The Collected Christopher Connery (28 page)

Of course, Gail didn’t work on her reports. She was beginning
to doubt she would ever get the damn things done. 

The storm was getting worse. She swore she could feel the
hotel shaking with each thunderclap. Thankfully the lights were magical and
didn’t flicker. For many years, Gail’s apartment had run on old-fashioned
electricity and just about every big storm knocked the lights out, leaving her
to sit in the dark, hands wrapped tight around a bottle of clean water.

Things would get better as the rainy season wore on. As
the storms became more frequent she’d get used to the crashing and flashing.
She’d never like it and she sure as hell didn’t sleep well with the sky
smashing to pieces overhead, but she’d at least be able to breathe properly.
There might be thirty major storms during any given rainy season, but she
wouldn’t be any more bothered by the second than she was by the thirtieth.

But there was always a first.

Cursing herself, she flopped back on the bed to glare up
at the ceiling, trying to slow her heartbeat and stop her breath from hitching.
She’d once had a short-term – very short-term – boyfriend ask her how rain
could scare her so badly when she ran around hunting murderers and rapists for
a living. She’d asked him if he’d ever tried to intimidate rain, handcuff rain,
or – as a last resort – shoot rain.

Because the truth was you couldn’t do anything to the
rain except try to keep it out.

The wind picked up, wailing as it slapped water against
the windowpane.

Her eyes felt heavy despite all the sleep she had gotten
the night before, but she didn’t want to sleep. During storms like this, she
only had one dream.

Dad fell into a coma a few days before he died. Hour
by hour, Gail could only watch as he slipped farther and farther away from her,
until she was left alone with the wind and the rain.

Shoving herself up from the bed, she switched on the
radio and sat down in the room’s most uncomfortable chair.

“Good morning, New Crossbridge! I hope you’re not
planning on taking a walk today because it’s really coming down out there!”

“Thanks for telling me,” Gail muttered, picking up the
newspaper before realizing it was yesterday’s.

“This is only the beginning though, folks, so get
ready to batten down the hatches and settle in for another rainy season. Don’t
worry, though, we’ve got a whole collection of music to see you through these
long wet days. To start off, here’s a new song by New Crossbridge’s own
songbird Bobbie Wright, who as usual has taken inspiration from the headlines
in her new song, ‘Poor Old Connery.’ Let’s give it a listen why don’t we?”

Were they really trying to make Connery a legend already?
He’d still been killing people a month ago for crying out loud. Well, anything
to make a buck, Gail figured.

“Hey, New Crossbridge, it’s been said, that poor old
Connery’s lost his head…”

“It’s not lost,” Gail commented conversationally. “It’s
under the bed in the other room.” The absurdity of her own words made her
laugh.

The song droned on as she flipped through the paper. Her
head was aching again – just a regular ache this time, one brought on by too
many days of poor sleep – but that didn’t make it any less annoying. Squinting
down at the small text in the newspaper wasn’t helping, especially since it was
text she’d already read, damn it.

Crumpling the paper into a ball, she threw it across the
room. The distance she got was momentarily satisfying enough to distract her
from the light-and-sound show going on outside.

It didn’t last. The next crash jolted her to her feet,
heart slamming against her ribs.
Damn it,
she thought, chafing her suddenly
ice cold hands.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Beyond the window, the world was a gray wall of shifting
water. Based on what she could see through the glass, the entire city might as
well have been underwater. The thought made Gail shudder.

She sat down in the chair again, running her hands across
her face. It had been a storm just like this that had taken Dad from her. The
well closest to their hovel had been corrupted by a week of heavy rainfall.
Dad’s poorly set broken leg had left him too weak to move. Gail had tried to
keep him comfortable, wrapping him in the blankets that weren’t blocking the
worst leaks in the roof.

But pain and exhaustion can do strange things to a
person. Gail had given Dad half a cup of water every two hours from the pots of
clean stuff she had managed to hoard in the days before the storm, but thirst
had driven him to drink the rainwater that made it through Gail’s imperfect
barriers. And even though by the end he had been delirious with pain and bad
water sickness, he had still tried to hide the drinking from Gail, as if he
were embarrassed. She only realized what was going on when it was far too late.

