The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2) (22 page)

Yael yelled my name, and grabbed my shoulder
insistently.

“Preston!” Her voice was hoarse and her face flushed.
“The door! Help me!”

She was struggling with the heavy wooden door, throwing
her whole weight against it. The door made slow progress, scraping along wet
stone and damp ash. I staggered over and put my back to the door, planted my
feet against the flagstones, and then pushed.

The door jerked forward a few centimeters, and then
caught the edge of an uneven flagstone, buckled by the fire, and locked into
place. Yael cried out, and we both redoubled our efforts, feet sliding through
the puddles on the ground. The door squealed, giving way a few scant
centimeters. A fish-person emerged from the door, both eyes ruptured by cat
claws, Dunwich attached to the back of its neck.

“Preston!” Yael shouted, rain beading on the lenses of
her gas mask. “Hurry!”

The door skipped forward another small distance, and
then collided firmly with a Servant of the Deep at the head of the stairs. I
took a step back, and then launched myself at the door, hitting it with the
meat of my shoulder with an agonizing crack. The door shrieked and skittered
across wet stone, knocking the fish-person back on his comrades. Yael was
nearly horizontal, legs extended behind her, rain boots wedged into the cracks
between the flagstones for leverage. I collected myself, took a step back, and
threw myself at the door, this time spinning to take the impact on my back. The
door gave way like a miser, the bare minimum.

Picking myself up was harder this time.

Once more. My back howled in protest at the impact,
and the tips of my fingers went numb.

Yael kicked the door the final centimeter. The latch
snapped closed. Yael dropped to the base of the door, taking a short metal
spike from her satchel. She wedged it carefully beneath the door, and then
kicked it a few times, until it was firmly lodged. The wooden door rattled and
complained as the fish-people attacked it, and we watched apprehensively, but
it held.

Yael ran over to assist Dunwich with the lone escaped
fish-person, but the cat was firmly in control of the situation. There was
little left of the Servant’s face and neck, and Dunwich was busy cleaning
scales and fish oil from his muzzle. Yael cried out happily, tore her mask off,
and then embraced the leery cat, oblivious to the smell.

“We should get moving,” I suggested, rubbing my back.
“That door won’t hold forever.”

Yael nodded, and released Dunwich, who dashed away,
and then set about rebuilding his dignity, safely out of reach. We limped
through the alleys of Innsmouth, secretly grateful to hear the sound of the
ocean recede as we went.

“Was that what you wanted to show me? The
fish-people?”

“Servants of the Deep,” Yael corrected. “Not exactly.
The main point was the arson.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Holly burned her sister’s home to the ground,” Yael
explained, cleaning residual goo from her mask with a microfiber cloth.
“Remember the bones upstairs, in the burned building?”

“Yeah?”

“Whoever set fire to Madeleine’s house didn’t bother
to check to see if it was empty – or didn’t care. We underestimated Holly Diem.”

“I guess.”

I noticed a cat slinking across the roof of the
warehouse across the street, and another near the footbridge on Cambridge
Street. They took no special note of us, nor did they move to follow, but I got
the feeling the Cats of Ulthar were keeping an eye on us nonetheless. I wasn’t
sure if that made me feel better or not. Snowball was capricious and
inscrutable, and I had no idea what his interest would be, if he chose to get
involved with this mess. I snuck a look at Dunwich, wondering if he was doing
double duty as Ulthar’s spy, but he did not so much as acknowledge the other
cats, focused  as always on his mistress.

“Are you doing okay, Preston?”

It wasn’t a particularly long walk to the train
station, but I was feeling every step of it. My head buzzed and ached, my legs
were shaky and weak, and my entire back was turning into one large bruise. I
wanted to go to bed, but I was afraid that if I were to lay down, I would
likely never make it back up.

“I’ll live,” I decided, with a sigh. “You?”

Yael nodded.

“You think those fish-people will follow us?”

