Chapter 2
“So who is this Emmitt Cane guy, anyway?” I asked after Cameron left.
“Don’t you ever watch the news?”
“No TV, remember?” I said as I filled in the application.
“It’s all anyone’s been talking about. He’s the CEO of Cane Industries. Or he was, until he died.”
“The CEO of Cane Industries is a ghost?”
“No, idiot,” she said. “The CEO is the victim.”
“Cane Industries?”
She stared at me as if about to thwack me upside the head, so I said, “I live under a rock, remember?” It was true enough. I didn’t have access to a lot of things nowadays. TV. Internet. Anything that required cash.
“Cane Industries is one of the fortune-five-hundred,” she explained. “A conglomerate corporation that owns dozens of companies. Mostly, they focus on developing new medical technology, but they’ve got branches that specialize in computer systems, farming equipment and about a half-dozen other things. They’ve grown faster in the last decade than just about any other company in history. It’s plastered them all over the news, which makes this case dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I said, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
“I don’t know if you were paying attention back there, but Cameron Cane is clearly hiding something.”
“He seemed perfectly reasonable to me,”
“Really?” she said. “Because with Cane Industries behind him, you’d think he’d hire someone who’s got a bit more experience.”
I began filling out the last line of the application. “But your website says we’re the supernatural experts.”
“As if that matters,” she said, waving my comment away. “Ten bucks says you’ll just wind up the joke at some college frat party tonight.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I said.
The two of us worked out random the details of the job, and without bickering conflicts for once.
When we finally got everything signed and filed away, I headed toward the door, where I hesitated awkwardly before leaving. I didn’t know whether to wait for the bus inside, or out.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
She kept staring, but I ignored her as I opened the door.
“Here,” she flung me her car keys. Purely by reflex, I caught them, and tossed them back.
“I’ll be fine,” I stated firmly.
“I don’t think busses go out to Stillwater.”
“Cabs do.”
“A cab could cost over a hundred. What happened to your car?”
More lectures. Great. “I sold it to make rent.”
As I zipped up my leather jacket as she threw me the keys again. Like a dart, they hit me in the chest, bounced into my inner elbow, slid down a few more inches, hit a fold and planted themselves neatly in my pocket.
“Showoff,” I said.
I needed a car. Also, I didn’t want to argue any more. I hate arguing, so I gave up. “Thanks,” I said, and left.
Lara’s was a second floor office in a three-story building. I passed by the broken elevator and exited into the springtime, glad to finally have access to some wheels.
The excitement faded upon the sight of her pint-sized, economy style car. Built for affordability, it looked microscopic in the empty parking lot.
My feet squeezed under the steering wheel as I got in, and I had to part my knees awkwardly or risk flattening the pedals. Sighing, I reached down for the lever to shove the seat back, but all it did was click. I groaned – I’m not some kind of giant or anything. Sure, I was a few inches above average at six-two, but this car was absurd.
It started fine, at least. I adjusted the mirrors, catching a glimpse of myself as I did.
Boy, I sure didn’t look like a guy who’d do well in a job interview. If I knew what I was getting into when I came here I’d... Well, I’d probably look the same. Typically, I kept my black hair a bit long and shaggy, with bangs that came just below dark eyebrows. A couple of weeks back I got it cut in an attempt to make myself look professional. With the job market as bad as it is, I figure every advantage helps. At the moment my bangs clung to my forehead, giving me that vintage nerd look. I ruffling them up, but they fell flat across my forehead again. With hair as fine as mine, it was impossible to style without product. But products cost money. Thus – every day was a bad hair day.
The passenger door opened, and a gun entered the car. It was pointed directly at me, and held by an elderly man who slipped into a similar discomfort in the seat beside me. “Drive.”
With only enough time to briefly glance toward him, I didn’t see enough to reveal anything useful. His bone-white hair had been slicked back and combed neatly. Aged eyes befitting of a kindly grandfather made me think him somewhere near retirement age.
