The Quick and the Dead

by D. B. Sieders

  Good news? It gave her plenty of ammo, but she’d have to ration it. The upcoming raid would require plenty of firepower and strategic use.

  God, she still hadn’t figured out how to get a message to the souls at the asylum.

  A blast of light rushed past, grazing her cheek with a wicked burn.

  “Sorry,” Lewis shouted.

  “Don’t be,” she yelled back, clutching her cheek. “My fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  A second blast came from behind, but she ducked, anticipating it, and took aim at the direction of the blast. The light burst before making contact with the building, creating the spirit energy equivalent of shrapnel. Not enough to damage, but enough to show her attacker she meant business.

  “Good save, Bedford.”

  Chet emerged from around the corner of one of the outbuildings. His specialty appeared to be ambush. He’d spent the greater part of the morning putting mixed teams of veterans and new recruits through their paces, simulating attacks from above—trees and rooftops outside and rafters and windows inside—as well as below, from trenches, underneath bushes, and beneath tables. She figured something would be coming around a nearby corner. Chet’s training and her instincts had worked in harmony.

  “Yeah, well, a real hardass drilled those moves into me.”

  He grinned, rubbing the skin beneath his singed T-shirt. “You’re welcome. Remember them and you might just live long enough to save some souls. And you,” he yelled, pointing at Lewis, “nice job going for that shot.”

  Lewis had grown in skill and confidence. He still wasn’t the best shot, but he was outstanding when it came to covering his teammates and spotting hidden enemies. He’d managed to find Darkmore seventy-five percent of the time—no small feat. Apparently, he’d been gifted with a guardian spirit’s intuition when he’d become a living soul broker.

  She’d been surprised when the reaper had joined them for training. When she woke up, realization hit her like a slap in the face. The dream…vision…whatever it had been, and the pitiful, broken infant tucked away in a dark corner of an ancient shaman’s chamber.

  It had been the reaper’s first form from his mortal life, long, long ago.

  And the reaper who’d claimed his soul, and the fathomless well of spirit light he carried, had been the first reaper?

  She had no idea what to think or how to feel, other than profoundly sorry for the suffering Darkmore had endured in his brief mortal life. The thought had ripped open the scar on her heart she carried from Mae. No wonder the reaper had been drawn to her sister. If anyone in the universe understood her, it was the reaper. Vivian had often wondered if Mae had been aware of the horror that was her existence, an intact mind trapped within a damaged and diseased body. In the brief moments she’d communed with her sister’s soul, she hadn’t had the courage to ask.

  She didn’t have the courage to ask Darkmore, either. And she suspected he might not be inclined to answer if she did. Or worse. He might relish her reaction, feeding from it.

  Careful what you wish for.

  And yet, what he’d revealed to her was a gift. She doubted few if any entities in this life or the next knew what he’d once been, or how he came to be. She’d bared her soul to him, and he’d done the same, hadn’t he?

  “Bedford? You with us?”

  She shook her head, cursing. Her wandering mind would be the death of her, literally. As tempting as it was to muse on the deeper meaning of what Darkmore had shown her, she needed to focus on preparation for the raid, and she needed to come up with a plan to speak with the lost souls at the asylum.

  Oh, and rooting out the traitor in their midst. Nothing like impossible tasks.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “Break time,” Chet said, surprising her. “Bedford’s not the only one who’s tapping out. We need you at your best for the mission. Can’t wear you out now. Go rest. We’ll reconvene at thirteen hundred hours. That’s 1:00 for you pansy ass civilians.”

  Well, the break would give her time to work on her third task. She hadn’t had much time to get to know the other rebels, aside from Gutierrez. Being the only women, they might have bonded by default, but Vivian admired her spirit, her skill, and her no-nonsense approach to the situation. Gutierrez was outgoing, too, and had spent more time with the rest of the rebels. Vivian, being holed up with the reaper, hadn’t had much time to play the get-to-know-you game.

  Since there was no time for that now, picking Gutierrez’s brain was her best bet. And she had the perfect way to do it.

