Suicide Kings

  And in that agony, he died.

  The quiet seemed unnatural. Noel became aware of the whimpers and cries from the wounded. The medal gleamed against Cameo’s chest, her hands still clutched around it.

  But the demon was gone. There was a form lying on the ground. Noel got to his feet and tottered toward the body. He had to draw the gun with his left hand. The wound in his shoulder had left his right arm useless.

  Shock brought him to a stop. Instead of a powerfully built man in his forties there was an emaciated figure with long grey hair and a beard like the remnants of a torn spiderweb. Blood streaked the body, drawing the insects. Noel holstered his gun and laid two fingers at the base of the man’s throat. There was a threadlike pulse. “He’s not dead,” he said. “Even after all that, the bastard Weathers is still not dead.”

  “He is,” came Bugsy’s voice from over his shoulder. “That’s Mark Meadows.”

  Michelle bubbled away the last of the Red House, swearing as she went. When she emerged from the rubble, the monster had vanished. The gunshots had died away too, as had the explosions.

  She brushed away ash and cinders as she picked her way through the debris. Bugsy, Rusty, and Lilith stood grouped around a man lying on the ground. Bugsy was naked. She didn’t see Cameo or Gardener anywhere and that scared her.

  “He should be killed,” Lilith was saying, with the matter-of-fact air of a person discussing whether to take the bus or a taxi.

  The man on the ground was slight in build, almost emaciated. His face was lined and there was a shock of grey-blond hair on his head. A long, thin, scraggly beard covered what looked like a weak chin. He looked about the same age as Michelle’s father.

  “But that ain’t Tom Weathers,” Rusty said, confused. “I dunno who that guy is, but he’s some other fella. And he ain’t that demon thing neither.”

  “Yes and no,” said Bugsy. “He’s Mark Meadows. His ace is to turn into other people when he takes drugs, and he’s been on a really long, lousy trip. He’s the guy the Radical, I don’t know . . . hijacked, I guess.”

  Rusty shook his head. “He’s just lying there. Doesn’t seem right to kill someone that helpless.”

  Lilith rolled her silver eyes. “However it happened, it could happen again. Weathers is too dangerous to be allowed to live. And the only way to kill Weathers is to kill Meadows. They’re one and the same.”

  “Well, not exactly,” Bugsy said, “but killing him is still the smart move. Even if he’s not Weathers now, he might turn back into Weathers when he wakes up.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Lilith. “What’s one more death in the midst of . . .” She gestured at the carnage around them.

  Michelle stepped closer. She wondered again how Niobe could have fallen in love with this man. “There’s been enough killing here.”

  “This is Tom Weathers,” Lilith said. “I will not allow him to simply walk away.”

  “You don’t get to choose,” said Michelle. “You’re an assassin. You murder people in cold blood for money. And as far as I can tell, you feel no remorse for what you’ve done. That makes you a sociopath. You can cut the crusts off it all day long and you’ll never make that anything but a shit sandwich. Yes, I’ve killed people too, but I’ve never killed anyone who wasn’t trying to kill me. I’ve never killed anyone in cold blood. I’ve never befriended someone so I could sneak in their room later and slit their throat. And just so we’re clear, I have never felt good about killing anyone, even when the choice was me or them. You can’t wash off what you’ve done with tea and crumpets and pretty clothes, Noel. That’s the biggest difference between us. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t mourn and regret what I’ve done.”

  “I had no idea you were the only one among us who possessed such moral clarity and purity,” said Lilith. “By all means hug that close, Bubbles. As for Weathers . . . do whatever you want. It’s on your heads.” She walked away into the darkness.

  Then Meadows groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up and looked up at them, dazed.

  “Time to shit or get off the pot,” said Bugsy. “He fucking killed Cameo. In Paris he killed Garou and the owl guy and a bunch of security. He almost killed Klaus. If it weren’t for him and the Nshombos, Gardener would be alive. And how many more? Hundreds? Thousands? Mark Meadows may not be Tom Weathers, but he created him.”

  “I did,” Mark Meadows said softly. There were tears in his big blue eyes.

  “Seriously,” Michelle told him. “Don’t contribute.”

