COCONUT JOE'S BEACH BAR AND GRILL—NOW
As usual, Table 7 started with a basket of hot coconut fritters, rolled in cinnamon sugar with a side of duck sauce for dipping. "Ready for your next course?" The pallid, epicene gent in the Citadel sweatshirt lapped the grease from his fingers as his stomach rumbled. "Is that all we get?"
His tablemate peered over the rims of his violet-tinted shades. "Hush, Grossman. I'm sure—what was your name again, my dear? Brittany?"
"—Tiffany—"
"—whatever. I'm sure she'll fetch you another round if you're still peckish. And I'll have a few more spring rolls and another drink. You're sure you don't have Absinthe?"
Tiffany looked uncomfortable. "I'll ask again. You still want another Stoli on the rocks?"
"With a grapefruit twist. Yes. Now run along, child. When you get back we'll be ready for our entrée."
"Absinthe?? Where the fuck does he think he is—New York City?" John-Jimmy mopped some melted ice off the bar with a sour rag, his eyes flicking towards the patio. "Looks to me like he's a mite…enchanted. If ya know what I mean, babe? All he needs is wings and high heels."
Tiffany flipped through her receipt book, bored to death and vigorously cracking a wad of Juicy Fruit between her perfect white teeth. "Fuck if I care. Three more hours before my weekend starts."
"Yeah…was gonna ask you 'bout that." John-Jimmy admired the way the neon of the Corona light lent a golden glow to those pear-shaped scoops of loveliness that greeted him from low neck of her Coconut Joe's t-shirt. "You wanna ride out to Fort Moultrie after shift? I gotta six pack of Amber Bock and a couple of hand-rolled fatties. Could party, is all I'm sayin'."
She fetched him a slow, hot glance that made his chinos uncomfortably tight. "Awright," she drawled. "Might be that Tinkerbell and Jabba the Hutt out there could be big tippers. You can help me blow my tips."
Somewhere between the words blow and tips, John-Jimmy's flush of lust turned ashen. "Christ, you better get out there quick, baby," he swore. "Freak at your station looks like he's tryin' to eat the goddamned tablecloth."
"I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
Gluttony made a hawking sound, like a cat with a hairball the size of a Volkswagen. Sweat began to drip off his forehead as he writhed and gagged until Envy fetched him a stunning whack! between his shoulder blades. "Told you to take her shoes off first.."
"It…it was…the…GUM."
"You should have been more discreet. Now we've got to do something with this." A slender foot poked at the washboard belly of a part-time bartender curled up and shivering on the floor of the back seat.
"Can I eat him? God…I'm so hungry!"
The boy had narrow hazel eyes and dirty blond hair, yanked back in a tight ponytail. A trimmed fringe of beard around his jaw and his skinny rimless glasses reminded Envy of his perpetual prey. Elric…A stiletto snicked out of his pocket as he straddled his captive. "Tell you what," the former homunculus whispered, voice hoarse with desire, "You can have the leftovers…"
RESEMBOOL SOUTH—2.4 miles away…
"Denny Brosh here."
"Denny? Edward here."
"Hey boss! Just calling back. I'm in Room Eight, right where Teddy and Remy were last night. Nice place. They brought me brandy and chocolates—and I get free use of a touring bike if I want to ride down to the Battery—"
"I don't give a damn if the room comes with hot and cold running blowjobs," Edward snapped testily. "Is there anybody in Room Ten?"
"Nope. Saw the maintenance men working around, though. The concierge says that the toilet got stopped up by the people who were there last two nights. Found a woman's faux fur jacket jammed in the bowl. They think the previous occupants might have stolen it, so the cops asked them not to book the suite until they've checked it out."
"Excellent. I'll be over around nine."
There was an uncomfortable silence. "Er…boss? Look…these rooms are kinda small…and… um…the bed….well…"
"Idiot! I'm not going there to fuck you. I'm going there to talk to Alfons. Don't think he'd be showing up around here unless there's trouble for us."
"What did Teddy say?"
"She saw him." There was a tense silence. "She saw him," he repeated. "She and Remy couldn't make out what he was saying. I speak German, and he might find it easier to communicate directly with me. Only….don't tell anybody I'm coming up. Not yet. I'll tell 'em myself."
He snapped his phone shut and shoved it into his jacket pocket.. Taisa…I'm sorry. It's just...I have to know. I have to tell him…
Tell him what? That I'm sorry he died? That he's another soul I carry like an endless weight, a chain of disasters that drags me down, year after year…all the mistakes I've made, the lives lost because of my goddamn poor judgment and mistakes…
Mom..
