She spoke with a speed that suggested panic, but everything she was saying made sense. It kept Sam grounded as well and he did as she asked, reaching up and touching the pulse spot beneath Callum’s jaw. He pressed his fingers in hard.
Please.
Come on Callum, please.
“Mom,” Sam breathed. “I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t say that Sammy, keep looking,” she said. There was a hard pleading note in her voice that broke his heart a little bit. He felt numb. His fingers moved, searched, and he could find nothing.
In the wisplight, Callum’s pale slack face looked like it could have been sleeping. And Sam…damn him but he wanted to be able to believe that even for just a few moments longer.
It couldn’t last.
The rest of the night was a blur. People came out of the bar to crane their necks and try to get a look even as Barghest ran them off a few at a time. Medics came, nephilim with healing blood that ‘did everything they could but were so sorry it wasn’t enough’.
There was a moment when Sam caught sight of Vivi and in a burst of wild rage and grief, he wanted her dead too, but Corvin’s eyes meeting his told him to hold his temper. And he did.
His family had a Hellwatch escort home that night. They said it was out of respect for the family. Samael knew it was at least half out of concern that they would take matters into their own hands if they didn’t have eyes on them.
They got home to find his little sister, Ely, not quite seventeen and thus not quite old enough to attend the party by only a couple of days, waiting for them in the living room. She stood and went to ask something, saw the looks on their faces and instead all she could say was, “What’s wrong? Where’s Callum?”
Ophelia started sobbing all over again, harsh braying sounds. Joey held her to him and turned his face away so Sam and Ely wouldn’t see him crying.
In the end, no one had to tell her. There are some things that need no words. There are some things for which there are none.
Nothing in the world felt real anymore. Like it was all eerie and stained in wisplight and Sam could not imagine it would ever be any other way from now on. Someone must have called Uncle Danny because he showed up before the sun came up and all of them just kind of sat together and waited for the dawn to come.
They waited for Callum to come home.
Every one of them knew it wasn’t going to happen. Not ever again.
Some mornings were more exhausting than any evening had the right to be, Barghest thought as he made his way down to the morgue. He was in uniform today, his glyphed breastplate a comforting weight on his broad chest and his claymore hanging between his shoulders. The scabbard had been made to sheathe only the bottom half of the blade to make it possible to draw, that way.
The waiting room of the morgue was a sterile place, lit by glowing sigils along the ceiling and walls. Lines of chairs filled the perimeter of the room, all of them empty. There was, however, one other person here, leaning against the wall with a coffee mug in her hand and another sitting, steaming on the counter.
“Still take your coffee black, Captain?” the woman asked. She wore a short dress, cut off just above the knee with a leather jacket over the top. Her hair was a firestorm of red curls framing a pale face and sharp blue eyes.
“Augury,” he said. “I should have known you’d poke your nose into this.”
She held out the mug to him.
“High profile case like this? You bet your shining armor. Someone wanted to make sure there were eyes on it that weren’t in the government’s pocket.”
“The Hellwatch isn’t in the government’s pocket,” he said, dryly, taking a sip of coffee. It was blisteringly hot, but nothing at all compared to planar fire, and the glyphs on his breastplate glowed softly, mitigating the effect somewhat.
“But they pay your checks,” Augury said, a note of teasing in her voice.
“We’re publicly funded, yes,” Barghest said. “Whose coffee cup is that?”
“Mine,” she said.
“You don’t work here,” Barghest said.
“No, but I’m here often enough that it’s generally good practice to have my own receptacle,” Augury said, holding up her cup and grinning in a way he could only describe as shit-eating. “Besides, I heard Clarice was complaining about me hijacking hers.”
“Just because you’re both cambion doesn’t mean she wants to be drinking after you,” Barghest said, unable to stop his smirk. They didn’t even have the same kind of demonic blood in their veins. “So I can’t stop you from coming on board?”
“Nope,” she said.
“And I can’t get you to sign on for the proper training?” he asked.
“Nope,” she said, smiling more brightly now. “Besides, I am trained, just not for fighting rogue demons. I’m a private investigator, Tin Can. What you do is a beautiful service to this city but you want someone with my expertise involved in this particular mess.”
A face peeked around the corner and Barghest glanced over to see Martin Logan looking at them, his already large blue-eyes magnified tenfold by soda bottle glass lenses.
“Come on,” he said, “the body is ready for you if you would follow me.”
“Hard case this time,” Augury said, falling into step with Barghest as they followed Martin down the hall. “Surprised they let you on it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Weren’t you fighting with the deceased last night?” Augury asked.
“That’s a gross overstatement,” Barghest said, snorting. “The kid tried to pick a fight with me because I was talking about Ophelia. She came up in conversation. I wasn’t about to pick on a hot-headed child.”
“Good to hear,” Augury said, “and I believe you, but just know that people noticed and they’ve been talking about it.”
The morgue door opened and the accompanying chill spilled out into the hall. An entirely different set of sigils flared to life, regulating Barghest’s core temperature as he followed Augury into the room.