I flung the car into reverse and bolted out of the parking space. As I put it into drive and sped into the empty road, my nervous mouth spoke of its own accord. “Usual fare is three bucks a mile – that okay with you. Seatbelt required, so buckle up.”
He didn’t respond. Even from my peripheral, I saw could see an excited glint in his eye.
“So, where to?” I asked the gun-toting grandpa.
“Just follow that car.” He stared at me as he buckled up. At a time like this, you’d think he had all the power. While he had the gun, I had control of the car. If he shot me, I’d be sure my final act was to slam on the accelerator.
“Strange,” he said with an enthusiastic tone after a moment or two. “You don’t look as tough as I thought you would.”
“Yeah, well I’ve kind of got this bad haircut. I told her only to take a bit off the top, but you know how it goes.”
“I wonder, Mr. Amberose, why are you still in the Twin Cities.”
I ignored the question. “Got her back though. No tip for her,”
He pointed to a black sedan in front of us. It was hardly going twenty. It matched perfectly with the identical sedan that filed in behind us.
“It doesn’t look that bad though.” I prattled on. “You know, with a bit of gel.”
As we came near a stop sign, I took a closer look at him. His enthusiastic expressions were in deep contrast to rest of him. His skin was gray, as though the blood underneath stopped flowing years ago. He sat with a perfect stillness, and while not especially muscular, he had the lean look of a fitness nut. If the calloused fingers holding the gun were at all similar to the biceps he bore, than he could probably take me in an arm-wrestling match. If nothing else, I’d hate to face him in a thumb war. The suit he wore bulged along his torso and shoulders made me wonder if he wore an armored jacket of some kind underneath.
“I’m not here to kill you, I assure you,” he said, his jovial tone softening his dark core. “If that were the case, I’d have just poisoned your sandwich last night.”
The gun startled me, sure, but that was the first thing that actually scared me. As far as I remember, I had my curtains shut and ate at home, alone. He’d been watching me.
“Tell me your business in Saint Paul,” he said.
“I live here. I grew up here. That enough?”
“Living here for a few years whilst in your teenaged years is hardly the same as growing up here.”
“Oh yeah? And what if I told you I came back to woo my long lost, high-school sweetheart.”
“I’d tell you that is bullshit, since I know that she now lives in Canada.”
I felt my Adam’s apple jiggle as I gave an unsure gulp. Either he made a lucky guess, or he researched me with extreme vigor, and I think I knew which it was.
“I’m in no mood to fight, Thomas. Please answer my questions and I will leave in peace.” Grandpa said. “Oh, and take a right turn here, please.”
The car in front of us turned, and I saw a third black car waiting at the four-way intersection, right in front of us. If I sped forward or took a left, he’d block me. Eyeing the plain, silve
r ring on my middle finger, I hesitated.
“My business? Well, as of about ten minutes ago, I’m a PI. You want an investigation? I’m your guy. But if you researched me that much, I think you probably know that I live here.”
“Of course I know where you live, but considering recent events, I’d have figured you’d be the fleeing sort like your father was. You are not welcome in this town anymore, Mr. Amberose. You intrigue me, child, so I’ve tolerated you until now. Yet, considering your recent actions I simply feel I cannot trust you any longer. I am willing to offer you twenty-four hours to leave, but no more.” He pulled an expensive stopwatch on a golden chain from his breast pocket. “Currently, it is twelve thirty-three. Let’s keep it simple, shall we? Be gone by Noon, tomorrow. I do not care where you go to, but recommend you choose a place in which you can hide behind the protection of the Imperium.”
I made the right turn into the right lane as the car ahead made a turn into the lane beside me. I was urged to continue in a cage of cars. Ahead, my lane meandered off onto the freeway.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, nor do I care.” I said. “If you threaten a member of the Imperium, they will retaliate.” The steering wheel creaked under my shark-jawed grip as the ring on my hand shimmered in the sunlight, drawing in mystical energy.
“Yes, but I doubt they care much for you, Thomas. We both know they expelled you from the guardians.”
