by A C Spahn
“So?”
“So I don’t want to get arrested,” said Desmond. “The safest place for you is at home with your dad.”
Sam sighed. “I don’t mind the risk. Can’t I stay at your place, Adrienne? You said there’s basically no chance this guy found your apartment, right?”
“If Vince manages to find me, I don’t want him to use you as leverage against me. You’re a strong enchantress, Sam, but you’re unpracticed, and sick right now. You’d be in the way. Whatever your situation is at home, it’s better than possibly getting tracked down by fleshwriters.”
“Not by much.”
I didn’t think I was supposed to hear that.
Sam gave us directions to a neighborhood in Oakland, where we stopped outside a sprawling apartment complex with faded paint. I’d thought she lived in San Francisco itself, but apparently that was an incorrect assumption. “You don’t have to come in,” she said.
Wordlessly I unbuckled my seat belt and opened my door.
She sighed. “Just let me do the talking, then.” She leaned on me to keep her weight off her injured leg as we left Desmond and Kendall in the still-running car.
We climbed a set of concrete stairs to a narrow balcony. Sam stopped before one of the wooden doors and pressed her ear against it. Her lips compressed. I was about to ask what she heard when I caught the sound of TV voices leaking through the walls. A man’s throaty cough sounded over a canned laugh track.
She produced a key and unlocked three bolts, then slowly opened the door.
I helped her into a small living room with industrial-brown carpet and fraying furniture. A TV blared late night comedy at a sagging recliner and equally droopy couch. A man lounged in the recliner, his pointy nose and clear blue eyes a match for Sam’s, though his hair was a dirtier blond and he sported an overgrown goatee. Despite the late hour, he still wore jeans and a short-sleeved undershirt. Worry lines creased his skin, which was tanned dark up to his elbows from outdoor labor. Two cheap beers sat empty beside the recliner, with a third bottle open in his hand.
He leaned forward so he could see us as we entered. “Where you been?” he demanded.
“Work,” Sam said.
“They start paying you yet?”
“No, Dad. It’s an unpaid internship.”
“Still don’t see how that’s doing you any good. When I was your age, I was bringing money home to my family. You should find a different job. Make yourself useful.”
“This job is fine.”
“Whatever. I oughta force you to quit. Teach you the importance of money. You know how hard I work to keep a roof over your head? Think you’d show some gratitude.”
“I’m grateful, Dad.”
“You don’t show it. Just like your mother.”
Sam winced. “Please don’t bring Mom up.”
“I’ll bring up whatever I want. If you don’t learn some responsibility, you’re gonna get caught up with some guy like she did and go running off, too.” He took a long draw of his beer, then finally seemed to notice me. “Who the hell are you?”
Before I could speak, Sam jumped in. “Another intern. I started feeling sick, so she drove me home. We’re friends.”
He eyed me. “She looks older than you. You two ain’t getting into anything weird now, are you?”
My cheeks heated. “We–”
Again Sam interrupted, weariness bleeding into her voice. “No, Dad. Just work.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me.”
“I’m not taking a tone.”
“Show respect to me, Samantha!”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said flatly. “Can I go?”
Her dad leaned back in the chair, refocusing on the TV. “There’s leftover pizza in the fridge. Don’t eat too much. You don’t need it.”
Sam closed her eyes briefly before leading me to a small kitchen. She retrieved an empty plastic bowl, then nudged me toward a darkened hallway. Her dad’s voice stopped us before we passed out of sight. “You get hurt?”
“No,” said Sam.
“What’s that wrapping on your leg?”
“Just a scratch. I fell when I started feeling sick. It’s nothing.”
He studied us with a frown that bordered on concern before waving a hand. “If you’re cutting school tomorrow, don’t touch my stuff.”
“I know.”
“Get to bed. It’s late. You need your rest.”
Sam tugged me down the hall before any more words could be exchanged.
Her bedroom door was blank, but opened onto a messy room decorated with movie posters and dark fantasy art. Dragons, vampires, and liches glared down at me from every surface, including the ceiling. Dark curtains muted a streetlamp unfortunately placed right outside her window. She dropped her purse on a desk crowded with sketchbooks and pencils, then nodded to the unmade bed. “Help me down. I’ll be fine from there.”
I lowered her to sit on the mattress, then glanced back at the door. “Sam ...”
“Don’t. I didn’t want any of you to see this.”
I swallowed. “Are you going to be hurt if you stay here?”
She looked dispassionately down the hallway. “Not tonight. He only had three bottles.” She shuddered, then dry-heaved into the plastic tub she’d brought with her. “He works most of the day. If I stay out of sight after he gets home, I’ll be fine.”
I thought about hauling her back to the car and taking her to my place, damn the dangers. But what I’d said was true. She bore some risk here, but if I’d miscalculated and Vince both managed to find me and decided to chance an attack, I’d fight better without having to protect someone else. “Call me if you need anything. I mean anything. A ride, an excuse ...”
“A bodyguard?” She laughed humorlessly. “I can take care of that myself.”
“Don’t use magic against him, Sam. Not unless you have no other choice.”
“Why, because the Union will execute me?”