  “Maria?”

  Gutierrez, who’d been gathering her belongings, paused. “What’s up?”

  Vivian ran her fingers through her hair, no doubt showing the mixture of dark and grey roots peeking through her signature red. She’d noticed Gutierrez’s highlights had faded since their arrival, too, and she’d also noticed the color kit her gal pal had brought home from their latest shopping excursion.

  Vivian had bought one for herself, too.

  “Wanna hang out at my place? We can do our hair and talk about boys.”

  She grinned. “You’re on!”

  Vivian closed her eyes and savored the sensations of warm water and strong fingers massaging her scalp, groaning in pleasure.

  “That good, huh?”

  She opened her eyes to a smiling Gutierrez, her foil-wrapped locks twinkling in the light from the bathroom. Gutierrez had transformed the bathroom in her unit into a makeshift salon, stacking pillows and arranging towels into a comfortable seating area on the floor and using the detachable shower head to rinse away hair color with suds. Whatever shampoo and conditioner she used smelled heavenly, like honey and citrus. High-end stuff, like the coloring kit she’d bought.

  She’d turned her nose up at Vivian’s cheap kit but said she could probably “work with it.”

  “How come you’re so good at hair?” She practically purred with delight. Gutierrez was a whiz with finances, skills honed by her days spent as a raging bull on Wall Street. Finding her to be not only competent but skilled to the level of a professional in hair color was a pleasant surprise.

  “My mom. She owned her own salon in Brooklyn. Worked her ass off to put food on the table and put me through college and business school. And before you ask, she wasn’t a single mom. My dad worked his ass off, too.”

  “I didn’t assume anything.”

  Gutierrez snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, gringa.” She said it with a smile.

  It was Vivian’s turn to snort. “You keep telling yourself that, mi amiga. Now hurry up with the rinse job so I can get the goop out of your hair.”

  They made more small talk while Gutierrez put more goop, or product as she called it, in Vivian’s hair and pre-styled it for a later blowout. Trying to give her the same experience that she’d received, Vivian carefully removed the foil and rinsed out the highlights. Then she lathered the woman’s thick locks with the same fancy shampoo, giving her what she hoped was a relaxing scalp massage.

  “So, what’s your take on the team?”

  Gutierrez sighed deeply, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. “They’re coming along. I’m okay with you and B, and maybe Lewis, but not Long, and definitely not your reaper.”

  A spark of outrage on Darkmore’s behalf shot through her before she shut it down. She could hardly blame Gutierrez. The reaper was scary, even in mortal form. And the enemy of one’s enemy didn’t necessarily make for a good friend.

  Then again…

  “What do you have against reapers? Wasn’t your Armando one?”

  Gutierrez’s smile widened. “Yeah. He was a reaper. Still is, as far as I know.”

  That gave her pause. “You aren’t in touch anymore?” Of course she had a million questions, but she didn’t want to give away her motivation for this line of questioning. Gutierrez was smart. She could smell bullshit and was capable of recognizing an interrogation when she heard one.

  Gutierrez went very still, her postur
e stiff beneath Vivian’s fingertips. She fought the tremor running through her body, maintaining pressure and soothing roll of fingers along Gutierrez’s scalp.

  When Gutierrez spoke again, her words took Vivian by surprise.

  “No. You looking for a way out?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vivian scrambled for a response. How did she want to play this? Would Gutierrez speak freely if she thought Vivian was looking to break free of the reaper, or was it a trap, or a test?

  “Oh, so we are going to talk about boys?” Gutierrez said slyly.

  “Maybe,” Vivian replied, reaching for the handheld showerhead to rinse the shampoo out of Gutierrez’s hair. After rinsing, using the opportunity to gather her thoughts. “Of course, Lazarus Darkmore is hardly a boy.”

  “He’s no man, either.”

  “True, he’s not human, no more than any guardian spirit. We aren’t fully human, either.”

