Library of Souls Read online

  “You what?” I said.

  “I want to see,” Emma said, an edge creeping into her voice. “Show me.”

  “Serious inquiries only,” said Lorraine.

  “Oh, I’m very serious.”

  I didn’t know what Emma was up to, but I trusted her enough to go with it.

  “What about them?” Lorraine said, casting an uncertain gaze at Addison and me. “They always so rude?”

  “Yes. But they’re all right.”

  Lorraine squinted at us as if imagining what it might take to forcibly eject us from her place, should the need arise.

  “What can you do?” she said to me. “Anything?”

  Emma cleared her throat, then bugged her eyes at me. I knew right away what she was telegraphing: Lie!

  “I used to be able to levitate pencils and things,” I said, “but now I can’t even get one to stand on end. I think I’m … out of order, or something.”

  “Happens to the best of ’em.” She looked to Addison. “And you?”

  Addison rolled his eyes. “I’m a talking dog?”

  “And that’s all you do, talk?”

  “Sometimes it seems that way,” I couldn’t resist saying.

  “I don’t know whom to feel more insulted by,” said Addison.

  Lorraine took a final puff of her cigarette and flicked it away. “All right, sugars. Follow me.”

  She started to walk away. We hung behind a moment and conferred in a whisper.

  “What about Sharon?” I said. “He told us to wait here.”

  “This will only take a minute,” Emma said. “And I have a hunch she knows a lot more about where the wights are hiding than Sharon does.”

  “And you think she’s just going to volunteer such information?” said Addison.

  “We’ll see,” Emma said, and she turned to follow Lorraine.

  * * *

  Lorraine’s place had no window and no sign, just a blank door with a silver bell on a pull chain. Lorraine rang the bell. We waited while a series of deadbolts were slid from the inside, and then the door opened a crack. An eye glinted at us from the shadows.

  “Fresh meat?” said a man’s voice.

  “Customers,” Lorraine replied. “Let us in.”

  The eye disappeared and the door opened the rest of the way. We came into a formal entrance hall, where the doorman waited to look us over. He wore a massive overcoat with a high collar and a wide-brimmed fedora, the hat tilted so low that all we could see of his face were two pinprick eyes and the tip of his nose. He stood blocking our way, staring us down.

  “Well?” said Lorraine.

  The man seemed to decide we weren’t a threat. “Okay,” he said, stepping aside. He closed and locked the door behind us, then trailed after as Lorraine showed us down a long hallway.

  We came into a dim parlor flickering with oil lamps. It was a sleazy place with delusions of grandeur: the walls were trimmed with gold scrollwork and velvet drapes, the domed ceiling was painted with tanned and tunicked Greek gods, and marble columns framed the entrance to the hall.

  Lorraine nodded to the doorman. “Thank you, Carlos.”

  Carlos glided away to the back of the room. Lorraine walked to a curtained wall and pulled a cord, and the fabric slid aside to reveal a wide panel of sturdy glass. We stepped forward to look, and through it saw another room. It was very much like the one we were standing in, but smaller, and people were lazing about on chairs and sofas, some reading while others napped.

  I counted eight of them. A few were older, graying at the temples. Two, a boy and a girl, were under the age of ten. They were all, I realized, prisoners.

  Addison started to ask a question, but Lorraine gestured impatiently. “Questions after, please.” She strode to the glass, picked up a tube connected umbilically to the wall below it, and spoke into one end. “Number thirteen!”

  On the other side of the glass, the youngest boy stood and shuffled forward. His hands and legs were chained, and he was the only peculiar wearing anything resembling prisoner’s garb: a striped suit and cap with the number 13 stitched boldly onto them. Though he couldn’t have been older than ten, he had a man’s facial hair: a bushy, triangular goatee and eyebrows like jungle caterpillars, the eyes below them cold and appraising.

  “Why is he chained like that?” I said. “Is he dangerous?”

