Jolie literally dragged Orlene back to Purgatory proper, for the woman had reverted to inchoate soul form, intent only on drifting down to damnation. Her balance had been good, and she had fought to remain as a ghost; now her balance had shifted bad, and she no longer fought. But Jolie refused to let her go—not until she had consulted with Gaea.
Once firmly in conventional Purgatory, Jolie was able to make the jump directly to the Treehouse. She laid the limp soul on the bed—but the moment she let go, it began to sink through the bed, starting its journey toward Hell. She had to grab it again and maintain her hold.
How could this have happened? Souls weren't supposed to change their balance in the Afterlife! Not suddenly, like this! They could have their evil ground out slowly in Hell, or leached out gently in Heaven, but that took centuries. It seemed that Nox had done more than merely tease the woman!
Soon Gaea returned. "You seem to have a problem," she remarked, noting the flaccid soul.
"Nox teased us cruelly," Jolie explained. "She caused my companion to become a man, who was then overcome by his passion, and he tried to ravish me. For a moment she changed me, too, and I too was overcome. I have been attacked before, and have sinned before; I was able to endure it. But my companion—"
"It isn't like Nox to tease without reason," Gaea said. "She seldom concerns herself with our activities, and seems to have little interest in them. There may be more here than we understand."
"She did agree to help the baby—but gave an impossible list of requirements. We would have to get something from each of the Incarnations."
"It is also unlike Nox to bargain in such fashion. This is strange indeed."
"Now this soul is weighted down with evil, and I dare not let go. I feel responsible, for I was with her, encouraging her to visit Nox, thus bringing this humiliation upon us both. I don't want to let her go to Hell on such basis, after she fought so hard to avoid Heaven so that she could help her baby."
Gaea hesitated a moment. If she did not know the identity of Jolie's friend, whom Jolie had carefully avoided naming, she surely suspected. She was being circumspect in her comments, speaking generally rather than specifically. "Do you wish help in this matter?"
Here was the crux. Gaea could not help without discovering for certain that it was her daughter at issue. How could Jolie confirm that at this stage? Not only would it bring personal grief to the Incarnation, it would represent a conflict of interest.
"Forgive me, Gaea. I think I do need help, but I prefer not to ask for yours. You have been generous in giving me leeway here, and I do not want to inflict the consequences of my error on you." Which was true, as far as it went.
"Perhaps another Incarnation?"
"Have I the right to ask?" What she meant was that though Gaea would help because of Jolie's closeness to her, other Incarnations might be more cynical. Jolie knew them all, except God, and they all accepted her, but this was a matter of courtesy rather than respect. They were apt to consider her request seriously only if Gaea asked them to—and Jolie didn't want to ask for that, either. What a predicament she had gotten into, unawares!
"My mortal cousin Luna is an understanding person," Gaea said. "She might be able to advise you."
Jolie hadn't thought of that. Luna was the one, of all mortals, most in touch with the affairs of the Incarnations. She was related to several of them in one way or another, and kept company with Thanatos. She was a Senator in the mortal realm, and so had considerable power in both the mortal and immortal spheres. She would be ideal for the kind of advice Jolie needed.
"Yes," Jolie said gratefully. "I will ask her."
Luna lived at an estate guarded by a fence of iron spikes and two hungry griffins. "Hello, Griffith!" Jolie called to the red male. "Hello, Grissel!" to the female. The two reared up on their hind feet and struck at the air in salute: they remembered her. Because she was a ghost, they could not have hurt her anyway, but she never made a point of that.
She floated through the door, dragging Orlene's soul. "It's me, Muir!" she called, for the guardian within could touch her. Muir was a moon moth, a ferocious flying spirit Luna's magician father had tamed for her before his death. Like some demons, he could manifest physically when he chose to, but he was mainly a protection against supernatural threats.
Muir recognized Jolie and folded his wings. They formed a black cloak around his insectoid torso, hiding his formidable talons. Woe betide the one he attacked! He remained hovering in the air despite closing his wings, because he was not subject to mortal gravity any more than Jolie was.
"Is Luna available?" Jolie asked.
Muir flickered. That meant he had darted to find Luna and returned here so swiftly that the motion was barely evident. He nodded his head briefly forward, his antenna flexing: she was available.
Then Luna entered the room. She was a beautiful woman of about forty, with brown hair. Jolie had wondered before how the two almost-sisters, Luna and Orb, could be so similar in other respects but differ in this one—and suddenly, for the first time, she realized that Luna had dyed her hair, or magically changed its color. All the women of her family had honey hair of one shade or another, similar to Jolie's own, through three generations; Luna must have, too, as a child. Why had she changed it?