I glanced back to him, and suddenly knew who this man was. One of the Venir. It had to be.
“Recognition,” he said, amused. “You know who I am.”
“Lance Ruben,” I confirmed in a gruff voice.
“Now that you know who I am, you should also know that we Venir believe that your Imperium let you off easy. Our own system of laws, archaic as they may be, is followed religiously. You’ve killed seven of my people. Hide behind the Imperium all you want, but unless you leave, I will have you and six of yours. Considering your past, I find it reasonable to assume that you killed him. After all, you’ve gotten away with murder before “I’m already on the case. I’ll find out who did and pass it on to you. ”
“You got it wrong,” I said
He ticked his tongue against his front teeth, shaking his head in warning. “I’m not often wrong, Mr. Amberose.”
“I’ve already been given credit for six, but who’s this mysterious seventh man?”
“Emmitt Cane, of course,” he said.
I gulped and tried to think of what to say. Emmitt Cane? The same Emmitt Cane that Cameron asked me about?
“I didn’t do it.”
“Oh? In that case, stay as long as you wish,” he added sarcastically.
“You want proof?” I tried to think of my alibi, but realized that I had no idea the exact day Emmitt Cane was even murdered.
“You’d better, or I will have you and that step-sister of yours killed.” It wasn’t an outraged remark. It was simply a warning, said as calmly as though he’d informed me of the time.
Lance held his gun closer for a second. Expensive cologne made my eyes water.
Then, his tone snapped back to that of a harmless, old gentleman. “There are very few Mages in the Twin Cities area, and as of yet, I’ve been unable to discern your whereabouts during the murder. If I get proof that you are involved in Emmitt’s death, then I’ll simply have to give an order and you will be gone.”
The sick thing about this mess, I realized, was that Lance wasn’t exaggerating. Threatening the Imperium is dangerous, but I wasn’t exactly their most respected member. I’d have a few older members that care about my sudden disappearance, but the Guardians, or magical police officers, would be the ones to carry out the investigation. That meant Bree would be in charge. Lance could hand her a signed confession of my murder, but she’d misplace immediately out of spite towards me.
We took the third exit, just outside of the Downtown area. I had a suspicion of our destination. I suppose this is the grown up version of the, “I know where you live” threat, but at least it wasn’t out of the way – that was about as much kindness as I’d get from Lance Ruben, leader of the Venir.
“Just so we’re clear, Thomas, if you attempt anything resembling the warehouse incident last year, you will not live to regret it. The Venir demand vengeance, and the only reason I’ve held them back is because I feel you could be used to my advantage. Why kill what you can hire?”
I stopped the car along the partially empty street in front of my Triplex and put it in park so I could face Lance.
“Look,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’ll never be your lackey. I’m in this city because it is my home. There’s no other reason. I’m sorry things went bad for your guys last year, but I had nothing to do with the deaths of your men. You’ve got me wrong, Lance.”
“Call me Mr. Ruben, please, and no, Mr. Amberose. I do not ‘have you wrong.’ I know you, Mr. Amberose. I’ve looked into you. I know that your unwarranted curiosity led you to my warehouse. I know that same curiosity will keep you on this case until you find the killer, assuming it isn’t you. Prove your innocence and maybe I’ll have a place for you in my organization.”
“Your small part of the organization,” I retorted, mostly to remind him that the Venir are also just a segment of the Imperium, and therefore bound to follow the same laws as I am.
He continued without pause. “You, Thomas, are the obvious suspect. For that reason, I doubt there will be a need to kill you myself. A ghost killed Mr. Cane. I may not know much about magic, but it seems to me that ghosts shouldn’t spontaneously appear without aid from a Mage. If you can prove to me that you are not the summoner, than by all means, stay where you ‘grew up.’”
Lance opened the door and, with the gun pointed at me the entire time, got out of the car. “Noon tomorrow, Mr. Amberose. Good day.”
He closed the door. I waited until he got into the double-parked car in the road beside me before I breathed again.