Al…
The people of Lior I thought I was helping when I exposed Cornello…
Greed…
Oh, god…the list goes on. And then…there's *you*, Meine Liebe. Maybe there was a treatment for your lungs—I don't know. But you tried to get me home and ended up with a bullet in the back, all for my sake.
And now Teddy and Remy know the truth about you. They've seen your beautiful face…so like my brother…
"You were not my brother," he said aloud, his metal fist smashing against the rock he perched on at the tide line. "It—it wasn't like that at all! You were just…so…goddamned…good for me."
"N'onc' ?"
His head jerked around. Jean-Remy Havoc stood there in a grey New Orleans Saints sweat suit, his infant daughter snuggled tight to his chest in that sling thingamajig that Hughes had given him at the baby shower. His fair cheeks were ruddy from the sun and he was smiling gently. Edward scooted over to make room, relived that the Cajun's expression was as open and welcoming as ever. He had used the word N'onc', which Teddy informed him was Cajun for notre l'oncle—our uncle. The use of that possessive gave him hope that at least Remy might have forgiven him, even if Teddy was still in shock and struggling with what she'd learned.
He held out his arms for Izumi, who cooed contentedly the moment she nestled against his chest. "She knows good when she sees it," Havoc observed, offering him a sip from his water bottle.
"Sweet iced tea??" he shuddered, handing it back. "Revolting."
Companionable silence flowed between them, punctuated by soft murmurs from the drowsy child whose face was already showing a marked resemblance to her biological sire. Against her ivory skin her black brows were like fine brushstrokes of sumi-i ink against white silk, and under the softness of babyhood he could see early hints that her cheeks would have the same smooth curve, her mouth that same quirk, somewhere between a smile and smirk.
Taisa had it too, and the thought of his lover made him uncomfortable. He's put up with a lot of shit in the past year. We've made it through before…but I don't know how he's going to cope with this revelation.
"Love is love, Edo." Havoc had never called him that before. His keen blue eyes were focused on the horizon as he spoke. "If my petite ange—my Teddy—had she been born in the flesh of a man, would I have loved her as dearly as I do now? If she wore a different face—a different body---a man's body---what would I do? For my heart is not inclined towards my own kind. And yet---the spirit that lights the eyes, that fills the heart—that spirit would be the one I cherish now. I would be drawn to her as I was the night we met, ten years ago. I could not forget her, even though we met only briefly. I kissed her in Amestris—and I claim her now. So—N'onc'—what do you think I would have done?"
Edward answered without hesitation. "You'd love her. You'd find a way."
"D'accord. This soul that has been…may we say twinned? This one whom you gave the whole of your life to love and protect and save, this brother of the heart, Papa Alphonse. You saw his spark in another's face and were drawn into loving. This Alfons—he is a good soul. I like him. Had he worn another face you would have loved him just as dearly, no?"
"Y-yes."
"It is only the matter of his face and name that give us pause. And it will be hardest for Alphonse and his children to bear."
Ed met his steady gaze. "You don't condemn me?"
"Le coeur a ses raisons qui ne raisonnent rien savent de." Tucking Izumi safely back into her Snuggli, he rose and offered Edward Elric his hand. "Pascal."
Edward's fingers closed around Havoc's. "Who also said, 'we know Truth not only by Reason, but by the Heart.'"
BATTERY PARK
There was something almost…well…familiar about the Eurasian man unwrapping his dinner on the park bench at sunset. Falman couldn't quite place where they'd met before. Not a cop he decided. Not someone he'd known at the Academy. And not somebody he'd arrested, either. The fellow was neatly dressed, like maybe a lawyer or stockbroker who decided to pick up a gourmet meal and dine in the park rather than in the posh comfort of a beachfront condo in Wild Dunes.
No, whatever else, the memories the black haired man was evoking were good ones, and Vito Falman was a detective that relied as heavily on instinct as on his considerable intelligence. He wandered over and offered the stranger a friendly smile. "Looks good," he nodded, gesturing towards the onigiri the man was about to take a bite out of. "I didn't know there were any restaurants downtown that had takeout obento meals."
The black haired man glanced up sharply. Then the right corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, half smirk. "A peace offering from my best friend, actually. About the only time she makes onigiri stuffed with ebi tempura." The man twitched aside the cotton furoshiki cloth and gestured towards the top layer of the tray. "Like to try some? She always makes enough for me and my partner, but he's….off on one of the Ghost Walks. I decided to picnic out here."
"Thanks." Falman sat down and accepted one of the rice balls, neatly belted with nori seaweed and rolled in toasted sesame seed. Two bites gave him a healthy respect for his companion's circle of friends. "A sushi chef, is she?"
"A writer, actually. She learned the technique from my mother, who was native to Koukura. Japan." A slim, strong hand was extended. "Taisa Mustang."
