Then the giant burst through the last fence and came out into a car-park. A few cars sat under yellow, glowing cones from the streetlights. Tanqueray turned aside, but clipped one of the cars. It rocked and an alarm went off. Lights flashing, horn blaring, it alerted the few people waiting on the dock to what was coming.
Faces turned toward the noise, going pale at the sight of the massive football star barrelling down on them. A ferry was just pulling away from the dock as Tanqueray hit the wooden planks, witnesses scattering out of his path. The whole structure vibrated violently under his unnatural weight. The end of the dock crumbled as he launched himself off it, hurtling toward the moving catamaran.
He hit the side of the boat. The vessel shook, slewing through the water, churning brown and white froth. Its stern slammed into the dock as I reached it. The long dock creaked and shifted abruptly. I hit the wood, rolled, and came up running. Tanqueray was clinging to the side of the ferry. It listed heavily, but the engines chugged and it moved forward. Passengers grabbed for hand holds, gaping in shock.
I reached the end of the dock and threw myself after the moving boat. Came down on a guy at the stern, both of us hitting the deck hard. People were shouting, their voices mere drones in the background of the pounding thrum in my head. On my feet again, I found Tanqueray. He was on the roof of the catamaran, legs braced against the motion of the boat, big hands splayed, looking from me, to the shore, to me, to the boat and settling on me with snarl.
“You can’t fight here,” a strident voice announced. A blue uniformed CityCat employee stood in the doorway to the cabin. “You haven’t paid!”
Ignoring him, I took two long steps forward, sprang to an empty seat and launched myself to the roof. Tanqueray met me with a fist. I flew backwards, nearly falling back to the deck. Caught myself on the very edge, on my back, hands full of roof to keep from falling. Tanqueray pressed the advantage, looming over me. I put a boot into his gut, then his crotch. He didn’t seem to notice.
I swivelled my hips and sliced my legs through his. The Colonel crashed down, but I wasn’t there. Hauling backward, I fell off the roof and hit the deck again, upright and balanced. Again propelling myself off a seat, I jumped up and caught him around the neck and let myself drop. The giant came down on the deck in a graceless pile. The whole boat shuddered with the impact. I looked at the thing at my feet and sneered. It was no match for me.
Someone hit me from behind. I staggered forward, feeling arms around my waist, the whole weight of a body tackling me to the deck. People piled on like a scrum, me at the bottom.
“Get him,” someone was yelling. “Keep him down.”
Good fucking Samaritans. Just my damned luck.
I thrashed and knocked a couple clear but the others just locked on tighter.
“Jesus Christ! He’s got to be on something. Strong as an ox.”
“Stay on him. Oh, fu—” The voice vanished in a startled gasp and the body went with it, disappearing off my back.
“Hey!” But that one went the way of the previous speaker, as well.
Which left one on top of me. I heaved and he was knocked free with a strangled cry. I shoved him the rest of the way off and squirmed away, looking for distance before I got to my feet. Spinning, I took in the situation.
Three men were on the deck, one unmoving, two more moaning in agony and clutching parts of their bodies. A forth dangled from Tanqueray’s fist, panicked but fighting. It was the CityCat guy, probably the pilot, judging by the circles the cat was turning in, slowly making its way into the middle of the river.
“Let him go,” I snarled at Tanqueray.
Those crazy eyes found me and he sneered, giving his captive a hard shake.
“Shit,” someone said from behind me. “That’s Henry Tanqueray!”
The man in question roared at the poor unfortunate, spittle flying. He tossed the terrified pilot aside and charged.
I stepped into his way, body-blocking him from the innocents. I went flying but at least he was deflected, careening off to the side. He hit the wall of the cabin and the boat juddered. Those passengers still standing wobbled and most gave up and hit the deck. They crawled into the protection of the rows of seats or rushed to the bow, leaving the stern area to me and Tanqueray.
The berserker-fuelled strength was starting to wan. Everything was still tinged red and I couldn’t shake clear of the mounting pressure in my head, but I’d been knocked about too much. Already hurting and exhausted from one berserker trip today, I wasn’t up for much more of this.
