But that exquisite sensation, the blessed relief from pain, the pleasure of smelling her fear, sweeter than anything I’d tasted since being locked in a demon’s arms…
No. No. I was human, goddammit. I was going to stay that way, no matter what. Genesplicing didn’t make a human less human, and neither would this. Only my body had changed. The rest of me remained the same.
Didn’t it?
Oh, Anubis, I prayed, don’t let me be wrong on this one.
“Danny?”
I let out a ragged breath. “Yeah?” Don’t ask me, Jace. Don’t ask me if I can give you any more than what you already have from me. The best thing I can do is finish out this case, however it ends up, and try to find some way to set you free to live your own damn life. I can’t do this anymore.
But once again, he surprised me. “Where we going next? Let me guess. To find Hollin Sukerow.”
I opened my eyes again. The mark on my left shoulder throbbed against my skin, and I felt hot fingers trail up my back. Dead fingers. Japhrimel’s fingers. Had my fear smelled like that to him? Had he loved the smell of my terror? Had it strained his control? I wrestled the thought away with an almost-physical effort, forced it down. “You got it. But first we’re going to rendezvous with Gabe.”
And as soon as I can, I’m going to see if there’s a slaughterhouse in Saint City that will do me a blood vat.
It was a good thought, one that made my heart lighten. The one that came after it made my entire chest sink. But what if I’m wrong and I dump Japhrimel’s ashes in a vat of blood and ruin them? Lucifer lies, and the rest is just guesswork. What if he’s taunting me?
If the Devil was taunting me, he was doing a goddamn good job of it. I would have to finish this goddamn hunt and then find every book I could lay my hands on about resurrecting demons. No more bounties.
I’d grieved long enough, goddammit.
CHAPTER 25
The station house was a seethe of activity, and we made it to the Parapsych floor from the underground parking garage without trouble. I guess my hover was known to the cops, because their parking-lot AI deck took care of bringing the hover in. Jace said very little, and his face was thoughtful. I had finally managed to unclench my left hand and convince myself I hadn’t just tempted Poly to call me again. I’d only been offering an exchange, fair payment to her for making her remember the Hall.
So what if I felt the lightest touch of sweat prickling along my forehead and under my arms when I thought of her? I didn’t sweat easy anymore, it took phenomenal effort that left me numb and hungry to wring water out of my skin. But there it was.
Gabe stalked into her office with a stack of paper to find us waiting for her. Her dark eyes glittered with something close to rage, her sleek hair ruffled. She stopped, seeing us, and tossed the paper on the desk. “Find anything useful?” A slight snarl turned her pretty face feral.
Yeah. I found out that I can get drunk off scaring a sexwitch. How about you, Gabe? “Lots of interesting, and possibly useful.” I blinked at her. “What’s up, Spooky girl?”
“I made a list of the kids in the yearbook that had that mark. One of ’em I can’t find. All of the few still living are still in Saint City. The others are dead.”
“How many?” Jace leaned against the wall of her cubicle, folding his arms. I tried to tell myself I didn’t want to know what he smelled in Poly’s fear.
Lying to yourself is a bad habit to start when you’re a Necromance.
“Nine outside Saint City dead.” Gabe’s mouth turned down at the corners. “It looks like they scattered to the winds: three of them in Putchkin territory, two in Freetowns, and the rest in Hegemony territory as far away from Saint City as possible.”
“Let me guess.” I dropped down in a chair and leaned back, closing my eyes. Thank the gods, something else to think about. “The one you can’t find is Kellerman Lourdes.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a productive few hours,” she said sourly. “Here’s the thing: all of the nine are dead. It started in Putchkin territory, then in the Freetowns, then coming closer and closer to the city. Then this last string of killings in the city itself. And nobody’s caught on. Guess when the first killing was.”
I shrugged, reaching up and rubbing at my temples as if I had a headache. I wondered if part-demons ever got headaches, or if a psychosomatic headache would explain the way my head was pounding. “Tell me.” Not in the mood for guessing games, Gabe. Sorry.
