A Knight of Cold Graves (The Revenant Reign Book 1)

by Clara Coulson

  Saul rocked back on his heels, stunned by the spook’s assertion. “If a revenant sorcerer was involved in the abduction of those girls, then a very big and very nasty scheme has been set into motion.”

  Revenant sorcerers usually did all in their power to stay off the PTAD’s radar, because the PTAD had a history of obliterating such sorcerers. Usually with a combination of magic and heat-seeking missiles. And not without justification.

  Revenant sorcerers had caused some of the biggest disasters in US history. High death tolls. Billions in property damage. Millions more to conceal the truth from the mundane public.

  Whenever a revenant practitioner of the dark arts decided to go big instead of go home, it always ended in tragedy. Always.

  For one of those walking nightmares to surface in Weatherford, it meant that a storm far worse than today’s monsoon was rapidly approaching.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck, uneasy. “Before the death curse went off, did you see anything inside that flophouse room? Any sign of the girls?”

  The spook nodded. “Some clothes. A pink jacket. A beanie hat with a cartoon character on it. And a blue purse. Think all those items were in the descriptions your boss provided.”

  “So the girls were there at one point,” Adeline said.

  “But they were moved somewhere else before we caught up.” Jill worried her lip. “And the sorcerer left a trap in case someone followed their trail.”

  Jack frowned. “We need to retrieve one of those items. Most fabrics retain spiritual impressions for up to forty-eight hours after they were last touched by someone. If we can get one of those things to a psychometrist in short order, they might be able to psychically reconstruct what happened to the girls in that room, and what led up to their brief imprisonment there.”

  The spook snorted. “Good luck with that. Odds are someone came and trashed that shit after I stumbled out of there with my head hanging on by a thread. If not, then the sorcerer will be using the stuff as bait to take a stab at anyone else who comes snooping around their plot.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Jack said. “But we have no other leads on the girls, so we have to play this out.”

  Adeline’s brow furrowed. “We going into Benton Court, boss?”

  “No. Jill and I are going into Benton Court.” He dug the car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Saul. “You and Saul are going back to the Castle.”

  “Seriously?” Saul said. “But Adeline and I fit in with the court’s atmosphere way more than you and Jill.”

  “Ironically, that’s the problem,” Jack countered. “People in the court know that you and Adeline used to run on the wrong side of the law. You’re infamous ‘turncoats.’ Even if you infiltrate the court in disguise, the moment either of you use your magic, you’ll become targets to a great many people.”

  Adeline grimaced. “You make a good point.”

  “Jill and I,” Jack added, “aren’t nearly as well known to the denizens of the court, and we don’t practice much magic, so our signatures won’t tip anyone off.”

  The spook, who’d poured herself a second beer, said, “How are you not recognizable, Grandpa? You have a big-ass scar on your face.”

  Jack ignored the “Grandpa” insult and replied, “In human form, yes. But it’s rather hard to see the scar underneath a thick layer of fur.”

  The spook froze with the mug halfway to her lips. “Oh.”

  “So we’re doing the old skit again?” Jill asked, mildly excited. “An innocent girl and her guard dog on a nighttime walk through a rough neighborhood?”

  Adeline squinted. “You’ve done that before?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jill. “Back when Jack and I worked in Cleveland. We did it like fifteen times over the course of a few weeks to gather intel on a preternatural drug cartel operating in a bad area of town. No one suspected a thing. Until like a whole army of SWAT teams stormed the neighborhood and arrested everyone in the cartel.”

  Jill beamed. “We got a commendation from the director for that case.”

  Jack chuckled. “Ah, those were the days.”

  Saul rolled the keys around in his hand, still unconvinced. “So, what? You just want Adeline and me to sit around while you do all the work?”

  “No,” Jack said. “I want Adeline to call up her entire list of underground contacts and see if anyone has heard whispers about a new revenant sorcerer in town. And I want you to take a goddamn break, eat some goddamn food you don’t throw up, and go sit with your goddamn brother so you can stop worrying about him.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are.” Jack lightly smacked him upside the head. “I know you’re dedicated to the job, Saul, but that doesn’t mean you should run yourself ragged, physically or emotionally. When Jill and I get back from Benton Court, you can get back to work. ”

  Saul closed his hand around the keys. “If those are your orders, boss.”

  “They are.”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  “Good man.” Jack pulled out his phone. “I’m going to run the plan by Roland, then Jill and I will take a cab to the court. You and Adeline can head on back now.” He glanced at the spook, who had already drunk most of her second mug. “As for you…”

  “Don’t worry about me, Grandpa.” She waved him off. “Your boss already paid me, so I’m all set on my tab for tonight. I’ll be fine right here, drinking my sorrows away.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. So buzz off.” She waved more emphatically. “You government stiffs are cramping my style.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tanner

  The man named Roland Smith got ten words into a spiel about the importance of maintaining the divide between the mundane and the preternatural before he received a call on a cell phone whose ringtone was set to “Ride of the Valkyries.”