"Why Jolie," Luna said. "With a lost soul. You must have come to see Zane." That was the private name she called Thanatos.
"I have a problem," Jolie said. "I need advice, and I think help."
"And not from Orb?" Luna inquired, lifting an eyebrow. Her eyes were gray, like mist over a placid lake: these at least were natural.
"May I speak in confidence?"
Now Luna realized that this was no casual matter. "You know I cannot commit to that in any matter that affects my objective. Does this?"
Her objective was to thwart the efforts of Satan to take over either the mortal or immortal realms, and it was generally known that there was a major crisis coming in perhaps four years, where her action would be critical. Satan had been trying desperately to nullify that situation before it occurred, and all the Incarnations had battled him to preserve it. Jolie, as the consort of Satan, therefore had to be treated cautiously; she understood that. Her relations with Luna and the Incarnations were positive, but she was technically an agent of the enemy. Thus it was necessary that Luna qualify any offer to help; she wouldn't help Satan win against God.
"I don't think it does," Jolie said. "Not directly. But if nothing is done, it could bring mischief to both sides."
"Will you trust my discretion, if you tell me without my prior commitment to confidence?"
"Yes." For Luna cared about Gaea as much as any mortal could, having been raised with her in Ireland before the one became the companion of an Incarnation and the other became an Incarnation herself.
"Then tell me as much as you need to, as quickly as you can." This was Luna's first indication that she had pressing other business, but of course she did.
"I watched over Orb's daughter Orlene," Jolie said. "She was doing well, raised by an adoptive mortal family. She married a ghost and had a child by her lover, in the ghost's name; this is a legitimate device among mortals today, though technically sinful."
"Of course," Luna agreed. "I remember that Orb had a child but could not marry the father; I am glad to learn that that child did well."
"Not well enough," Jolie said, plunging on. "During my inattention her baby was afflicted with a fatal malady. After he died, she suicided, determined to join him. But she was good and bound for Heaven, while he was in balance and went to Purgatory, where Nox took him. I helped Orlene's spirit go to seek Nox, but Nox turned her into a man who tried to rape me and then had relations with Nox herself. Now Orlene is burdened with evil and will not struggle to stay out of Hell. I cannot tell Gaea, and dare not let the soul go lest it be lost. I am convinced that Orlene is not evil but was overwhelmed by the mischief of the Incarnation of Night. I need some way to keep her here, as a ghost, until she realizes this and will resume her quest for her baby. Then she may be all right, and I can tell Gaea without bringing her more grief than is warranted."
Luna nodded. She possessed the lawmaker's ability to grasp complex matters quickly. "This is not Satan's doing?"
"It is not his doing. It was his bidding that sent me to Orlene when she was a child. He—when he and I were married, as mortals, we had no child, and—" Then Jolie was crying, caught off guard by the tragedy. Orlene had been much like a daughter to her, as she watched her in the way that Gaea would not. She cursed herself again for relaxing at what turned out to be a critical time.
"It occurs to me that our interests may coincide," Luna said gently. "I am organizing for the issue to come, what may be the final showdown between Good and Evil of this sequence. I have need of a soul to animate a mortal who is in a similar state to Orlene's, for different but sufficient reason. A soul that animates a mortal host cannot descend to Hell until it leaves that host. Would Orlene be willing to animate that host until the host recovers?"
"No. It is my will that holds her here, not hers."
"Then would you be willing to keep Orlene in that host, and animate the host yourself, until you can persuade Orlene to do it? This action would have a devious but significant effect in the war between Good and Evil, so you would be serving Good."
"But I am Satan's consort!" Jolie protested. "Even Satan knows the meaning of honor—and so do you. Satan cannot openly support your action in preventing that soul from descending to him, but the forces of Good have no such conflict of interest. Can you serve Good to this extent, in order to buy time for Orlene to recover her initiative?"
Jolie saw how cleverly this offer was designed. Satan indeed did not want Orlene in Hell! He wanted her in as good a situation as possible before Gaea learned of it. So, just as Gaea would not openly consummate her marriage to Satan, Satan would not openly support Good. But his interest in this particular matter was the same as Gaea's and Jolie's.
"Yes, I can do this," Jolie agreed. "It will not be easy," Luna warned. "I think it best not to tell you the manner this relates to my interest, but you will be charged with serving that interest as it becomes apparent to you, until you leave that host."
"I agree to this," Jolie said.
"And I see no need to acquaint Gaea with what you have told me, until there is a better resolution," Luna said. "Now I must go, but Zane will be along presently, and he will take you to the girl."
"I'll have to tell Gaea where I'm going."
"No need; she knows." Luna left.
