Then the specters would swarm her and kill her like vultures swooping upon a dying animal.
“Lightning?” said Moran. “Why didn’t you say so?”
She gestured again, and Caina felt a massive spike of magical power. Currents of magical force flowed into her hands, and Moran cast a spell. Eight fist-sized globes of blue-white lightning leaped from her hands and tore into the specters. The undead unraveled beneath the force of Moran’s magic, and she started casting again.
Caina seized the opportunity and attacked, swinging and stabbing her valikon. Moran cast another volley of lightning globes, and another, and the ring of specters fell back in disarray. Caina cut down another specter with every stride, remembering the movements her instructors had pounded into her muscles. Stab, thrust, retract, the valikon ripping through an undead creature with every step, the hieroglyphs on the blade burning brighter and hotter.
Then Caina slashed through one more specter, and none of the creatures remained.
Caina looked around, but she and Moran were alone. Moran’s magic had made a lot of light and noise, but no one seemed to have noticed. Or if anyone had noticed, they had taken the sensible course and fled in the other direction.
She met the other woman’s gaze.
“Okay,” said Caina. “Now that was a light show.”
Moran’s lip twitched. “Ha. Thanks. Well, those specters were following me, so it seemed only fair.” She tilted her head, and Caina heard the distant wail of sirens. “Guess someone saw our little light show. Shall we get the hell out of here?”
“Good idea,” said Caina.
“Thanks for not cutting my throat, Marianna,” said Moran.
Caina hesitated and then decided to extend a bit of trust. If Moran wanted her dead, it would have been easy to let the specters do it. “My name is Caina.”
***
Chapter 4: Coffee
I followed Caina as we ran for the parking ramp, my mind chewing over this new complication.
Just who the hell was Caina?
Or more to the point, what was she?
I had never encountered anyone able to see through a Cloak spell. My surprise when Caina had sucker-punched me in the stomach had been total. For that matter, I had cast the mindtouch spell on her, hoping to stun her with some of my memories of the Eternity Crucible, but the spell had done nothing to her. It was as if her mind was shielded from intrusion.
Of course, she wasn’t completely immune to magic. My quick jolt of lightning had stunned her. And that sword, the weapon she called a valikon...I had never seen anything like that, either. The thing radiated powerful magic, and she seemed able to summon it and dismiss it at will.
She wasn’t a Shadow Hunter. Was she a wizard, maybe, one with only a few spells she did very well? That seemed unlikely. Maybe she was a royal agent the High Queen hadn’t mentioned. Maybe she was the shadow agent of another Elven lord. Or maybe she worked for the Wizard’s Legion or something.
Or perhaps she was with another organization that I had never encountered. I mean, I know a lot of things, but I don’t know everything.
And speaking of not knowing everything, I hadn’t expected Sulzer to have a wizard in his organization. The High Queen hadn’t mentioned it, and neither had the file Tyth had given me. Maybe the High Queen hadn’t known. She knew a lot of things, but like me, she didn’t know everything.
For example, she had known Nicholas Connor was dangerous, but she hadn’t known how dangerous until Nicky had almost dropped the Skythrone on her head.
I wondered if I was making a similar mistake about Joseph Sulzer.
We reached the parking ramp, a block-sized six-story concrete structure that served the various restaurants and retail establishments in this part of Brooklyn. For customers who preferred not to take public transportation out here, they could instead drive to the parking ramp and pay an exorbitant fee for the privilege of parking.
I heard the wailing sirens come closer.
“They’re probably going to circle the block a few times,” I said. “Let’s get in the stairwell.”
“Agreed,” said Caina. “I look like a prostitute in this outfit.”
We ran into the stairwell in the corner of the parking ramp, the steel door clicking shut behind us. Like every stairwell in every parking ramp in the world, it was grimy and smelled vaguely of cigarettes and urine. We paused just behind the door, looking through the narrow window, and a moment later two Homeland Security SUVs shot past, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
“Big response,” I murmured.