“No. I don’t think they can go very far from the
water. They had to dig a tunnel all the way from the ocean to Prospect Hill, in
order to free Madeleine from the observatory.”

“Yeah. Guess that’s why Madeleine needed Elijah’s
help.”

“Maybe. I don’t think Madeleine’s resources are
limited to the slaves of the Drowned Empress.”

I didn’t have the energy to ask about it. The endless
cults and horrowshow deities of the Nameless City bore me.

“I can’t decide which is worse,” I said, waiting at a
deserted stoplight in the light rain, three blocks from the station. “The cultists
or the fish-people.”

“The fish-people smell worse.”

“Good point.”

An inventory of that which was taken. Faded and curling
at the edges, damp from many hours held tightly to the chest, as a keepsake, as
a burden. Spilled like honey, lost as time is lost. Tears collecting at the
corner of the eye, hot and precious.

April snuggled deeper into the embrace of an arm as organic as a dock
crane. She was angry with me, and maybe she had reason.

Sumire squeezed April’s hip with fingers that appeared
to have been carved from piano keys, grinning as if she had won the jackpot.
She was pleased with me, but I think that was probably a misunderstanding.

Sumire’s bedroom looked more or less as I would have
expected. The walls were covered in
Kamen Rider
and
Jojo’s Bizarre
Adventure
posters; a shelf above the bed groaned under the weight of a high
school worth of trophies; a mirror was surrounded by photo booth pictures,
mostly taken with April. Flowers and cards from what must have been half the
student body at Carter covered every available surface. In the corner, half a
dozen Mylar balloons printed with cheery Comic Sans messages bled helium and
sank slowly to the floor. A rat’s nest of audiovisual cables and videogame
controllers sat beneath the television, a collection of morally suspect manga
spilled out from beneath her bed.

“Thanks for the arm, Preston!”

Sumire shed the majority of her hospital trappings, aside
from the bandages loosely wrapped around her artificial hand. Even attached to
Sumire, poking out of a t-shirt commemorating an intermural volleyball
tournament at Carter, the arm was still a baleful thing. She seemed happy with
it, though.

“Think nothing of it. Are you sure that arm isn’t evil,
though? I mean, it came off a witch and everything. It’s made with monster
bones, or something.”

“That just makes it cooler,” Sumire assured me,
flexing articulated ivory fingers. “When I use it to punch that stupid witch in
the face, it will be like fighting fire with fire.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely how that expression
works,” Yael pointed out, giving Sumire an affectionate pat, “but I am happy to
see that you are feeling better.”

“Much better.” Sumire cracked her knuckles, starting
with the flesh hand. “I told you I was invulnerable, Preston.”

“I’m not gonna get into that. I’m just glad you’re
okay.”

“The two of you have been at it for a while, now,”
Sumire said cheerfully, pulling April closer. April rested her cheek against
the side of Sumire’s chest and fixed me with a pointed stare. “Do you have a
suspect?”

“Yes, but...” Yael pursed her lips. “It’s been
complicated.”

“I sort of expected that. What sort of complications?”

“The worst.” Yael’s grimace made me think she might
have some idea what she was talking about, despite her age. “Our neighbors are
involved.”

Yael hesitated, as if reluctant to dive into cold
water, and looked to me. I nodded, because it seemed like she wanted me to do
that.

“Elijah Pickman,” she said, hanging her head guilty.
“He did it.”

“That’s…” Sumire went pale, her face etched with
unfamiliar distress. “Why?”

“He wanted to make a gift of your arm to Holly’s younger
sister, Madeleine. We think he was responsible for all of the other attacks,
too, for the same reason. He is collecting…pieces of girls. Arms and legs.
Because Madeleine lost her original set.”

“Holly has a sister?”

“Oh. Sorry, Sumire,” Yael said. “You missed a lot,
while you were recuperating.”

“Like what?”

“Holly has two sisters – and they seem to spend all of
their time cutting off people’s limbs – or each other’s. Oh, yes – also, as it
turns out, Elijah is Holly’s great grandson.”

