Smoke Show (Tess Skye Book 2)

by D. N. Erikson

  So I grip his hand and say, “Then I’ll get started tomorrow.”

  Eight

  While tonight might not have gone exactly as planned, the outcome is ultimately the same: I’m on the case, searching for the long-lost Emmy Davis. Of the two potential avenues of investigation—search for her or for Delia’s killer—the hottest lead I have is Emmy vanishing into thin air.

  Which is about as cold as the dead of winter. But that’s where I’ll begin.

  Of course, it’s possible the two incidents happening on the same day was merely a coincidence. Police never found anything linking the crimes. But I don’t believe in coincidences that big. One best friend dies, another goes missing hours after?

  No way they aren’t connected. Besides, I saw the memory fragment when I was Soulwalking in Delia’s body. Whatever got her that night was hunting Emmy, too.

  So solve one case, I solve both.

  Finn and I part ways outside the Red Whale with an agreement to touch base tomorrow. Then I text Javy to meet me back at my apartment as I pull out of the club’s lot. Ella hangs her head out the truck’s window as we drive, tongue flapping in the cool summer breeze.

  The boxes of files shift and rattle in the back seat as I maneuver through downtown. Hex Davis had quite a few papers related to Emmy lying around his office. Aleks Wolfheart told me he’d send over whatever he has on Delia’s murder in the morning. And Javy is bringing the department’s official case file over tonight.

  I pull into an open space on the tree-lined street I call home. It’s one of those neighborhoods that realtors would pitch to prospective buyers as historic: tall, leafy trees, facades with architecture from long in the past.

  Ella leaps out of the truck and does circles around my legs as I pull one of the boxes out of the cab.

  “You’re not helping.” I set the box down on the cracked pavement and grab the second one.

  “Maybe I can be of more assistance,” a whiskey-dipped voice says from the shadows.

  “You could scare a girl, creeping around like that.” I drag the last box out and kick the truck door shut. Javy emerges from the darkness, exuding languid cool.

  “How’s it going, Tess?”

  “Been better, shitbird.” I stack the three boxes on top of each other and squat down to pick them up.

  “I can give you a hand there.”

  “I’m good with all your help, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “You called me, remember?”

  “And now I’m regretting it.” I rock my knees back and forth to steady myself, then hoist the box tower off the sidewalk.

  It all goes well. For about two seconds.

  Then the top one catches the lip of the box in the center. And from there, it’s a Jenga tower of spiraling sadness. Papers spill everywhere over the ground, some even carried on the breeze into the middle of the street.

  I kick the empty box across the concrete with a hollow thwack. “I told you I had it, damnit.”

  Javy’s blue eyes glimmer with amusement. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I’m gonna wipe that smile off your face.” I glower at him, then kneel to start cleaning up the papers.

  “If you could explain why you’re so mad, maybe I could muster a defense.”

  I pop to my feet, fists clenched. “Did you tell that thing that I was a Soulwalker?”

  Javy shoves his hands into his jeans and leans against a tree. “Mmm.”

  “Mmm?” I’m up in his face in a heartbeat, close enough to smell his aftershave. “That’s all you have to say after almost getting me killed tonight?”

  He pushes off the tree. “Just walk me through everything.”

  I step back to snatch a paper off the sidewalk that’s threatening to flutter away. “I’d rather not.”

  “Humor me.”

  I sigh and give him the executive two-minute summary. The clandestine invitation to the Red Whale, going to Hex’s office, being forced to Soulwalk, Ryan’s body disappearing, all that.

  Once I’m done recapping events, he asks, “Did you have a drink at the Red Whale?”

  “That’s really your question?”

  “It stands.”

  I let out an annoyed groan. “One. Up in Hex’s Office.”

  “Did they give it to you?”

  I rub my forehead, trying to think back. “Ryan poured it for me without asking.”

  Javy nods knowingly. “Liar’s Keystone.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A potion used by con-men and thieves to build rapport with a mark.”

  “Then why isn’t it more common?”

  “It’s exceedingly expensive. And has a stable half-life of about fifteen minutes, so it must be concocted right before the mark is to be confronted.”

  That explains the strange behavior—Ryan coming to my office, leaving a note, then scurrying away like a sewer rat. If he had to make this Liar’s Keystone, then he’d have had to return to the Red Whale to do so prior to my arrival.

  Still, color me skeptical. “How long does it last?”

  I figure if he’s pulling this all out of his ass, then his story’s going to fall apart pretty quick.

  “Half hour, maybe an hour at the most.” He sweeps some papers into a manilla folder and places them inside one of the boxes. “So you’re safe from any lies I might be telling you now.”

  I glare at him. “Sounds like a big pain in the ass. Why bother?”

  “Usually it’s to extract a few extra coins from the mark.” Javy finishes with the first box and then moves onto the next one. “But here, I suspect it was to spin a different lie. About how he knew your true nature. To buy a little window where he could manipulate you into doing his bidding.”

  “It didn’t work.” I cross my arms. “I shot Ryan in the fucking head.”