“They’re still spooked after the Rebel attack,” said Caina. “For the next ten years, people are going to think Archons and Rebels are hiding in the sewers.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, it’s not like we left bodies behind. Once they find nothing, we should be in the clear.” I glanced at her. “I’ve never seen anyone fight with a sword in high heels before.”
Caina smiled. “It’s amazing what you can do when you’re desperate, isn’t it? I don’t recommend it, though. Murder on the ankles.”
I blinked in surprise.
Her accent had changed.
She had sounded like a lifelong Brooklyn resident. Now her accent was upper-class Brit. Like the sort of accent Nora Chandler or Armand Boccand would have called “posh,” the kind of accent British newscasters use. It sounded genuine, but then her Brooklyn accent had sounded real as well. You know how when an American actor pretends to be British or vice-versa, the accent always sounds a little fake? (British actors always seem to default to a Texas accent for some reason.) Both of Caina’s accents had sounded authentic.
A useful skill for a shadow agent. Or a spy.
She must have noticed my surprise and smiled. “When in Brooklyn, talk as the people of Brooklyn do.”
“Neat trick,” I said.
“Come on,” said Caina. “I’m parked on level four.”
We jogged up to the fourth level. There were still quite a few cars at this hour, but most of them were on the first three levels, and the fourth was nearly deserted. Caina walked to a long white van, its side adorned with the logo of a plumbing company, complete with a cheerful-looking cartoon of a paunchy plumber in overalls.
“You’re a plumber, then?” I said.
“I suspect I’m a plumber in the same way that you’re a frequent customer of a dive like the Cattleman’s Pride,” said Caina. She produced a key and unlocked the van’s back door. The interior of the van held a half-dozen plastic storage totes, and Caina opened one.
“Yeah,” I said. “I...”
“Just a moment,” said Caina. “I need to get ready for my next stop.”
She grasped her hair and tugged, and the blond wig came away. I blinked in surprise as she slid off a hair net, her real hair falling to her shoulders. It was thick and black and a bit sweaty. After that, she removed the contact lenses that had turned her eyes brown. I saw right away why she had worn the lenses. Her eyes were a distinctive shade of intense, icy blue. It was kind of like looking at a glacier. Anyone who saw her eyes would likely remember them.
Then she pulled off her sandals, slid out of her shorts, and peeled off her tank top.
“Uh,” I said, embarrassed. “Do you want…”
“I’m reasonably certain I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before,” said Caina in a dry voice, pulling clothes from a plastic tote, “and there aren’t any security cameras up here.” In quick, economical movements she dressed in faded jeans, running shoes, and a worn button-down shirt that was a few sizes too large for her.
As she did, I noticed two things.
One, she was in really good shape. Like, I was in good shape, but she was in really good shape. She kind of looked like a fitness model. But given that she had just been in a sword fight and then run a few blocks without breathing very hard, that was obvious. Two, as she tugged up her jeans, she half-turned, and I saw a wide scar across her stomach, just below her navel. It didn’t
look surgical, and it looked severe enough that it must have almost killed her. There were smaller scars across her back and left side, long thin ones that looked like old knife wounds.
Guess that killed her chances of a career as a fitness model.
“All right,” said Caina, turning once she was dressed. “Here is what I propose. Let’s meet up tomorrow and talk about how we can help each other. Do you know the House of Agabyzus?”
I blinked in surprise. “Actually, yeah. It’s a coffee house in Red Hook, over by I-478.” They had really good coffee. I had visited a few times before on jobs for Morvilind that had taken me to New York, and I had been surprised to learn that Riordan frequented the House as well. We wanted to go together, but he had been forced to leave for the UK before there had been time.
I felt a pang of loneliness as I thought of him, and I pushed it away. Now wasn’t the time, and I didn’t want to show weakness in front of Caina.