“I love you, Gail-baby,” he’d said during his last hours
of lucidity. “If – if anything happens to me, I want you to go to the
children’s home in Arrow Hill.”

She’d refused. She didn’t believe anything could happen
to her father and even if the impossible
did
happen, she would never go
to the place Gracetown kids referred to as Arrow Hell.

“I can stay with Simone until you get better,” she had
insisted. “She likes me. She says I caught on to reading faster than any kid
she’s ever taught.”

But Dad had been adamant. Simone Corbeau did good work,
he had said, but she barely had enough money to look after herself. The children’s
home would take care of Gail and help her build a life outside of Gracetown.

“Why would I want to leave Gracetown?” she’d asked.
“You’re here.”

Dad had shook his head sadly and stroked her hair. “For
once in your life, Gail-baby, just do what I tell you.”

An hour later, he’d closed his eyes for the last time.
Two days later, he’d been dead. Gail hadn’t wanted to leave him, but then the
storm had torn the roof from the hovel, forcing her to run blind with terror
and grief into the night. She had taken refuge in a wooden crate that might
have been sufficient shelter during a winter drizzle, but this had been a
proper spring downpour and within an hour, she’d been soaked to the skin.

But despite the thirst that turned her throat to
sandpaper, she’d kept her mouth closed tight. She hadn’t swallowed a drop.

A day and a half later, the rain had stopped. Dizzy with
thirst and aching from the burns of long water exposure, she somehow managed to
limp out of Gracetown, hiding from the people who had been her father’s
friends, until she reached the children’s home.

They had muttered a bit about taking her, saying that
they were overfull already and asking Gail if she were sure she didn’t have any
relatives she could go to, but then they sent someone to investigate the place
Gail had called her home.

They hadn’t made any more fuss after that.

It was only when she was grown that she realized what
they must have found: a single water-eaten corpse buried in a pile of garbage
that only someone who knew it and loved it would have taken for a home.

Back in the hotel room, miles and years away from that
Gracetown hovel, Gail yanked the curtains closed, blocking out the drowned city
beyond the glass.

She was trying to drown out the storm by blasting
terrible music from the radio when she heard a soft knock on the door.
Answering it, she found Nia standing outside, hands clasped in front of her.

“I wanted to give you an update on my progress,” she
said. “I thought you would –” She tilted her head to study Gail worriedly. “You
look pale, detective.”

“Do I?” Gail rubbed her face. “I’m probably just a little
worn out from yesterday.” The thunder boomed, making the windows shudder in
their frames. Gail couldn’t help wincing.
Damn it, how long can it go on?
“What
did you find out?”

“Only a little, but it’s worth mentioning. Could I come
in?”

“All right.” Gail stepped back to allow Nia into the
room.

As she came in, Nia grimaced and covered her ears.

“Sorry about the music.” Gail hurried to switch off the
radio. “I didn’t notice how loud it was.”

“That’s all right.” But Nia was still rubbing her ears.

After kicking the balled up newspaper under a table, Gail
turned back to say, “So what did you find –” She was interrupted by Nia
wrapping her arms around her neck and leaning her head against Gail’s shoulder.
After hugging her for a moment, she moved back a step.

“What was that for?”

“You looked sad,” Nia answered seriously. “I’ve been
worried about you.”

That drew a small smile from Gail. “I’m fine. I’m just
not – Storms like this get under my skin, I guess.”

Though Nia was obviously curious – actually curious was
an understatement; Gail could practically see questions crawling around behind
her eyes – she didn’t push the topic. Instead, she explained that she had
performed the location spell, but the response was faint and weak, suggesting
that Connery was hiding somewhere distant.

“I was thinking that tomorrow morning – if the weather
has improved – I’ll do the spell again and if we get the same result, we can take
the car out to do some
reconnaissance.
” She twisted a
lock of curly hair around a finger. “Unfortunately, since I can only get the
vaguest sense of direction, I’m afraid the investigation might be a little
unfocused.”

