Doom Sayer (City of Crows Book 4)

by Coulson, Clara

  “Thus improving the outcome of their recruitment efforts.” My gaze drifts back to the street. Sirens wail in the distance. “But this is a huge risk, don’t you think? The potential death toll is so high. I can’t imagine even the MG would go this far to raise their numbers. There aren’t that many ICM practitioners to begin with. This could wipe out hundreds before we get it under control.”

  “Ah”—he pats my head like I’m a child—“but you’re assuming they don’t already have a counter-curse ready to go. As soon as the situation starts to look dire, bodies in the streets, doomsday headlines splashed across the national news, I’ll bet you anything they deploy the counter-curse and take the credit for ‘saving the lives of the world’s practitioners from the vampire menace.’ I’ve told you before, kid, these people are crazy. They’re fanatics. There’s no level they won’t sink to in order to get what they want. The Wellington disaster should’ve proved that to you.”

  “Motherfucker.” I rub my chin. “If the practitioners flee the city and spread the curse, we’re royally screwed. What the hell do we do?”

  “You mean, what the hell do you do? Because, like I said, I’m leaving.”

  “What? You’re just going to leave and let the MG wreck the city? You self-serving bastard!” My fist flies up to clock him, but he catches it with ease.

  He leans in and tugs me forward by the arm, until our foreheads are nearly touching. “My absence is for your benefit, kid, not your detriment. Almost all vampires are practitioners too, remember? Which means there’s a very high chance this curse could infect me and my team, along with any other vampires in the city. Right now, my people are calling every vampire we know and instructing them to leave ASAP, because if a vampire comes into contact with a curse that can cause extreme aggression…?”

  “Oh, shit.” I release the tension in my fist. “You could kill dozens of people before we’d be able to stop you.”

  “Try hundreds, Kinsey. Hundreds. Rabid vampires are no joke.”

  “Okay, fine, you have to leave. I get it.” I gently tug my captured arm. He releases me, and I put some distance between us. “But you are going to gift me with some helpful intelligence before you leave, right? Else you would’ve skipped town without the courtesy call.”

  “Correct.” He retakes his original stance against the wall. “Since I can’t risk staying in Aurora, I will once again require the help of you and your cohorts to eliminate the Methuselah threat. Worked out all right last time, I figure.”

  “Hey, I saved your life.” I point a judgmental index finger at his haughty face. “Feldman would’ve roasted your ass if it wasn’t for me.”

  “And I saved yours,” he fires back. “You would’ve bled to death in that filthy locker room if I had liked you any less.”

  “You make it sound like you like me at all.”

  “I do like you. You amuse me.”

  “Just get to the point, Lucian.” I raise my hands in exasperation. “If Amy and Desmond look this way and don’t see me safe and sound, you’re going to end up on the receiving end of an ass-whooping by an army vet with an anger problem and an ex-philosophy professor who can probably punch through a wall.”

  Lucian scrunches his eyebrows. “Wait, the tiny Asian lady is a soldier?”

  “Dude! Intel, now.”

  “Okay, fine. Cool your jets. Here’s what I know.” He holds up one hand and starts to count off with his fingers as he speaks. “One, any practitioner who appears to be immune to the curse is undoubtedly in on the plot. Curses don’t work like regular diseases. There’s no natural immunity. Two, there’s been a lot of chatter through my network lately that the MG is gearing up for their next big show. But personally, I think the curse is either a cover for or a single part of a larger move. So be on the lookout for other modes of attack, from all directions. And three, with Iron Delos at the reigns of the Aurora ICM chapter, you can’t count on any practitioners to help you. No one’s crazy enough to rub him the wrong way. So you’ll have to discount—”

  “Cal?” Amy shouts down the street, alerted to my absence.

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Lucian finishes bluntly. “Sorry I can’t be more specific about the MG’s movements. But you know how slippery they are.”

  “Hah!” I jab a finger into his chest. “The farm. Three weeks ago. They got away from you, didn’t they?”

