Bloodlines (The Guardian of Empire City Book 1)

by Peter Hartog

  “How?” it wailed, clutching at the hole, but its hands caught on fire, engulfing the flesh. “How is this possible?”

  “A friend once told me all you need is a little faith,” I responded, then put a second bullet in its left leg. “So I found another way.”

  More of the fire raced along its body, devouring the shadowy thing underneath. It backed away from me, fear and madness riding in its eyes.

  “This isn’t over, Guardian!” it screamed, spittle flying from its lips. “We shall return!”

  “No, you won’t,” I said, the silver fire of the Insight burning in my eyes. “But even if you do, I’ll still be here. And I’ll be waiting.”

  I fired.

  The impact propelled the creature through the yawning opening behind it, and out into the wind.

  As Rumpelstiltskin spiraled into the swirling darkness below, it tore in two, consumed by white fire.

  Chapter 40

  Bill Mahoney took charge the moment he arrived. A light drizzle patterned everything, so without missing a beat, Mahoney set up a covered command center. It even boasted a beverage station. Mahoney had thought of everything, bless his crotchety soul. Nobody came in or out without his approving glare. The linked pavilions encompassed half a city block, centered around the spot where Blakely’s remains lay. Two stone-faced officers kept watch over the corpse. Blakely had hit the ground with such force his body had fissured the pavement. The lingering stench of charred flesh, hair, and bone made my stomach turn. I looked away before I added new evidence to the crime scene.

  The memory of the master fetch’s fangs about to end my life before Besim’s deus ex clamo saved us all sickened me. I’d be having nightmares about that one for a long time.

  I swirled the coffee cup one of the uniforms had handed me. The CSI guys combed the area, collecting evidence, asking questions and taking images. It was nice to see them. I’d almost forgotten what they looked like.

  Off to our left was the ground floor entrance to Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals, filled with dozens of officers, first responders, gawkers, and reporters. I even saw Rena Somethingorother from The Daily Dose.

  The pharmaceutical giant’s legion of lawyers performed damage control, well-groomed men and women in designer suits speaking with anyone with a recording device. Several gestured in our direction, but I ignored them.

  I guess that’s what happens when one of their employees plummets thirty stories to splatter on the pavement. Just like Frederick Murray. I thought about him for a minute. Poor guy. With Rumpelstiltskin pavement candy, at least goldjoy was off the streets. But there’d be other jumpers, high on the next drug du jour, falling off some rooftop because they were too jacked to care.

  Empire City was like that. Some things never changed.

  “And then you shot him?” Mahoney asked, rubbing his jaw. He lowered his voice, glancing around to make certain no one was within earshot. “With consecrated bullets?”

  “Yeah,” I answered with a weak smile, tugging at the heavy blanket a nice paramedic had given me. “I went to see an old friend. Thought the bullets might help.”

  “Is that right?” Mahoney murmured.

  At the time, I had thought I was being clever, dipping six regular rounds in the font back at the Holy Redeemer while Besim dazzled me with her pep talk. I had no idea what we’d be up against when we confronted Rumpelstiltskin. The fight at Kraze had opened my eyes to a very different type of warfare. I had no plans on getting caught flat-footed like that again. Since Father Jack refused, I’d have to help myself.

  When I checked the gun after our showdown, the ammo meter read nine shots discharged. The troubling thing was, I knew I had missed with the first six.

  “Said a couple ‘Hail Marys’ for good measure, then came here,” I added quickly, not meeting his eyes. “Deacon said the only things that could hurt a fetch were consecrated weapons. Since he and his magic baseball bat got benched, I needed to upgrade the old arsenal.”

  “Right,” he responded, drawing the word out. “I remember. Thought you were Jewish, though. Why not go to your rabbi?”

  “Uh, yeah, well someone once told me that sometimes, you just need faith,” I replied, echoing my words to Rumpelstiltskin before he burned. “He didn’t say which flavor. And I was in a hurry. Let’s stick with that, ok?”

  “Fair enough.” Mahoney studied me with a solemn expression. “What about Besim?”