  “You’ll see,” Lorraine said.

  The boy closed his eyes. He seemed to be concentrating. A moment later, hair began to emerge from the brim of his cap, creeping down his forehead. His goatee grew, too, twisting into a clump, then rising and swaying like a charmed snake.

  “Heavenly herons,” said Addison. “How marvelously strange.”

  “Watch closely now,” said Lorraine, grinning.

  Number thirteen raised his shackled hands. The pointed end of his charmed goatee aimed itself at the lock, sniffed around the keyhole, and wriggled inside. The boy opened his eyes and stared ahead, expressionless. After ten or so seconds, the twisted goatee stiffened and began to vibrate, making a high musical note we could hear through the glass.

  The padlock opened and the chains fell away from his wrists.

  He bowed slightly. I stifled an urge to applaud.

  “He can open any lock in the world,” Lorraine said with a hint of pride.

  The boy returned to his chair and magazine.

  Lorraine covered the tube with her hand. “He’s one of a kind, and so are the rest. One’s a thought reader, very adept. Another can reach through walls up to her shoulder. That’s more useful than it sounds, believe me. The little girl here flies if she’s had enough grape soda.”

  “Is that right,” Addison said thickly.

  “She’d be happy to demonstrate,” said Lorraine, and speaking into the tube, she summoned the girl to the window.

  “It’s not necessary,” Emma said through clenched teeth.

  “It’s their job,” said Lorraine. “Five, come forward!”

  The little girl went to a table stocked with bottles, selected one filled with purple liquid, and took a long drink. When she’d drained it, she set down the bottle, let out a dainty hiccup, and went to stand by a cane-backed chair. A moment later she hiccupped again and her feet began to lift off the ground, pivoting upward while her head remained level. By the third hiccup, her feet had risen ninety degrees and she lay flat on her back in the air, her only support the top of the chair beneath her neck.

  I think Lorraine expected more of a reaction from us, but—though impressed—we were a study in silence. “Tough crowd,” she said and dismissed the girl.

  “Now,” Lorraine said, hanging up the tube and turning to face us. “If none of that was your cup of tea, I have lending agreements with other stables. By no means are your choices limited to what you see here.”

  “Stables,” Emma said. Her voice was flat, but I could tell she was boiling just below the surface. “So you admit you treat them like animals?”

  Lorraine studied Emma for a moment. Her eyes flitted to the man in the overcoat standing guard in the back. “Course not,” she said. “These are high-performance assets. They’re well fed, well rested, trained to perform under pressure, and pure as the driven snow. Most have never touched so much as a drop of ambro—and I’ve got the papers to prove it in my office. Or you could just ask them. Numbers thirteen and six!” she shouted into the speaking tube. “Come tell these people how you like it here.”

  The little boy and girl got up and shuffled to the window. The boy picked up the speaking tube. “We like it here very much,” he said robotically. “Mam treats us real nice.”

  He handed the tube to the girl. “We like to do our work. We …” She paused, trying to recall something learned and forgotten. “We like our work,” she mumbled.

  Lorraine dismissed them irritably. “And there you have it. Now, I can let you test drive one or two more, but beyond that I’ll need some kind of down payment.”

  “I’d like to see those papers,�
�� Emma said, glancing back at the overcoat man. “The ones in your office.” Her hands, clenched at her sides, were starting to go red. I could see we needed to leave before things turned ugly. Whatever information this woman might’ve had wasn’t worth the fight, and rescuing all these kids … well, as callous as it sounded, we had our own kids to rescue first.

  “Actually, that won’t be necessary,” I said, then leaned in to Emma and whispered, “we’ll come back to help them. We have to prioritize.”

  “The papers,” she said, ignoring me.

  “No problem,” Lorraine replied. “Step into my office and let’s talk turkey.”

  And then Emma was going and there was no unsuspicious way to stop her.