Gail shrugged. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

“Yes, we will.” Nia’s eyes drifted to the covered window.
“But we can wait for the rain to stop.”

“Then we’ll be waiting for a few months,” Gail chuckled.
“Don’t worry, it’s only the first storm of the season that gets to me. I get
used to it after that.” She dropped back into the uncomfortable chair,
stretching her shoulders against the rough fabric. “So tomorrow we’ll go for a
drive. That’ll be a nice change of pace.”

The thunder roared, but this time Gail kept herself from
jumping, mostly by squeezing the arms of the chair until her fingers ached.

Nia watched her knowingly for a moment – which wasn’t as
annoying as Gail would have expected – then she said, “Give me a moment. I have
an idea.”

“An idea?” Gail watched in confusion as Nia swept to the
door. “What?”

Nia smiled over her shoulder, then actually winked.
“You’ll see, just wait a moment.” Then she was gone, but not for long. Before
the thunderstorm could wear away at Gail’s frayed nerves any more, Nia was back
with Arthur and a bellboy in tow.

“Arthur and I spoke and decided it would be nice to make
today a day for peaceful relaxation,” Nia said as the bellboy wheeled in a cart
laden with what looked like half the kitchen – and half the bar – into the
room.

“So in order to help us relax, she bought a party,” said
Arthur with an affectionate smile.

“Not a party, simply a little refreshment. Anyway, the
Academy will be covering the expenses.” Nia signed the bellboy’s chit and he
slipped out again.

So this is how it feels to be a high-roller,
Gail
thought as she accepted a glass of something from Arthur.

It wasn’t a bad day. Gail and the magicians spent most of
it chatting about nothing. Gail told them about some cases she’d worked on –
sticking to the funny ones and the ones that ended happily. After a while,
Arthur and Nia were looking at her with big bright eyes like she was some kind
of hero from a picture show. It made her feel like a liar for not telling them
about all the times she’d screwed up and all the times things had gone wrong
despite her best efforts, but those stories could wait for a sunny day. Later,
Nia described some of her magical experiments, going into such minute detail
that both Gail and Arthur were left glazed but impressed. Then, with
significant prodding from Nia, Arthur told them about how he had once saved the
life of an Academy bigwig when they hadn’t been able to get ahold of a magician
skilled in healing magic quickly enough.

“I only assisted,” Arthur said modestly. “That’s even
what it says on the report. Assisted by Arthur Graves.”

“I don’t care what the report says.” Nia looked surprised
by her own words but went on without hesitation. “Everyone knows he would have
died without your help.”

Arthur only gave a one shoulder shrug in response, but he
was smiling.

Sometime after that Nia, once again “slightly
inebriated,” dozed off on top of the blankets. Gail and Arthur exchanged amused
looks then occupied themselves by unfolding the crumpled newspaper and
rereading the old news.

Gail tilted her half of the paper toward Arthur in order
to get his opinion on something stupid the mayor had said about how the new
mayoral mansion he was building would bring great prestige and civic pride to
New Crossbridge.
Yeah, we’re all very proud of your five new bathrooms and personal
greenhouse.
But Arthur was no longer paying attention to the news. He was
holding a small envelope and turning it over and over in his hands.

“What’s that, doc?”

Arthur started, pulling the envelope back toward himself.
“It’s – uh –” He glanced at Nia, but she was still sleeping soundly, holding
one of Gail’s pillows against her chest. “It’s a note.”

Gail waited for him to elaborate.

“I wrote it. I thought you could – uh – ” Clearly
frustrated with himself, Arthur scowled and practically whipped the envelope
into Gail’s lap. “It’s for your friend.”

“For Xavier?” Gail picked up the envelope. “You remember
his name, right?”

Arthur didn’t snipe back. “You can read it and tell me if
it sounds stupid. I just wanted to thank him for – for –”

“Showing you a good time?”

Arthur chuckled down at his hands. “That makes it sound a
little cruder than what it was, but yes, basically. I had a very nice time.
It’s been a long time since I’ve actually had a nice time with anyone outside
of Nia, so yeah. I wanted to say thanks.”