  He swats my hand. “Not like you did much better.”

  “Oh, shut up.” I make a shoo gesture toward the end of the alley that opens onto a service street behind the townhouses. “You could’ve warned us and you chose not to, so that failure’s on you, not us. And if you want me to consider you in a better light, act like a better ally next time.”

  Lucian rolls his eyes, and suddenly smacks both my cheeks between his hands. “I’m already a better ally than DSI deserves,” he says in a sing-song voice. “So don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Then he straightens up, slides his hands off my face, and observes me for a couple seconds with an expression that’s half serious and half bullshit. “But seriously, Kinsey, try to come out the other end of this bitch fight alive, please. I’d hate to have to curate another Crow contact. You people tend to be boring as sin, uptight as nuns, or bitter as a contested divorce. I really do like you. Don’t ruin it with a funeral.”

  Heavy footsteps draw near—Amy coming to check on me—and Lucian, finally out of words to irritate me with, mock salutes, turns toward the far end of the alley, and disappears in a blur as my eyes fail to keep up with his vampire speed. When Amy reaches the end of the alley that opens onto Conway, she finds nothing but Cal Kinsey with stinging cheeks, standing alone in the shadows like a fool.

  Chapter Eight

  The office is eerily quiet when we return. The decontamination chamber has been removed from the garage entrance, and the two guards still standing by are no longer wearing hazmat gear. My team walks in and badges through the turnstiles, as if we’re in the middle of a normal day of supernatural crime fighting, but the absolute silence that greets us in the hallway dispels the illusion. The DSI building is never silent, not even on the night shift. The empty hallways, the absent background chatter, the darkened rooms and locked doors—all those details speak of a crisis like none we’ve ever faced.

  Riker gestures to the guard on the left. “Status update?”

  The guy shrugs, dejected. “Three more deaths, unfortunately. But we’ve stopped the spread of the infection through the building. All the victims have been taken to the infirmary for care, and all at-risk agents still in good health have been sent home with orders to remain isolated indefinitely, except Dr. Navarro. He skipped out on quarantine a few minutes ago and went up to five to meet with Captain Sing’s team and the CDC people. They’re setting up a command center to monitor the progression of the infection through the city.”

  “I’m guessing cases are starting to roll into the hospitals?” Ella says.

  “Yep,” the guard on the right answers. “First reports came in while you were handling that incident on Conway. Eighty-nine civilians infected, as of the last update.”

  “It’s moving so fast.” Ella clenches her fists. “We need to have a strategy talk and get on the ball, Nick, or we’re looking at the worst American terrorist attack since 9/11.”

  “Let’s check in with Naomi first, make sure the CDC people have all the resources they need, and when Delarosa’s team finishes clearing the Conway scene and gets that witch locked up in holding”—he trudges over to the nearest elevator and hits the up button—“then we’ll organize our forces, what little we have left anyway, with so many of our agents benched until the threat passes. I think we should be ready to roll out in full force around two o’clock, at the latest. That gives us three hours to figure out what the hell we’re actually going to do.”

  “All the active teams without specific assignments have been deployed to the borders already, right?” Ella asks the guards.

  “Yes, m
a’am,” left guard answers. “Last team went out about fifteen minutes back. It took a little while to get them organized because a lot of teams had individual members sent home. But everyone available is heading out to meet up with the National Guard and seal the borders of the city.”

  “What about the media?” Desmond says just as the elevator doors roll open. “How bad is it?”

  “Internet’s already fired up, rumors everywhere on social media,” right guard says.

  “TV and papers are slowly catching up though,” left guard adds. “I expect the reporters will be swarming the mayor’s office, the police stations, and given our public demonstrations today, this building, sometime in the next hour.”

  “Tighten security on all entrances, as best you can with your current manpower.” Riker steps into the elevator.

  “Yes, sir,” both guards say together.

  The rest of my team enters the elevator, and as soon as the doors close, blocking us off from any possible nosiness on the part of the guards, Amy leans against the railing and snorts. “That damn vampire, always dropping us half the information we need and expecting us to do all his work for him.”