  “He no doubt underestimated you.” The moonlight glints off his perfect complexion as Javy looks over at me and smiles. Born at the edge of time, or the start of humanity, and he still doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. “Or maybe he just wanted to drive a wedge between the two of us.”

  Ella nuzzles my pant leg and I stroke her ears as I whisper softly, “What do you think?”

  You smell funny, Tessie.

  “Thanks, you really know exactly what a girl needs to hear.”

  It’s true. Like a fog recently clouded your mind.

  “That’s what happens when someone tries to kill you.”

  I think he’s telling the truth. Javy smells honest.

  “Liars don’t have a scent.”

  You would be surprised.

  I stop petting her and she whines.

  “So, what’s Ella’s verdict?” Javy is already on the third box—and almost done filling it, judging by the few papers left littering the street.

  “She says you’re a big fucking liar.”

  Ella growls and gently wraps her jaws around my wrist.

  “Seems like she disagrees with your translation.”

  I shake my arm free. “Then tell me you don’t know that thing that attacked me.”

  “I know him.” Javy places the final sheet inside the box and then reaches for a stray piece of green glass. “Did this come from the office, too?”

  “Stop picking up trash.” It looks like a shard from a beer bottle—except its edges are rounded, too smooth to have been broken. “Stay on topic.”

  “I was trying to warn you on the phone.” Javy is still transfixed by the glass. “He’s a Shade.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “Think of him as your opposite.” Javy stands up and holds the glass up to the moonlight. “You can take control of the dead. He can take control of the living. But…”

  “But?”

  “Did you look at this?” He holds out the shard.

  “Seriously, man, your attention span is worse than Ella’s.” I tap my boot against the pavement as Ella lets out a throaty growl in protest. “But?”

  “But he destroys
the living person’s soul and psyche in the process,” Javy says. “Their body is simply a vessel for his bidding.” He taps the glass with his fingernail. Recognition lights up in his eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

  “It’s just a piece of litter,” I say.

  “No,” Javy says. “It’s a message.”

  “Message?”

  “Come on.” Javy tosses the shard into the top box, then lifts all three off the sidewalk without issue. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Nine

  Well, I have to admit that learning the creature I met earlier tonight is capable of possessing anyone in Ragnarok—and destroying their consciousness in the process—doesn’t rate as a promising development in the case. After we climb up the stairs to my third-floor apartment, Ella stops next to her and Toby’s door, head cocked against the wood to listen inside.

  “He’s not back yet, girl,” I say.

  Her snout drops in dejection as she trudges into my apartment.

  Mom and I moved to this place when I was ten. She’s been gone for over ten years now, but I keep the old two bedroom apartment anyway. Maybe because I want to make sure that, if she ever does return, she’ll be able to find me.

  Or maybe I’m just a sentimental idiot.

  I head to the cramped kitchen to wash my face. Javy sets the tower of boxes down in the living room.

  I hear him say, “I’m gonna grab Delia Wolfheart’s case file from my car.”

  “Go for it.”

  I take some lavender-scented soap and scrub, digging my nails across my skin. As the frigid water splashes against my cheeks, clarity starts to take hold. Tonight’s events play back in my mind, as if I’m an impartial observer.

  If not Javy, then who told this Shade about my true nature? After all, it’s a short list of people aside from him who know what I am.

  Finn. His grandmother, Miranda.

  Ella. Not sure the dog counts, since she can’t talk to anyone besides me. But, you know, for the sake of being thorough.

  And maybe a person or two associated with the deceased Dominic Rillo—although he understood my value stemmed from being able to control me. That ability would have gone out the window if too many people knew I could inhabit the bodies of the dead and read their memories. Otherwise, likeminded assholes would’ve inevitably butted in and tried to “acquire” my services.

  My old captain Stella Reynolds could be one such individual, though. Dom trusted her and Carter Price. Carter died in this very apartment, but Reynolds is still alive and awaiting trial for her misdeeds.

  I shiver. The fewer people who know I’m a Soulwalker, the better. But believing that the list is short might be naive hope: the more it remains secret, the safer it is for myself and everyone around me. And the world at large. Because those lacking morals can exploit my abilities easily. Which I learned all too well over the past year as Dom murdered people, then forced me to steal their ideas from their memories.

  “You okay in there?” Javy’s smooth voice floats above the running water as he steps back into the apartment.

  I shut the faucet off and grab a dish towel. “Yeah.”

  I pat my face dry as I walk into the living room.

  He’s already got the contents of one of the boxes spread out across my new glass coffee table. The old one got destroyed in his melee with Carter.

  The green glass sits atop a stack of papers. I walk over to examine it.

  “This is your message?” I hold the shard up to the light. “I’m not seeing it.”

  Javy takes it gently from my fingers. “Careful with that.”

  “Next you’re gonna tell me it’s a bomb.” There’s a pause where he doesn’t answer. “It’s not a bomb, right?”

  “It’s just fragile.” The glass reflects the light as he rotates it in front of the lamp. “You’re familiar with microdots?”

  “Sure.” I say. “Spies use them to conceal secret messages and images in a tiny space.”

  “Same concept here, but forged with magus.”

  “Why not just use microdots, then?” I ask.

