The Quimby Hotel

━ 11: Guilt And Monsters

By this point the effects of the memory projection had most certainly worn off and Clancy's expression, though exhausted and unsteady, burned with hatred. Cairo was reeling. His secret, this secret he and Vienna had sworn never to tell and that he'd spent years doing everything in his power to forget, was back with a vengeance. He was going to throw up.

Clancy snapped him out of it, bringing him back to the much more pressing situation at hand. His mind was spiraling in every which direction now.

"Quimby," Clancy panted, "whatever your father's hiding is much more dangerous than you think it is. We aren't the only ones after it." He looked terrified, but of what, Cairo couldn't be sure. "My squadron leader told us that they can smell our blood—magic blood—from miles away. If you kill me, you'll lead them right to your doorstep."

Likely story, he thought. "Who?"

"I told you," he responded frustratedly. "I don't know."

Cairo slid the blade of the knife beneath his chin, trying to get himself to relax. This was all so terribly confusing. He had to think of something else, anything else, something comforting and familiar. "You said you're a rookie, didn't you?" he asked quietly. "Have you heard of the tale of why Richard Quimby left the Guard?"

Clancy swallowed tightly. "No."

"What a shame. My mother used to tell us this story at bedtime; I'll do you the kindness of passing it on to you." Cairo shifted, letting his mind wander off into his childhood. Yes, this would be a sufficient distraction."When I and my brother were very small, our father used to whip our mother when he deemed her behavior displeasing. He would cut her off when she spoke, police when and where and with whom she could go out. Sometimes he would grab her by the hair and pin her to the wall if she talked back—much like this, actually."

"The demonstration really enhances the story, I think," said Clancy dryly.

Cairo ignored him. "Once, when I was... I don't know, two or three, and Shanghai was just a baby," he mused, "he couldn't get me to shut my trap, so he decided to put me in the washing machine and turn it on. This is why I couldn't be suffocated to death today." He looked at the guardsman intensely. "My mother killed him for that. She says it was the last straw.

"Naturally, the Guard was sent after her—it's against the code, of course, to kill a member of your own kind. And at the time, one of the best and most promising guardsmen was none other than my now-stepfather. But my mother can be a very convincing woman. He was supposed to make an arrest, but instead he fell in love; not only with her, but with her children, too. He manipulated the documents, got evidence thrown out. Let her get away scot-free. By the time everyone knew what he'd done, it was too late for her case. Of course, he wasn't so lucky. It didn't take long to get expelled." He made a dramatic gesture with his free hand toward the hotel grounds around them. "The rest is history, isn't it?"

Clancy shook his head, still trapped beneath the knife and watching his every move warily.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Cairo's expression fell to a frown, having been so absorbed in the story that he'd nearly forgotten all about the guardsman and the weapon in his hand. He opened his mouth to provide an explanation, and all that came out was, "You're my friend. I wanted you to hear a nice story before you died."

Thatcher's eyes filled with alarm, and with a violent skewering through his neck, the hotel's spy was no more.

Cairo let go and let him fall, staring blankly and wondering why he felt so unsatisfied with the kill. Maybe it was the illegality of it—murder within your own race was punishable by law no matter where you were and what licenses you carried—but that didn't seem quite right. He felt guilty. Disgustingly guilty. Usually anyone he ended up dragging in dead was easily justifiable because they were evil people. Thieves, murderers, traffickers. He couldn't help thinking that Clancy Thatcher had been a rookie guardsman not much older than him, following his captain's orders. Maybe he could have changed. Cairo had robbed him of that opportunity.