  Lorraine’s office was a desk and chair crammed into a walkin closet. She had only just closed the door behind us when Emma sprang at her, pushing her hard against it. Lorraine swore and shouted for Carlos but went quiet when Emma held a hand to her face that glowed hot as an oven coil. On Lorraine’s blouse, two blackened handprints smoked where Emma had pushed her.

  There was a thump on the door and a grunt from the other side.

  “Tell him you’re fine,” Emma said, her voice low and flinty.

  “I’m fine!” Lorraine said stiffly.

  The door rattled against her back.

  “Tell him again.”

  Lorraine, more convincing now: “Get lost! I’m doing business!”

  Another grunt, then receding footsteps.

  “You’re being very stupid,” Lorraine said. “No one’s ever stolen from me and lived.”

  “We don’t want money,” Emma said. “You’re going to answer some questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Those people out there. You think you own them?”

  Lorraine’s brow furrowed. “What’s this about?”

  “Those people. Those children. You bought them—do you think you own them?”

  “I never bought anyone.”

  “You bought them and now you’re selling them. You’re a slaver.”

  “That isn’t how it works. They came to me willingly. I’m their agent.”

  “You’re their pimp,” Emma spat.

  “Without me they’d have starved. Or been taken.”

  “Taken by who?”

  “You know who.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  The woman laughed. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Yeah?” I said, taking a step forward. “Why not?”

  “They have ears everywhere, and they don’t like being talked about.”

  “I’ve killed wights,” I said. “I’m not scared of them.”

  “Then you’re an idiot.”

  “Shall I bite her?” said Addison. “I’d really like to. Just a little.”

  “What happens when they take people?” I said, ignoring him.

  “No one knows,” she said. “I’ve tried to find out, but …”

  “I’ll bet you tried very hard,” Emma said.

  “They come in here sometimes,” Lorraine said. “To shop.”

  “Shop,” Addison said. “That’s a nice word for it.”

  “To use my people.” She looked around. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I hate it. You never know how many they’re going to want or for how long. But you give them what they ask for. I’d complain, but … you don’t complain.”

  “Bet you don’t complain about what they pay,” Emma said contemptuously.

  “It’s not hardly enough for what they put ’em through. I try to hide the little ones when I hear they’re coming. They bring ’em back roughed up, memories blanked out. I say, ‘Where’d you go? What’d they make you do?’ But the kids don’t remember zip.” She shook her head. “They get these nightmares, though. Nasty ones. It’s hard to sell ’em after that.”

  “I oughta sell you,” Emma said, livid, trembling. “Not that anyone would pay half a farthing.”

  I stuffed my fists into my pockets to stop them from flying at Lorraine. There was more to be gotten from her. “What about the peculiars they kidnap from other loops?” I asked.

  “They bring them through in trucks. Used to be a rare thing. Lately it’s been all the time.”

  “Did one come through earlier today?” I said.

  “A couple of hours ago,” she said. “They had guards with guns all over the place, blocking the street. Made a big production of it.”

  “They don’t usually?”

  “Not usually. Guess they feel safe here. This delivery must’ve been important.”

  It was them, I thought. A trill of excitement shot through me—but was immediately stifled by Addison lunging at Lorraine. “I’m sure they feel quite safe here,” he snarled, “among such perfect traitors!”

  I snatched his collar and held him back. “Calm down!”

  Addison struggled against me, and I thought for a moment he might snap at my hand, but then he relaxed.

  “We do what we have to to survive,” Lorraine hissed.

  “So do we,” said Emma. “Now tell us where those trucks go, and if you lie, or it turns out to be a trap, I’ll come back and melt your nostrils shut.” She held one burning finger just beyond the tip of Lorraine’s nose. “Agreed?”

  I could almost imagine Emma doing it. She was tapping into a deep well of hatred I’d never seen fully revealed before, and as useful as it was in situations like this, it was a little scary, too. I didn’t like to think what she might be capable of, given the proper motivation.