Jolie stood, bemused. How could Gaea know? Then she realized that Gaea's suggestion had not been offhand, about seeing Luna. She must have cleared it first, or at least have known that Luna had such a need. The Incarnations had levels of communications that others hardly fathomed, and Luna was in certain respects like an Incarnation.
She remembered, too, the first time she had animated Gaea's physical body and gone to make love to Satan. It had been nominally Parry and Jolie, as it had been so long ago in life, and as such, wonderful. But it was also the secret, forbidden consummation of Satan and Gaea, the Incarnations of Evil and Nature. There had been only one direct evidence of that which an outsider could have recognized: when Satan had asked Jolie to thank the one whose body she had borrowed, and Gaea had said in her own voice, "She knows."
Luna had been similarly certain. But she had also agreed to keep Jolie's information private, for now. So Gaea knew that Jolie's business was serious and in good hands, and that was enough.
She waited, hanging on to the limp soul, and in an hour there was a sound outside. She looked out, and there was Mortis, the beautiful, pale death-horse, trotting down through the air toward the yard. The two griffins set up a squawking of welcome. Mortis landed, the hooded figure dismounted, and the animals sniffed noses.
Thanatos strode to the house. Jolie stepped through the closed door to meet him. She was, of course, used to his skull visage; he was actually a living man, become the Incarnation of Death when he killed his predecessor, and his appearance was only his costume. "Luna said—"
"Yes. Are you ready?"
"Yes." There was that hidden communication again! "It is not far from here. Ride with me." Jolie followed as he returned to Mortis. The horse became a pale car, somehow knowing his master's desire unspoken. His master? Mortis had outlasted several Officeholders! Jolie tried to enter the car but could not pass through the substance; Thanatos had to open the door for her, in seeming gallantry which was not mock. The associates of the Incarnations had special qualities too; Jolie had not realized that Mortis was ghost-proof, but it did not surprise her.
"I understand Nox is involved," Thanatos remarked as the car moved smoothly out of the grounds, self-guided.
"She made this person into a man and caused him to attempt rape," Jolie replied. "Now her evil overbalances her good and she is sinking, but I don't think it's fair."
"Her balance is positive, not negative," Thanatos said. "She sinks only because she believes she is evil, but no guilt should attach for a burden imposed by another party. Is this not the one for whom you interceded so recently?"
"Yes, she is. I learned that the Incarnation of Night had the soul of her baby, so I guided her there—and Nox played a cruel game before agreeing to help. Even then, she set horrendous conditions."
"That is not like her. She has been indifferent to mortal and immortal affairs throughout my tenure. What conditions did she set?"
"An item from each of the active Incarnations, to facilitate correction of the malady of the baby's soul."
"What item from me?"
"A blank soul."
There was a pause. Then the skull turned toward her. "If that is typical, the chances of completing that list are minimal."
"But better that Orlene try, than that she give up hope," Jolie said, hoping it was true.
"Perhaps it is a deliberate diversion, intended to be an endless quest for her."
"But why would Nox do that? She could have denied the interview entirely if she didn't want to give up the baby!"
"The Incarnation of Night is excellent at keeping secrets."
He said no more, and Jolie didn't dare pursue it. She had mentioned the item listed for him, and that was as far as she could go on her own; Orlene would have to pursue it herself, when she was able. Jolie's task was to enable Orlene to resume her quest; then the decision would be Orlene's.
The vehicle halted. They were in a bad section of the city of Kilvarough, where rundown tenements were scheduled for demolition in favor of modern megabuildings. Thanatos led her to a grimy chamber where a teenage girl lay sprawled asleep on a flimsy cot. "This is Vita," he said. "She is a harlot being addicted to Spelled H. Her individual volition is almost gone; she responds merely to the voice of authority supported by force."
Jolie was aghast. "Luna has need of such a one?"
The grinning bare teeth seemed to grin further. "There is a rationale. We did not feel free to ask any other to undertake this task, for there is much discomfort in it, and you may avoid it also."
"No, I said I would do it, and I will," Jolie said. "But I can see that I won't enjoy it."
"True. I leave you, then, to your devices." He turned and walked back the way they had come, in a moment fading from view. Jolie knew that he had not truly disappeared; rather, he was not visible or memorable to anyone who did not have reason to see him, and her reason had passed. As a ghost she could perceive him far more readily than living mortals could, but even so, it was only because he permitted it.
She walked to the sleeping girl, dragging Orlene's soul. Prostitution and Spelled H—a combination for disaster! She would have to do something about that immediately!
"Very well, Orlene," she said. "I will carry it at first, but it is for you I am doing this." She embraced the soul and stepped into the body.