Sumire stared at Yael wide-eyed and drop-jawed.

“I told you it was complicated.”

“This is awful!” Sumire wailed. “I’ve been talking
about beating up the person who did this to me for days. I don’t want to hit
Elijah!”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “He cut off your arm, Sumire,
and then he cut your throat. You should be dead.”

“Preston, stop that,” Yael scolded me. “Don’t dwell on
it, Sumire. It wasn’t his idea. I’m not sure what’s wrong with Elijah, but
Madeleine is ultimately responsible for all of this.”

“That’s for sure,” I added helpfully. “I saw her
wearing your arm, Sumire.”

“Oh.” Sumire looked as if she might be ill. “Gross.”

“Preston!” April shouted and hurled her pillow at me.
“How could you say that?”

“I’m sorry!” I didn’t dare duck the pillow. I just
collected it, after it bounced off my face, and then handed it back. “Thought
she would want to know.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine.” Sumire ran her
fingers through April’s unkempt hair. “I just have to go get it back, okay?”

April squealed and hugged Sumire.

“You are so cool, Sumire!” If Sumire could have seen
April’s eyes darken in that moment, she never would have let the girl touch
her. “Nothing scares you.”

Sumire nodded contentedly.

“Especially not Holly’s sister. It must be some sort
of misunderstanding, right?”

That was a little much for me.

“Actually, if you don’t mind,” Yael cut in, looking a
bit flushed over their public display of affection, “I have some questions for
you, Sumire. If you are up for it.”

“Of course! I haven’t remembered anything new,
though.”

“That isn’t it. I’m not interested in the attack at
all. I want to know what was going on before that. You were working for Holly,
right?”

Sumire’s glee flickered like a dying lightbulb. April
nestled in closer, as if afraid that someone might try to take Sumire from her.

“Yes. Why?”

“I need to know what Holly told you,” Yael said,
ignoring Sumire’s question. “Any instructions or background, anything like
that.”

“Okay,” Sumire said, with a doubtful expression. “I
don’t mind saying, and I don’t think Holly will care. But, why do you want to
know? I know you said that Holly’s sister was responsible, but that has to be
coincidence, right?”

Yael sat down on the corner of the bed, patting
Sumire’s knee.

“I’m not sure. I plan to be, however, in the very near
future.” Yael spoke with unselfconscious conviction. “I suspect Madeleine Diem is
targeting people related to Holly, or the Estates, or maybe even the Empty
District.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Sumire said, shaking her
head. “The other girls who were attacked didn’t live at the Estates.”

“They were all students at Carter.”

“Okay, but…”

“Like I said, yesterday was complicated. I did make
the time to do some basic research, though.”

Yael gave me a slightly superior look, and I offered a
grudging nod in return. It seemed like she’d earned that much.

“So?”

Sumire sounded impatient.

“Holly Diem deeded the land for the Randolph Carter
Academy’s founding, and provided much of the seed money.” Yael frowned as if
vaguely put off by the information. “The library, too – she donated the
majority of the books.”

“Wait a minute,” I interjected. “How long ago are we
talking?”

“The timeline’s a little fuzzy, but the school is at
least two centuries old,” Yael said, with a tiny shrug. “Give or take.”

Sumire’s pallor returned. April’s eyes darted from
Yael’s face to mine, gauging reactions.

“How is that even possible?”

Sumire rolled her eyes at me.

“She
is
a witch, Preston.”

Yael’s bombshell was enough to convince Sumire to
cooperate. All I gleaned from it was that Holly had a much more comprehensive
picture of Madeleine’s attacks than she admitted to, but Yael leapt to her feet
excitedly, mask on her belt bouncing, as soon as Sumire finished sharing her
part in the affair.

“Yesterday was rather eventful.” Yael nodded politely
at Sumire and April. “Preston and I have a great deal to do today. Thank you
for your help!”

