Read Online Hold The Dark: A Markhat story by Frank Tuttle - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Frank Tuttle
Tags: Fantasy
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lesser men find hearts to break.”
“The Park.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Strolls through the flower gardens? Benches beneath the whispering oaks? Lazy afternoons watching the sun?”
I frowned. “And?”
“It’s a good thing you met me when you did. Let me spell it out for you. Martha lived with four scowling behemoths in a Balptist neighborhood. She worked with women in a house guarded by the Hoogas. She went three places—work, home and the Park.”
I shook my head. “Interesting. Maybe I’ll hire you as an assistant. Mama can read her cards and you’ll do all the thinking and I’ll be able to sleep in, emerging only occasionally to collect fees and issue directives to the Watch.”
“Don’t you dare ignore me. I’m right. If Martha Hoobin met someone who gave her a tacky silver comb, she met him in the Park. Did I mention she stopped feeding the birds about two weeks ago?”
“You didn’t.”
“Well she did. Maybe she stopped going because she didn’t want to see her comb-gifting gentleman friend anymore.”
“I’ve heard crazier things,” I said. It did make a sort of sense.
Ice-pawed rats ran up and down my spine. Eleven names looked up at me from the paper on my desk.
That’s the thing about the Park. It’s handy for just about everywhere—and just about everyone.
Darla saw it on my face.
“I knew it,” she said. There was no triumph in her tone. “The Park. It had to be the Park.”
“Might have been.”
I stared at the list.
Twelve women. All gone, I imagined. Just like Martha.
Down on the Square, way past the dark, empty Park, the Brass Bell clanged out nine times, then paused, then rang once more. Curfew had fallen and the dark.
Darla shivered.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, rising. “You’ll be having company soon.”
A wagon rumbled up, stopped at my door. I rose too, beat Darla to the door, opened it enough to see that it was Hooga, his breath steaming in the chill.
“She’ll be right out,” I said. “And I thank you, for seeing her safe.”
Hooga snorted. His horses—two shaggy mad-eyed Percherons—stamped at the cobbles and sent up sparks with their hooves and chewed at their iron bits.
Darla came up beside me, took my arm. “You promised you’d be careful.” I put my hand on hers.
“I did,” I said. “I keep my promises.”
“You’d better. After all, you promised to watch over me too. I think I like that, Markhat. You watching over me.”
“I think I like that too.”
It had been a long time. Before the War. Before I’d gone away, and come back someone else. There were things I’d forgotten, things I never thought I’d remember.
But when she leaned closer, so did I, and we kissed. She was warm and her hair smelled of flowers and we held each other until Hooga grunted. She darted away and was gone.
I leaned on my doorframe and watched them go. Hooga flung a thick brown ogre blanket over her. She waved once and vanished beneath it.
She’d pressed something in my hand, just before she’d gone. It was a scrap of paper, and it bore her address.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she’d written, below it. “Bring the wine.”
I lit a pair of lamps and waited for midnight.
Darla had been right, of course. My caller, the mysterious E.P., would be of one of the halfdead Houses, if not halfdead himself. He’d all but announced this with the note.
I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of playing host to vampires after dark, much less inviting them in. But I’d had ample time to summon the Watch, show them the letter, even invite a half-dozen of them along for our midnight meeting. And while the Watch might wink at most crimes, a violation of Curfew law that said vampires couldn’t enter dayfolk dwellings uninvited would bring the city across the river and into the Heights as a torch-bearing mob. I doubted that mayhem was E.P.’s intention.
I thought about Ronnie Sacks and House Avalante. I’d decided that E.P. would
“The Park.” She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Strolls through the flower gardens? Benches beneath the whispering oaks? Lazy afternoons watching the sun?”
I frowned. “And?”
“It’s a good thing you met me when you did. Let me spell it out for you. Martha lived with four scowling behemoths in a Balptist neighborhood. She worked with women in a house guarded by the Hoogas. She went three places—work, home and the Park.”
I shook my head. “Interesting. Maybe I’ll hire you as an assistant. Mama can read her cards and you’ll do all the thinking and I’ll be able to sleep in, emerging only occasionally to collect fees and issue directives to the Watch.”
“Don’t you dare ignore me. I’m right. If Martha Hoobin met someone who gave her a tacky silver comb, she met him in the Park. Did I mention she stopped feeding the birds about two weeks ago?”
“You didn’t.”
“Well she did. Maybe she stopped going because she didn’t want to see her comb-gifting gentleman friend anymore.”
“I’ve heard crazier things,” I said. It did make a sort of sense.
Ice-pawed rats ran up and down my spine. Eleven names looked up at me from the paper on my desk.
That’s the thing about the Park. It’s handy for just about everywhere—and just about everyone.
Darla saw it on my face.
“I knew it,” she said. There was no triumph in her tone. “The Park. It had to be the Park.”
“Might have been.”
I stared at the list.
Twelve women. All gone, I imagined. Just like Martha.
Down on the Square, way past the dark, empty Park, the Brass Bell clanged out nine times, then paused, then rang once more. Curfew had fallen and the dark.
Darla shivered.
“I’ve got to go,” she said, rising. “You’ll be having company soon.”
A wagon rumbled up, stopped at my door. I rose too, beat Darla to the door, opened it enough to see that it was Hooga, his breath steaming in the chill.
“She’ll be right out,” I said. “And I thank you, for seeing her safe.”
Hooga snorted. His horses—two shaggy mad-eyed Percherons—stamped at the cobbles and sent up sparks with their hooves and chewed at their iron bits.
Darla came up beside me, took my arm. “You promised you’d be careful.” I put my hand on hers.
“I did,” I said. “I keep my promises.”
“You’d better. After all, you promised to watch over me too. I think I like that, Markhat. You watching over me.”
“I think I like that too.”
It had been a long time. Before the War. Before I’d gone away, and come back someone else. There were things I’d forgotten, things I never thought I’d remember.
But when she leaned closer, so did I, and we kissed. She was warm and her hair smelled of flowers and we held each other until Hooga grunted. She darted away and was gone.
I leaned on my doorframe and watched them go. Hooga flung a thick brown ogre blanket over her. She waved once and vanished beneath it.
She’d pressed something in my hand, just before she’d gone. It was a scrap of paper, and it bore her address.
“I’ll be seeing you,” she’d written, below it. “Bring the wine.”
I lit a pair of lamps and waited for midnight.
Darla had been right, of course. My caller, the mysterious E.P., would be of one of the halfdead Houses, if not halfdead himself. He’d all but announced this with the note.
I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of playing host to vampires after dark, much less inviting them in. But I’d had ample time to summon the Watch, show them the letter, even invite a half-dozen of them along for our midnight meeting. And while the Watch might wink at most crimes, a violation of Curfew law that said vampires couldn’t enter dayfolk dwellings uninvited would bring the city across the river and into the Heights as a torch-bearing mob. I doubted that mayhem was E.P.’s intention.
I thought about Ronnie Sacks and House Avalante. I’d decided that E.P. would
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