“Exactly ten years to the day after Mirovitch’s death. The victim, Anders Cullam—”
“I remember him.” I shivered. “One of Mirovitch’s stooges.” The phantom scars on my back started to burn, three stripes of fire; the branding along the lower crease of my left buttock gave one flare of pain and then settled down. My left shoulder spread a prickling heat down my chest, velvet fire threading through my veins, soothing me just as I’d just soothed Polyamour.
I was almost happier with a demon mark that was cold and quiescent than one that seemed to have a mind of its own. Especially since I wondered if the mark was reacting to my fear. But that was impossible. I was not a sexwitch.
Gabe dropped down into her chair. “He had one of those spade necklaces and a serious case of being ripped limb from limb. The Putchkin police had the case cold-filed after they hit a wall and no other homicides in the city fit the profile. Look, Danny, I don’t understand just one thing. The normal, Bryce Smith. How the hell does he fit in?”
It was a small, sour reprieve to have a puzzle to think about. Neither do I. That’s the thing that bothers me the most. “Don’t know yet. Can you pull his records? Everything not covered under the blind trust?”
Gabe shrugged, dug in the pile of paper drifting up on her desk, and retrieved a thick file. “Already did. Let’s see. He didn’t have one of those spade necklaces either.”
“He was a jeweler. His slicboard was registered to someone named Keller,” Jace piped up. “Guess what Kellerman Lourdes’s school nickname was, according to Polyamour.”
“No shit?” Gabe shook her head and flipped the file open. “Bryce Smith. Applied for a Putchkin visa as a ‘technological advisor,’ which would put him in that territory at about the right time… hmm. He took someone else with him, but it doesn’t say who. Goddamn diplomatic seals.” Her eyes came up to meet mine. “Goddamn, Danny. It’s good to have you with me.”
That managed to bring a weary smile to my face. I leaned forward to take the file. “I live to serve. You have a list of the ones living in Saint City?”
“I do. Seven of them settled here and are assumed alive—”
“Take Polyamour off the list. And Kellerman Lourdes. That leaves five. Is Hollin Sukerow on the list?”
“Yep. Is Kellerman our suspect, Danny?”
I took a deep breath. My brain clicked over into “work” mode, and it was a relief. “I don’t know.” I’m working on blind instinct here, Gabe. You keep expecting a miracle.
Well, wasn’t that what blind instinct was? Wasn’t that what magick was?
“Why are the people in Saint City still alive?” Gabe’s eyebrows drew together.
“Because Rigger Hall is located here. That’s where it started—so that’s where it will stop.” The prickling heat from my left shoulder slid down my back, the phantom scars turning to liquid fire and then subsiding. I blew out through my teeth, a whistling tone that served as punctuation. “All right then. Let’s get this hover in the air. What are we going to do?” I was slightly surprised my voice didn’t shake. I sounded normal except for the throatiness left over from Lucifer crushing my windpipe. Time hadn’t taken the sting from that memory—or from any other, for that matter. A Magi-trained memory is both a blessing and a curse; there were so many things I wished I could forget. The list seemed to be getting longer lately. Much longer.
Do you believe in Fate, Danny Valentine? Polyamour’s voice, terrified and low. I hadn’t really answered her, because the answer was too… scary.
/> For a moment I contemplated telling Gabe that some things should be left to Fate, that something was being worked out here, some horrible equation being finished. I wondered what she would say if I told her that I was beginning to see the pattern, and that it was a terrible one, complete in its infinite awfulness.
Then I had another thought, rising like bad gas from the darkest vaults of my mind. They—whoever it was in that dark room after Polyamour dragged away a screaming nine-year-old who had probably suffered more than any child should have to face—had fed on Mirovitch, torn him into psychic pieces and perhaps physical ones too, since physical dismemberment would definitely help the psychic mutilation. And now, decades later, they hadn’t contacted the police when they felt danger closing in. Instead, they had retreated to their sanctums and drawn circles with consecrated chalk. Were they the same circles and glyphs Keller had altered and used to drain the life out of a monster wearing the Headmaster’s clothing?
