Alphabet City was a freshly shaken snow globe-four inches already on the ground, with no end in sight. Lelani’s hair billowed against the white backdrop of Tompkins Square Park like a flame. Its only competition came from the lights on a fire engine that blared past them on Tenth Street. Lelani refused Seth’s suggestion that they take a taxi back to his apartment.
“I’ll pay,” he insisted.
“I wouldn’t fit.”
“Do you mean physically?”
“Yes.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Quite serious.”
The knowledge she held boosted Seth’s tolerance for her eccentric nature.
“So dish,” he said.
“Dish?”
“How’d you come by a picture of my parents?”
“Parham and Lita Raincrest were not your biological parents.”
Seth’s heart sank into his gut. “I’ve been an orphan my entire life?”
“No. It was a cover. You were part of a group that emigrated here years ago to raise an infant. The environment at home was not safe. We lost contact with the group shortly after your arrival.”
“Where’s the kid now? Where’s the rest of the group?”
“I wish I knew,” she said. “You are the first one I’ve tracked. Luckily, you retained your name.”
A name that belonged to people who allegedly weren’t even his parents, Seth realized. “Who were my parents, then?”
“Your mother is Jessica Granger, a tavern wench at the Grog and Grubb Inn. Your father… unknown. A merchant who visited the pub. Once.”
“What city? Toronto?”
“You are not Canadian.”
From orphan to bastard in less than five minutes, Seth thought. “You said Jessica is my mother.”
“To the best of my knowledge she still works at the Grog.”
The flood of questions came too fast for Seth to absorb: What was his mother like? Was coming to the U.S. his own choice? A fear grew within. To his surprise, Seth realized he was not ready for the whole truth.
“How’d I get into your school?” he asked, changing the subject. “If you’re any indication, it was probably a snob society. ‘Tavern wench’ doesn’t sound like a high-paying career.”
“Magnus Proust gives scholarships to the less fortunate. He believed in your talents…”
“Magnus Proust?” The name rattled around Seth’s mind with no slot to settle in. It sounded more like a new brand of Trojan condom than a headmaster at some elite school.
“What’s the school like?”
“Thirty students spend their first year as Novitiates. The subsequent cycles are two-year programs: twenty from the first year advance to become Apprentices. Ten are graduated from this lot to be his Acolytes. Of them, only four finally achieve the honor of becoming Magnus’s Adepts. I am an acolyte. You are an apprentice.”
The titles were odd, but Seth had heard stranger things. Some of his models came from the well-to-do class-rebels acting out against their banishment to Exeter and Vassar. But more important, Seth had found a big chink in her story. He was five or six years older than she was. No way was she a senior classmate to him. The suspicion that this was an elaborate con or the musings of an unbalanced mind crept back, but this time he experienced trepidation, as though he might lose something important-something he wanted to know. “What did we study?” he asked, playing along.
“Alchemy, transmogrification, sorcery, enchantments, curses…”
Seth stopped. His teeth ground together painfully. He turned away from Lelani.
“… You were the group’s mage,” she went on. “Though little true magic remains on this world, it was considered a necessary precaution.”
His lips clenched into a line. Seth hid his trembling fists in his pocket. The brick wall he faced, with its perfect uniformity, beckoned to be punched.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Seth took three deep breaths and turned to face her. “You forgot to mention the talking hat that chooses which house we belong to.”
“What talking hat?”
“I’m a schmuck for buying your crap! You think this is funny? Leading me on to think I’ll finally know something about my past?”
“Seth…”
“Shut up! Just shut up. I’ve spent years in a dozen homes. You’ll never know what it’s like, walking the streets, wondering if the hotdog vendor or subway clerk or the bum on the corner is a cousin or an uncle. Do you even have a clue what it’s like to not know who you really are? Where you come from?”
The stiffness of her lips broke. It was the first time Lelani looked unsure about anything. “No,” she responded. “I’m not aware of what you have endured.”
