Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 58

The first thing I did was call Benedict Vang.

Okay, that's a lie. The first thing I did was scream into my mask and startle the nearby pigeons. Then I called Ben. It was the only thing that made sense. All my idiotic ideas about cutting off my friends and going at this vigilante thing alone seemed like lunacy now, and I was going to do my best impression of the Prodigal Son and pray they would take me back. Maybe Psychosis was right, and I was destined to become my mom—doomed to hurt everyone I thought I loved and ruin the lives of those closest to me. But if he was wrong—if I wasn't preordained to turn into the person I hated most—my friends were the way out. Ben, Ellie, Anaya—they were the only things keeping me from becoming the villain of my own story. I needed them back. 

Ben's phone rang for a little longer than usual when I pressed his name in my contact list. But somehow, I knew he would still pick up.

"Maggie?"

"Ben," I said breathlessly. "Hi, I... I'm in trouble. Actually, we're all in trouble. Um... where are you?"

"With a friend in Fredericks Park," he said. "Maggs, what's wrong?"

He wasn't in the Fen. Relief flooded over me. Knowing Benedict was safe would make all of this much easier.

"Everything's wrong," I said. "It's a war, Ben. Glassface—uh, Augusto Vaccari—is going to war against Don Montagnese and the other caporegimes. I'm gonna have to try and stop it."

"Oh, wow," he said, but there was something hesitant in his voice, like he wasn't sure if he could be real with me or not.

"If you're not in Hmong Town, I guess I should call Bella," I said. "We need to get everyone off the streets as soon as possible."

"Okay," he said. "I can call her if you—."

"No," I said quickly. "I can do it. It... needs to be me."

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"Ben," I ventured. "If I can't stop this..."

"You can handle it," he said, but again, it didn't sound quite like the old Ben. He was still holding back.

"Yeah. Uh, Ben, I... I don't have much time, but..."

I swallowed. This was unbearably awkward, but it had to be done.

"Be careful, okay? Stay in Fredericks Park. And... Ben, I'm really sorry. I really treated you like crap since..."

I gave a dejected sigh. I couldn't even bring myself to mention Deadstream.

"I was afraid," I went on, stumbling over my words. "Because... because I'd come so close to losing you, and it was my fault, and..."

I trailed off. This "Prodigal Son" thing was not going the way I'd hoped.

"You should call Bella," he said.

"Right," I said. "I'll do that. And Ben... I love you."

"Be safe, Maggs," he said, and he hung up.

After a few seconds of cursing my own stupidity for throwing in the "I love you" at the end, I worked up the courage to call Bella. That conversation was much more to the point.

"Bella? Hi, it's—."

"Screw you."

"Bella, please, just listen to me. This is an emergency."

"Oh, I get it. You're such a ho that your need to stick your tongue down my brother's throat is—."

"Bella, this has nothing to do with Ben, and I need you to shut up and listen. One of the Montagnese caporegimes just went rogue. You, uh, know what a caporegime is, right?"

"I. Am not. Stupid."

"Okay, just making... anyways, Augusto Vaccari is trying to take on the rest of the family and run the Fen for himself. That means the streets aren't going to be safe. It's gonna be a full-scale gang war. Redding—Hmong Town—is gonna be at the heart of it. Tell your dad. He'll know what to do."

"I got it. Anything else?"

I paused.

"No."

She hung up. After mentally calling her a lot of words I won't list here, I scrolled down to Corrigan's number, which was now filed under "W." 

(Yeah, I know, real mature.)

"Something's going on," she said, with her characterstic indifference to customary greetings. "Please tell me you're calling with an explanation."

"Oh yeah," I said. "Augusto Vaccari just robbed Don Montagnese's penthouse. He's Glassface. He's about to declare the Fen his personal fiefdom and launch a war against the rest of the Montagnese family, bankrolling it with all the money and drugs he's been hoarding. We're talking an all-out gang war—probably the worst Marbrose has ever seen."

"Oh my God," said Corrigan. "Is he insane? How do you know?"

"I... the Whippowil was working for him. I guess I was too, without realizing. Oh, and you know that creepy immortality machine Eugene Rothko built? Glassface has the plans."

"Perfect. Well, that would explain why half the precinct suddenly called out sick. They want to see how this is going to play out before they pick a side."

"What about your people?" I asked.

"I'll get them all on the job ASAP. I better call Theo. A night like this, some of the freaks out in Rothko will be pretty restless."

"Do that," I said. "I'll head your way as soon as I can. Maybe we can make a plan and end this before..."

I paused. I'd just caught a sound on the wind that made my blood run cold.

"Oh, crap."

"What is it, vigilante?"

"Stravinsky, I think," I said, tilting my head towards the source of the eerie whistling. "I'll call you back. Get your people ready."

I hung up and reached for the flash pellets in my bag. Neither my electro-staff nor my knockout gas had been particularly effective against the Piano-Tuner last time, but maybe blinding him for a few seconds would give me a chance. As I peered into the deep shadows cast by the chimneys and water tanks on the nearby rooftops, I heard another noise I didn't expect.

"There you are, Nightwrath."

I turned around and saw Nyves—Don Montagnese's blade-obsessed personal bodyguard—smirking at me from the far end of the rooftop. Her outfit seemed to be nothing but black leather and a lot of very sharp knives strapped to every limb. Her hair was dyed silver, and she twirled a long Bowie knife in her right hand.

So, there were two of them. This definitely wasn't good.

"Yep, it's me," I said, trying to play it cool. "Was it was purple cape that gave me away? Hey, doesn't that outfit chafe?"

She seized one of the smaller blades that was strapped to her chest and hurled it directly at me—I managed to stumble out of the way just in time. The sound of whistling was getting closer, and I could tell now that it was behind me. Still, Nyves seemed like the more immediate threat. Maybe if I could take her out before the Piano-Tuner was on me, I might have a chance.

"You know, two against one is a little unfair," I said. "But I'm pretty sure I can send at least one of you to the—."

My empty threat came to an abrupt end as I felt piano wire slip around my neck. Apparently Conrad Imkamp was a lot closer than I'd realized. I tried to squirm free, but Nyves was on me within seconds, and soon I was pinned to the ground as the two freaks tied my hands and pulled a burlap sack over my head. That was not what I expected, but it was preferable to being dead.

Before I knew what was happening, I'd been dragged from the roof and stuffed in the back of what felt like a very nice car. Nyves kept her Bowie knife pressed to my gut, which was a pretty good incentive not to struggle. The Piano-Tuner sat on the other side of me. He wasn't whistling, but his complete silence was far from comforting, and I quickly decided I preferred Stravinsky.

"Am I allowed to ask where we're going?" I said.

"There's someone who wants to talk to you," Nyves replied ominously.