I was suddenly, chillingly sure that something had risen from those circles and torn them to pieces. Had Christabel wondered if this might happen all those years ago and marked those she knew might be in danger? A Necromance knew that the dead stayed dead, but could she have suspected something would rise from an unquiet grave and…
I shook the thought away, my braid bouncing against my back. She hadn’t been a full-fledged Necromance at the time. But maybe Christabel had started to wonder about things… And maybe she was like me, with a small precognitive talent that had whispered to her to mark her fellow conspirators, maybe as a fuck you to the world that hadn’t saved them from Mirovitch, forcing them to do the unthinkable to save themselves.
Remember Rigger Hall. Remember.
My hand dropped to my pocket, feeling the small bumps from the silver necklaces. Maybe I should just let this take care of itself.
I couldn’t believe I’d just thought that. It had to be the fear talking.
I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. The old Danny Valentine would never have thought so, would never have entertained the notion that perhaps it was better for this circle to be closed. That this murderous cycle might best be left to finish itself out unmolested.
No, the old Danny Valentine would know that whoever had killed Mirovitch was due a debt of gratitude, if nothing else.
The old Danny Valentine wouldn’t have wanted to scare a sexwitch just to get a few cheap moments of enjoyment either.
Come on, Danny. Think about it. There is a circle being closed here. You get in front of something with this type of momentum and it could run right over you. And besides, this is not your fight, is it? If it’s vengeance, it’s a vengeance you have nothing to do with.
It was a dishonorable and uncomfortable thought. A thought not worthy of someone Gabe could count on, a thought unworthy of the woman Jado had given another sword, unworthy of the terrified Necromance Japhrimel had tried his best to protect and the woman Jace was even now protecting as best he could.
But still, the thought persisted. Like the Devil’s perfumed, silken voice, crawling in the corners of my mind, searching for entrance.
The Devil’s voice—or Mirovitch’s.
Besides, I had vengeance of my own to mete out. For Roanna, who had tried so hard to tell her social worker what was happening. And for myself, too. For the child I had been.
Eddie’s voice floated through my head. I can’t go home, I can’t fuckin sleep, and people are dying. I got to get this done.
I looked up at Gabe’s worried face. I had no choice. It had been too late the moment Gabe picked up her phone and dialed my number. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Do?” I shrugged. “I’m going to go visit Hollin Sukerow. You try to find out more about this Bryce Smith.” Good luck, if he was a tech advisor you can’t break the blind trust; it’s standard for Hegemony-Putchkin work trades.
“Do you think he was Keller?” she asked.
It was an idea. It would have been nice and neat, except for the fact that it made no sense at all. Keller was a psion, or he wouldn’t have been at the Hall. “I don’t know. We don’t even know for sure who Bryce Smith was, only that his body scanned normal and had some genelocking they checked to verify identity. Until we find out more, it’d be useless to assume everything. You know what they say about assumptions.”
That earned me a sniggering laugh. She was looking better by the moment. Give Gabe a clear-cut string of probabilities to work, and she was just dandy. Uncertainty and blank dead ends bugged the hell out of her. “All right. You ever thought of working for the cops?”
I rolled my head back, stretching out my neck. “I’m not too good at playing politics and taking orders. I like being a freelancer.”
Gabe laughed. It was a low, brittle sound, but better than nothing. “Actually, my ass is gold right now. The Nichtvren are putting pressure on the mayor and City Hall to give me anything I need. Whatever you did when you visited the Prime Power must have impressed him.”
“I killed a couple werecain.” I rocked up to my feet. And I’m planning on paying the Prime and his Consort another visit and raiding their library soon. “I’m going to go visit Sukerow. Can you give me a copy of the list?”
She grinned. “It’s already on your datpilot. Hey, Danny?”
I paused, looking up at Jace, who started scraping himself off the wall. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked like he needed about twenty-four hours of sleep. I had to remember his limits. “What?”
“Thanks. For talking to Eddie. He came home last night.”
I winced inwardly. “No problem, Gabe. After all, you’re my friend.”
That being said, I paced out of her office, Jace following me. “We heading to Sukerow’s?”
I glanced down the hall, unease prickling at my neck. “No. Home. I need to pick some stuff up, and you need some sleep. I’ll visit Sukerow, and hook up with you in twelve hours or so. Then we’ll—”
“Goddammit, Danny. I can handle it.” He sounded irritated. We took the stairs down to the parking level again. Our boots rang on the linoleum steps, the sound bouncing off concrete walls. I was breathing easier now, but the prickling on my nape meant bad trouble coming.