"Vito Falman. I came over because I swear I think we've met before. Are you on the force?"
"Research scientist, actually. I work for the Elric Foundation, although these days I spend more time approving grants and fellowships than I do in the lab."
Falman's eyes widened and he smiled suddenly. " Elric? As in Professor Edward Elric? I took a summer class with him back at Berkeley, way back in '76. Absolutely brilliant. I was a rookie cop back then, but I took night classes for fun."
His companion grinned. "If you took one of Edward's classes for fun, you're either a genius or a masochist. I was his student assistant back then—that's why we look familiar to one another."
Falman colored slightly. "Were you the---uh—?"
"The one he got fired over? Indeed." The scandal over the visiting professor getting caught in a love nest off campus with his assistant –as well as two notorious campus radicals, a vocal Feminist and the legendary pothead "Screws" Hughes—had led to the professor's dismissal. "I still love to give him hell over it in odd moments."
"You're still together?"
Mustang smirked. "In spite of my better judgment, yes. And the pothead and his family are down here too, because the Feminist got married two days ago. She's the one who made the sushi. Small world, ne?"
Falman chuckled. "Small world. I'm guessing the Professor is getting up there in years." In fact, part of what rocked the campus was that Mustang had been barely nineteen at the time he'd been caught with the older man. Elric had been dismissed but had pleaded eloquently before the board not to revoke Mustang's scholarship. In the end the younger man was allowed to remain, although it had been difficult for him and his companions to live down the scandal. To their credit, his friends stuck up for him—in fact Hughes garnered quite a reputation for rearranging the faces of anybody who harassed his buddy.
"It's amazing what vanity can do to a man. Face lifts. Collagen…"
"Grecian Formula—"
"No, he goes to a salon," Mustang was laughing now. "Thinks it actually matters to me. It would take more than a few grey hairs to split us up after three decades."
It pleased Taisa that Falman wasn't unnerved by his open admission of sexual preference. "Well, I'm glad you're still together after all this time. I've been married twice and have the alimony check stubs to prove it. That's why I'm working the park tonight—there was another ghost sighting at the Carriage House this week. Bunch of media types and crystal-crunching weirdoes hanging around, hoping to see the Gentleman Ghost."
"My partner is one of them." One dark brow arched cynically. "Ed believes it's all rubbish. He's supposed to be on one of the chartered tours…but I know damn well he's skulking around here, determined to prove it's all a hoax. I decided to hang around to watch him make an ass of himself—as usual."
"Not a believer in the fabled ghosts of Charleston then, eh?"
Mustang snorted. "He'll put out milk and cookies for Santa before he buys into that crap."
ROOM EIGHT—THE BATTERY CARRIAGE HOUSE
It was rubbish—but Remy had insisted this be done right if he was going to do it at all. "You must leave an offering of favored foods. It is not for the taste—it is the smell of it, non? Spirits are strengthened by memories. Heiderich was able to stay as long as he could with Teddy by talking about the winter in Munich. He spoke of running in the snow with you—about singing in the choir on Christmas Eve…about how hungry everybody was. If you see him, you must evoke memories to make him strong, so that he may tell you why he has returned."
"Ridiculous," Edward bitched under his breath as he poured out the freshly made coffee and arranged a handful of spicy liebkuchen biscuits on a clean room service plate. "About as logical as leaving cookies out for Santa." A good stout German beer and a platter of white sausages would have been better, but he'd have wanted to scarf them down himself. Instead he had stopped at Yankee Candle and purchased a house-warmer that smelt wonderfully of evergreens and forests—it was actually named Christmas Wreath—and lit it, placing it beside the offerings. "Evergreens. Spice cookies—coffee. Only thing missing is the smell of wet wool coats."
Or…the smell of skin and damp hair…the faint hint of wood smoke from the night air, wood smoke and coal fires…and the taste of your mouth…and the cries we muffled against each other's necks as we clung together under the thin blankets, trying not to wake Hoenheim…
"Meine Liebe?"
It startled him, because he didn't exactly hear it with his ears. The voice—gentle as ever—was something he felt, like it was being carried through him through the prickling of his nerves. Then…something breathed against the back of his neck.
"Heilige Scheisse!" His metal elbow sent the coffee mug to the carpet. The shimmering phantom before him only smiled, arms outstretched, bending down…enfolding him
"Mein beliebter Freund…meine ed-WARD el-RICK."
"I can't believe this shit," Ed whispered once he'd found his voice again. "Dead EIGHTY-FIVE Goddamned years—and you're still giving me crap about my pronunciation…."
"Don't forget to hang up your stockings boys."
Edward had rolled his eyes with cynical disdain. "I can't believe he's saying this, huh, Alfons? It's not like we're children, for chrissakes."