  “And you’re sure you recounted everything he said, Cal?” Riker asks. “You didn’t leave anything out?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I chew on the inside of my cheek. “What, you don’t trust me?”

  “You, I trust implicitly. Lucian Ardelean? Not so much.”

  “Fair enough.” I adjust my beggar rings nervously and notice a tiny crack on my right force ring. I must’ve slightly overloaded it when I blasted that wizard from the deli into the street. An entire year has gone by since I graduated from the academy, and I still suck at beggar magic. Here’s to hoping that won’t be my fatal flaw, in the end.

  “Well,” Ella points out, “we have no other intelligence to rely on, so we have to assume, albeit cautiously, that Ardelean told us the truth and his sources are solid.”

  “He didn’t tell us nearly enough though.” Amy grips the railing tightly. “We don’t have any suspects yet, and without the curse creator in custody, or at least without their notes in hand, we can’t stop the curse from spreading or cure the people who already have it. At the rate this thing is burning through people…”

  Desmond grasps her shoulder. “We’ll find the practitioner responsible. And we’ll save this city. Aurora weathered the Wellington disaster and came out strong and proud on the other side. The people will weather this too.”

  “Yeah,” she mutters. “But that doesn’t make me feel good about the rising body count.”

  “Me either,” Desmond concedes.

  The elevator clanks to a stop on the fifth floor, and the doors roll open to reveal Navarro waiting for us. The good doctor looks exhausted, not physically but mentally, as if watching his infirmary fall apart and his staff fall ill has damaged his soul just as much as the curse could have. He scans my team as we emerge from the elevator, and his critical gaze settles on me. “Kinsey, nice to see you’ve decided to return and stop unnecessarily risking yourself.”

  I freeze mid-step. “Well, I mean, I feel fine, and the curse hasn’t spread that far through the city yet, and…”

  Navarro quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. I’m not just blaming you for the recklessness.” He turns to Riker. “You shouldn’t have let him leave the building when you came back from Wayland. We’ve got forty-three people sick in the infirmary now, the majority of them like Cal, with magic sensing skills or some other negligible talent. Every time he comes into contact with the curse, he risks infection, and now that cases are popping up all over the city, it’s simply not safe for him to keep moving around.”

  “Come on,” I whine like a child who just had his favorite toy snatched. “You can’t seriously expect me to bench myself when we’re in the middle of a crisis of this scale.”

  “Why not? Dozens of other agents voluntarily went home to protect themselves, so they could live to fight another day. They know when to throw in the towel, Kinsey, unlike you.” He holds up his hand before I can clap back. “But, since experience has told me you’ll find a way to be irresponsible even if I strap you to a gurney, I’ll let you stay on in an administrative capacity. Same as me. We need as many bodies as possible helping to coordinate the CDC’s efforts to maintain quarantine and slow the spread of the curse, and the fact that you’re an Aurora native and know the city well will make you very useful when it comes to planning logistics.”

  I purse my lips. “So, basically, you want me to sit in a chair and talk to people all day.”

  “Take it or leave it.” He tucks the clipboard he was carrying under his arm. “If you leave it, I’ll have you sent home and locked in your apartment with wards. I’m not losing any more agents than I have to, understand? I’ve already lost too many, and I’m going to lose more before the day is out.”

  The desire to complain burns hot in my chest, but I douse it with logic. Navarro’s right. I was lucky not to get infected at Kelly’s this morning, and again at the deli. I could get struck down at any time, if I keep racing around the streets. But still, the idea of being stuck in the office, unable to assist the rest of my team in what is bound to be a series of high-stakes battles, makes my chest ache. I mean, they’ll probably swap me out with someone from Naomi’s team, since none of them have “lesser magic skills.” But then Naomi will have to deal with my sarcastic ass all day while she tries to manage the office, and I’m pretty sure she’s still tired of me after our adventures fighting wraiths at the Wellington disaster zone.