Tanqueray pushed off the wall and faced me. His lips curled up, exposing his teeth. Those inhumanly wide shoulders rippled as he flexed his arms. The wounds in his arm from Mercy’s nails still hadn’t bled. Four gaping rents in flesh exposing grey-tinged red tissue. In the thumping turmoil of my head, things clunked together.
Like the rats, Tanqueray had been altered by the earth sorcerer, enlarged, maddened, driven to do one thing—attack me. Unlike them, he didn’t bleed. Unlike them, he didn’t bend or break under pressure. He was solid, through and through. Unbreakable, invulnerable.
I reached for his aura.
At first I thought there wasn’t one, but just as I was wondering if he’d somehow lost his aura, I found it.
His aura was pulled in tight around him, lying so close to his skin it may as well have not been there. No, not pulled in. Eaten away. All I felt was the ragged remains, the bits of flesh too close to the bone to be chewed off.
The flavour came to me reluctantly, gritty and bitter. A hint of beer and salt overwhelmed by a stale taste I couldn’t classify, but it left my tongue feeling dry and scraped raw.
“Give up, Night Caller,” Tanqueray said, his words slurred, jaw working at odd angles. “You don’t have the strength.”
“You’re only saying that because it’s true.” Not my best line, but it gave me a bit of room. I began inching backwards.
“You are nothing without the other one.”
The red flared and I felt a surge of anger-powered strength. “Yeah? Come here and say that.”
Tanqueray sneered and curled his hands into fists. It sounded like grinding stones. “Without her, you won’t be so quick to resist. You will succumb eventually. Just give in and get it over with.”
All I could manage was a growl. My head felt like it was filling up with cement—heavy and slowly solidifying. By my side, my left arm twitched.
“Just let it happen,” Tanqueray slurred.
Jaw set, I ground out, “No,” and lifted my right arm. Directing my telekinesis along it, I hit him with a blast right in his chest.
The Colonel grunted and pushed into it. I was forced backward, giving deck grudgingly. He leaned forward, following me, teeth gritted, body straining against the pressure. The torn front of his shirt ripped even more, material shredding away. Dark skin rippled under the telekinetic energy. It began to abrade the surface layers, peeling it away in small pieces, exposing raw skin, only to drill through that as well, opening up red wounds. And still Tanqueray came on.
I skidded backwards, boots skimming across the supposedly non-slip covering on the deck. The psychic strength was being depleted too fast. He was coming on too quick, resisting it too easily. His chest was down to bone. At least, I think it was bone. It was grey and incredibly hard, taking the battering of the telekinesis and not giving even a millimetre.
Then my telekinesis gave out. It stopped in a sudden rush, leaving me empty and exhausted. A lone, stupid guy at the very back of a ferry, with a massive footballer suddenly free to charge.
Tanqueray came like a freight train, bellowing in triumph.
At the last moment, I ducked under his charge and came up under him.
He was heavy. Heavier than anything I’ve ever tried to lift, but momentum played a big part, as did his weight, ironically. He went over the back of the ferry at a great rate of knots, arms flailing, yelling wildly.
Something snagged me. I had a moment to realise
he’d caught my left arm, and then I was going over as well.
Tanqueray had the momentum to get him out past the back of the boat. I didn’t.
I slammed down over the propeller housing, whole body exploding with pain, sharp and intense, knocking the air from my lungs. Still caught by Tanqueray, I was dragged backwards. He hit the churned up water with a splash that wouldn’t get him any points with the judges. I went in after him.
Cold water closed around me, chaotic and frothing, pushing and pulling in all directions. There was a strong pull, though, a powerful draw sucking me in. In the murky water, I caught a flash of propeller as I was pulled in, closer and closer even as I was dragged downward. I thrashed for traction in the water, wanting away from spinning, chopping death. In the frantic churning, I got nowhere fast, just further down and closer to an ugly end.