She felt the effect of the drug immediately. The girl was not in a natural sleep, but in a stupor. Jolie was not conversant with the cycle of Spelled H, for the drug had appeared centuries after her time, but she understood that its effects varied with the dosage and the time following the dose. Once a person was habituated to it, she depended on it to be functional; there was a certain euphoria followed by depression, which could be abated by another dose. Properly managed, it could keep a person in the pleasant in-between state during the waking hours. Too much made the addict hyper; not enough brought an agony that was not merely of the body. Gaea had cured several musicians who had been addicts, but short of direct intercession by the Incarnation of Nature, few broke free. This would require iron willpower!
Orlene settled into the host and found the mood compatible: hellhound. Jolie, freed of the need to hold on to Orlene constantly, got to work on Vita.
"Up, girl," Jolie said, using the host's sodden lips. "We're going to work off this high, or low, as the case may be." She forced the limbs to move and the flaccid stomach muscles to contract.
The host groaned and sat up. Jolie felt the spinning of the senses and the pounding at the temples. This was definitely a low! But she pressed on, making the host rise unsteadily to her feet and stagger to the grubby toilet nook. She ran water and splashed it on the face. Vita had vomited recently, by the taste of it, and there were bruises on her body: someone had been hitting her.
Jolie decided to go the whole route. She stripped off the dirty clothing, then stepped into the shower cubicle. Cold water blasted down, shocking her body. She gritted her teeth and washed both body and hair as thoroughly as possible without heat. The discomfort was more important than the cleanliness, at the moment.
When she couldn't stand it anymore, she got out. The water cut off automatically. Shivering, she went to stand before the pane of glass that served as a full-length mirror.
This host was nubile, with hips and breasts that would have been on the way to provocative fullness had bad eating and bad living not interfered. The hair, too, could have been lustrous, but seemed to have been hacked off at shoulder level and otherwise mistreated. Bruises showed on the arms and shoulders. By the feel of it, the men this prostitute served had been urgent and rough and had not necessarily confined their ardors to the genital region. There were no scars or punctures on arms or legs, but of course that proved nothing; there were oral, nasal and optic variants of the drug.
The lethargy of incipient withdrawal remained. Jolie spread the bedsheet on the floor and tried exercises: sit-ups, leg lifts, curls and stretches. The body protested, way out of shape for this, but again, the point wasn't health but effort. Could exercise burn off the traces of the drug? She was going to try it.
Actually, this was helping Jolie, too, for she was not used to living flesh. She had been seventeen when she died, and though that was considerably older then than it was today, she had been long out of body. Gaea lent her body for special occasions involving their common interest, but the body of an Incarnation was in stasis and invulnerable, not truly mortal. Vita's body was all too evidently mortal, with the discomforts and weaknesses of mortality. Jolie had to accustom herself again to keeping the body balanced when she stood, so that it would not fall over, and to the needs of ongoing processes.
That thought clarified one problem. She walked back to the toilet and used it. Ghosts had no natural functions, but mortals had to be constantly aware of input and outgo, or their systems got into trouble.
Then she went to the food-storage section to find something to eat. That was a waste of time; there was nothing. Evidently this girl ate outside.
Jolie checked next for money. There was none of that, either. Then she tested the door. Sure enough, it was locked, and she had no key or admittance card. She was a prisoner.
She wished she had paid more attention to the nature of mortal life in the slum sections. As it was, she had little notion how to proceed. How had this host come to such an involuntary situation?
Jolie tried to contact Vita, but the girl's mind was satisfied to let someone else do it. The drug had dulled her awareness, but that was only part of the story; Vita had little interest in facing reality. Perhaps that was just as well, for now, because had she objected to Jolie's control, it would have done her no good. The soul in charge of a host had command and could not be involuntarily displaced. Had Vita not been in a stupor, Jolie could not have taken over.
She checked next on Orlene. The case was similar there. Jolie remained on her own; if she didn't do something, neither of the others would. Still, there might be something to be gained here. Orlene, this is Vita. your host, she said internally, hauling the spirit of the girl up. Vita, this is Orlene, who will be animating your body for a while. She lost her baby son, and died of grief, and suffered again after death. She can tell you what it is like.
Who cares? Vita demanded, retreating. Why don't you just let me sink to Hell, where I belong?
Orlene asked.
What do you know about Hell? Vita retorted. It has no fear for me, after what I've seen on Earth.
You haven't experienced what I have, Orlene said. Yeah? Well, I don't want to know about it!
That ended the dialogue. Jolie shrugged her host's shoulders. At least it was a beginning.
She had two ways to ascertain Vita's situation. One was to establish enough of a rapport with the mind of the host to learn it from her. The other was to pick it up from ongoing experience. The latter seemed to be the choice.