Seth had her on the defensive for a change. He closed the gap between them and stared into her eyes. He was hoping for just a hint that Lelani was being sardonic, an invitation to smash her pretty mouth. Instead, for the first time since they’d met, that air of condescension receded from her. She gazed back into his eyes and touched his soul, a warm hand on a cold spirit. She put her arms around him. Her body was strong and comforting-a shelter in the snow. Her cheek touched his. What surprised him most was the sincerity she exuded. His anger drained through their embrace.
“I’m not handling this very well,” she said. “I apologize.”
“Yeah,” he said, and walked off without her. Then Seth stopped. There it was again, that nagging curiosity. Is she crazy? Even the most ambitious swindles used pieces of truth to snag victims. “Is there any way we can get to the facts without the crazy talk?” he asked.
Lelani bit her lip as she considered it. “I’ll try.”
A minute later, they turned the corner onto Avenue A to spot a cluster of red flashing lights down the street. The moment turned surreal when Seth realized his building-his apartment-was the subject of the attention as smoke belched from his living room window.
They passed a group of local youths who raised their arms pushing against the sky and in unison chanted, “The house-the house-the house is on fire!” Then they broke into laughter.
Seth didn’t see the humor. He checked his watch. They’d only been gone for three hours. How could he lose his home-again-in such a small span of time? No one should be so unlucky as to have his home burned twice in one lifetime. He hid his ziplock full of pot behind a neighbor’s trash bin and approached a police officer who ordered him to step back behind the line.
“That’s my place, man!” Seth shouted.
“When we get the all clear from Fire, we’ll let you up, sir,” the officer said.
Seth spotted two of his neighbors, Ramone and Chad, huddled beneath a quilt under Mr. Cho’s awning. Ramone held Hoshi in his arms.
“Oh Seth! Thank God you’re okay,” Ramone said.
“What happened?” he asked them.
“Explosion,” Chad said. “It tore through our wall.”
“An explosion?”
Lelani stepped away from them to face the activity. From her satchel she pulled something that looked like a compact. Great time to fix your face, Seth thought.
“Where’s Joe?” he asked.
Ramone and Chad looked at each other, expecting someone to answer.
“Where’s Joe?” Seth asked again.
“We thought you… we heard shouting from your… We didn’t realize…”
“Where is he?”
Chad pointed to an ambulance outside the cordoned off area. Sobbing, Ramone braced himself on Chad’s shoulder. Seth ran toward the ambulance. The surreal scent of barbecue permeated the air. He saw a draped body inside. The paramedic held him back.
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”
“My roommate is in there. How he’s doing?”
“He’s not- Look, I’m sorry. There was nothing we could do.”
Seth felt punch-drunk. His breakfast clamored to come up. “But… I just talked to him an hour ago.”
“It was a powerful explosion. He died instantaneously.”
Seth burped. He could taste his stomach acid. It was short warning-he threw up on the street, just missing the paramedic’s shoes. The medic pulled paper towels from his truck and handed them to Seth.
“Sorry,” Seth said, then hurled again.
“Don’t worry. Here, take these with water. They’ll settle your stomach.” Seth accepted the tablets. “You should talk to that detective,” the paramedic added, pointing to a fiftyish-looking man in a brown trench coat. “And I’m sorry.”
Lelani joined him as he approached the detective. She looked concerned. “We should leave,” she said. “It’s not safe here.”
“Shut up.”
“This fire was not an accident.”
He faced her. With a stiff accusatory finger he said, “What did we say about the crazy talk?”
Lelani bit her lip and remained quiet. She looked up and down the street, examining the crowd surrounding them.
“Hey you!” Seth called to the detective. “The guy in the ambulance is… was my roommate.”
“Sorry,” the detective said. “If it’s any consolation, Mr. Raincrest died quickly.”
“I’m Raincrest. My roommate was Joe Rodriguez.”
“Oh,” the detective said. He scribbled the correction into his notepad. “Good thing I hadn’t started the paperwork yet.”
“What happened?”
“Near as we can tell, the gas line erupted and a fireball engulfed the place. Took out your neighbors’ apartments, too. They said they heard some yelling and your name came up a few times. Maybe that’s why they thought it was you in the blast.”