  “If things were reversed,” Bugsy went on, “if it was us sitting there crying, Weathers would be peeling our brains open, scooping out the innards, and pissing down our necks while he laughed his ass off. He would have killed all of us as soon as look at us.”

  “Yes,” said Michelle, “and if we kill him now, we might as well be Weathers. If we kill him now, it will be revenge, pure and simple.”

  “Fine with me,” Bugsy snapped back. “What do you suggest, Bubbles?”

  “Mercy,” she said. She looked at Rusty. He was holding his arm, which hung at an odd angle. Tears ran down his cheeks, leaving streaks of brown. His pain was naked and raw. So was Bugsy’s. And Michelle had no power to fix that. “Rusty,” she said, “how do you vote?”

  Friday,

  January 1

  NEW YEAR’S DAY

  The Red House

  Bunia, Congo

  People’s Paradise of Africa

  “You’re still naked,” bubbles said.

  “Yeah,” Bugsy said. “I keep meaning to go get my pants, but . . . I’ll get to it.”

  Ellen lay where she had fallen, the golden medallion of the Lady of Pain in the grass at her side. The ruins of Nick’s hat rested under her head like a pillow. Her ruined face was peaceful. Like she was asleep. He kept expecting her to shudder the way she had when a chill touched her.

  “She did it,” Bugsy said. “She broke the fucking Radical. None of us could have, and she . . . she did it.”

  They were silent.

  “We should leave,” Bubbles said.

  “I will,” Bugsy said. “I’ll go. Just . . . just give us a minute.”

  “You need a hospital,” said Noel, “now.” Under his breath, but not so quietly Wally couldn’t hear, he added, “And a sodding blacksmith, for all the good it will do.”

  “Wait,” said Wally. It came out more like a gurgle. He shambled toward the garden and its pair of baobab trees, wheezing with the effort of every step. New pain lanced up his side; bone fragments shifting through his innards.

  Behind him, Bubbles said, “What is he doing?”

  “Saying good-bye,” said Noel.

  Ghost came running up. She took his hand. He tried not to lean on her, so that he wouldn’t hurt her if he fell.

  They stopped beneath the baobabs, where the first light of sunrise cast long shadows across the battlefield. Wally tried to reach up to pick seeds, but one arm didn’t work at all, and when he raised the other over his head, the pain took his breath away. Ghost saw what he was trying to do. Her feet left the ground. She floated up through the branches like an angel, picking seeds as she went.

  To the tree, Wally said, “She’s a good kid, Jerusha. I think she’s gonna be okay. You woulda liked her. I’ll tell her all about you.” He looked around, at Noel and Bubbles and the rest. “I’ll tell everybody about you.”

  A stab of pain; the breath caught in his throat. And then the tears came, far too strong to be held back. “Aww, heck, Jerusha. Why’d you have to get bit? It was supposed to be me who died, not you.”

  He knew people were watching him, but he didn’t care. Wally hobbled over to one of the baobab trunks. He leaned against it, put his arms around it. The wood smelled, ever so faintly, of Jerusha. Wally sniffled.

  “Thank you for coming to Africa with a big dumb guy,” he whispered. “Thank you for being so nice to me. Thank you for being my best friend.” He pressed his lips to the tree, careful not to scratch the wood. “
I will never, ever forget you, Jerusha. Not if I live to be a million.”

  A breeze wafted through the baobab. Wally imagined he could hear Jerusha’s laughter in the rustling branches. Or was she crying, too?

  Ghost descended. She landed next to Wally with an armload of baobab seeds.

  Wally called over to Noel. “Okay. We’re ready now.”

  Epilogues

  Kisangani, Congo

  People’s Paradise of Africa

  ZOMBIES WERE PATROLLING THE outer edges of Kisangani.

  Moto—that was Fire Boy’s name—sat beside her in the passenger seat of the jeep. “Don’t let them scare you,” Michelle told him.

  Sitting next to the road—in a very nonzombie state—were a couple of men Michelle recognized, Leopard Men who had been transformed when Alicia Nshombo had died. Michelle preferred them in their nonfeline state. She slowed the jeep and yelled, “Joey, I’ve got someone here who needs to meet Adesina. And maybe even you.”