“Let’s meet there at nine tomorrow morning,” said Caina. “We can have a cup of coffee, and plan our next move. And just to prove that I’m not going to run out on you...” She handed a card to me. “My business card.”
“Business card?” I said, taking it. “Spies have business cards now?”
It wasn’t a business card for a spy. It identified her as Caina Amalas, the New York branch director for a company called Ghost Securities with an address in Queens, complete with an email address, a website, and a phone number. Something about the name of the company scratched at my brain.
“Ghost Securities?” I said. “Isn’t that the company that provides private security for hospitals? You mean you’re a security guard?”
Caina smiled. “Technically, I supervise security guards. And private facilities security is just one of our business lines. I’ve got to get moving, I’m afraid.” She held out her hand. “Thanks for the help against the specters. And thanks for not electrocuting me.”
“You’re welcome.” I shook her head. She had a surprisingly strong grip, with the familiar patterns of calluses from weight exercises. Then again, she had knocked me on my ass without much effort. “And thanks again for not cutting my throat.”
“Can’t have a cup of coffee without a throat can you?” said Caina with a cheerful wink.
With that, she got into the van and drove off.
I watched the van go, tapping her business card against my hand. It looked legitimate. I had been wrong about people before, but I thought I could work with her. Granted, I didn’t know who she was really working for her, or the extent of her unusual abilities, but if we shared an enemy, that might not matter.
But I needed to check some things out first.
I got into Riordan’s SUV and drove back to the condo. It was about 11:30 PM by the time I got home, and I was tired from the long day, but I had some things I wanted to check first. I sat at my laptop, pulled out Caina’s business card, and started doing some research.
Ghost Securities was indeed a legitimate company, and as I already knew, they provided private security for hospitals. They also provided security for Elven nobles, VIPs, and sensitive facilities, and they also offered private investigative services for corporations, insurance companies, and individuals. The company looked like a strange mixture of hired security, private investigators, and out-and-out mercenaries.
I found Caina’s page on the personnel section of the company’s website. In her official picture, she wore a crisp black jacket and white blouse, her hair pulled back into a severe-looking bun, her smile not touching her cold eyes. Her official biography identified her as the branch director for New York, which seemed odd, since Ghost Securities touted its policy of only hiring veteran men-at-arms. The official biography said that Caina had been born in Canterbury in the UK and later moved to the US and that she was responsible for overseeing the operations of Ghost Securities in New York. She had taken the role after the tragic death of the previous branch director, Alexander Halfdan, about two years ago. Based on her webpage, I would have said that she was the company’s business manager, dealing with the financial details and paperwork while someone else handled the gritty business of investigating and private security.
Except business managers could not generally see through Cloak spells. Or summon swords that hardened out of shards of glowing light.
A valikon. What the hell was a valikon?
I did a search for that term in the official encyclopedia but found nothing about the swords. It must have been an Elven word, but one I had never heard before. I checked Caina’s social media accounts and found they were just like mine – one picture, no posts, and absolutely no information shared, which was smart. (The reason Homeland Security and the Inquisition don’t have to spend a lot of time spying on the population was partly because people voluntarily shared so much information about themselves on social media.)
An hour later, I was tired of searching, and my eyes stung. I considered my next move. Perhaps I would be better off going after Sulzer alone. But that might be idiotic. If Sulzer had a necromancer working for him, I could blunder into a trap without realizing it. Caina Amalas might have more information, and that could be valuable.
No, better to play this out. Caina might make a valuable ally, and at the very least, she seemed to have more information about Sulzer’s activities than I did.
I went to sleep on the couch and got a solid six hours in. When I awoke, I did a workout in Riordan’s gym, showered, and got dressed in my usual clothes.
Then I headed for Red Hook and the House of Agabyzus.
