off.
“I don’t think anyone else died last night,” he said.
“Not that I heard of,” Jay replied. “But could be something else. Could be . . . another gone somehow.”
“You mean missing? Like Tandy?” Quinton continued.
“Could be.”
“Who’ve you noticed missing?” Quinton asked.
“Well, Tandy and, uh . . . Little Jolene. What’s his name . . . The guy always has a forty going. . . .”
“Pranker Jheri.”
Jay slapped his thigh and nodded. “Jerrycan Jerry.”
“What about Bear?”
“I told you I haven’t seen Bear.” He plucked at the blanket and lowered his head further. “I found his blanket, though.”
“I thought I recognized it. Where did you find it?”
“In the bricks.” He stood up. “I’ll show you.”
We followed Blue Jay back out into the cold, he wrapping himself in the dirty blanket and us making due in the icy air with just our coats. As we headed back toward Pioneer Square, I glanced up and saw a ring around the moon—ice in the air. I shivered and followed Quinton and Jay through the freezing darkness and the streets empty of life but thick with the shades of the dead.
SIX
We staggered and slipped our way west on the frosted sidewalks of Jackson Street—my knee twinging— until we were a half block from Occidental where Jay took a sharp right turn into an alley beside the newly rebuilt Cadillac Hotel. Parts of the brick frontage had tumbled down in the earthquake of February 2001 and the old place had been slated for demolition. Like the titular phoenix—or “Fenix”—of the nightclub that had once graced its basement, the building had somehow risen from the ashes and reopened as the new Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park in 2005. How a museum entirely contained in a building was a national park still confounded me, and I wasn’t sure how they’d rebuilt the place from the wreck that had stood on the corner of Jackson and Second for years.
I was pretty sure that there were no unguarded openings on the building, but Jay ducked down in front of a sunken window on the opposite side of the alley, glancing up and down the brick roadway, and pulled a bit of grillwork loose. Then he disappeared into the resulting hole as slick as an eel. Quinton waved me forward and showed me the tiny ledge at the bottom of the window frame on which to place my foot. From my half-sunk position it was easy to slide down into the dark gulf below the buildings.
A rush of unnatural cold washed over me as I descended, like plunging feet first into a pool of Grey. I felt like Alice gone down a haunted rabbit hole. Quinton came down behind me, hanging onto the ledge for a moment as he pulled the grille back into place, and dropped to the floor of cracked and tilted concrete and compacted dirt.
Quinton brought out his flashlight and directed it at the ground, keeping the beam from reflecting into the glass of the window we’d entered through. I’d expected to land in a basement, but the space proved to be a gallery built of brick and rusting iron girders that held up part of the alley above. I looked around in the dim light and felt a little dizzy. Here below the street the world was in the unending grip of gelid fire and inhabited by ghosts, fairly writhing with the incorporeal mass of deceased humanity. Their phantom bodies flowed through and around us like chill water, making me shiver and gasp in their unexpected tide. Long dead men, horses, and dogs—even a mangy cat—still went about their business here while the roaring flames of the Great Fire consumed all and nothing.
Quinton’s beam spotlighted a more lively animal—a brown rat that scuttled into a deeper darkness with a squeak of outrage. Then the blinding light moved over my face and quickly back down to the ground.
“Are you all right? You look
“I don’t think anyone else died last night,” he said.
“Not that I heard of,” Jay replied. “But could be something else. Could be . . . another gone somehow.”
“You mean missing? Like Tandy?” Quinton continued.
“Could be.”
“Who’ve you noticed missing?” Quinton asked.
“Well, Tandy and, uh . . . Little Jolene. What’s his name . . . The guy always has a forty going. . . .”
“Pranker Jheri.”
Jay slapped his thigh and nodded. “Jerrycan Jerry.”
“What about Bear?”
“I told you I haven’t seen Bear.” He plucked at the blanket and lowered his head further. “I found his blanket, though.”
“I thought I recognized it. Where did you find it?”
“In the bricks.” He stood up. “I’ll show you.”
We followed Blue Jay back out into the cold, he wrapping himself in the dirty blanket and us making due in the icy air with just our coats. As we headed back toward Pioneer Square, I glanced up and saw a ring around the moon—ice in the air. I shivered and followed Quinton and Jay through the freezing darkness and the streets empty of life but thick with the shades of the dead.
SIX
We staggered and slipped our way west on the frosted sidewalks of Jackson Street—my knee twinging— until we were a half block from Occidental where Jay took a sharp right turn into an alley beside the newly rebuilt Cadillac Hotel. Parts of the brick frontage had tumbled down in the earthquake of February 2001 and the old place had been slated for demolition. Like the titular phoenix—or “Fenix”—of the nightclub that had once graced its basement, the building had somehow risen from the ashes and reopened as the new Klondike Gold Rush National Historic Park in 2005. How a museum entirely contained in a building was a national park still confounded me, and I wasn’t sure how they’d rebuilt the place from the wreck that had stood on the corner of Jackson and Second for years.
I was pretty sure that there were no unguarded openings on the building, but Jay ducked down in front of a sunken window on the opposite side of the alley, glancing up and down the brick roadway, and pulled a bit of grillwork loose. Then he disappeared into the resulting hole as slick as an eel. Quinton waved me forward and showed me the tiny ledge at the bottom of the window frame on which to place my foot. From my half-sunk position it was easy to slide down into the dark gulf below the buildings.
A rush of unnatural cold washed over me as I descended, like plunging feet first into a pool of Grey. I felt like Alice gone down a haunted rabbit hole. Quinton came down behind me, hanging onto the ledge for a moment as he pulled the grille back into place, and dropped to the floor of cracked and tilted concrete and compacted dirt.
Quinton brought out his flashlight and directed it at the ground, keeping the beam from reflecting into the glass of the window we’d entered through. I’d expected to land in a basement, but the space proved to be a gallery built of brick and rusting iron girders that held up part of the alley above. I looked around in the dim light and felt a little dizzy. Here below the street the world was in the unending grip of gelid fire and inhabited by ghosts, fairly writhing with the incorporeal mass of deceased humanity. Their phantom bodies flowed through and around us like chill water, making me shiver and gasp in their unexpected tide. Long dead men, horses, and dogs—even a mangy cat—still went about their business here while the roaring flames of the Great Fire consumed all and nothing.
Quinton’s beam spotlighted a more lively animal—a brown rat that scuttled into a deeper darkness with a squeak of outrage. Then the blinding light moved over my face and quickly back down to the ground.
“Are you all right? You look
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