Chapter 11: Damages

A public bus screamed to a halt and opened its doors to a tearful, trembling Christine. She'd spent the last fifteen minutes pacing in front of the locked library, alone. No matter which way she turned, she couldn't escape the truth. She was never really in love with Judge Delgado. An enchantment had made her his puppet. That explained why she'd found his ugliness so seductive. Why her attraction had bordered on obsession. Why she'd thrown herself at a deformed, old man. She'd never fallen so hard before—not even for the handsome Raoul deChagny. Now she understood. It had to have been his sorcery.

By the time she climbed onto the bus and paid her fare, she was considering the broader scope of Delgado's manipulations. Because of him, she'd lied to her boss and colleagues. She'd violated the most basic principles of ethics. She'd exploited Raoul's affections in order to serve a dishonest man. She'd been a fool. And now… Now it was clear that Delgado had murdered the reporter in sadistic revenge for having exposed his whole scheme. And by hiding her relationship with Delgado, Christine was his accomplice. He would soon want to silence her as well—

With that thought, the world fell into total darkness.

Her heart thudded wildly. The other passengers murmured in alarm. The bus driver pulled to the curb. Outside in the void, a loud crash resounded as vehicles collided. Horns blared. People shouted.

Christine's frantic fingers clutched for her father's locket… but it was gone! She ran her fingers over her collar bones, and the back of her neck—the chain must have broken! She ran her hands over the front of her blouse, in case the locket had fallen into her bra or down her shirt. She felt across the grimy seat, and along the filthy floor of the bus. Gone! It must have fallen when she escaped from Delgado! Her locket, with her father's picture… It was like losing her father all over again, but even more suddenly and unexpectedly. Her world collapsed; she was utterly alone, helpless, and without solace.

She felt like she was falling, dropping into an abyss. Whether her eyes were opened or closed, she saw nothing. She knew she was succumbing to hysteria.

Before losing all composure, she dug into her purse for her phone and dialed blindly, from memory.

"Christine?" answered a groggy Raoul. "It's five o'clock in the morning—"

"Something's happened!" she cried breathlessly. "Look outside!"

"…What are you talking about? I don't see anything."

"Exactly!"

"Huh?"

Other passengers were using their phones, too. She could hear their panicked conversations. Sirens screamed somewhere close, but no flashing red-and-blue lights cut through the gloaming.

"Everything's dark!" she cried. "No one can see anything!"

"Uh… Manhattan isn't dark. At least, not where I am. Maybe there's a blackout up by you?"

"I can't even see inside the bus! I can't even see my own phone! It's Delgado—it's a spell!"

"What? You're not making any sense."

The blackness buried her like a tomb. She fought for air, struggled to keep her voice even. "I'm in a bus, but I can't see. No one can. The driver had to pull over. His headlights aren't working either. There are accidents on—"

"A bus at this hour? Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"I wish I was!" Her voice broke, and she shuddered with sobs. "Oh, God! I wish I could wake from this nightmare!"

"OK, don't be afraid. I'm coming to get you. Can you tell me where you are?"

"I—um—I'm…" Her chest hurt. She forced herself to breathe. "I'm on—on the Bx21, just under the Bronx River Parkway. Raoul, I'm frightened…" She bit her lip against another desperate wail.

"I'm coming."

Delgado felt like he fell out of one dream and into another. Beneath him was a hard floor instead of his soft bed. Terrible memories flooded his mind: of Christine leaving, of the voices, of his physical response to the sign in the stars… He opened his eyes, but instead of seeing his kitchen tiles, he recognized his parquet floor, his head at the apex of the pentacle in his magic circle. Weak light from an overcast sky had crept through his open curtains to lay cold across his face.

Groaning, he rose onto his elbows and tried to sit up. He had a splitting headache, his joints ached and his stomach lurched as though he'd spent the night drinking.

When his head stopped spinning, he realized that he wasn't alone.

A man sat cross-legged by his feet. His skin was tanned like leather, his nose beaked like a parrot, and his startling eyes a pale green like jade. Despite his age, his thinning hair was still black. Delgado hadn't seen Nasr Khan in ten years, but apparently he'd maintained his muscle tone while in prison through disciplined exercise.

The judge drew back his legs and made to rise. "You son of a bitch—"

"Calm down, Erik—"

"What is it you want?" He struggled to stand, swayed on his feet. "Money? A mistrial? What will stop this blood bath?"

"What are you talking about?" Khan rose, too, and caught him before he fell back onto the floor. "What happened to you this morning? I mean total darkness, without losing electricity! The alarm on my cell phone rang, but the display was out. None of the lights in my apartment worked. My refrigerator was running, but when I opened the door, no light—"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Probably not. You were passed out."

"How di—"

"Listen, I knew that kind of creepy shit had to be your fault, especially since Saturn had entered Scorpio. I was right about that, wasn't I?"

Delgado didn't respond. His skin was crawling again.

"I went to check on you, found your door unlocked, your body on the kitchen floor. I thought you were dead! You blinded the entire borough."

The judge pushed Khan's arms aside and stumbled to the light switch. Flicked the lights on and off as he leaned against the wall for support.