I had left myself a solid seventy minutes to get from Riordan’s condo in Midtown to Red Hook, which was just as well because it took nearly that long to drive that far. Which was funny, because in a straight line from Riordan’s building to the House of Agabyzus, it was maybe four and a half miles. But southern Manhattan was in the way, and then the East River, and then a big chunk of Brooklyn. Traffic in New York in the morning is an unpleasant mixture of gridlock, halting starts and stops, occasional moments of terror, and the constant cacophony of horns, and that was before all the damage to the streets during Nicholas’s attack. Also, the cabbies drove like lunatics. I suppose I could have taken the subway or a bus, but that would have been just as crowded, and taking a cab would have meant putting my life in their hands.
I gritted my teeth and got through the traffic, took the Brooklyn Bridge over the East River, and made it to Red Hook with about ten minutes to spare. I found a parking spot six blocks from the House of Agabyzus, fed a lot of quarters into the meter, and headed at a brisk walk for the coffeehouse. I found myself missing Milwaukee. I liked New York, but God it was expensive to live here. The rush hour was insane as well. I was glad that Riordan and I would only live here for part of the year. He also had a house in his native Texas that I hadn’t seen yet, and we had talked about getting a place in Milwaukee…
I blinked a little, disquieted. It took money to live in New York, but I had money now. Even without Riordan’s money, I had come out of Nicholas’s downfall three and a half million dollars richer. Given how I had spent most of my life living in a basement apartment and looking at rich people with contempt, it was an uneasy thought.
Then I grinned, amused at myself. Considering what I had survived, the fact that I was sane enough to grumble about the high cost of living in New York was probably a good sign.
I arrived at the House of Agabyzus with about five minutes to spare.
The coffeehouse was a big building of brick and glass not far from the East River, and the booths on the upper floor had an excellent view of the harbor, the East River, and even Governor’s Island and the Statue of Liberty in the distance. A broad terrace with tables and chairs lay before the main doors, and on the terrace was a life-size bronze statue of Baron Kaldmask of Brooklyn in a heroic pose, his face stern and his cloak streaming dramatically behind him.
A little plaque at the base of the statue explained the story. I knew it already. A couple decades ago
, the Archons had launched an attack in the Neo-Ottoman Empire. Once the Elven nobles repulsed the attack, the Sultan decided to rid himself of some domestic enemies, specifically a community of Eastern Orthodox Christians, by blaming them for the attack and began rousing the locals to pogroms against them. As it happened, Baron Kaldmask had been among the Elven nobles who repulsed the attack, and several of the Eastern Orthodox men-at-arms had saved his life in the fighting. The Baron ordered the Sultan to stop the pogroms, and he had offered the Eastern Orthodox community resettlement in Brooklyn under his patronage. Brooklyn was an improvement over the eastern part of the Neo-Ottoman Empire, so they had accepted his offer gratefully.
The plaque, of course, extolled the Baron’s generosity and wisdom. The more cynical part of my mind pointed out that the Baron had gained a constituency that was absolutely loyal to him. The Baron was a sour and unpleasant man, and Brooklyn was notoriously turbulent, and the residents frequently complained and sent petitions to Kaldmask’s overlord, Duke Mythrender, always couched in appropriately respectful terms to avoid accusations of elfophobia. The Turkish immigrants gave Kaldmask no such trouble.
But, politics and cynicism aside, the House served superb coffee.
I stopped on the terrace. Despite the torrid weather, there was a good crowd on the terrace and an even larger one inside. The smell of roasted coffee and fresh baked goods filled my nostrils. I wondered if Caina had arrived already.
I heard the click of heels against the pavement and turned as Caina approached.
Her appearance had changed drastically since last night. Today she wore the sleek black jacket and slacks of a business suit, along with high-heeled boots. Silver earrings glittered in her ears, and sunglasses hid her eyes. Her hair had been done in a tight bun, held in place by a pair of lacquered sticks. She looked like a confident corporate executive, and there was no trace of the blond waitress I had seen yesterday.
Cloak & Ghost: Blood Ring Page 5