She returned to the main chamber and resumed her exercising. This time she ran in place, using the large muscles of her legs to give her heart and respiration a workout. It might be wishful thinking, but she thought the body's tone was improving and the brain becoming more functional.
There was a sound at the door. Then it burst open. A neatly dressed thug stood there, staring at her with brute disapproval. "What the hell you doing, running around baretit?" he demanded.
Oops! Jolie had forgotten to don clothing after her shower, that being another detail that ghosts did not have to worry about. As a ghost she could assume any form, clothed or unclothed, that she desired, merely by concentrating on it. Once she had learned how to do that, she had done it so routinely that she was always garbed appropriately. But the physical host needed artificial garbing.
The man was staring at her exposed torso, which was an embarrassment. His face showed disgust, which was a further embarrassment. Who was he—her captor?
Now the man strode forward, one hammy hand reaching out to grab her shoulder. "Answer me, brat! What you think you're doing? I didn't tell you to dance, I told you to sleep it off."
"Sleep what off?" Jolie asked, twisting away. Immediately the hand swung up and clipped her on the side of the head, stingingly. "Don't sass me, blackass!" Jolie was stunned both by the blow and the words. What had she done to deserve the first, even assuming this man had authority over her? What was the meaning of the name he had called her?
"Now get dressed good," the man said gruffly. "Got a special John tonight, likes 'em young and lean and hurting, so you can scream and cry all you want, but no claws and no kicking. You get a sniff of H before so you can act lively, and more after if you make him happy. But first you eat; got to get more meat in your dugs so you can work up to the big time." He strode to the shallow closet and checked the dresses there. "This one—make you look as young as you are. And a ponytail, and not much makeup. Look like some jerk's niece. My niece, maybe. But don't never forget you're just a whore. Come on, get it grinding." He shoved the dress at her.
At last it was coming clear. This was what was called a pimp—a man who procured women for deviant customers. Vita was young, and it seemed there was an illicit market for sex with underage girls. The pimp was serving in lieu of a parent—a bad one, to be sure, but perhaps doing better for her than she would do alone on the street.
The first thing Jolie had to do was get Vita out of this trap. But she realized that this would not necessarily be easy to do. With no information and no money, and under constant lock or guard, her options were quite limited. So she would have to play along for the time being, watching her opportunity to make her break.
She dressed. The man actually did her hair, his fingers surprisingly skilled. He did know his business, however low that business might be. He wanted her to look childlike and innocent for this role, so that the client would be satisfied and pay well and return again on other days. It was all quite close to the reality, except for the significant detail of the sexual element.
She checked herself in the mirror. Now she realized that Vita was of mixed blood, her skin light brown rather than white. That explained one remark. To have any evident black heritage was to be defined as all-black, logic to the contrary notwithstanding. The Negroid element was slight and showed not at all in the hair, which was brown and straight, or in the facial features; makeup could have eliminated it entirely. But to the pimp she was "blackass"—as if it were literally true, and as if there would have been any fault if so.
"Looking good," the pimp conceded grudgingly. "Now you get your sniff, and I'll take you to meet him at a classy joint. Eat what you can; you won't get more till morning."
He brought out a small package of something. Jolie realized it was the Spelled H—the magically enhanced variant of an ancient addictive drug, far more potent than the original. She couldn't afford to take that!
She sought to turn her face away as the pimp brought the package up, but suddenly Vita's soul stepped in, seized control, and sniffed deeply. Jolie wrested control back immediately, but it was too late; the drug was in the host's system. Already the exhilaration of it was spreading out from her nose, encompassing her brain, and giving her entire body a tingle of joy.
This is disaster! Jolie thought at Vita. You can't afford this stuff! It will kill you!
But the girl, having gotten her fix, was satisfied. She retreated into near oblivion.
Jolie intended to be on guard in the future. The addiction was not yet complete; she should be able to fight it off despite this setback. If she got the girl out of this situation, there might be no further opportunity to take the drug. Perhaps this slip was just as well; it had shown Jolie how canny the seemingly passive girl could be, pouncing during Jolie's momentary inattention. She would be on guard against that henceforth. Also, it would have made the pimp suspicious if she had refused the fix.
"Now we go," the pimp said. "Remember, any trouble, no more H. That goes double for when you're alone with him."
The system was clear enough. The drug kept the girls obedient, and the pimp supervised every aspect of the business so that there were no errors. It was a living, of a sort.
They walked out of the room and down the narrow hall. Jolie could have run for it, but several things restrained her. She did not know her way around this neighborhood, so would not be able to hide quickly. The pimp was robust, and could probably outrun her, and certainly could subdue her when he caught her. Others here were more likely to help him than her. And if she did win free, what would she do alone on the street? Until she learned where Vita's home was, and got money to travel there, she would be entirely on her own resources, and they were forbiddingly meager. So she still had to play along; her time was not yet.