"Well…they are rather damp, mein freund. Perhaps Herr Hoenheim is suggesting that we let them dry on the hearth overnight, ja?"
Once they had closed the door behind them Hoenheim had tiptoed back to his room, returning to the chilly parlor with two small wrapped parcels and a branch of evergreen jammed into a pot of dirt caged from flower shop downstairs. Once Gracia understood what the older man was planning she lent him a handful of pretty mercury glass baubles and a small string of twisted silver paper. "These are for trimming wreathes, so they shouldn't be too heavy." She also gave him bunches of evergreen trimmings and a tray of freshly made liebkuchen for Christmas morning as her own gift.
Soon as the stockings were dry he shoveled a fat orange in the toes and then crammed them full of nuts and wrapped candies before admiring his handiwork. This first Solstice in Munich—correction, Christmas—was going to be a scanty one—but everybody was a little bit hungry this year. He had managed to get his hands on a small goose, which Miss Gracia had offered to roast for him alongside the one she'd be sharing with her parents downstairs. That and some mashed potatoes, roasted turnips and carrots and a tiny bit of stollen—that was a finer feast than many would be sharing that winter.
He was about to turn in himself when his attention was snared by the muffled sound of panting. Edward had never been a delicate boy, but young Heiderich had had a bit of a cough earlier.
Returning with a blanket from his own bed, Hoenheim gently cracked the door to the boy's room. The soft sounds that carried out into the hallway now, evidently, had nothing to do with asthma.
Face burning, he closed the door quietly. Then he gathered his coat and headed out into the darkness of Christmas eve. Even in the bitter cold, even on the eve of Christ's birthday, he reasoned, there might be at least one woman—or even a man—who might accept a bottle of imported French brandy as payment for services rendered…and gratefully received by a lonely man, so very, very far from home…
Returning hours later, the bitter taste lingered on his tongue and his mouth was slightly bruised—the sailor had demanded quid pro quo and had taken much longer than Hoenheim had. The older man would have preferred a woman but the strasse had been virtually deserted save for the toughs that hung around the beer halls. Still, they had parted amicably, the sailor wishing him a joyous Christmas as he stuffed himself back into his trousers.
Just before breakfast he heard the soft whimpering again. When the boys emerged, dressed and flushed and grinning, Edward looked happier and more animated than he had since crossing to the Earthside of the Gateway. Although the uncommon parallels between this young German boy and his own dear son in Amestris made him uneasy, 'Liebe ist Liebe' he reminded himself as the boys eagerly tore the newspaper off the matching leather bound notebooks and fountain pens he had wrapped for them—black for Edward, deep brown for Heiderich…
The twin leather notebooks—stained from a lifetime of use—lay abandoned. The coffee had soaked into the carpet, unnoticed. As he drew each shuddering breath, he could smell the sweetness of evergreen and spiced cookies. He thought he could smell the hint of blood and freshly starched linen and soft, clean hair. The translucent fingers that gently rubbed his shuddering back left faint tingles of energy where they brushed his skin. "Edward…no…not like this we meet. Not to weep, Freund von meinem Herzen—friend of my heart. No regrets."
"Damn you—God damn you, Alfons! Why the hell did you get involved with Hesse and the Thule Society? Didn't you know they'd use all your knowledge about rocketry to make weapons—to kill people?? Christ—ohh God---when I saw what they did---"
"What they did—they did to a body, Meine Liebe. I am still here. I've been here, watching over you, all these many years." He chuckled gently. "And on Christmas Eve you dropped a snowball down my back because I said I knew you had a guardian angel."
Edward wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Superstitious religious bullshit, Alfons."
"Edward, you dumkopf! Verstehen Sie nichts? Those who watch from the Gateway—we are the angels who watch. Me. Ihr Vater, Hoenheim—who does not know how to not meddle, that one. Your dear mother and teacher…and the young Colonel who guards your dear Taisa, who has made you so happy for so many years."
"—You know who Taisa is?"
Heiderich pressed his forehead to Edward's, laughing warmly. "Ohhh…sweet ignorant junge." The vision seemed to melt sweetly into his own skin, making Edward shiver with need. "Who was it that guided Herr Doktor Simon Rogers to offer to finance the education of his brother's Kind-von-Liebe by the pretty nurse from Japan? And Herr Rogers was glad to do it, so proud he was that young Roy was so bright, so full of promise."
"That was your doing?"
"Ja. And the pretty babies in the cradle—they can still see us, Versteht? They have not lost their 'eyes-of-believing' yet. But some day they will speak of it as women, how they remembered two young soldiers in blue who sat by their cribs and protected them and warned their parents in dreams when trouble was on the doorstep."
