Read Online Magic and Loss: A Novel of Golgotham by Nancy A. Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy A. Collins
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foe.
“The remainder of your commission is waiting for you in the administrative office on the ground floor, Master Canterbury,” the Curator said, returning her hands to her voluminous sleeves. “And don’t forget the gift shop on your way out.”
Chapter 6
E very year since 1778, there has been a parade and street fair on the first day of April to commemorate both the founding of Golgotham and the end of the Revolutionary War. Much like St. Patrick’s Day and the Feast of San Gennaro, the Jubilee is a public celebration that attracts far more than the ethnic group that originally founded it. Just like you don’t have to be Irish to dance a jig and swig green beer or Italian to knock back the vino and stuff your face with zeppole, you don’t need six fingers or hooves to caper about Golgotham like a wine-soaked maenad.
The biggest crowd-pleaser of the Jubilee celebration is the Procession, where all of Golgotham’s major supernatural races, or ethnic groups, or whatever you want to call them, proudly strut their stuff. It’s also the official kickoff ceremony for the rest of the festival, which goes on all day and well into the night. Getting a curbside view of the Procession is very important if you actually want to see the parade itself, and not the back of someone’s head. So if you want to get a good spot you have to show up before the crowds do—say, around half-past the crack of dawn.
It was five thirty in the morning when my best friend, Vanessa, and her new hubby, Adrian, showed up on our doorstep, outfitted with matching backpacks and dragging a cooler-on-wheels.
“Thank God!” Vanessa groaned in relief upon seeing the pot of coffee waiting for her in the kitchen.
“Be careful with that stuff,” I warned her. “It’s a special grind from the Devil’s Brew. One cup is guaranteed to wire you for sound.”
“Wow, you’re not kidding.” Adrian grimaced. “I’ve barely taken a sip and my eyelids feel like they’re flapping behind my eyeballs. Where’s Hexe?”
“He left about an hour ago to nail down a good spot,” I explained. “Golgothamites take their Jubilee
very
seriously, so it pays to stake a claim as early as possible.”
“Have you heard anything from your parents yet?” asked Vanessa.
“Not a peep,” I replied. “Normally my dad would have tried an end run around my mother by now, but he’s not going to risk crossing her when she’s
this
mad. I don’t need their money if the strings attached to it make me a puppet.”
“Your cat just insulted me and flew upstairs,” Adrian said, looking nonplussed.
“Don’t mind Scratch,” I laughed. “He’s under strict orders not to eat friends and family.”
Upon finishing our coffee, we grabbed up some collapsible camp chairs and headed out for the Procession, chatting among ourselves. Despite the early hour, there was already a steady stream of people, many of them outfitted with stepladders, headed in the direction of Perdition, the widest and straightest street in Golgotham. Perdition stretched all the way from the Gate of Skulls, located on Broadway, to the wharves of the East River, and during the Jubilee, festive banners and bunting were hung from every window, doorway, and lamppost, and temporary archways of red, white, and blue had been erected along the Procession route.
As we arrived at the corner of Golden Hill and Perdition, I spotted Hexe standing on the curb, talking to his childhood friend Kidron. It was one of the few times I’d seen the centaur out-of-harness, and he was dressed to the nines in a blue silk caparison decorated with small diamond-shaped mirrors, with a matching doublet and a leather helmet crested by an ostrich feather dyed to match his clothes. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but judging by the scowl on Hexe’s face, it was something unpleasant.
“Jubilation, Tate, to you and your friends,” Kidron said as we approached. “And I am glad to see you back on your feet,
“The remainder of your commission is waiting for you in the administrative office on the ground floor, Master Canterbury,” the Curator said, returning her hands to her voluminous sleeves. “And don’t forget the gift shop on your way out.”
Chapter 6
E very year since 1778, there has been a parade and street fair on the first day of April to commemorate both the founding of Golgotham and the end of the Revolutionary War. Much like St. Patrick’s Day and the Feast of San Gennaro, the Jubilee is a public celebration that attracts far more than the ethnic group that originally founded it. Just like you don’t have to be Irish to dance a jig and swig green beer or Italian to knock back the vino and stuff your face with zeppole, you don’t need six fingers or hooves to caper about Golgotham like a wine-soaked maenad.
The biggest crowd-pleaser of the Jubilee celebration is the Procession, where all of Golgotham’s major supernatural races, or ethnic groups, or whatever you want to call them, proudly strut their stuff. It’s also the official kickoff ceremony for the rest of the festival, which goes on all day and well into the night. Getting a curbside view of the Procession is very important if you actually want to see the parade itself, and not the back of someone’s head. So if you want to get a good spot you have to show up before the crowds do—say, around half-past the crack of dawn.
It was five thirty in the morning when my best friend, Vanessa, and her new hubby, Adrian, showed up on our doorstep, outfitted with matching backpacks and dragging a cooler-on-wheels.
“Thank God!” Vanessa groaned in relief upon seeing the pot of coffee waiting for her in the kitchen.
“Be careful with that stuff,” I warned her. “It’s a special grind from the Devil’s Brew. One cup is guaranteed to wire you for sound.”
“Wow, you’re not kidding.” Adrian grimaced. “I’ve barely taken a sip and my eyelids feel like they’re flapping behind my eyeballs. Where’s Hexe?”
“He left about an hour ago to nail down a good spot,” I explained. “Golgothamites take their Jubilee
very
seriously, so it pays to stake a claim as early as possible.”
“Have you heard anything from your parents yet?” asked Vanessa.
“Not a peep,” I replied. “Normally my dad would have tried an end run around my mother by now, but he’s not going to risk crossing her when she’s
this
mad. I don’t need their money if the strings attached to it make me a puppet.”
“Your cat just insulted me and flew upstairs,” Adrian said, looking nonplussed.
“Don’t mind Scratch,” I laughed. “He’s under strict orders not to eat friends and family.”
Upon finishing our coffee, we grabbed up some collapsible camp chairs and headed out for the Procession, chatting among ourselves. Despite the early hour, there was already a steady stream of people, many of them outfitted with stepladders, headed in the direction of Perdition, the widest and straightest street in Golgotham. Perdition stretched all the way from the Gate of Skulls, located on Broadway, to the wharves of the East River, and during the Jubilee, festive banners and bunting were hung from every window, doorway, and lamppost, and temporary archways of red, white, and blue had been erected along the Procession route.
As we arrived at the corner of Golden Hill and Perdition, I spotted Hexe standing on the curb, talking to his childhood friend Kidron. It was one of the few times I’d seen the centaur out-of-harness, and he was dressed to the nines in a blue silk caparison decorated with small diamond-shaped mirrors, with a matching doublet and a leather helmet crested by an ostrich feather dyed to match his clothes. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but judging by the scowl on Hexe’s face, it was something unpleasant.
“Jubilation, Tate, to you and your friends,” Kidron said as we approached. “And I am glad to see you back on your feet,
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