  “What about her?” I said harshly, then took a long draw from the cup. I didn’t blame Mahoney for hiding anything from me. My gut told me she’d probably kept him in the dark too. “Her people arrived before ours and escorted her back to the hotel. She was pretty shaken up by the whole thing.”

  I explained goldjoy’s debilitating effect on Vellans. Bill didn’t press me for more.

  “I’m heading over there to pick up Leyla, and check in on Deacon,” I finished. “Speaking of which, I don’t expect you to pay Leyla any consultant’s fee. Since I brought her in, I’ll handle that out of my own pocket. She’s definitely earned it.”

  “That’s not necessary,” the captain said. “When you file the report, make sure you mention her involvement, minus any illegal holo-activity. Maybe we can scrounge up a few credits for a job well done.”

  I nodded my thanks. A sudden thought hit me.

  “Wait, does that mean I’m going to get paid too?” I asked hopefully.

  “You’re still a part of Special Crimes, Detective,” he admonished in a stern voice, before his expression softened. “The mayor signed off on our funding about an hour ago, so no one’s firing you just yet. Take a few days off, Tom. You’ve been through hell. And go see a doctor about those cuts and bruises. When you’re feeling better, report to me Monday at 0800.”

  “Monday?” I blinked, the excitement growing in my stomach. “There’s another case?”

  “There’s always another case, son,” he said with a grimace. “SCU is front page news, thanks to you. All the feeds are eating this up. People like Sam Gaffney may not be fans, but you did good, Tom. The mayor has high expectations for us.”

  It’s hard to glow with pride when your face is a crossword puzzle of razor thin, angry cuts, but I tried anyway.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I resisted the urge to hug him. Instead, I finished the last of my coffee, said my goodbyes, and went in search of a refill.

  A few minutes later, EVI picked me up for the trip to L’Hotel Internacional. Along the way, I called Abner to let him know I’d be bringing Leyla home soon. He asked if I would stay for dinner, as well as a few hands of cribbage. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  The hotel lobby hummed with activity. A few people gave me curious looks, but I just kept walking. Mamika met me by the elevator, ushering me into the car with a courteous gesture. As soon as we arrived, a flash of white hair and intense cold greeted me with a crushing bear hug.

  “Doc!” Leyla cried, releasing me after the third squeeze. She gave me a critical look. “You look awful!”

  “You should see the other guy,” I said with a weary smile.

  “No shit,” drawled Deacon, stepping in to shake my hand. His right arm glimmered with the zero-gravity cast, while thick bandages wrapped his shoulder down to his forearm. His nose was crooked and purple. “’Cause you sure don’t look pretty.”

  “You’re looking better,” I commented dryly, nodding at the cast.

  “I haven’t had a goddamn cigarette in nearly twenty-four fucking hours,” he complained. “Stupid, goddamn antibiotics and painkillers. As if that shit’ll help. It’s liable to kill me before it cures a goddamn thing.”

  “Yet you’re still taking them,” I observed.

  “Fuck you, Holliday,” he growled, although I caught the ghost of a smile.

  We matriculated to the living room. Besim stood by the window speaking with Mamika in hushed tones.

  The curtains had been drawn away from the window. As I stared out the clear glass, something dark shifted
in the gray gloom. For a moment, it resembled the silhouette of a man. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and the shadow was gone. Must’ve been a trick of the light. Damn, I was tired.

  I reached into my blazer pocket and wrapped my fingers around the twisted metal fragment. It felt warm to the touch but cooled as if I’d caught it stealing from the cookie jar. Releasing it, I shook my head with a wry smile. My imagination was really getting the better of me. A hot shower and a two-day nap would do the trick. And a lot more rugelach.

  Someone had left a mug of black coffee, cream, and sugar on the table, but I wasn’t interested. Leaning deeper into the cushions, I filled Deacon and Leyla in on my encounter with Julie and Orpheus at Ettelman’s office. The part about the Guardian, her brother, and the Game I’d leave for another day.

  “Wow,” Leyla whistled. “Do you have any idea why Orpheus was involved in all this?”