Two soldiers in blue? That could only mean…"I—I don't understand, Alfons. Roy and Maes—they're here." He swallowed hard against the hammering of his heart as he continued. "My brother—Alphonse—he's here. I mean…hell…if he's you…then….how…?"
For an instant, he thought he felt a warm, melting softness against his lips, and he struggled with an overwhelming desire to touch himself. A husky whisper, too close, too intimate to be a ghost. "As above, so below, Meine Liebe. Have you forgotten? A tree," the voice seemed to move inside his blood as his breath quickened, his skin heated by an invisible caress, " has branches we can behold, but the roots that nourish it are beneath the earth. Alphonse—Tricia—Taisa—all of them---even you, dumkopf, are the branches in the sun. And from the sun come the shadows—the reflections and echoes—that part of you that remains inside the Gateway to nourish and guide you until death reunites what has been halved and parted."
"Then…you are not a ghost."
"Ah! Jetzt die leichte Morgendämmerungen! Sie verstehen. The light dawns and you understand!" The sparks under his skin raised gooseflesh as if to prove a point. "I am—how would you say it—a Fetch. An echo. The shadow cast by his sun. Separate—ja, for your brother would not love you as I do, not the love and yearning of the flesh…like… so…"
"ALFONS! Gott im Himmel!!!"
He had cleaned himself up, red faced. Not apologetic, damn it. If anything, he could see Alfons clearer now. "Now, taste the liebkuchen, that I may enjoy it through you, Meine Liebe," the dead boy told him, "and I shall tell you more…
"Remember when you awakened in England in that boy's body? When your father asked you if you understood what 'transmute' meant. There was a moment when the world became a blur and a voice said, who are you? That, my friend, was the other side of your soul—your Doppleganger. A young boy orphaned in the war that Herr Hoenheim found sleeping in the street one night. He recognized who you were and gave you a home—and when the air-raid sirens screamed and the two of you ran out into the street—it was then this boy felt you overshadow him, and you remained until he died in the wreckage of the burning zeppelin."
"Because Rose was willing to let that bitch Dante use her baby!" Anger twisted inside him, anger he had long though to have been laid to rest.
The voice hushed him softly. "That is why I have come, Edward. To give warning. To tell you of the wounded one—your older brother, the one that screams and hates. This one has found out your father's folly. Those stones—those verdammt Portal Stones your father has shaped. He knows how to use them. There is a stone here—pieces of it, brought across as ballast in a sailing ship. A piece is in the courtyard. When your niece Winn-Sara stepped on it, she activated it. She was visiting this inn, seeing if it would suit for her sister's wedding night—"
"Where is it!" Edward was jolted out of his reverie. "Maybe I can dig it out."
"I'll show you, it is a small piece, not larger than your hand. But the biggest piece is in the foundation, two rooms from here. It lies flat, under the bathroom floor, right under the toilet. Your brother—the one who calls himself Envy—and his saftig companion who is always hungry—"
"CHRIST! You don't mean Gluttony is here too??"
"Greene and Grossman, they call themselves now—"
"Grossman and…goddamn. 'Greene' with Envy. Jeeze. Not only is he a psychotic bastard, he's making sucky puns. One more reason to take him out."
"Edward…you must be careful. What he wants—is to stop your family from training future alchemists—people who can guard the portals. He intends to bring the homunculi into this world, to that end. And to avenge himself upon your father and his descendants."
Ed's hands shot up in protest. "Wait—whoa…hold on. If Dad is in the Gateway, why the fuck is Envy seeking him here? Are you…shit…are you saying that Dad's Doppleganger is walking around…on Earth…right now??"
"Right now he's not walking. He is riding to the police station. He's just been arrested—for throwing rocks at a priest."
SULLIVAN'S ISLAND DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC SAFETY
"…Okay….the visiting Padre says he's not going to press charges—but he wants to speak to your Mom and Dad. So," Officer Breda waved a donut in the general direction of the sullen blond kid in the Death Note t-shirt. "You wanna sit here all night, or are you going to tell us where you live? I know you're not local. You staying on the island?"
"Yeah."
"So? Who you stayin' with?"
"My aunt."
"Who is?"
The kid tugged nervously at his ponytail. "Elric. Tricia Elric. On I'on Street…."
MARKET STREET, OFF THE BATTERY
A soft jingle caught Miz Joan's attention just before closing.
Ah…the special order. The one with his grandfather's gloves. "Mr. Mustang! I got your message," the parfumer beamed. "Your blend is ready. It smells wonderful. Let me let you try it—see what you think."