“I know you can handle it, Jace.” I wondered if the excessive patience in my tone was going to piss him off even more. It was damn likely. “I just don’t want you to if there’s no need. In twelve hours or so I’m going to need you big-time.”
“Why?” Faint tone of challenge in his voice. I could sense the tension in him as he slammed down the steps behind me, his staff thwocked the wall with a hollow sound. Dammit, Jace, let up on me, all right? I’m not having a good fucking day here.
“Because when I finish with Sukerow and the others on the list, I’m going to Rigger Hall. And I’m going to need you there.” My voice was at least as brittle as his. And when this is all over I also have something I need to do, something that doesn’t concern you. Something you wouldn’t understand. Something that concerns a blood vat and a demon’s ashes, and me praying a whole hell of a lot that Lucifer just isn’t yanking my chain again. You can’t waste your life on someone who can’t give you what you need, Jace. As soon as this is all finished, all over, I have to tell you that. Make you understand.
“At least let me go to Sukerow’s with you. My ’pilot says it’s right near here.”
I stopped on the stairs and looked up at him. He carried his staff, his sword was thrust through a loop in his belt, and he’d been silent about us for far too long. I’d guessed it couldn’t last—it had been long enough to strain anyone’s patience. Even Jason Monroe’s.
He shoved his datpilot back into the inner pocket of his coat, his blue eyes meeting mine. There was a time when I would have sworn that I knew every thought crossing through those blue eyes. He’d come after me, and dealt with me being generally unsociable and rude, never losing his temper, not even pushing me for sex. He had simply been there, a comfort and support.
Why? Especially when the Danny V
alentine he knew would never have forgiven him, no matter how much penance he peformed. I was no longer the terrified, swaggering, half-cracked Necromance he’d fallen in love with. I was someone else, and so was he.
Who was he in love with, who I used to be or what I’d become? And who was I trying to protect by keeping him close to me? Jason Monroe, or my own silly self?
The stairwell echoed with silence. I balanced my right hand on the round handrail covered in chipped blue paint; my left hand curled around the sword. It had quickly become natural again to have my left hand taken with the slender weight; I could almost forget everything was so different now. I could almost forget the intervening years; I could almost forget Nuevo Rio, the heat, and the ice of the island we had tracked Santino to.
I could almost forget everything when I looked up at him, the faint fans of lines coming from the corners of his eyes, the way he favored one injured knee, the familiar slope of his broad shoulders, and the way his mouth quirked at one corner even when he was being serious. I had imagined, sometimes, how he would look when he got older, back in the painfully intense days of our first love affair. I’d even toyed with the idea of having a kid with him, once the mortgage was paid off. There was still something about Jace Monroe that made my shoulders relax and my mouth want to curl up in a smile. He could irritate me the way no other human being on earth could—and the memory rose of his hand around my elbow in Polyamour’s elevator, his fingernails digging in, silently giving me the pain to anchor myself.
I could almost forget everything except the one thing that stood between us, the shadow-ghost of a tall not-quite-man with his hands clasped behind his back, his long Chinese-collared coat smoking with demon power, green eyes gone dark and watching me. The one thing I could never forget, the one thing Jace would never be able to fight his way through or understand his way around.
Japhrimel. Tierce Japhrimel.
But still, my heart ached for Jace.
He’s protecting me the only way he knows how. I eased up another step. My right hand closed around his shoulder, carefully, delicately. “Jace,” I said quietly, “if there was anyone in the whole world I would… be with now, it would be you. The only reason I… well, I don’t know what it would do to you. The last time I had… sex… with anyone, it was Japhrimel.” My voice miraculously didn’t break on Japhrimel’s name, for once. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Jace that I couldn’t give him anything more. It was cowardice, plain and simple; cowardice and need, dressed up as a gentle fiction to spare his feelings. “I’m different now. I don’t know what it would do to you, and I don’t want you… hurt. I don’t think you’re less capable than you were, Jace. I just don’t… I don’t feel weariness like I used to. Or pain. I can go for longer without resting. That’s all. It’s not because I don’t trust you.”
Dante Valentine Page 52