“Not only that. When dealing with people who hurt you, you can’t lower yourself to their level. If you let your fears control you, you become no better than them.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I’ll be good.”
“Good. I trust you.”
Sam’s head jerked up at those words, as if she’d never expected to hear them in that order. “Thanks,” she said finally.
“Stay safe, Sam.”
“You too, Adrienne.”
In the car, Desmond and Kendall watched me return with worried frowns. “Everything okay?” Desmond asked.
“Fine,” I lied. Sam’s story was hers to tell, or not tell, as she chose. Desmond might have not believed me, but he let it pass and pulled out of the parking lot.
Kendall spoke up. “You should leave her here, Adrienne. You’ve taught her enough to survive her powers. You don’t owe her anything else.”
I spun in surprise. In the backseat, Kendall had her elbows on her knees, leaning forward earnestly. “I’m not doing this because I owe her,” I said. “I’m trying to help. The girl needs somebody who cares. Who understands.”
“She’s dangerous, Adrienne. How many times are you going to let her disobey you before you realize she won’t stop?”
“She’s trying her best.”
“And if her best isn’t good enough? What happens if she refuses to listen at a critical moment? You’ve got paranormal bounty hunters after you. You can’t afford that kind of risk.”
“I won’t abandon her.”
“She’s going to get you killed.”
Kendall’s bluntness cut me deep. “Please, Kendall. Trust me. She cares about us, cares what we think of her. She’s starting to come out of her shell. She can change. I see it happening.”
She smiled sympathetically. “Yes, people can change. But they have to want it. Want it badly enough to overcome everything they’ve ever been. I don’t think Sam is at that point.”
Shaking my head, I faced forward again. “What do you think, Desmond?�
�
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he merged onto the freeway. “I think we’re all too tired to think about this rationally right now.”
A yawn forced its way out of me at his words. “You’re right,” I murmured.
“I’m sorry,” Kendall said quietly. “I didn’t mean to spring this on you. Just ... think about what I said, okay?”
“I will.” I had a feeling I’d be thinking about it long past when I should have fallen asleep.
Chapter 11
TWO DAYS PASSED before I finally received an email from Bane Harrow.
Subject: Important Meeting
Message: Come to the office first thing in the morning.
- BH
He didn’t have to make it sound so much like a summons.
I pulled open the lobby door of Union Headquarters, pleased with how my now-closed injuries barely twitched. Axel waited for me near the elevator, sipping a mug of coffee the size of my head. Somehow he managed to flex all of his impressive arm muscles every time he took a sip. Cassie the receptionist pretended not to notice, but kept sneaking approving glances out of the corner of her eye.
“Enchantress,” Axel greeted me. Sip. Flex. “No entourage?”
“Desmond and Kendall are minding the store. Sam’s studying.” After a full day of vomiting her guts out, homework probably seemed better by comparison.
He grunted and hauled his mug into the elevator, expecting me to follow. I did. There was no time today for worrying about my pride.
“Have a nice day, Elmer!” the receptionist called.
The doors closed. The elevator vibrated beneath my feet, humming softly as it whisked us toward the top floor.
Fighting to keep a smile off my face, I said, “So. Your real name is Elmer?”
“You didn’t hear that.”
“Does Desmond know?”
“Know what?” He took another sip of his coffee, giving me a deadpan stare over the rim.
I raised my hands. “Fine. I heard nothing.”
“Good.”
We both faced the front of the elevator.
“Elmer.”
“Shut up.”
The doors opened on the top floor, its rows of cubicles now lit warmly by the rising sun. Through tall windows on the opposite wall, I made out more of the city skyline. Morning’s bright rays crept between buildings, embracing the skyscrapers with amber fire. San Francisco’s perpetual fog lay distant, already chased out to sea by the warming weather.
Axel picked up a second, smaller cup of coffee waiting on the first cubicle’s desk. He handed me the cup, then jerked his chin down the aisle between cubes. “You know the way.”
I stood flabbergasted, holding the cup by its cardboard protective sleeve. “You had coffee ready for me? Was this Harrow’s idea?”
Axel frowned. “Mine.”
“Why? You were ready to kill me a few months ago.”
He took another sip of his own coffee, expressionless. “You were the enemy. Now you’re not.”
“Yeah, we’re all on the same side now, but I thought that didn’t make a difference. You’re still mad at Desmond.”
“He betrayed us for you. While you were still the enemy.”
“So he’s a bad guy forever?”
Axel’s shoulders hinted at a shrug. “Broken trust. Hard to fix.”
“Is everything so black and white to you?”
“Yes.” Sip.
“Harrow’s forgiven Desmond.”
“Harrow’s a softie.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“No, you won’t.”
I took a gulp of the coffee. It was good, but too strong for my tastes. I drank more anyway. “Desmond wants your respect back,” I said softly. “He was only trying to do the right thing.”
Axel didn’t answer, just watched me and drank more of his coffee. I gave up and started to leave.
“Eventually,” Axel said from behind me. I turned, eyebrows raised. Axel regarded me without expression, but conviction ran through his words. “Tell Desoto. Respect can return. Eventually.”