Martin peeled back a white sheet from the body to let them have their look.
“If I had my suspicions before,” she said, “I certainly don’t now.”
Barghest immediately noticed what she meant. The cause of death was evident; there was a stab wound on his chest, below the heart but spaced just right to have punctured a lung.
“Someone did this with a dagger,” Augury said. “Look at how it tears around the sides; it was probably serrated on one side. I’m going to guess about four inches long. You couldn’t have done that with your claymore and I don’t think you know how to fight with anything else.”
Barghest grunted in response, acknowledging her statement and how thoroughly he disagreed with her. Not about the blade, though, now that she mentioned it he could see what she meant.
There were no other markings on him, no other wounds and no signs of a struggle.
“Isn’t he afrite?” Augury asked.
“He was,” Barghest said.
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense,” Augury said, furrowing her brow and looking up at him.
“What do you mean?” Barghest asked.
“This wound tried to knit together before he died. It looks like it’s a whole day old by now,” Augury said. “That would make sense if he were a rhakshasa, but afrite-blooded cambion don’t heal any faster than regular humans do. I would know, I am one. We pretty much do fire and that’s it.”
“So what does that mean?” Barghest asked.
“I don’t know,” Augury said, folding her arms. “He’s not breathing, he’s been in a morgue drawer all night. His mother is a nephil, right? So could she have maybe tried to heal him?”
“Seraphim don’t do that,” he said.
“Which means someone had to have been around that could have,” Augury said. “We need to find out how long it was between when he was stabbed and when the family found him, how long someone would have had to try to s
ave him before they ran off. It’s possible he was stabbed on accident and someone tried to fix their mistake, but…you don’t like speculation.”
“It’s all speculation at this point,” Barghest said. “I don’t think we should count anything out.”
“The point is it was definitely an antemortem wound,” Augury said, folding her arms. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say it happened a whole day before he died.”
“Not a bad observation,” Martin said, softly. “I came to that conclusion myself as well, except…”
“Except?” Barghest asked.
“Well, it looked worse last night,” Martin said.
“So he’s dead,” Barghest said, “and it’s still healing.”
“No,” Martin said, “he’d have to be breathing, he’d have to have a heartbeat, in order for it to be healing. There is some magic presence in the wound, though. I wouldn’t call it healing, but something about that dagger is making the wound close after the fact.”
“Are you sure it was the dagger?” Augury asked. “Couldn’t someone have used some kind of spell for that? Maybe trying to destroy the evidence?”
Martin paled.
“Is that actually possible?”
Martin and Augury both glanced at Barghest. There was a stretch of silence and he said, “Everyone is looking at the sword guy to ask if magic is possible?”
“I’m thinking,” Augury said. “Quit flapping your gums for a second. I’ve heard of people making meat golems before, and the preta manage to sustain themselves completely after death and as far as I’m aware they heal, but afrite can’t do that either and other kinds of cambion can’t become preta once they’ve died like humans can.”
She sighed and took one more look at the body.
“If that wound is knitting itself shut, we have to assume there’s a witch involved,” Augury said. “It’s possible that nephilim healing magic carried over postmortem. It’s possible someone cast a spell trying to cover their own tracks. It could have been a lot of things. But it was definitely magic.”
Barghest sighed.
“Fine,” he said, “you’re on board.”
“I was on board anyway,” Augury said, smirking.
“I could always get someone from the academy,” Barghest said.
“Don’t even pretend that was ever an option,” Augury said. “I know how much you hate their bureaucracy.”
“Hate it or not, I do what’s necessary,” Barghest said.
“I mean, if you want to take the time to go and ask them and wait the nine weeks for them to get back to you, I can always have this whole thing wrapped up by the time you get their first ‘maybe’,” Augury said. She shifted her weight back on one leg and grinned at him.
“What would you suggest?” Barghest asked, sighing.
“Keep me on board, like you said,” Augury said, “and we keep each other informed. All cards out on the table. I’ll be your esoteric adviser. You’ll be my Hellwatch liaison.”
“And what exactly qualifies you to be an esoteric adviser again?” Barghest asked.
“Noticing all of the magical baloney that was happening here,” she said. “You know, the postmortem healing that you wouldn’t have caught if you’d come down here on your own? The fact that I’m well versed in the summoning arts and know what every kind of demon can do, not just the ones that sometimes run amok? Shall I go on? I do love singing my own praises.”
“You noticed it,” he said. “Can you explain it?”
“Not yet,” she said. “But I’d bet my bottom dollar neither can the academy for sure, and I’m not making you wait nine weeks.”
Barghest sighed again.
“Fine,” he said.
“Glad to have you on board, Tin Can,” Augury said. “I’ll see you later tonight and we’ll swap notes.”
“Right,” Barghest said. He glanced back at Martin who busied himself looking at what was written on the toe tag of the body, nervously. Barghest was pretty sure Martin had written it.