The tiny shop had been around Market Street since Elvis was on the charts. Crammed chockablock from floor to ceiling with exotic perfumes, colognes, toilet waters, soaps, oils, incense, bath salts and potpourri, Parfums de Mari had been a Mecca in the south as a place to find obscure fragrances or to have custom scents designed or antique perfumes replicated. Teddy had found a rare cologne there called Fragrant Honey Water that was crafted at an apiary in England. It was no longer made but De Mari had a few bottles that had survived the flood of Hurricane Hugo, their labels still flecked with mud. Ever since she'd gone there for bath gels and lotions and homemade soaps, and when she and Taisa had noticed the scent that clung to the Colonel's old gloves, she suggested that he take them down to Miz Joan to see if she could identify it.
A week later, she'd emailed Taisa to let him know she'd made a close replication of the original scent, and since he was already on the Battery, waiting to sneak in on Ed and all that bullshit at the Battery Carriage House, he might as well pick it up. He'd phoned Denny and advised him that he was stopping by but only got Denny's voice mail. "Probably down at Tommy Condon's with Hughes and Gracia," he reasoned, deciding to ring back after stopping by Di Mari's.
"This…here, let me dip some blotter paper in so you can test this…as I was saying, this is really special, Mr. Mustang. I have no idea what the original scent was called, but if your grandfather Roy wore this cologne he must have had ladies chasing him in the street! Very unusual blend—the sandalwood is quite rare, has almost a burnt, smoky scent—not your average Mysore. That's your base. Accents of cedar—trace of oak moss, vetiver…touch of amber. The top note was hard to get my nose around…but I tried true vanilla bourbon—Mexican rather than Madagascar or Tahitian. Just the faintest trace of it. Now—wave that around in the air—give it a moment to mix with the air before you sniff it—yes, just like that. Now…see how you like it."
Taisa inhaled deeply. Several minutes passed. After he found his voice again, he flicked out his American Express card. "It's…him. Thank you so much—and do you have any Kama Sutra vanilla Oil of Love? I'll take the largest bottle you've got."
SULLIVAN'S ISLAND POLICE STATION
Sergeant Breda pushed a box of Krispy Kreme donuts towards the wary boy who'd been hauled in for throwing rocks at—what was his name? Oh yeah, Father Hunter—Cornello Hunter---weird name. That's what the priest called himself. Saw the kid skulking around the grounds of Fort Moultrie after sunset and spoke to him, asking him what he was doing, warning him that it was dangerous to be walking along the rock wall after dark. The kid allegedly started cussing a blue streak and chucking bits of shell and gravel at the older man, looking serene in his clerical collar and neat black slacks. Anyway, the old padre was willing to forget it, provided he could speak to the boy's family.
As for the kid….well, Breda was nobody's fool, all appearances to the contrary. Bull-necked and thickset, he could nonetheless out shoot, out drink…and out think…anybody else at the station. Truth was, the kid was young, good looking, moody as hell and carrying a chip on his shoulder the size of a Humvee—and underneath all that sullen bullshit he could sense the kid was seriously freaked out. At the mention of the priest the boy shied back, as if repulsed. "Son…I gotta ask this. Nobody…ah…he—that's to say, Father Hunter didn't…approach you, did he. I mean, he didn't try to touch you or ask you to go somewhere he shouldn't, did he?
Those blue eyes went from resentful and sullen to flat and dead between one breath and other. The narrow chin jerked to one side—a protective gesture Breda had learned when talking to kids who'd been molested. "Nuh uh," he grunted. "Look," why don't you just throw me in the cell. Lock me up already."
"Nahhh—no sense locking you up," he grinned, trying to get the boy to relax. "No Playstation. You'd go insane in there. We're just going to run over to get your Aunt and let her talk with the Padre—and then we'll let her take you home. Wanna Krispy Kreme? They're still warm. G'wan. I eat any more of 'em and I'll lose my six-pack." He slapped his round belly with a chuckle. "You want some milk? I think we got 2%."
"Got any coffee?"
"Christ, kid—that'll stunt your growth. You're mom let you drink coffee?"
"She ditched us, so it doesn't matter what she thinks. And Aunt Teddy lets me have decaf at Starbuck's."
A few minutes later the kid was sucking down a cup of black coffee and poking suspiciously at a crème filled pastry. "Gross. Looks like yak cum. And the jelly ones look like they're bleeding."
Breda caught himself grinning at the little smartass. "Thanks for ruining my appetite."
The kid grinned back instinctively. "Great. I get to finish the box." He crammed a whole jelly donut in his mouth and snatched the box off the table, wrapping his thin arms around it triumphantly.
"Why, you little—"
KER—BLAMMMMM! The door slammed open—kicked open, actually by a size 9 Tony Lama cowgirl boot. "EDWIN! WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON???" The intruder was six feet tall if she was an inch, and that didn't count the brown felt cowboy hat covered with silver and turquoise conchos that crowned her silver hair. Cigarette in one hand, cell phone in the other, the old woman marched right up to the Elric kid, yanked the box of donuts out of his arms, grabbed him hard by both shoulders and gave him a good shake. "YOU LITTLE PISSANT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THE POLICE STATION? YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF US! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, CHER?"
