"That would be fine. Let me show you out. "
As they passed into the rotunda, a shadow passed across the leaded-glass windows, three stories up. A large shadow. Charlie paused on the steps and waited for the old man to react, but he just tottered on down the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing as he went. When Mainheart reached the door he turned to Charlie, extending his hand. "I'm sorry about that, uh, outburst upstairs. I haven't been myself since - "
As the old man began to open the door a figure dropped outside, casting the silhouette of a bird as tall as a man through the glass.
"No!" Charlie dove forward, knocking the old man aside and slamming the door on the great bird's head, the heavy black beak stabbing through and snapping like hedge clippers, rattling an umbrella stand and scattering its contents across the marbl
e floor. Charlie's face was only inches from the bird's eye, and he shoved the door with his shoulder, trying to keep the beak from snapping off one of his hands. The bird's claws raked against the glass, cracking one of the thick beveled panels as the animal thrashed to free itself.
Charlie threw his hip against the doorjamb then slid down it, dropped the fox jacket, and snatched one of the umbrellas from the floor. He stabbed up into the bird's neck feathers, but lost his purchase on the doorjamb - one of the black talons snaked through the opening and raked across his forearm, cutting through his jacket, his shirtsleeve, and into the flesh. Charlie shoved the umbrella with all he had, driving the bird's head back through the opening.
The raven let out a screech and took flight, its wings making a great whooshing noise as it went. Charlie lay on his back, out of breath, staring at the leaded-glass panels, as if any moment the shadow of the giant raven would come back, then he looked to Michael Mainheart, who lay crumpled on his side like a stringless marionette. Beside his head lay a cane with an ivory handle that had been carved into the shape of a polar bear that had fallen from the umbrella stand. The cane was glowing red. The old man was not breathing.
"Well that's fucked up," Charlie said.
Chapter 6
6
VARIABLE SPEED HEROES
In the alley behind Asher's Secondhand, the Emperor of San Francisco hand-fed olive focaccia to the troops and tried to keep dog snot from fouling his breakfast.
"Patience, Bummer," the Emperor said to the Boston terrier, who was leaping at the day-old wheel of flat bread like a furry Super Ball, while Lazarus, the solemn golden retriever, stood by, waiting for his share. Bummer snorted an impatient reply (thus the dog snot). He'd worked up a furious appetite because breakfast was running late today. The Emperor had slept on a bench by the Maritime Museum, and during the night his arthritic knee had snaked out of his wool overcoat into the damp cold, making the walk to North Beach and the Italian bakery that gave them free day-old a slow and painful ordeal.
The Emperor groaned and sat down on an empty milk crate. He was a great rolling bear of a man, his shoulders broad but a little broken from carrying the weight of the city. A white tangle of hair and beard wreathed his face like a storm cloud. As far as he could remember, he and the troops had patrolled the city streets forever, but upon further consideration, it might have just been since Wednesday. He wasn't entirely sure.
The Emperor decided to make a proclamation to the troops about the importance of compassion in the face of the rising tide of heinous fuckery and political weaselocity in the nearby kingdom of the United States. (He found his audience was most attentive to his proclamations when the meat-laced focaccia were still nuzzled in the larder of his overcoat pockets, and presently a pepperoni and Parmesan reposed fragrant in the woolly depths, so the royal hounds were rapt. ) But just as he cleared his throat to begin, a cargo van came screeching around the corner, went up on two wheels as it plowed through a row of garbage cans, and slid to a stop not fifty feet away. The driver's-side door flew open and a thin man in a suit leapt out, carrying a cane and a woman's fur coat, and made a beeline for the back door of Asher's. But before he got two steps the man fell to the concrete as if hit from behind, then rolled on his back and began flailing at the air with the cane and the coat. The Emperor, who knew most everyone, recognized Charlie Asher.
Bummer erupted into a fit of yapping, but the more levelheaded Lazarus growled once and took off toward Charlie.
"Lazarus!" the Emperor shouted, but the retriever charged on, followed now by his bug-eyed brother in arms.
Charlie was back on his feet and swinging the cane as if he was fencing with some phantom, using the coat like a shield. Living on the street, the Emperor had seen a lot of people battling with unseen demons, but Charlie Asher was apparently scoring some hits. The cane was making a thwacking noise against what appeared to be thin air - but no, there was something there, a shadow of some sort?
The Emperor climbed to his feet and limped into the fray, but before he got two steps Lazarus had leapt and appeared to be attacking Charlie, but he soared over the shopkeeper and snapped at a spot above his head - then hung there, his jaws sunk into the substantial neck of thin air.
Charlie took advantage of the distraction, stepped back, and swung the cane above the levitating golden retriever. There was a smack, and Lazarus let go, but now Bummer launched himself at the invisible foe. He missed whatever was there, and ended up performing a doggy swish shot into a garbage can.
Charlie made for the steel door of Asher's again, but found it locked, and as he reached for his keys, something caught him from behind.
"Let go, fuckface," the shade screeched.
The fur coat Charlie was holding appeared to be swept out of his hand and was pulled straight up, over the four-story building and out of sight.
Charlie turned and held the cane at ready, but whatever had been there seemed to be gone now.
"Aren't you just supposed to sit above the door and nevermore and be poetic and stuff?!" he shouted at the sky. Then, for good measure, added, "You evil fuck!"
Lazarus barked, then whined. A sharp and metallic yapping rose from Bummer's garbage can.
"Well, you don't see that every day," said the Emperor as he limped up to Charlie.
"You could see that?"
"Well, no, not really. Merely a shadow, but I could see that something was there. There was something there, wasn't there, Charlie?"
Charlie nodded, trying to catch his breath. "It will be back. It followed me across the city. " He dug into his pocket for his keys. "You guys should duck into the store with me, Your Majesty. " Of course Charlie knew the Emperor. Every San Franciscan knew the Emperor.