  Gutierrez barked a laugh. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Vivian applied a bit more pressure than necessary while applying conditioner, and a bit more nail action. “I was smart enough to get the reaper on my side against the guardians.”

  Gutierrez shrugged. “Good on you. You’re nothing special here, though. Neither am I.”

  Seeing an opening, she took it. “Neither are Long or Lewis. Jury’s out on B. I suppose Briggs and Chet are the special ones.”

  “No, they’ve just been at it longer. We’re all small time, for now. When we get enough energy, we’ll be big time, if we can keep it.”

  Gutierrez surprised her again. She rinsed the conditioner out of Gutierrez’s hair, marveling at the shine and how even the fluorescent bathroom lights played with the highlights. Wrapping the mass of locks in a towel turban, she helped Gutierrez to her feet. “So Briggs really means to take on the Archangel Guardian Council?”

  “And bring it to its knees. Too soon, if you ask me, which he didn’t, but we’ve got a decent shot.”

  “Why too soon?”

  Gutierrez gave her the side eye. “How many rebel bases you think he’s got?”

  Vivian shrugged. She’d seen the books and gone over the finances with Gutierrez. The finances were solid, as far as she could tell. After all, they didn’t need conventional weapons, political backing in the human world, or much in the way of materiel. It wasn’t clear from the books, since they didn’t provide details on regular soldiers—only commanders. Still, how many living soul brokers could there be in the world?

  “I figure a couple hundred. From what Briggs tells me, strategy can compensate for numbers.”

  “And energy,” Gutierrez says. “Briggs has a stash, or so I hear. No one knows where he keeps it, but I overheard he and Chet talking. This big raid should give him enough to make his move on the council.”

  Vivian knew where Briggs kept his energy, or rather, with whom, and she understood why he kept that information secret. Question was, who else knew?

  “Does Chet know where it is?” Vivian asked, wondering how much Briggs trusted his second in command.

  “Don’t think so, and Chet wants to keep it that way for now.” Vivian must have looked puzzled, since Gutierrez added, “Less risk if Chet gets captured. It’s happened before, seconds getting taken while defending their lead and teammates. A couple of bases out west lost their reserves before Briggs instituted new rules.”

  “What happens if Briggs gets taken out?”

  Gutierrez toweled off her hair, examining the results in the mirror. She seemed pleased, which made Vivian happy. She wasn’t certain she could trust Maria Gutierrez, but she liked the woman. Under different circumstances, they might have been friends. At least they were on friendly terms.

  It made using her for information much less palatable.

  “Isn’t that the question?” she said. “Briggs probably has a plan, like someone on the outside who’s supposed to deliver a message to Chet if he gets taken out or captured.”

  That was interesting and made sense. Who could it be? It wasn’t her. The only reason she knew about Briggs’ grandma was on account of the reaper. Aunt Olive didn’t seem the type of woman to get mixed up in afterlife management business or rebellions—she’d been uncomfortable enough with the family connection to Voudon and the loa. Still, Olive was devoted to her nephew, so it was possible.

  More questions than answers. Figured.

  “So you looking for a way out with your reaper?” She spoke as she applied mousse to her hair and began finger styling it.

  “No, I’m looking for a way to right a wrong. I owe him. He had my back when it came to guardian politics and energy tithes. And, well, I…” Like him? That sounded ridiculous even in her own head.

  “Let me guess. It’s complicated.”

  It sounded like a social media status cliché, but that didn’t make it less true. Vivian nodded.

  “Armando came in handy, too. I didn’t go under when the subprime mortgage bubble burst because he had a sense about things. He made us filthy, stinking rich, mostly because he liked human luxuries. He liked me, too. The feeling was mutual, for a while.”

  Vivian smiled wryly. “Wow, all I got was a stipend and a house full of corporeal spirits. They almost ate me out of house and home.” She had to yell, since Gutierrez had started using the hair dryer.

  “Oh, yeah, los diablos eat your food, drink your booze, and wreck your life, and all you get in return is a lousy job you never wanted. Guardian spirits are the ultimate scam.”