  “What the fuck do I care about that, Bubbles?” gurgled one of the zombies.

  Moto’s mouth dropped open, and a blast of fire engulfed the zombie.

  “God-fucking-damn-it,” came Joey’s voice through the mouth of the burning corpse. “That little fucker just barbecued up my favorite.”

  “Oh, please.” Michelle bubbled and blew the flaming zombie into a sloppy mess of bones and rags and blackened meat. “I’m coming in.” She ground the jeep into first and drove into the compound.

  The place was looking far better than Michelle had expected. Between Joey’s zombies, the captives, and the staff, they’d cleared away the remains of Alicia Nshombo and her followers. The blood was gone and there was the scent of fresh paint in the air.

  Michelle parked the jeep and got out. Joey came out of one of the small houses. A phalanx of zombies immediately surrounded her. “What the fuck do you want?” she asked.

  “World peace, an end to hunger, and a frothy cappuccino,” Michelle replied. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting any of it.”

  “Who’s the little fucker with the bad breath?”

  Moto had scurried out of the jeep to stay close to Michelle. He grabbed her hand and gave Joey a frightened look. “This is Moto,” Michelle said. “Moto, this is Joey.”

  “Hello,” he said. There was a little burp of fire, but no more. Michelle gave his hand a squeeze.

  Joey shot Michelle a nasty look—something Michelle was used to. Then Joey looked at Moto. She gave him a small smile. He gripped Michelle’s hand tighter, but he smiled back at Joey.

  “Where’s Adesina?” Michelle asked.

  “Michelle!” Adesina came running up the main path. Well, she skittered. Her pretty face looked strange attached to her insect body. She launched herself into the air and flew awkwardly at Michelle. She’s not used to her wings yet, Michelle thought. She opened her arms, caught Adesina, and embraced her gently.

  Adesina touched Michelle’s face with her front legs. A wave of warmth and happiness filled Michelle. This is Moto, Michelle thought. Adesina pulled away and Michelle let her go. A wave of sadness came over Michelle.

  Adesina flitted in front of Moto. There was a moment when Michelle was afraid he might accidentally open his mouth and set her on fire. Instead he held out his arm and Adesina landed. He brought her close to his face and she put her legs on his face as she had with Michelle. His anxious expression was replaced with a beatific smile.

  “When the fuck are you leavin’?” Joey asked.

  Michelle watched Adesina and Moto. It was good. She’d done the right thing bringing him here.

  “I’m not sure.” Michelle smiled at Joey. A cheerful Michelle annoyed Joey to no end. “I thought I’d call Juliet and see if she’d like to come join us in this lovely vacation spot.”

  Joey’s zombies gave an angry growl. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Joey asked.

  “Because the three of us need to sort some stuff out.” Michelle looked back at Adesina and Moto. They seemed to be getting along just fine. “And I’m going to stay here for a while to help out.”

  “No fucking way,” Joey said. Her voice was harsh. And she poked Michelle in the back. “Not after what you did to that little fucker—the Mummy.”

  “Especially after what happened with her.”

  “You fucking killed her,” Joey spat out. “You were supposed to be some kind of hero, and you killed a kid. What the fuck does that make you?”

  “Human.” Michelle felt a terrible sadness. “Just like you. Just like everybody else.”

  “I’m never going to forgive you,” Joey said.

  “That’s okay.” Michelle touched Joey’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “I’m not going to, either.”

  “Fucker.”

  “Indeed.”

  Blythe van Renssaeler

  Memorial Clinic Jokertown

  Manhattan, New York

  AS FINN CAME TROTTING into the waiting room, the rubber booties that covered his hooves squeaked with every step. “You have a fine healthy baby boy, seven pounds three ounces.”

  Noel handed the joker doctor a cigar. He couldn’t quite trust himself to speak just yet.

  “More the traditional type, are you? No helping her breathe and count contractions. No video of the blessed event.”

  “God no,” said Noel.

  Finn laughed at his horrified tone. “Can’t say I blame you. Usually the wife is cussing out the husband, and I have had more than a few of them faint. Men just don’t handle blood as well as women.”