Edwin was smothered in her buckskin jacket. Jeanne-Marie put her lips to his ear and hissed softly, "now keep your goddamned mouth shut and I'll get you out of here. Don't forget to call me Grandma!"
"Oh…oh Grandma!" Edwin sobbed theatrically. "I fucked up. I fucked up real bad, and…and…now they're gonna lock me up with the pervs and winos and child molesters…and…Republicans—OWWW!"
Jeanne-Marie removed the heel of her boot from his instep. "Oh, sorry, bebe. Didn't mean to step on your foot.," she fussed loudly, then muttered under her breath, "Boy, you just axin' for me to whip voodoo on your ass, non?"
An hour later they were on the other side of the bridge in Mount Pleasant, crammed into a booth in the smoking section of the Waffle House. "Two coffees—leaded for me, decaf for the kid. Gimme a cheese omelet, darlin'. Cheeseburger and fries for him—and bring us a bottle of ketchup!"
Jeanne-Marie slapped the bottle of Heinz until a wave of crimson plooted over her eggs. Edwin eyed her with undisguised revulsion, then did the same thing to his mountain of fries before upending the salt shaker over his plate. They chewed awhile in silence before the Cajun fired up a Marlboro Light and blew a thin stream of smoke over his head. "Okay," she rasped finally. "First thing you gotta know when you run into somethin' that looks human but ain't human—is run like a motherfucker! Right now you don't know jack shit. You're likely to get yerself in big trouble. Son'bitch coulda killed ya. What—you think you're Harry-fuckin'-Potter ??"
Edwin Elric squeezed his burger so hard his tomato slice shot halfway across the table. "Wha—what—I—shit!"
"Watch yer goddamned language, kid. WAITRESS! Darlin', will you gimme a couple o' to-go boxes so I can pack dis up? An' two apple pies to go wid 'em!"
TOMMY CONDON'S IRISH PUB, OFF THE BATTERY
Well damn. Sure beat the hell out of ghost sitting.
Denny Brosh dove in for another scoop of that delicious crab dip and chased it with an icy mouthful of ale before roaring out another chorus of "No Nay Never" along with everybody else in the bar, drunk or sober. In front of the raised stage Hughes was swinging his wife in a slow, lazy waltz. Surprising he was so light on his feet, tall as he was. Gracia was giggling madly and singing along with the Bog Rats. Condon's was Teddy's favorite watering hole downtown; she had recommended it to the Hugheses as a good way to get out on the town for the night. After all, she argued, now that Ai-San was here to look after the little girls Gracia had no more excuses not to relax a little. And since Edward had practically shoved him out of the room, he'd have to do something. So he'd snagged a table near the stage, only Gracia had pulled him over to join them and since he felt like he was intruding the least he could do was order up some crab dip and chicken fingers and pay for the beer—hell, he had an expense account, didn't he? Why not write it off?
Guiltily, he checked his cell phone—1 missed call. Mustang. Probably wondering where the hell his husband is, Denny reasoned. Thank god I don't have to deal with Ed on that level. He'd drive me nuts—but at least he's not a cheater…
THE BATTERY CARRIAGE HOUSE—ROOM 8
"Edward! Beruhigen Sie sich! Calm yourself—the boy is fine. The Cajun woman is with him now. She will see him home."
Edward just stared at Alfons. "Jeanne-Marie? How the hell did she know he was in trouble?"
Alfons chuckled. "By her art—and because she saw him sneaking out after Fritz told his son not to go out tonight. She caught up with him by the old fort but not before Envy sighted him."
Edward dropped his head wearily into his hands. "Did that sick bastard—"
"Touch him. Yes. The boy punched him, then threw rocks at him. But Envy made the mistake of taking a priest's shape—no doubt because there was a church nearby. He intended, no doubt, to hide there. But there were no charges pressed, and Edwin is safely away."
Edward's hands shook as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "I'd say thank God—but I'm an atheist…which reminds me, Alfons---is there a God?"
"Since I have chosen to stay close, to do the work we must do, we of this Eggregore, I cannot say that I have met Him yet…but there is Good. Ja. Even if that light—we see it only in each other's hearts. That I can believe in. And," he added softly, hands flowing beneath Edward's skin, "there is Love."