There was a limousine waiting. It seemed the pimp lived in style, even if his girls didn't. They got in and rode to what was indeed a "classy joint"—a quality restaurant. They were guided to a table already occupied by a fat, extremely well-dressed man of middle age.
"This is my niece, Vita," the pimp said, nudging Jolie, who smiled obligingly. "You show her the sights, call and I'll pick her up, okay?"
The man nodded, his porcine eyes taking in the young body. This was what he had ordered, certainly!
The pimp helped Jolie take the opposite seat. Helped? His grip on her elbow was warningly firm. She would behave, or suffer more than H deprivation! Then he left the restaurant, but she noticed that the limo didn't drive away. He was still watching, making sure that she was committed. Later, when her addiction to H was complete, he would be able to relax, but this was still the training stage.
The meal was excellent, and she was famished. The sniff of H had restored her appetite and evidently made her sparkle, physically. The client seemed happy to have her eat her fill; it was part of the avuncular role he relished. He talked to her, telling her how he had always wanted a girl of his own like her. Jolie realized with a shock that he wasn't actually a bad man, but rather a man with an illicit hunger for young flesh that he could indulge only in this manner. Some slight and perhaps reasonable liberalization of the laws would place him within the normal spectrum.
Ha! Vita thought from the depths. He's a closet pederast, wants a boy but doesn't have the nerve to go for it, so goes for young girls instead.
Jolie realized with another shock that Vita could be right. She would have to make her break before they got to the man's hotel.
They completed the meal. Her belly was full; she had eaten too well, after too long a hiatus. "I better go wee-wee," she said girlishly.
"In my suite," the client said. "I'll watch."
Now Orlene took note. What is this? she asked, horrified out of her retreat.
They get a big thrill out of watching you do it. Vita replied. Sometimes they take the stuff and smear it on you. Anal fixation, it's called, or something. All I know is, it stinks, but the H fixes it so you don't care.
And I thought rape was perverted! Orlene thought with revulsion.
Vita laughed. Man can't rape a girl, when she needs the money. Better to get it done fast, before he works up to weird ideas—but not so fast he feels cheated.
But that makes it seem as if men are mere sex machines! Orlene protested.
So what else is new?
Jolie realized that this was working out well, in its strange way. Both Orlene and Vita were benefiting from their limited dialogue, being drawn out of their private miseries. But there was a long way to go before either would be ready to resume normal functioning.
They left the restaurant. The client spoke to the doorman, who whistled down a taxi carpet.
Jolie knew that once she got on that carpet there would be no escaping, for it would deliver them directly to the client's suite, which would be forty or more stories high in a megabuilding. She really did need to use the toilet, but not with him watching or perhaps participating! So, bloated or not, she had to make her break now.
The taxi carpet sailed down and hovered at knee height. It was shaped: the rear of it curled up to form a backrest, while the front descended in an S curve to accommodate the legs. Magic would hold them firmly in place while it was in motion, as required by safety regulations. There was no danger of falling off—and no chance to jump off, no matter how low it might fly. The client sat on it, then heaved his legs around and up to the front. His weight was such that even the sturdy levitation spell gave way slightly and the carpet dropped closer to the curb.
The doorman put out a hand to help Jolie board. Instead she ducked under his arm and ran down the sidewalk. She didn't care where she was going, as long as it was away.
"Hey!" the client cried. "Stop my niece!"
The doorman, ever obliging, lurched after her. Jolie dodged around an approaching couple and ran into the street. Tires squealed as a limousine braked to avoid her.
No—that was the pimp's limo! He had anticipated this effort and was intercepting her. She was in trouble now!
I could've told you that, ninny! Vita thought. You've got to go along to get along. They know all the angles.
Now she was effectively boxed, the limo on one side, the doorman on the other, and the carpet behind. If you're so smart, how would you escape? Jolie demanded, not expecting an answer.
But the girl surprised her. Apparently the urge to show her superiority in this respect overrode her desire not to aggravate the pimp, whose wrath would surely be fearsome. I would fool them by scrambling under the carpet, then run into the restaurant and out the back.
Jolie couldn't improve on that! She feinted to the front, and both limo and doorman lurched that way to cut her off, while the carpet advanced to close up the gap, hovering at waist height. She reversed course and plunged toward the carpet. She dived down below it, scrambling on hands and knees in the gutter. That was good for neither her pretty dress nor her knees, but excellent for surprise.
She regained her feet beyond it and bolted for the restaurant door, which was now unmanned. She shoved in and charged along the carpeted entry hall. The maitre d' called to her, but she ran right on, seeking the back.