  “All right,” I groan out, “I’ll be a good boy and stay put.”

  Amy playfully smacks me on the back. “Don’t worry, Kinsey. I’ll be sure to give you a play-by-play of all the sweet action you miss.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No problem!”

  Ella huffs. “Stop teasing him.”

  Amy backs off, stifling a smirk.

  “I assume Naomi commandeered the usual task room.” Riker points down the hall, to the room we’ve been using for our ongoing Methuselah hunt.

  “It’s the biggest task room, so yes,” Navarro replies. “We moved all your current case materials to your office. Don’t worry. I made sure it was kept organized.” He coughs. “And that no one saw anything more than they needed to.”

  “Much appreciated.” Riker pats Navarro on the arm. “Now, let’s go have a talk with the CDC.”

  “One sec.” Amy holds up a finger. “Is the cafeteria open?”

  “Um,” Navarro says, “I believe so.”

  “Is this really the time, Major?” Desmond asks.

  “It’s going to be a long day,” she says, “and we’ll have to eat at some point. I think we should stock up on snacks, so we don’t have to make any pit stops while we’re in the middle of tracking down rogue practitioners.”

  “Ah.” Desmond slowly nods. “That’s a good point.”

  “I suppose.” Riker scrunches his nose in mild irritation at the acknowledgement we are in fact human beings with physical needs. “Cal, how about you start making yourself useful in your new role and grab us some food?”

  “Oh, so now I’m the freaking errand boy?”

  Ella frowns at me in the way only a stern mother can.

  I moan like the child she treats me as and say, “Fine,” in my best moody teenager voice.

  Spinning on my toes, I shuffle back to the elevator and glare daggers at everyone as they head on to the task room without me. I’m not really that angry though, because if the building has been cleared of all danger, infirmary level excluded, then that means Cooper is free to roam the halls again, and we might be able to meet for a quick lunch and catch up and maybe make out in that supply closet we used last week.

  (And before you judge me, please remember that one, I’m a young person, and two, perpetual frustration with the difficulties of one’s job can often be partially resolved through certain intimate activities. In other words, I’m horny and nee
d to blow off some steam. Sue me. I save the world for a living.)

  I shoot off a text to Cooper about my desire for a lunch rendezvous and wait impatiently for the rickety elevator to drop me off at the cafeteria floor. When it finally arrives, I step out into yet another hall devoid of life, the only voices emanating from the cafeteria itself. But even the cafeteria is emptier than it should be. The double doors are hanging open, but the half of the expansive room I can see through the doorway is completely uninhabited, save for two analysts sitting at the end of a long table by themselves, picking at trays of food. They aren’t talking. The voices must belong to the cooks in the kitchen.

  What a desolate scene—

  The stairwell door to my right swings open, and Cooper barges into the hallway, out of breath like he ran two miles to get here. He freezes for a split second as he catches sight of me. Then he grabs me by the arm and drags me out of view of the cafeteria, yanks open a door to a different supply closet than the one we used for our last covert rendezvous, and pushes me inside. Next, he frantically glances around the hallway, as if searching for onlookers, and finding none, he joins me in the closet and quietly closes the door. For a few moments, he stands there, forehead pressed against the cool metal door, gasping for air.

  Confused, I say, “Uh, Cooper, as much as I enjoy sneaking sexy moments with you into my workday, I think this particular closet is a bit too close to an area of major traffic to be safe.”

  Cooper breathes out, “T-This isn’t about sex, Cal.” His voice trembles with each word. “Y-You h-have a big problem. W-We have a b-big problem.”

  He hasn’t stuttered this badly since the day I met him last year.

  I gently grab his arm and coax him to turn around. “Hey, Coop, what’s going on?”

  His baby blues are on the verge of tears. “Christ, Cal, I-I don’t know what the hell’s really going on, I won’t even pretend to, b-but you need to get out of this building right now and hide. Like, hide from everyone. Drop off the grid.”