Tanqueray yanked and I was pulled under the propeller before it could slice and dice. The cat skimmed away as we sank. Darkness and cold wrapped around us. I couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t break the Colonel’s hold. He dug both hands into my arms, dragging me further away from precious air.
Chapter 34
Dev had learnt early that when dealing with Theodore Aurum, there was a simple way of doing it relatively painlessly. Behave civilly.
When Erin dropped him at the hotel, Dev went and bought a new cell phone but didn’t call Aurum immediately. As a Primal, Aurum didn’t sleep so the time difference meant nothing, unless you wanted to do things the civil way and call during working hours. Calling in the middle of Aurum’s night the other day hadn’t gone well for Dev. His annoyance, as it often did, had failed to impress Aurum enough to make the hour of the call forgivable. So he left this call for the evening and caught a cab back to the Belascos’ storage unit.
He shored up the melting rat-cicle, then resumed the interrupted search, looking for a file on an earth sorcerer who might be theirs. As he had earlier, though, he found himself looking for his own file. He hadn’t found it in its correct place earlier. Only Lana’s. Not even his parents were in here, but they’d died over twenty years ago and their only worthy accomplishment had been producing Lana. There was nothing else worth knowing about them.
Without Hawkins hindering him, he searched indiscriminately. He wasn’t misfiled under R for Randy, or W for weather, or even S, for sorcerer. Unless he’d ended up somewhere completely skewwhiff, then there wasn’t a file on him here. Hawkins had gone off on a rampage just because his file was empty, but at least he’d had a file.
Whether it was here or not, it wasn’t apparent and that meant things might not be as exposed as he feared they were.
Going back to the methodical search, he worked tirelessly until he reached the Ms.
McRea, Erin. Private Investigator.
Intrigued, he sat down and opened it up. The photo looked professional, perhaps one she’d had done for the agency. She looked out at him with an expression that said she’d seen and heard it all, just try to shock her. It listed her full name, her contact and location as the office of Sol Investigations and a surprising threat level of twelve. Normal humans rarely rated above eight. Over the page, known associates included Angelo Sol, CEO of Sol Investigations; Matthew Hawkins, non-classified; Kermit, ghoul (real name unknown); Amaymon, succubus (corporeally present)—Dev raised an eyebrow in surprise, he hadn’t known there were any demons physically in the mortal realm at the moment—Jacob Whyte, psychic; and lastly and perhaps most shockingly, Asmodeus, Lord of Lust (beholden).
Dev almost dropped the file.
Erin was beholden to Asmodeus? Hawkins had claimed Asmodeus was dead, though, so any agreement between her and the demon would be void. Still, he wondered what had driven her to negotiate in the first place.
Reminding himself to see if the file on Asmodeus had been updated to include his deceased state, he moved on to Erin’s enemies.
This list was very short. Just two. The first was the Violet Primal (currently nameless). Dev had heard someone had managed to take out Veilchen, but details had been incredibly rare. Had Erin…? No, more likely Hawkins and she’d been involved somehow. The Violet Primal had yet to return to the Council. If it had found a new body it was keeping itself hidden. The second listed enemy was Asmodeus.
Accomplishments were assisting with Veilchen’s demise, as he’d guessed, and thwarting Asmodeus’ attempt to break through to the mortal realm. There was also mention of taking down a werewolf, but it was believed she hadn’t acted alone. There was no hint as to who had helped her, but Dev could guess.
Unlike other files, there were no detailed reports of her accomplishments. Probably because they would reveal too much about Hawkins. Which meant his file was empty by someone’s direction, not because no one was interested.
Putting Erin’s file aside, he kept going. It was late in the afternoon when he got to the end. No file on Randy Devantier and no file on an earth sorcerer who matched his quarry.
Quarry.
Well, he might not have his prey, but he had an idea where to go when he got them.
Leaving the storage facility, he caught another cab back into the city, found an internet café and spent the rest of the day scouting. Finally found what he needed not far from where he started.
Then it was time to call Aurum.
“Hello, Randy.”
Dev winced. No matter what number he called from, Aurum always knew it was him. He also insisted on calling him Randy.