"A-Alfons." Not much of a protest, admittedly, but at least he tried…even though it felt so goddamned good. "I…I love Taisa. We…can't…please…not again." Behind closed lids scrolled images of nights in Munich, nights before the harsh chemicals ate through the lining of Alfons' already delicate lungs. Nights when he was still strong, when Ed didn't have to be so careful, so afraid each gasp of pleasure might be the last for his lover. I loved two dying men. Alfons was suffocating to death before my eyes. The Colonel sacrificed himself willingly. We didn't know he'd make it out of Bradley's palace alive, albeit half blind and badly wounded. Neither of them had anything to lose, so we were so desperate, so frantic in our clinging to one other in the dark. But Taisa—we had the time, we *grew* together. Loving is different when Death isn't panting down the back of your neck. When you actually have to deal with each other's bullshit, day by day, year after year. Yeah, the desperation of love under fire is pretty fuckin' exciting…but there's no way I'd trade my husband for any of that…only…GOD…Alfons…
"No…Alfons…you gotta listen to me. This would—god, it would kill Taisa. We're—we're gonna be married in a few weeks."
Again, the soft breath in the ear that made Ed shiver. "I know, Meine Liebe…not my wish to come between you, no, when he makes you so happy. Even when it is so sweet… Ich kann Sie tief innerhalb meines Körpers fühlen, so deep inside me…I have been so empty. To touch so…even when there is no sweetness of skin to skin…ja… So gut. ..yes...let uns haben dies...now only, Mine Edward…"
Every button was snug. His belt was clasped. But where his collar was open the fair skin flushed as an unseen mouth moved under his skin—Alfons was inside him now, touching without hands in places he had no name for. He could only shudder and sob, mouthing the words please…please, Alfons!, not even sure if he was asking for more or for it to end. God, it was too much-- Zu viel—English and German a muddle inside his head—he was going to die in a puddle of his own sweat and the blood that was undoubtedly going to start leaking out of his ears when his brains exploded and his heart burst…
SULLIVAN'S ISLAND
Edwin was getting damned nervous. The old Swamp Hag had driven him right back to Fort Moultrie, pulled over and gestured for him to get out of the car. "He ain't comin' back. Know dat for a fact. He beatin' feet the hell outta here. But you an' I need to talk, d'accord? See—trouble wid you, boy, is dat you're like ol' Edward all over once again. You too smart for yer own good. An' you mad at the worl', 'cause your maman's gone steppin'. You think you live in de house o' secrets—and you right. An' before I take you home—and you gotta tell your Papa Fritz and your Aunt Tee—yeah, cher, an' you gotta face Papa Alphonse an' Edward—you an' I havin' a coeur á coeur 'bout the way things be 'round this family. But first," she pulled an empty peanut butter jar out of her enormous leather handbag, "I gotta find me a spider…"
THE BATTERY CARRIAGE HOUSE
After picking up the room key from Denny down at Condon's, Taisa nipped down the back alleys and into the courtyard of the Carriage House. There was a trio of middle aged couples with cameras, posing in front of the doors to Room Ten. One of them was wearing a Roswell t-shirt. "Why am I not surprised?" Taisa chuckled as he shifted his basket of goodies, all for the two of them. Kama Sutra Oil of Love. Champagne Truffles from Lucas, finest chocolatier in Charleston. A black silk blindfold. A pair of handcuffs. Several feathers of varying stiffness and length. That nifty little vibrator Hughes told him about, the one with the tiny bullet that slips on a silicon band around the tongue…and he was wearing the new scent Miz Joan had crafted for him. "Call it…'Amestris'" he'd suggested. Already a dozen women—and half a dozen men—had commented on how good he smelled.
"No sense wasting a perfectly good four poster bed," he smirked as he let himself into Room 8….
"EDWARD??"
A scent of cinders and sandalwood. God—there's ink on my back and a dictionary under my ass and I don't give a damn because I've needed you for so long…Roy…Colonel…you bastard…I found you after all those years…Taisa….oh god…I love you so goddamned much. "I…yes…god, I love you!"
He was bucking and writhing on top of the Battenberg lace coverlet, fingers blindly clawing the mattress. Alfons may have interpenetrated his cells—but the familiar smoky cologne was triggering a deeper need, a more lasting love.
Unfortunately, the object of that lasting love was neither stimulating his nerves…nor was he a mind reader.
"Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen? May I have your attention, please?"
A half dozen heads swiveled in the direction of the ashen-faced man standing in the doorway of the fabled Room Eight, where the Gentleman Ghost had appeared a few days ago, driving out a honeymoon couple, some Cajun and his wife. Half a dozen camera phones were poised and ready in hopes that Something Was About To Happen.
"I know you've come to see the Gentleman Ghost—would you settle for an incubus?" Offering them a sick grin, he swung the door wide before he stormed across the courtyard, pausing to dump a pair of handcuffs and some love oil in the trash before disappearing into the night…
….TO BE CONTINUED…