At that point I realized that my ringed hand felt like it had just been thrust into a bucket of ice. Apparently, I’d sent a wayward thought into my ring during the conversation, causing it to pull in heat energy. When Lance’s car departed, I forced a calm through myself. The Venir Convoy of three Sedans drove off.
“Dissupo,” I muttered. The power trapped in my ring flushed back into my hand as the energy shot back to Equilibrium. Then, I opened the car door and walked up toward the Triplex.
I lived in the right side of my Triplex. My elderly landlady lived in the left unit. I’m not sure how it happened, but somewhere along the line some other guy bought the middle unit, which he rented out to a middle-aged workingwoman. It was one of the few places left in the city that had a porch, but it wasn’t a very nice one.
Or rather, my porch wasn’t a very nice one. The other two had marvelous paint jobs and well kept, potted plants. My rent was low, and for good reason. This place wasn’t quite at the bottom of the barrel, but was pretty far down. Mrs. Klein hadn’t even bothered to replace the rusty pipes before I moved in, and instead insisted on just boarding off the basement.
“Thomas? Is that you, Thomas?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Klein,” I faked my best smile as I strode toward my door.
“You got rent yet?”
“It’s not due for another week.”
“Yeah, well you’d better not be late again this month. I’ve got a lot of offers that are several dollars better than yours, son. You going to have it on time?”
Probably not. Especially if Lance Ruben decides to use me for target practice.
“Of course I will, Mrs. Klein.”
I headed to my front door, muttered a random phrase to open the locks, and walked inside before she invited herself over. Once inside, I chained the door shut and leaned against it, mentally exhausted.
My place was small, but that’s okay because I live alone. It’s at least a bit bigger than the studio apartment I almost got. The living roo
m was tidy, except for the clutter of mail on the coffee table. Along one side of the unit was my bedroom. Along the other was a bathroom. The divider between living room and kitchen was tangible only in my mind. I avoided the temptation to collapse on the couch only because I knew I wouldn’t want to get up again, even for coffee. Instead, I took my mug out of the cupboard, filled it with warm water, threw in a few spoonfuls of instant cappuccino, and nearly scalded my tongue upon taking my first sip.
Jerking in surprise, the nearly boiling liquid sloshed against my hand, which opened by reflex. The mug – my favorite mug – fell to the floor and promptly shattered.
I swore as someone banged on my door.
“Who is it?” I snapped angrily, bending down.
“By order by the Imperium, open the door.”
Perfect. Just perfect. First the robbers come to threaten me. Now the Cops are here to do the same.
I bit my lip, but decided the coffee could wait. “You know, you could have just said it was you, Bree.” I crossed the room again and opened the door a hair, leaving the chain attached. “I already know your occupation.”
The strawberry blond stood on my porch, offering the kind of glare one typically reserves for misbehaving children. “Open the door.”
An angry glare covered up her permanent look of worry. At one time, her face always held an enchanting, dimpled smile. Those days were long over. I’d probably never see that smile again.
I thought about her request it for a second, shut the door, released the chain, and opened up. She knew as well as I did that there’d be no way she could get inside if I didn’t invite her in. The protective spells would see to that. I also knew that she’d arrest me if I open up, sooner or later. Eventually, I’d need groceries.
To my surprise she brought a guest. A man I’d hoped to never meet.
Just like patrol cops have partners, so do Imperium Guardians. The guy’s name was Paul Ingram, and I didn’t like him. They sent him to Minnesota after the former guy got kicked off the force. Being the former guy, I held a grudge. I knew my reasons were petty, but I didn’t care. I deserved his job, and everyone with half a mind knew it.
What little I’d heard about Ingram matched up with his sleazy appearance. He stood shorter than average with a thin beard and short hair.
“A man is dead,” Bree stated bluntly.
“So I’m told,” I said.
“A ghost killed him,” she said.
“Aww, gee. And without any other suspects, you figured I’m the guy who done him in.”