  Never was a problem for me. But pray God I’m done with all that now and forever.

  “What are you naming him?” Finn asked

  “Jasper, after my father. May I see . . .” Noel’s voice trailed away.

  “Niobe’s back in her room and your son is with her. Come on.” Finn led him out of the waiting room and down the hall.

  Niobe was in a white lace nightgown she’d brought from home, and a nurse with antennae for eyebrows and faceted eyes like a bumblebee was brushing Niobe’s hair over her shoulders. Noel could see where the hair at her temples was still sweat-dampened. A bundle in a soft blue blanket was in her arms.

  She raised her eyes to his, and he’d never seen such an expression of sheer joy, triumph, and love before. “Say hello to your son,” she said.

  He crossed the room in three long strides and kissed her. Then he looked down at the wrinkled, red face of his child. At least the urchin had a lush head of chestnut-colored hair and eyes that were almost aquamarine, because otherwise he was astoundingly ugly.

  Niobe pushed the bundle into his arms. For an instant it felt awkward, and then the little warm body found its position in the crook of his arm. The tiny budlike mouth worked in a sucking movement, and a surprisingly adult sigh emerged from between his lips. There was a smell from the baby that was indescribable, but it evoked memories of freshly baked bread, and baking cookies, and wood smoke on a cold evening. It was everything good and safe and loving.

  Noel’s arms tightened around the baby, and a feeling of such protective love washed through his body like an electric current. He knew he would lay down his life for this child.

  He looked at Niobe who smiled at him, but there was a serious look in her green eyes.

  “I love you,” Noel said.

  She didn’t give the usual response. Instead she asked, “Are you home now?”

  “Yes.” And he added, “Now, and forever.”

  “Good.”

  United Nations

  Manhattan, New York

  LOHENGRIN’S OFFICE NEVER CHANGED. The phones were always ringing. The little chiming noise that meant new e-mail had come through was still on its way to nervous collapse. Klaus himself was a little more worn, a little more tired. But he also had the small cut-in laugh lines that came from winning a few. So that was all right.

  Lohengrin leaned back in his chair. His smile was softer than Bugsy had expected. His voice was gentle. “You look good, my friend.”
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  “You make a boy blush,” Bugsy said. “You’re looking pretty spiffy yourself. The eye patch works for you. Very Dread Pirate Odin.”

  Klaus didn’t even look pained. That fact alone told Bugsy just how rough he seemed. He thought he’d been hiding it better. “I’m sorry. For what happened,” Lohengrin said.

  “Don’t be,” Bugsy said. “We all knew the risks.”

  There was a pause. It was the invitation to spill it all out. Bugsy thought about telling him what it had been like, going back to Ellen’s apartment to get his things and seeing everything still there. The accumulated artifacts of maybe a hundred ended lives. All the last chances were gone now. All the voices silenced. The dead were dead again.

  He let the silence speak for itself.

  Lohengrin nodded. “What are you going to do now?”

  Bugsy raised his eyebrows in feigned confusion. “Well,” he said. “I was thinking lunch. And there’s an entomology conference going on at NYU. I was thinking I’d maybe go hang out at the bars and seem interesting. It’s Lyme disease mostly, but I can hope for a cute grad student who’s into wasps.”

  Lohengrin did look just a little pained that time. So that was good. “You don’t always have to make a joke of it, Jonathan.”

  “Oh, but I do,” Bugsy said with a grin. “Oh, yes, I do.”

  “I meant, will you remain with the Committee?” Lohengrin said.

  “Will I keep putting myself in a position to get killed or watch my friends suffer and die while the whole fucking prospect slowly sinks into the permanent cesspool of bureaucracy?”

  “Yes,” Lohengrin said.

  “I don’t know,” Bugsy said. Then a moment later, “I will if you will. Or we could strike out on our own. Roam the earth meting out justice, overthrowing bad guys according to our own personal values, making time with the cute girls.”

  The phone rang. Lohengrin let it. “You make it sound tempting,” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah, until you remember that was the Radical’s job description, too. Didn’t work out too well.”