  “Because shard scrolls were invented long before microdots were ever technologically feasible.” Javy takes a stainless steel lighter out of his pocket. “Let’s see what it says.”

  He flicks the lighter’s wheel and holds the flame up to the back of the glass. It casts a shadow on the wall—something that looks like rows of random numbers and letters.

  “That’s the message?” I cross my arms. “It’s readable with just a flame?”

  “It’s coded.” Javy peers at it for a moment.

  “Can you break it?”

  “This is just one half.” He shakes his head. “This is the key—to decode the message. Without the message itself, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “So it’s useless.” Not that I was expecting to get a head start on the case tonight. But, you know, a lead or two would’ve been a nice thing to hit the ground running with tomorrow morning.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Javy says.

  Of that, I have little doubt. Whether that comes before the Shade causes irreversible damage to someone—or the entire community—remains to be seen.

  “So do you think it belongs to this—what’d you call him?” I’m fishing for a name. Javy hasn’t mentioned it yet.

  “Marius?” Javy stares at the green shard scroll as if trying to divine its origin. “Could be his. Hard to say.”

  “Quite the name.”

  “He was known as Marius the Roman Killer once.”

  “Even more impressive,” I say.

  “Deserved,” Javy says. “He turned Brutus against Caesar. Among other acts.”

  “So what does he want with Emmy Davis?”

  “Not sure yet.” Javy places the glass shard on the coffee table next to the papers before sitting down on the couch and leaning back into the faded upholstery. “But maybe the past holds some clues.”

  “I don’t know if I’m up for a history lesson on the Roman Empire right now.”

  “No,” Javy says. “I’m talking more recently.”

  “When?”

  “1262.” Javy props his cowboy boots upon the coffee table and takes a deep breath. “When Marius and I last crossed paths.”

  Ten

  It would seem Javy Diaz’s concept of “recent” is rather different than a mortal creature’s. But I suppose 750 years ago is practically yesterday when you’re destined to live forever.

  In any event…you know that saying about tales as old as time? In this case, it’s true—for I learn that the story of Marius the Shade and Javier Diaz the Immortal goes back many years.

  Before 1262. Before, even, the Roman Empire.

  Before civilization itself.

  At the very dawn of consciousness. When Javy awoke.

  That’s how he describes it. Rather than being born.

  In a field, beneath the night stars. Grass waving about him—and his four compatriots.

  And they soon met the Shades who outnumbered them. How these five Immortals and ten Shades came to be, no one knows. Despite the namesake of this town—Ragnarok—there are no gods. No worlds other than this one.

  Magic simply emerged with life itself. An inextricable part of the fabric of existence. Which makes magic’s evolutionary rules the same as regular life’s: a fight to survive.

  Most creatures are neutral, seeking only to live to see tomorrow. They can be swayed to whatever cause they deem most suitable to this objective.

  A few are always bringers of chaos.

  And fewer are the upholders of order. Such is the Immortals’ thankless task, according to Javy.

  A Shade is one of those creatures that seemingly exists only to destroy. Each of the ten has a different ability helping it in its quest for destruction. Marius’s skill is to possess the bodies of the living. Something most would consider a negative for the world.

  But good and evil are the judgements of sentient creatures, not nature. And yes, the im
balance between the Immortals and the Shades is why it’s always been easier to destroy than to create. Yet, it’s also why progress has been possible at all—because the bad drives people to advance, to overcome life’s problems, to become something greater than themselves.

  Iron sharpens iron, as they say. Even if one clump of iron has a blackened core.

  And so the battle between the Shades and the Immortals has raged for as long as humans have existed, driving progress ever forward. Each side has enlisted countless humans and creatures along the way to fight for their cause.

  Wars have been waged.

  Kingdoms have fallen.

  But still the Immortals and Shades battle.

  And the most volatile Shade of all, Marius, has now descended upon Ragnarok for reasons unknown.

  But back in 1262, the reason for his appearance was clear: revenge.

  Marius rolled through the English countryside that year, burning and looting. Seeking Javy’s attention for a slight centuries earlier, during the fall of the Roman Empire. Well, not quite a slight: a banishment. Javy buried him deep within a cave, trapped beneath mountains of rubble.

  A minor earthquake shifted the rocks, opening a sliver of daylight between them. And so Marius rose from the depths of the earth, looking to exact vengeance. After death and destruction, and a threat to the English monarchy itself, Javy managed to trap Marius in a triple-enclosed gold coffin and hurl it into the Atlantic.

  It’s a tricky thing, though, trying to contain a being whose very essence becomes something like vapor upon the death of his host, capable of escape through nooks and crannies. You must inter him while he’s still alive, and make the enclosure airtight, so that the spirit—the soul, whatever you want to call it—cannot escape after the host’s death.

  So eventually, it would seem, even the gold-plated solution failed.

  Hence why Marius has graced the world with his presence again.

  But, unlike the last time, Marius appears to be playing a longer game. There’s been no scorched earth crusade through the streets of Ragnarok. Perhaps he’s enjoying the fresh air after being trapped away from civilization for the majority of the last two thousand years.