  “They go to their part of the Acre,” Lorraine said, turning her head away from Emma’s hot finger. “Over the bridge.”

  “What bridge?” said Emma, holding it closer.

  “At the top end of Smoking Street. Don’t bother trying to cross, though, unless you want your head to end up on a pike.”

  I reckoned that was all we were going to get out of Lorraine. Now we had to figure out what to do with her. Addison wanted to bite her. Emma wanted to trace an S on her forehead with her white-hot finger, branding her for life as a slaver. I talked them out of doing either, and instead we gagged her with a sash cord from the curtains and tied her to a leg of the desk. We were about to leave her like that when I thought of one last thing I wanted to know.

  “The peculiars they kidnap. What happens to them?”

  “Mrrrf!”

  I pulled down her gag.

  “None have escaped to tell,” she said. “But there are rumors.”

  “About?”

  “Something worse than death.” She gave us a smile dripping with slime. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

  * * *

  The moment we opened the office door, the man in the overcoat charged at us from across the parlor, something heavy raised in his hand. Before he could reach us, a muffled shout of alarm sounded from the office and he stopped, changing course to see about Lorraine. When he’d crossed the office threshold, Emma slammed the door behind him and melted the handle into useless slag.

  That bought us a minute or two.

  Addison and I bolted for the exit. Halfway there, I realized Emma hadn’t followed. She was banging on the window of the enslaved peculiars’ quarters.

  “We can help you escape! Show me where the door is!”

  They turned sluggishly to stare, splayed on their chaises and daybeds.

  “Throw something to break the glass!” Emma said. “Be quick!”

  None moved. They seemed confused. Perhaps they didn’t believe rescue was really possible—or perhaps they didn’t want to be rescued.

  “Emma, we can’t wait,” I said, tugging at her arm.

  She wouldn’t give up. “Please!” she cried into the tube. “At least send out the children!”

  Full-throated shouts from inside the office. The door shook on its hinges. Frustrated, Emma slammed the glass with her fist.

  “What’s the matter with them?”

  Rattled stares. The little boy and girl began to cry.

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nbsp; Addison tugged the hem of Emma’s dress with his teeth. “We must go!”

  Emma let the speaking tube fall and turned away bitterly.

  We hit the door running and burst out onto the sidewalk. A thick yellow murk had blown in, bundling everything in gauze and hiding one side of the street from the other. By the time we’d sprinted to the end of the block we could hear Lorraine bellowing behind us but couldn’t see her; we turned one corner and then another until it seemed we’d lost her. On a deserted street by a boarded-up storefront, we stopped to catch our breaths.

  “It’s called Stockholm syndrome,” I said. “When people start to sympathize with their captors.”

  “I think they were just scared,” said Addison. “Where would they have run to? This whole place is a prison.”

  “You’re both wrong,” Emma said. “They were drugged.”

  “You sound pretty sure,” I said.

  She pushed back hair that had fallen over her eyes. “When I was working in the circus, after I’d run away from home, a woman approached me after one of my fire-eating shows. She said she knew what I was—knew others like me—and that I could make a lot more money if I went and worked for her.” Emma gazed out at the street, her cheeks flushed from the sprint. “I told her I didn’t want to go. She kept insisting. When she finally left she was angry. That night I woke up in the back of a wagon with my mouth gagged and hands cuffed. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think straight. It was Miss Peregrine who rescued me. If she hadn’t found me when they stopped to reshoe their horse the next day”—Emma nodded behind us, to where we’d come from—“I might have ended up like them.”

  “You never told me that,” I said quietly.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

  “I’m very sorry that happened to you,” said Addison. “Was that woman back there—was she the one who kidnapped you?”

  Emma thought for a moment.

  “It happened such a long time ago. I’ve blocked out the worst of it, including my abductor’s face. But I know this. If you’d left me alone with that woman, I’m not sure I could’ve stopped myself from taking her life.”