“Joe and I had a disagreement before I left, but we weren’t yelling. Maybe he was on the phone.”
“Where were you?”
“At a friend’s house. I was with her…” Seth realized that Lelani wasn’t behind him. She was scouring the crowd again.
“Who?” the detective asked.
“Her.”
“The redhead?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“She a roommate, too?”
“No, I just met her today. I think she escaped from Bellevue.”
“Lucky you. Look, I can’t let you in yet. Once the Fire guys give the okay…”
“Thanks.”
Seth walked over to Lelani.
“We should go now,” she repeated.
“Hey, nutjob, my goddamn home was fireballed! I’m not going anywhere. I have to see what I can salvage.”
“Do it quickly.”
“We can’t, yet.”
Lelani took him by the arm and led him toward the entrance. She mumbled as they walked. Seth expected to be stopped at any moment. They were already up the stairs before he realized they’d snuck through. When they got to his floor, she told the firemen they had permission to be there. The city workers handed them face masks.
“How’d you do that?” Seth asked.
“They teach us these things in Bellevue,” she said, with a wry smile.
A gray haze saturated the room. Even through the mask, the acrid air made its way into his mouth and nose. Piles of black ash sat where walls once stood. Charred floorboards remained of varnished woodwork. They had to watch where they walked. Electrical wires dangled from the ceiling. Lelani hung back. Seth made his way to his studio. All the photos were melted into slag. His cameras were destroyed, his computer, his stockpile of film-everything was gone. A puddle of plastic sat where the phone used to be.
“Motherfucking goddamn shit!” he yelled. “It’s gone! All of it! Everything I own is shit.” He shoved his fingers into his hair and balled his hands into fists. Seth was on the verge of crying, but didn’t want Red to see him that way, so he swallowed the pain and pushed it into his gut.
Lelani pulled her compact out again. She held it before her and gingerly circled the room.
“Why are you doing that now?” Seth demanded.
“Pardon me?”
“You just had that compact out ten minutes ago. Your face needs less work than anyone I know.”
Lelani followed his line of sight to her hand. “I’m not putting on makeup,” she said. “I’m checking for residual… well, it’s more ‘crazy talk.’ I’ll spare you the details.” She handed him the device.
It was a heavy, ornate brass disk. There was a concealed hinge on one side and a clasp opposite it. On the inner lid was a mirror, but not the cheap kind mass-produced by Revlon. This was the cleanest reflection Seth had ever seen, pure liquid silver, as though you could stick your hand through it to the room on the other side. On the inner base were a series of assorted gems, and lines of pearls embedded in the brass. Around the jewels were intricate designs and patterns etched into the metal. Some jewels blinked, others remained lit. They cast a laser-like grid onto the mirror. It looked like a Victorian-era version of a Palm Pilot.
“What the hell is this thing? A tricorder? It must be worth a fortune.”
“It’s hard to explain. Just think of it as a Geiger counter for now. The gas line did not cause this fire. The explosion was the result of an attack. I’m quite certain you were the target.”
“Oh, here we go again.”
“Listen, before you lecture me; I’ve come a long way to find you-not to insult your intelligence, not to make your life miserable, not to start a friendship, but to help you discover yourself and in so doing, help my cause. I don’t want money and I don’t want pity for my mental state. I understand what you are going through… the loss of a home and friends is a terrible thing. I know because I have lost my own home.”
Her fierce sincerity almost succeeded in making Seth forget she was a nutjob.
“I don’t know what to make of you,” he said. “And I don’t have time to figure it out. My roommate’s dead. My home’s a cinder. I might be sleeping on a park bench tonight.”
“Then perhaps I can give you some practical help. I have a room on Twenty-third Street. You can stay with me until you decide your next step.”
“What’s the catch?”
“You accompany me to the Bronx. I have to find someone. This attack means that my timetable has been shortened. I can’t leave you alone.”
“Screw that.” Seth dug out a tin box from the burned out closet. Inside were two twenty-dollar bills and a ten. “Who has time to trek up to the Bronx? All I have to do is get to a pay phone.” Then he stormed out of the remains of his apartment.