“Hello, Aurum.”
“Checking in, are you? How is Mr Hawkins treating you?”
“That’s part of why I’m callin’, actually,” he said. “Your amazing Aussie warrior went berserk today and implicated me in an assault on a bunch of teenagers. A PI tried to keep me out of the worst of it, but I’d prefer it if you could do your magic and make it disappear. I was only involved because of your recommendation.”
“I shall certainly do what I can for you, Randy. Tell me, has Matthew proved at least somewhat helpful?”
“He would be more helpful if he was even marginally aware of the world outside of this city.” At Aurum’s silent expectation, Dev added, “But he has been beneficial. At times. And problematic at others.”
The Gold Primal chuckled. “Yes, he does have that wide stubborn streak, doesn’t he. Your thoughts on Mercy Belique?”
Dev didn’t answer immediately. Clearly, Aurum believed Hawkins had bothered to introduce him to his partner. The fact he hadn’t most likely meant something significant. Such as he didn’t trust Dev, and Dev didn’t want Aurum thinking that.
“Much the same as for Hawkins,” he hedged.
“Hmm.”
Shoot. Dev didn’t know if he’d erred right or wrong. But at least he had a name to look up now.
Taking a deep breath, Dev asked, “Are you the one suppressin’ information on Hawkins?”
“Hmm.”
Goddamn that annoying non-answer.
“Once I’m done here am I goin’ to be suppressed, too?”
“Randy, if I wished to keep Matthew Hawkins hidden from the world, and thus the world from him, would I have sent you to him in the first place? Wouldn’t I have simply called him and asked him to deal with your little sorcerer problem and kept you away?”
And Goddamn his manipulations. As Monty used to say, the man ought to mind his own rat killin’.
“You can be assured I will take care of your problem with the Australian law enforcement,” Aurum continued. “Was there anything else?”
There was, but Dev wondered about the repercussions of telling Aurum about the ghoul, Afzal. As far as Dev was concerned, any ghoul was barely worth the bullet to the brain it took to kill them, but Afzal was special. There’d be a long line of sorcerers willing to watch him die. Yet, Hawkins seemed pretty intent on the belief the ghoul wasn’t as bad as others. Undoubtedly a symptom of Hawkins’ blinkered existence. Dev couldn’t imagine Hawkins defending the creature if he knew the truth.
Now wasn’t
the time to correct that oversight, however. If Dev decided he needed Hawkins, or even Erin, to move forward, he’d best keep them on side.
“No, that’s it. I appreciate the save.”
“No thanks required, Randy. I do enjoy these conversations of ours. Do extend my warm regards to Matthew and Mercy.”
Dev snorted. “I’m sure they’ll be accepted in the same vein in which they were given.”
“Undoubtedly. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Dev sat for a while, chewing over the call. He couldn’t imagine anyone else with the influence to keep Hawkins’ details so well hidden. It had to be Aurum, but why? What was it about this psychic with berserk tendencies that Aurum wanted kept quiet? So far Dev hadn’t seen much to put Hawkins on any different playing field than most of the rest of them. Strong psychic, yes, and a rare affliction that might give him an advantage over Old World creatures, or get him killed faster, but Dev could name a dozen others on equal standing, and several others far more powerful.
Aurum had also hinted it was going to change though. By sending in Dev, he’d pretty much announced it was time Hawkins began looking further afield. Which meant he’d be exposed to the bigger fish in the bigger pond. His learning curve was going to be a steep one.
Unsure how he felt about Aurum tossing Hawkins into the deep end, Dev left the internet café and caught another cab.
Regardless of Aurum’s plans for Hawkins, Dev still had a job to do. He wasn’t here for educational purposes. And if getting that job done meant playing nice with a murderous ghoul, then he’d do whatever he needed to get it done.
The moment he stepped out of the cab at the cemetery he felt the presence of sorcery. The thick, twisted sorcery of his prey, in fact. Relatively fresh, if the strength of the sensation was anything to go by.
Night Call (Book 3): Rock Paper Sorcery Page 25