She found the passage the waiters used, and leaped through it. Then she found the door that accessed the kitchen and shoved through that. Now she was amidst the tables and ovens where the food was being prepared.
"Get out of here, gamin!" a cook cried. "This is a restricted area!"
She saw a door labeled EXIT and ran for that. She pushed through and found herself out in the back alley, surrounded by old-fashioned garbage cans and a Dumpster. Where next? she thought, knowing that the pursuit would soon appear.
Hide, Vita advised. The Dumpster, maybe.
But those get picked up regularly and taken to compactors and furnaces! Orlene protested.
That's why nobody'll think to look there, dummy!
Jolie accepted the logic. She hadn't much choice. She was panting, and felt ready to burst, and was afraid she could not run much farther and would soon be caught if she tried. At least she could rest in the Dumpster.
She climbed up its irregular exterior, heaved herself over the top and dropped inside. She landed on a pile of fresh garbage; the thing was half full. It seemed to be mostly large lettuce leaves and fruit rinds, but there was a good deal of semi-liquid meal leavings collected in the bottom.
But they might look. Vita warned. Better cover up.
Jolie gritted her teeth, knowing that this was more good advice. She squatted in a low spot and hauled in a pile of watermelon rinds to cover her. She hated to do it to her dress, but she was committed now.
She heard voices outside, muffled by the walls of the Dumpster and the garbage around her. That would be her pursuers, searching out her route. In a moment someone poked his head over the rim of the Dumpster. "Just garbage in here! What a smell!" he called, and moved away.
The sounds died. Don't get out yet! Vita warned. They'll hang around awhile, waiting to see if we come out when we think they're gone.
You're very canny, Jolie remarked.
I learned a lot in a hurry, after I ran away from home.
You ran away? Why? Here was key information!
None of your business. Vita retreated.
So much for that. Jolie was animating the body, but it would take her a lot more time than she could afford to access the memories on her own. She depended on the host's cooperation, and this had been invaluable as far as it went, but it was limited.
But now, waiting, she became aware again of her need to relieve herself, after the big meal. She didn't see how she could remain quietly here for any length of time without taking care of this detail.
Do it here, Orlene suggested. We can't get any dirtier.
Apt notion! Jolie shifted that minimum necessary to get her panties down, and proceeded to add to the garbage. Certainly the smell would not betray her here!
When about half an hour had passed without further commotion outside, she burrowed cautiously out of her noxious cell and hoisted herself up to peek over the rim. The alley seemed to be clear.
She climbed out and tried to clean herself off, but it was hopeless; the fluids of the garbage had soaked through almost every part of her dress, and solids adhered here and there. She would be an obvious figure wherever she went!
Maybe I should take off my dress, she thought.
And become a spectacle for every juvenile hood in the area. Vita retorted with a certain grim relish.
Yet again, the voice of street experience! But where can we go? Jolie asked.
Why didn't you think of that before you skipped out on that date? I could've handled the fat man.
"Listen!" Jolie said aloud. "That man wanted illicit sex with a child!"
What else! That's howl pay my way. Maybe it's not the best life, but it's better than what I had before.
"What did you have before?"
This time Vita answered. Only a little incest.
"Only a little—!"
Before I bugged out.
"But surely your mother—"
Didn't want to know.
And I thought rape was bad! Orlene echoed.
It was rape all right! Vita thought. I fought him, but I couldn't stop him without making a commotion Mom would hear, so in the end I had to grin and bear it. I had asked for it, after all.
"I don't believe that!"
You don't? Genuine surprise. Want me to show you how it was?
They were standing outside the Dumpster, soaked in garbage. This was hardly the time for a prolonged internal dialogue! But Jolie realized that the girl was being much more forthcoming now, and might not soon again be so. "Yes, show me." She sat down by the Dumpster; this was as good a place as any, now that the chase was over.
Vita opened up the memory. Vita was propped on her bed in a pleasant room, watching a holo show. She was wearing a loose light shift that fell somewhat provocatively across her torso. A man entered: her stepfather. No—my natural father. Vita corrected Jolie's assumption.
Your genetic father! Orlene thought, shocked again.
He just had a fight with Mom and was mad. Wish I'd known! He saw up my nightie—I never thought—I mean, we used to sort of wrestle, and sometimes his hands—I thought it was just, you know, accidental feels, but he was getting hot for me and I shouldn't've led him on. So when it went too far—
Suddenly the man was on her, pinning her to the bed, one hand yanking open the top of her shift so that it tore. His other hand opened his own clothing.