  “No,” I lied with a straight face. “We figured Orpheus wasn’t in it for the credits, and I still think that’s true. She said they’d been partners for a long time, but she never told me why, or what she gained from it. Honestly, I think she did it because she thought it was fun.”

  “Well, while you were busy playing hero, I tried backtracking Marko’s dual signal,” Leyla yawned, sprawling in a comfortable chair by the workstation. “After a while, I got bored with that, so I tuned into the Wrigley-Boes feed. Right about the time Rumpelstiltskin tried to kill you.”

  “You saw that?” I asked. Chills crawled down my spine.

  “Most of it,” she grinned, but my discomfort went unnoticed. “I slipped a tracker onto your jacket before you left. It was Deacon’s idea. We wanted to keep tabs on you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I made a sour face.

  “You’re welcome,” Leyla replied brightly. “Anyway, the tracker showed you were at the deli. I figured you stopped for coffee while planning your next move. But then it went dark, as if it got fried or something. I knew something was wrong. That’s when Mamika got the call from Besim. She told us what happened. We both wanted to come to you, but Mamika wouldn’t let us. Right after that, the tracker reactivated, and you were on the move again. Then you called us from the pod on your way to Wrigley-Boes. Since I had already hacked into their network, picking up their internal feed was easy.”

  “You were damn lucky getting past their security,” Deacon added. “I’d forgotten about Saranda’s relationship with Solomon. I sent a team to the building across the street in case you needed a quick evac. By that time, though, you’d already taken Blakely into custody.”

  “Yeah, and then the shit hit the fan,” I said, shuddering at the memory. “The moment the elevator doors closed he activated the same dampening device in his phone that Flanagan had used. It shut down everything except the local elevator controls.”

  “It’s real useful, whatever it is. Wish I had one,” Leyla sighed wistfully. “Deacon was about to give the order to storm the building when the feed popped back on. We watched what happened after that, but there was no audio. Jesus, Doc, that was some scary shit!”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered, shifting my weight on the couch.

  “Saranda filled us in on most of the details,” Deacon said, nodding at Besim. “There’s a special kind of hell for that piece of shit. Burning it was a kindness. You’ll have to tell me how you killed the damn thing with that peashooter of yours, Holliday. I didn’t think consecrated bullets were standard issue for Empire cops.”

  “Maybe not ECPD, but they should be for SCU.” I gave him a tight-lipped smile.

  Mamika strode from the room, but not before inquiring if any of us needed anything. I declined, offering my thanks. Besim hadn’t moved. Her back was to us, hands clasped before her.

  “Did you learn anything more about Marko’s signal?” I asked, changing the subject.

  The cushions did their best to swallow me, and I almost obliged them. I was beat, both physically and otherwise, but I wasn’t ready to give in to my fatigue yet. There was still something I had to do.

  “Nope,” Leyla sighed. “Whoever built him, they’re damn good at staying hidden. They severed the connection the moment you blew up Marko. With Rumpelstiltskin dead, and both Julie and Orpheus gone, I guess we’ll never know who was behind Marko.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, girl,” Deacon said. “An outfit like that ain’t none too happy with how everything went down the past few days. Payback’s a bitch, and she’ll always get her pound of flesh. I bet we’ll run into them again.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded, lacing my fingers behind my head. “Where’s Patricia?”

  “Haven’t talked to her since we brought her here,” Deacon replied. “Last I checked, she was still in her room.”

  “That is incorrect,” Besim announced quietly. “Patricia Sullinger has been sent to Vellas.”

  She turned to regard me. Pale and drawn, Besim hadn’t reapplied any of her makeup or dye. Darker splotches of deep auburn, like liver spots, bled throughout her short-cropped hair.

  “What?” I sputtered. “Why? When did this happen? She’s the only witness to the case the DA’s putting together. How are they supposed to implicate Wrigley-Boes in anything with her a continent away?”