“It’s plausible,” she said, still holding back that anger. “What do you know about summoning spirits?”
“Same as you do, Bree. It’s not like both of us couldn’t figure out half a dozen ways how the bad guy could have done it.”
“Where were you three nights ago?” she asked me.
“Three nights ago?” I said, recalling it in my mind. “I was...” Today was Sunday. She was wondering about Thursday. It didn’t take long for me to recall. “I was here. Alone. Wish I had a better alibi, but I don’t.”
In a former lifetime, when I was a guardian, she’d and I had been more than close. If that lifetime went on longer, then who knows? Maybe the ring I gave her would have a matching wedding band. Instead, it was flushed into the sewers for all I knew. The little mishap Lance mentioned, concerning a warehouse and five dead Venir ended our engagement.
“Did you kill Emmitt Cane?” Bree asked.
“No.”
Ingram shuffled awkwardly at the tension, leaning on the small table. He knocked over a few books in the process.
“But you know who Emmitt Cane is,” she said as Ingram picked up the books.
“Because Lance Ruben came to me with the same conclusion you did. You’d like him – he threatened to kill me.”
Her eyes flickered, which I wouldn’t have noticed had I not known her so well. Was it possible that there was still some part of her that cared about my wellbeing? Or was she just excited to hear I was in danger?
This is Bree, I reassured myself. She may not like you, but you can trust her.
Yeah, Right. Like I trusted her to take my side after I almost died in that warehouse.
“Did Lance Ruben break any conditions of our truce?” Bree asked.
“Kidnapped me, but let me go.” I answered. “I don’t think they’re willing to try anything too obvious, and they didn’t do anything I can prove beyond my word.”
“You got away? Or did some kid step in and save you?” she asked, stoically.
We were no longer talking about Lance, or Emmitt Cane – this was all about the past. My jaw tightened as I held back the urge to grab her by the collar and throw her out the still open door. Instead, I took a slow breath.
“I told you – I was knocked unconscious when the warehouse imploded. I don’t know anything about the child, and I can’t change what happened. I should have listened to you, but I didn’t, and people died because of it. But you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with the destruction of that warehouse.”
Even through the thick sweater, I saw the tension build in her shoulders as her arms and hands went rigid. I hadn’t seen Bree since the Guardians fired me last year, but her anger had far from dissipated. I thought I knew her entirely back then. Yet then, at my trial, I saw an expression of loathing I hadn’t thought possible on her pretty face.
“As I said, I’m sorry. I wish there was some way to make it up to you.”
Still silence.
I ignored her frosty mood, and took a dustpan from the cupboard below the sink. I went to work with the mug first, and didn’t bother using my abilities to cool the cappuccino puddle. It had ample time to cool the old-fashioned way. She stood wordlessly.
Simply to break the silence I said, “The damn encounter with Mr. Ruben rattled me. I accidentally poured power into my ring, and it reacted with my cup.”
“You lost control?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. This was the last thing I needed. Another made up charge by the Guardians. “Two artifacts had a minor reaction.”
If it was the ring that reacted, you’d have lost your hand. The water could have exploded in your face. You could have started a fire.
In my head I heard her accusations, but to my great surprise she didn’t voice them. It was a pity; an argument, I could deal with. A disappointed stare would stay with me.
“I’ll be looking into what happened to Emmitt Cane,” Bree said. “If you are involved, I’ll be back. If not, you have nothing to fear. Lie low for a few days, and don’t leave town.”
Then, she led the way out. Her jackass partner followed.
I was still on the ground, with my hand around the dustpan.
You hadn’t seen her in a year, Thomas. Say something! Make her know you’re sorry!
“Bree!” I called, standing abruptly. I let my instincts react before my doubting mind had a chance to suppress the urge. “You doing okay?”
She stopped on my porch, moments before she’d have shut my door. Then, without turning she said, “Go to hell,”
And slammed the door between us.
Smooth, Thomas. Smooth.
Modern Pantheon: Ghost Page 3