Amazed, she struggled. I thought it was some kind of game. I mean, we'd tussled before, and he always let me win, 'specially when he got his hand on my ass. But this time he really held me down and—
There was no art, no mercy. The man spread his body on hers, driving in between her kicking legs. It was over in a moment, and he got off and lurched out, closing up his clothing. There had been no speech at all.
I didn't know what he'd done, at first. Vita thought. It was so sudden, mostly I felt my breath being squeezed out, I thought it was just his weight, pinning me, and something accidental jamming into me, like an elbow, only it wasn't. Maybe I didn't want to know! I could've screamed, and I guess I did know, because I knew if I screamed, he'd be dumped in jail and Mom would never forgive me. So I asked for it, really, by letting him feel me before, and see up my—by not trying to scream— Now the soul was crying.
"That was rape," Jolie said firmly. "Child sexual abuse and rape."
But I must've lured him on, spreading my legs like that! I didn't know that it's like a red flag to a bull, a man goes crazy, he can't help it—
It was rape! Orlene repeated. His guilt, not yours! Then, as an afterthought: Bulls are color-blind.
"I agree!" Jolie said. "A man can be overcome by lust—but not when he has had time to learn control, not when he's your father! Why did he come to your room at all? He had it in mind before he ever saw you."
Anyway, after that I packed up my stuff and got out of there. I knew I'd done wrong. I almost starved, before the pimp picked me up, and since I was already worthless, what did it matter, you know? So he took care of me, and I did what he said, and I guess I didn't want to live much. But the H made me feel better, and pretty soon the rest didn't matter.
"We'll have to get you help," Jolie said. "You can't just go home. But you can't stay on the street, either."
That's why I stayed where I was. Nowhere to go.
Jolie pondered alternatives. She could walk the girl to Luna's estate, which wasn't a great distance away. But Luna had sent her here, which meant that Luna knew Vita's situation. She could have fetched the girl herself, if that was the solution. Probably Luna had concluded that Vita needed to be treated from the inside, so that she could come to terms with her situation and return home voluntarily.
Home—to a father who had raped her? Definitely not that! So it was still Jolie's problem, hardly closer to solution than before. Homeless, garbage-laden, without money or other resources—what was she to do with this host now?
Well, there were homes for runaways. One of them should do as a temporary measure. All she had to do was locate one, or find someone who knew the address of the closest one.
She started walking. But now the back alley was becoming inhabited, as the evening approached. "Hey get a smell of that!" a juvenile boy exclaimed.
In a moment there was a circle of boys: too young to work, old enough to have bad ideas. They soon tired of exclaiming and making gestures of nose-holding, and worked up to more serious notions. "Open a hydrant! Hose her off! Strip her naked! Then—"
"Look, I'm trying to find a runaway house," Jolie said, and realized her mistake even as she spoke.
"So nobody knows where she is!" a boy cried happily. "Haul her to the water, then into our hideout. We'll have a hot time tonight!"
We're in for it now! Vita remarked. You and your big reform ideas. This is the real world! Then, as an afterthought: But maybe they've got a little H! For that I'll take them all on!
You'll do nothing of the kind! Jolie thought. But she was very much afraid that the alternative would be gang rape, which did not seem like much of an improvement. This was indeed the real world!
But as they closed on her, a police carpet floated down. Immediately one boy leaped for her, a knife showing in his fist. "Say it's nothing!" he whispered, holding the knife in such a way that the police could not see it, but ready for stabbing.
Jolie thought fast. "I'll do better than that!" she said. She scraped some garbage from her dress and threw it upward toward the carpet. "Take that, flatfoot!" It had been decades since police had sported flat feet, if ever, but the name clung.
What are you doing? Orlene asked, appalled.
I'm getting us arrested!
The garbage, inadequately thrown, missed, but the surrounding boys laughed. Jolie realized that she needed something more solid. Quickly she reached under her dress and hauled down her sodden panties, while the boys gawked appreciatively. She wadded these into a ball and hurled it at the carpet. "And that, jerks!"
But they'll lock us up! Vita protested. Streetwise, she knew better than to taunt police!
Yes—away from your father—and your pimp!
This time her aim was good. The ball smacked into the uniform of the leading cop. The boys almost fell down laughing.
"That does it!" the cop said. "You're coming with us, gamin!" The carpet dropped all the way to the pavement, while the boys scattered.
But won't they send us back home?
Not if we tell our story first.
"Phew!" the cop exclaimed, jumping off. "What you been in—a garbage dump?"
"Right," Jolie said. This was exactly what she wanted: to be arrested. When the police heard Vita's story, they would put her in a runaway house or the equivalent. She had taken a roundabout route, but she had gotten Vita out of a bad situation and into a better one, with the girl's consent.