I smiled. “I will.”
Axel gave me a jerky nod and drained the rest of his coffee. He remained by the elevator while I headed for Harrow’s office.
The door was already open. Morning sunlight shone on the big mirror and glinted off the gold-plated broadsword. The Union Legionnaire sat behind his desk, glaring at a piece of paper as if it had insulted his mother. When I knocked softly on the doorjamb to announce myself, he stuffed the paper in a drawer and locked it. “Adrienne, I’m glad you’re here.”
I shut the door. “The cult’s found me. They know my license plate number, and one of their scouts was waiting for me with the last ghost we put down. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out a way to pinpoint my location and summons stronger enchanters to come get me.”
With every word, Harrow’s frown deepened. “I’ve been meeting with other Union legionnaires and paranormal leaders, on a complete communications blackout for security reasons. When I returned, my people told me you’d been leaving messages all week. I’d hoped it was something less dire.”
“I’m going to need that fake identity you made me.”
“For the contest?”
“Not for the contest. The cult already knows I’m in the city. Submitting pieces to an art contest won’t give them any more access to me. I’m entering the contest under my real name.”
His eyebrows rose. “A defiant spit in the cult’s face?”
“Something like that. I need your fake ID for safety afterwards. Unless we stop the cult once and for all, they’ll keep hunting me. If I need to disappear, a new name will help.”
He sighed, then unlocked another cabinet and withdrew a padded envelope. When he passed it over, I felt several sheets of paper and the stiff shape of a driver’s license inside.
“We don’t do passports,” he said. “These won’t get you out of the country. But if you decide it’s too dangerous, they’ll get you out of town.”
The envelope went into my denim purse. “Just like that? You’d let me run?”
“If you decide to run, there is little I could do right now to stop you. The Unions are overtaxed and undermanned. At least this way you’ll be less likely to get yourself captured right away.”
“How thoughtful,” I said drily.
“I do care about your well-being, but the greater worry now is letting your power fall into enemy hands.” Weariness seemed to sag all of his muscles. “Two more Unions fell last weekend. All Voids dead. Buildings and bodies burned so no evidence could be collected. On top of that, the Shasta vampires are getting uppity with all the commotion, abducting hikers and haunting campgrounds. I reached an agreement with them, but the other paranormal communities are eyeing us like vultures. Now you tell me fleshwriters are in my backyard, hunting one of my people. We need to put a stop to this.”
“I think it’s only the one fleshwriter after me,” I said. I quickly told him what I knew about Vince, and how he’d probably tracked me down through the painter.
“A painter? Is this related to the vision you saw in the dead boy’s enchanted message?”
“I’m not sure. I reached him by calling about the dripping green paint imagery, but he didn’t know anything about it. I’ve thought about calling him back to ask more questions. His involvement seems too big a coincidence to be unrelated.”
“Don’t call him. The less he knows, the better, in case the cult contacts him again. We’ll continue investigating the murder and the message through other means, while also attempting to capture this fleshwriter. You’re sure it’s just the one?”
“Almost positive. The cult wouldn’t want to send too many people into Void territory, or make themselves too noticeable. Vince works alone.”
“But the painter saw a second person waiting in the car.”
“It could have been a car salesman, if Vince was taking the car for a test drive
as a way of getting to the painter’s house. Or maybe it was a driver, if he used a rideshare app. It’s possible I’m wrong and he now has an assistant. But from everything I know about him, he’s going to do most of his work by himself.”
“If we put him down, will they send more?”
“Probably,” I admitted. “But it would buy a little time.”
“Time,” Harrow muttered. “Time to figure out how they’re killing us. How they even know who we are. Every attack happens when a group of Voids are in one place. Never any isolated killings. Some attacks strike Unions that only meet once every six months, at irregular times. The fleshwriters would have to know names, faces, and schedules to achieve that kind of good timing.” He stared seriously at me.
My stomach sank. “They’d need inside information.”
Harrow nodded.
“You can’t think that I–”
“I know you’re not a spy, Adrienne. I have my own sources out there, and they tell me your cult is dead-set on finding and killing you. Quite frankly, you’re one of the only people alive who have nothing to gain by betraying the Union. You’re one of the only people I can trust.”
“That’s why you recruited me,” I said. “Because you need an ally.”
“I was completely up front about my motives.”
“Still,” I insisted, “if you think the Unions have been infiltrated, that’s something you should have told me. I’ve been chatting with your people and letting who knows how many of them see me. If my drawing hadn’t alerted the cult, you might have.” Anger flooded my veins, anger at being kept in the dark, at being manipulated and used. I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. My senses strained to draw in magic, though with so many Voids, there wasn’t even a whisper of power in the air. My anger stoked hotter to compensate. “Hell, Harrow, you people have records about me! If Vince has a source inside the Union, he might already have my address, my phone number, everything he needs! You should have told me.”
Harrow glared at me. “I know the value of your personal information. It is kept at the highest level of classification. Only I and my most senior operatives have access to your address, your work history, or any other information we have about you. I trust every one of those people with my life, and with yours. As for my disclosure, I have told you what you needed to know, as you needed to know it.”