  “I have already made arrangements with your district attorney,” she explained. “Her testimony will be provided via holo-transfer, under the auspices of my personal law firm and the blessing of Mayor Samson. However, I do not expect Wrigley-Boes to survive the matter regardless of the outcome in your courts of law. The corporation was financially unstable as it was, and this blemish to their public persona will no doubt finish them, of that I am certain.”

  “Then why send Patricia to Vellas?” Leyla asked.

  “Because she is Vellan, of course,” Besim replied simply. “Her newfound citizenship affords her the protection of the Vellan people. She will be well-cared for there.”

  Deacon’s head whipped toward Besim. “The fuck?”

  “She’s also dying,” I pointed out. “The hospitals here are perfectly—"

  “Your medical science is inadequate,” Besim interrupted me, the color rising in her cheeks.

  “Maybe,” I said, staking an angry finger at her. “But your people have no idea how to save her, either. Whatever Blakely did, all his research died with him. His notes, his theories, everything. Your people will be just as clueless as any doctor here.”

  “Perhaps,” Besim replied, desperation edging her voice. “But I must try. The die has already been cast. She and most of my security team left not two hours ago. They should arrive in Vellas later this evening.”

  “Why wasn’t I consulted?” Deacon demanded. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “You were not needed in this,” she answered, turning to him. “Her safety is paramount, and time was of the essence. I made the necessary arrangements. It is done.”

  Deacon’s eyes flashed with anger, and it appeared as if he would respond. Instead, he exhaled, then shook his head.

  “You have no right to do that!” I pressed. “She’s an innocent girl who’s been abused in ways we can’t even begin to imagine!”

  “Hey now, Holliday,” Deacon warned, taking a step toward me. “Simmer down before things get ugly.”

  I looked at Besim as the realization dawned on me.

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Know what?” the former Protector asked.

  “No one does,” Besim whispered. A single tear bled down her cheek.

  “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Leyla cried.

  “Do you want to tell them,” I said. “Or should I?”

  “Very well,” Besim sighed, glancing from Leyla back to Deacon.

  She recounted to them her theory regarding the enzyme and the wine, the results of her examination of all the tissue samples, and her discovery of both Vanessa and Patricia’s unique genetic code.

  “Without this formula, Patricia will die,” Besim finished in forlor
n tones.

  “How long does she have?” Leyla asked in desperation. “Months? Weeks?”

  Besim’s eyes lowered.

  “Days.”

  Leyla stifled a sob.

  “You’re saying we saved her from that monster just to find out she’s still going to die,” she cried through angry tears. “And there’s nothing we can do about it? What the fuck is wrong with this fucked-up world?”

  “As I said, the healers in Vellas possess skills your human doctors do not,” Besim explained patiently. “It is possible they will discover a cure in time.”

  “How can we trust them not to turn Patricia into someone else’s goddamn science project?!” Leyla shouted, surging from her chair. “Jesus Christ, Besim! Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “You have my word, that will not happen,” Besim responded in a firm tone. “And I did not tell you because I did not feel it was relevant that you knew. With Doctor Blakely dead, the murder investigation is over. Your involvement has come to an end. I thank you for your timely assistance. It is now a Vellan matter.”

  Leyla’s mouth hung open as she glared at Besim. She grabbed her things.

  “I gotta go,” she addressed me with red-rimmed eyes. “Meet you down at the pod?”

  “Sure thing, kiddo,” I replied gently as she stormed out. “See you in a few minutes.”

  Deacon’s mouth worked. Outrage flickered in his eyes. Besim returned his flinty stare. Not for the first time, something unspoken passed between them.

  Deacon stomped from the room.

  Silence filled the vacuum, broken only by the faint howling of the wind outside, a dying echo harboring its secrets, and revealing nothing.

  “Why not tell them the whole truth?” I stood, straightening my pants.

  Besim glided to the chair opposite me but didn’t sit.

  “Because I do not require their sympathy, Guardian,” she replied. “My daughter is dead. The pain is something I live with every waking moment. She haunts my dreams, and is both my greatest loss, and greatest shame. I do not wish to share it. With anyone. Surely you, of all people, must understand this.”