  Vivian twirled her newly red locks around her fingers, creating what she hoped would be gorgeous ringlets when they dried. “So you’re team reaper?”

  “I was, until Armando decided to feed from mi abuelo.”

  That hit a little too close to home for Vivian. She dropped her hairbrush with a clatter and cursed under her breath. Gutierrez didn’t miss a beat with the dry and style routine. Whatever emotions she was experiencing, Gutierrez had them clamped down tight. Vivian had no desire to pry, though it would be necessary if she wanted to relieve her fellow soul broker of her burdens. As far as she’d seen, only Briggs shared that ability, though her healing powers appeared to be unique among her fellow living soul brokers. Lewis had guardian spirit intuition, Gutierrez was a pro at wielding spirit light, much like Chet, and it made her wonder what else her allies could do.

  What the traitor in their midst might be able to do.

  “Y’all got room for one more?”

  Vivian didn’t know whose scream was loudest, but Gutierrez’s shot was better. The only reason she didn’t hit B was because he was freakishly fast. One minute he was behind them, his evil grin reflected in the bathroom mirror, and the next he appeared on the sink, sitting and whistling at the damage Vivian and Gutierrez unleashed on the wall.

  “Damn it, B, you need to stop sneaking up on people. It’ll get you killed!” Vivian yelled.

  “And you’re wasting energy, pendejo. You should save it for the raid.”

  “Just practicing,” he said. Then, he turned his suddenly serious gaze on Vivian. “Speaking of getting killed, you’re asking an awful lot of questions about reapers and such, especially for someone who brought her reaper with her. What gives?”

  Shit. Darkmore’s secrets weren’t hers to tell, and revealing his weaknesses might get him killed before she could restore him. And B had been spying on them? For who? She doubted the man was simply curious.

  B laughed. “Red, you have a terrible poker face. I could read you even if I hadn’t been a cop.”

  “She has trust issues,” Gutierrez said, glaring at B. “You aren’t helping.

  Vivian shifted her gaze back and forth between the two. A groan she couldn’t control escaped her throat as she slid down the wall. Oh, God. She’d been played.

  Gutierrez crouched down in front of her, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Don’t beat yourself up. We’ve been feeling you out, too. Congratulations. You passed.”

  Crap on a
cracker, how did she end up in this ridiculous game of spy versus spy?

  “Great. Do I get the password to the club house and the secret handshake?”

  B snorted and Gutierrez’s smile widened. It was weird. These two weren’t traitors. She’d bet her life on it. But they were acting shady. Of course, they’d called Vivian out on the fact that she was acting shady.

  “How about you tell us what you’re looking for. I bet it’s the same thing we want.” B frowned then and said, “Don’t misunderstand. We’re not out to get Briggs or interfere with his operation. We just have our own…interests.”

  Gutierrez rolled her eyes. “Way to go, Sherlock. Why don’t you just tell her everything?”

  “She’s all right, Maria. A conduit like her wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t. She’d be off stockpiling spirit light and going kamikaze on the guardians and Archangels and getting blasted to oblivion.”

  “Not that stupid,” Vivian said. “I’m here to save souls and get some of the more powerful ones on our side. Something’s brewing.” She paused, not wanting to tell them too much—not about where Briggs kept his stash, about the souls in the asylum, or about Mae.

  Mae needed the stash Briggs’ traitor was apparently keeping…

  “So who would stockpile and go rogue?” Vivian asked. “Someone like that could get us all killed, and we all know that in this business, death is only the beginning.”

  Gutierrez and B went tight lipped and quiet. So much for trust. Damn it, she didn’t have time for this. None of them did. She pulled herself up off the ground, dusted off her butt, and heaved a deep sigh before speaking.

  “There’s a traitor among us. Intel is from at least two sources, one reliable.” Mae was reliable. Jury was out on Maeve, even though Darkmore seemed to trust her. “Whoever it is, they’ve got a stockpile of spirit energy and they’re waiting to make a move. Given how big this raid is and the souls in play, I figure it’ll happen then.”