Yael’s back was turned, and Sumire fluctuated between
troubled and distracted, so neither paid any attention to the ugly expression
on April’s face. I had to double-check, to make sure that she didn’t have a
sharp object handy.

“Preston, please try to be home for dinner tonight.”
April’s voice was as sweet as the little marshmallows in that cereal she likes.
“You’ve been so busy lately. We’ve hardly had a chance to talk.”

I grimaced and hesitated.

“Sorry, April. I don’t mean to ignore you.”

“Be home in time for dinner,” April reminded me. “Don’t
be late, or I will be angry.”

***

“You get something out of that?”

“Not exactly. It was more that I put several different
things together.”

“So? Spill it.”

“Not yet.”

“I hate waiting.”

“Sorry, Preston.”

“At least tell me where we are going.”

“Iram.”

“Iram? Planning on doing some shopping?”

“I might at that.”

I let it go. The train was too loud for conversation,
anyway. Holly told me once that the transit authority’s line workers were loath
to work on the subway tunnels that went near the harbor, passing directly
through Iram and the affluent core of the downtown. Apparently, during the
construction of the tunnel, diggers encountered numerous ancient, hand-dug
tunnels, connecting decrepit houses with cemeteries, and the sea. Bodies, as
well, harvested from violated graves, or worse.

The Iram station was busy and well maintained, with
the better sort of the Nameless City spilling out into the broad residential
boulevards surrounding the station, or crowding into the shady arcades arranged
like a maze around the bazaar. Across the street from the station, the stately
elms and maples of Burroughs Park waved gently in the breeze, while picnickers
and pedestrians enjoyed the relatively rare spring sun. A nearby bakery filled
the air with smells of baking bread and burnt sugar, and the cries of children
from a nearby playground echoed off the concrete and statuary of the station. I
took my jacket off for what felt like the first time in weeks.

I wasn’t at all surprised when Yael led me to Carver
Heights. She didn’t take her windbreaker off, despite the relative warmth of
the afternoon, but that wasn’t a surprise, either. Neither was finding Dunwich
waiting patiently for us nearby. By the time we came to a halt in front of Neil
the dealer’s house, I’d had time to think.

“Remember this place, Preston?”

“Yeah.”

“I found you and Jenny here, the other night.”

“I told you, I remember.”

Yael put one hand on her hip, and cocked her head.

“What were the two of you doing in there?”

I had to tell her
something
.

“You know. Friends of Jenny’s, I guess.”

Yael clucked, crouching to pet the cat.

“Jenny doesn’t have any other friends.”

“You’ve got me there.”

“Want to try again?”

I sighed and let my shoulders sag as if defeated.

“Drugs.” It wasn’t a feint as much as a tactical
withdrawal. “Jenny wanted to buy…”

Yael’s chin jutted forward in challenge.

“Why would she bring you along?”

“Revenge. Jenny hates me, you know?”

Yael’s eyes narrowed, weighing me out before she took
me to pieces.

“I can believe that. I don’t buy it, though. She must
have a reason for bringing you along, Preston.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

A cartoon flat-line frown.

“I can’t find her.”

“Yeah. She does that.”

“Don’t talk like you know her.” Yael bristled shortly,
and then put it aside. “Tell me why you were here.”

Nothing for it. I gave the game away.

“Jenny buys drugs here; regularly, I guess. Another customer’s
odd behavior came up in conversation with her dealer. The customer showed up
bloody and deranged the night Sumire was attacked.”

“Well?” Yael’s cheeks flushed with the excitement of
discovery. “Who was the customer?”

“Your tutor,” I said, with a wide and unintentional
grin. “Elijah Pickman.”

Her jaw dropped, and the cat nudged her hand with her
head, disappointed at the abrupt loss of attention. The effect was comical, but
it seemed the wrong time to laugh. Besides, teenage girls are so
sensitive
.

“Why…would Elijah buy drugs?”

“You aren’t worried about the blood and the arm-stealing?”