reached to hold his mother’s feet, she kicked up with both legs, knocking him backward.
“Dammit, son, hold her still!”
Aiden rolled up onto his hip. Miss Farnsworth was at his ma’s side already. She had hold of his mother’s left leg while the other one kept swinging out and back in, like it was some kind of machine on a factory line. Aiden went forward again and got hold of his ma’s right ankle just in time to avoid a kick in the teeth.
“Just hold her ‘til she’s through,” his pa said. “Just hold her.”
Together the three of them kept the rocking, flailing form of Aiden’s mother down on the floor of the cabin. In a few moments, she went still and her eyes closed.
“Ma?”
“Alice? C’mon, honey. Come back to us. We’re here,” his pa said.
“Mrs. Conroy?” Miss Farnsworth asked, and her voice came out all nice and kind, something Aiden figured she didn’t have in her. At least not where his ma was concerned.
Aiden held his breath until his mother opened her eyes. She looked at each of them, one by one, landing last on Miss Farnsworth’s face.
“I’m . . . okay now. I’m just t— Sleep. I need to—”
“Okay, Alice. Okay now. We’ll help you back to the bunk. C’mon everybody.”
Aiden and Miss Farnsworth each held one of his mother’s legs. His pa lifted her under her arms and carried most of her weight. They shuffled back to the corridor leading to the bunkrooms. There, Aiden’s ma seemed to get her wind back and struggled to get her legs free. His pa said to let her go, so they did. Aiden and Miss Farnsworth stood back as his folks made a slow step into the bunkroom.
~•~
Emma waited for the door to close before taking the Conroy kid back to the cabin. They were his folks, and even if she didn’t feel all that warm to them, they were all the kid had. She’d known enough of what it means to lose a family, and the whole experience had brought that pain right back into her heart. It was hell watching the kid’s face twist through those same feelings.