Somewhere behind him, the door shut as Augury made her way out. He sipped his coffee. Some mornings were more exhausting than any evening had the right to be.
The air in the alley was brisk and his suit jacket did little to keep out the cold. The afrite fire burning in his belly did enough.
The bricks were still stained with his son’s blood. The walls were plastered with the propaganda posters decrying the evils of unlicensed summoning and glorifying the aristocracy. It was all background noise to him.
Joey took a knee with his brow furrowed to look around at the bloody patch on the ground where Callum had…
“Joey?” a familiar voice asked.
He glanced up. Madame Haywood was coming towards him, a fur stole around her shoulders. Her hair was cerulean blue, and he knew her well enough to know that it was natural. Concubi, even half-concubi, were not limited to the shades of blond, red and brown that humans had.
“Zenith,” he said, by way of acknowledgment, but looking away from her, back to the bricks underfoot.
“I just wanted you to know I had no idea,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know how painful this must be for you.”
Her heels clicked against the bricks. He felt a tightness in his chest and refused to look up at her as his eyes fixed on the red-brown stain.
“Painful?” he asked. “No. There’s no time for pain yet, but when I find out what happened there’ll be a lot of it.”
“Joey,” she said, softly. “If there’s anything I can do don’t hesitate to let me know, alright? I know we haven’t been best friends since I got back into town, but you’re still important to me. I can’t bring down fire, but I can help in other ways. I have the busiest bar in town and people talk. I can keep an ear out for you. Let my employees know to do the same.”
He exhaled and his breath spiraled through the air in a cloud of dark steam. He wished she would just go, but it wasn’t a good idea to burn bridges in a moment like this.
“Just keep an ear to the ground,” he said. “And let me know if anything comes up.”
She stopped in her tracks, two yards away. She dipped into a slight bow with a nod.
“I will,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out here, too. Just be careful, won’t you?”
She stood where she was and in his peripheral vision he could see her fingers clutching the collar of her stole. She was shivering a little bit in the cool weather.
“Have I ever been anything else?” he asked, his lip tugging into a smirk.
“Oh yes,” she said, chuckling. Her breath came out in a cloud of rolling steam. “But never about your personal safety. Just know that I have your back and anything the Ninth Circle can offer, I’m more than willing to give.”
Behind her, Uther cleared his throat. Joey did glance up at that.
Uther Haywood was Zenith’s brother. His hair was crimson red and shaved down into a mohawk and his build was muscular. Concubi, even halfbred ones, had the ability to shift between male and female bodies, and he hadn’t seen Uther do that since Zenith had come back from her year-long sabbatical in Neith City a few decades back. He’d been going by ‘Ursella’ before that point.
It wasn’t Joey’s business.
“I’ll let you know,” he said.
At that point he wasn’t too keen on sticking around. He’d seen what there was to see, and it was starting to snow. Whatever there had been to find, the Hellwatch had already documented it and cleaned it up.
Life goes on.
His hands were in his pockets to protect them from the chill when he got back around to the dock district. A figure in the distance was already flagging him down. He straightened.
“Hazel, what can I do for you?” he asked. The woman was in her seventies, bundled in several layers of shawls and afghans in an attempt to keep the cold out. Her arthritic hands were still calloused from constant knitting and clutched at the shawls to keep them close to her. “And what are you doing out here? Come on
, let’s get you inside.”
He put a hand between her shoulder blades to guide her back towards the door of her tailor shop.
“Oh, Joey, you were always such a good boy,” she said, putting her withered hand on top of his and giving it a pat. “I am so sorry to hear about your son.”
He tried a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She meant it. Of course she did.
“That’s not something you need to worry about,” he said. “Come on.”
“That’s just it,” she said, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to bother you with something like this right now, but I don’t have a lot of time. I’m not so sure I’ll have an inside to go back to for long.”
Now, he frowned openly.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“My landlord is selling the property to a man that keeps buying up the homes and businesses on my block and he wants to knock it all down to build some kind of factory,” she said. “I’m going to need somewhere else to go and I know you rent the secondary house on your estate’s property sometimes. I don’t have much, but I could be out by the time it starts warming up.”
“Sure,” he said, “but we’ll see if it’s necessary, alright? Do you have the name of the guy that keeps buying up the buildings?”
Hazel shook her head.
“Your landlord, then,” he said.
“Garret Malhanna,” she said.
“I’ll talk to him,” Joey said. “You get inside where it’s warm, alright?”
Hazel was a nice old lady. Reminded him of his mother, sometimes. Even if she didn’t she was still one of his people. He was going to see to it that she was taken care of.
CHAPTER TWO
The Devil's Breath
“Hello, Daelan City, this is the Voice of the Night speaking, here again to cast some shadows and bring you the news that those who walk in daylight don’t want you to know.
Last night, a death. A murder. And none other than Callum Trezza, son of the notorious Joey Trezza, strongly rumored to be involved in shoeshiner activity. No one knows exactly how he got involved with Ophelia, but I can tell you one thing. It was fast and it was kept on the sly.
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