"The lights work," he said.

"Yeah, now they do. They came back the minute I got you into the circle."

Delgado blinked. "What—How did you get me up the… Did you carry me?"

"Well, I sorta... dragged you up the stairs."

"How did you even know about the circle?" Have you broken into my house before?

"I didn't. Not at first. I was trying to find out what happened and had a look around. Oh, and I found this by the stairs." From the pocket of his chinos, Khan fished out a heavy locket the size of a pocket watch and passed it to Delgado. "Isn't that Miss Dale's?"

Christine's locket!

Delgado had always wondered what treasure it contained, that she kept forever by her breast and held like a lodestone in times of need. He opened it and found the portrait of a man in his late forties, wearing the uniform of an appointed fire marshal. The judge's jealousy flared—but something in the man's eyes arrested him. He pulled out his glasses and looked closer. Christine's lovely, profound eyes stared back at him. Here, then, was her father whom she'd lost last year. His death had probably crushed her in an unending loneliness that Delgado knew well.

Khan waited patiently.

Delgado turned to him and sighed. "Still the detective, I see. You could have finished me."

"Finish you? Erik, we're friends!" Khan exclaimed, with no trace of irony.

"Some friendship! You slandered me to the Post, murdered the reporter—"

"Whoa, hold on. I'd have given that locket to the authorities if I was trying to ruin you. And your pistol's still in your pocket. I've got nothing to do with the Post... Though, I wish I could take credit for that genius story about you kissing Miss Dale and all that—Excuse me, I mean passionately kissing." Khan snorted. "As if you even know how!"

"You expect me to believe that? You called me that same day! Said I was paying too much attention to Chri—to Miss Dale."

"All to make you to recuse!"

"¡Y una mierda!" Delgado turned his back and stormed down the hall to his bathroom, still reeling like a drunkard.

Khan followed. "Erik, you're making a fool of yourself. You do favor Miss Dale. It's very obvious, but you don't even realize how much you care for her. You're losing your reputation, and if this keeps up, you'll lose your job—just like I lost mine. Unless you recuse. You wouldn't listen to reason. I had to resort to extortion."

Delgado ran cold water in the sink and splashed his face. Pulled a towel off the ring and dried his hands. So far, Nasr Khan was looking less like a dream and more like an unfortunate reality. And he wasn't the Post's source. "But if you didn't see us, then who—"

He shut his mouth. Scrubbed his face with the towel.

"…Yes?" Khan pulled the towel away.

"Uh…" Delgado cleared his throat. His ears were uncomfortably warm. "Nevermind."

"No, no. Go on," Khan teased. "Are you trying to say… You really kissed her?"

"It's none of your business." The judge tried not to look smug.

"Taking the Fifth Amendment? Only the guilty refuse to talk, Erik."

"You said yourself I wouldn't know how to kiss... passionately," he replied, unable to keep from grinning. He took the towel from Khan and replaced it on its ring. "And even if I had that talent, what woman would explore it?"

"I can't imagine! Miss Dale let your ugly lips…? She didn't faint? Didn't slap you?"

"You're assuming I initiated."

"What! Okay, that's impressive, but it still creates a huge conflict of interest."

"It might have," he sighed, "but not anymore. Chri—Miss Dale—Christine. She found out about—" he lowered his voice, "—about the Midnight Hours."

"How?! I didn't tell her!"

"She was here last night—Well, I don't mean like that! I mean—she just dropped by to give me some information. At, um, around three or four in the morning—"

"Ah. That list that's on your kitchen table?"

"Yeah. We thought you were the one who'd tipped off then murdered the reporter. Anyway, that was before she found that room." He led Khan down the stairs. "She was out the door before I could explain."

He shuffled to his living room and sank into the wingback chair by the window. Even the bleak, morning light was a welcome respite from his dark deliberations.

Khan sat beside him. "Sorry, friend."

"Believe me, so am I."

"If I can get her to come around, then will you recuse?"

He shook his head. "Now she thinks I killed the reporter. She thinks I hypnotized her into having feelings for me. She thinks I worship the Devil."

"But she doesn't think you're ugly."

"You don't know that."

"Well, she kissed you."

"She's obviously reconsidering that action." The judge closed his eyes, raked back his hair. Maybe it was better this way. He'd almost ruined her reputation. Practically destroyed her career. She didn't need him; she should be with a man her own age. Delgado probably didn't have many years left, and anyway most nights he had to work late. Nor could he take her out—Outside was always the press, the disgusted stares… people who wanted him dead. "There's nothing I can give her," he said aloud. "No reason for me to recuse. We're just not meant to be."

"You don't really feel—"

"It doesn't matter, Daroga. It doesn't matter. Anyway, I have a bigger problem."

"Yeah, a murderer's on the loose. But leave that to the pol—"

"No, bigger than that, even. I heard voices before I passed out…"

"Maybe you lost your mind."

"They were the spirits from our Midnight Hours. And they're probably responsible for that impenetrable darkness. It's been… what, almost thirty years? All this time, maybe they were never at peace. Lost. Now that the veil between our worlds is thin again… Daroga, they've come for me."