  Apologizing for the interruption, he dropped a fifty-page document onto Tanner’s lap, along with an expensive fountain pen, and told Tanner to read and sign on the highlighted lines. Then he stepped back out into the hall and answered the phone with a grumble of, “Must you always call when I’m in the middle of something, Jack?”

  That was all Tanner heard, as Smith shut the door behind him.

  Curiosity piqued, Tanner picked up the pen and read the cover page of the document, which was entitled National Standard Preternatural Secrecy Agreement. Flipping to the first page, he found himself immersed in an ocean of finely tuned legalese that amounted to a set of restrictions on when, where, and with whom Tanner could discuss the preternatural in general, and the Preternatural Threat Assessment Division specifically.

  The agreement also described the PTAD in detail, including its mission and purview. Essentially, the division rounded up preternatural criminals, both human and not, and pushed them through a shadow court system into a secret prison network.

  Tanner was mildly perturbed at the idea that the government could whisk him off to a black site prison with no public oversight whatsoever. But at the same time, he understood why such a penal system existed.

  Most preternaturals couldn’t be directly observed by humans without the Sight, so they couldn’t be publicly prosecuted. Plus, all preternaturals likely possessed some kind of ability that would make it impossible for regular prisons to hold them.

  There had to be some sort of system to render punishment for the crimes of preternaturals, and that system had to remain entirely off the general public’s radar. Lest the preternatural community face exposure to humans who would never be able to truly comprehend it.

  Humans often reacted poorly to things they didn’t understand. Tanner couldn’t imagine the kind of panic that would grip the world if it came out that there was a whole society of nonhuman creatures, along with real witches and wizards, living right under everyone’s noses.

  People would suspect everyone of being a preternatural. Their friends. Their neighbors. Their own families.

  Innocent people woul
d get hurt. Innocent people would get killed.

  Fear would permeate daily life, and living in constant fear wasn’t really living at all.

  Tanner read the document from beginning to end twice—he was a fast reader, by necessity—mumbling about his slew of grievances along the way. Things like, “a lack of accountability” and “no oversight whatsoever” and “no one polices the preternatural police.”

  But when he finished the second read-through, he swallowed his qualms. He knew that changing the status quo was not on the table. It never would be, unless the next step in human evolution did a complete one-eighty to human nature.

  He turned back to the beginning of the document, sought out the lines for his initials and signatures, and quickly filled them all in with the illegible squiggly marks that he claimed represented his name.

  The whole time he was doing this, Laura stood near her desk, watching him curiously. He got the sense she was comparing him to Saul, and that she found the results quite baffling. Most people did.

  Stereotypes taught people that identical twins were basically copies of one another. That they had the same personalities, regularly spoke in unison, and possessed some sort of telepathic connection. And perhaps some twins were like that.

  Saul and Tanner Reiz were not counted among that number. They’d been complete opposites since the day they were born.

  Saul had been a colicky baby. Tanner had been quiet. Saul had been a rowdy toddler. Tanner had been well mannered. Saul had been a moody preteen. Tanner had been composed. Saul had been a rebellious teen. Tanner had been studious.

  Tanner didn’t know much of what Saul had been up to over the past decade. Nonetheless, he had a feeling that Saul’s penchant for skirting the rules, along with his tendency to resort to violence to resolve disputes, had not simply been cast aside.

  Maybe Saul had developed productive outlets for those traits—outlets that were useful to the FBI—but Tanner couldn’t imagine his brother had become a totally different person.

  Though he probably feels more accepted now that he works with people who understand him, Tanner thought regretfully. Maybe that’s mellowed him out to some degree.

  Tanner had never wished that he too was involved in the accident that nearly killed Saul; if he had been, he would’ve died, as the truck struck the side where he usually sat. Now though, he desperately wished that something had happened to him when he was younger. Something jarring enough to wake his Third Sight.

  If Tanner had been able to empathize with Saul back then, maybe Saul wouldn’t have run away.

  Sighing, Tanner placed the completed NSPSA on the dresser next to his bed, along with the fancy pen. He flexed his fingers a few times, the joints sore from the lingering effects of the manticore venom. He tested the rest of his joints also, and found he could lift his arms all the way to his face now, and even bend his legs at the knee. If his body kept healing at this rate, he’d be back on his feet in no time.

  Yay me, he thought unironically. I should figure out how this self-healing magic actually works. Maybe Laura can give me some pointers.

  He was about to ask her if she could whip him up a cheat sheet, when Smith stormed back in, looking frustrated. The sparks in his eyes were bigger and brighter than before.

  “Problem?” Laura asked.

  “When is there not a problem?” he replied. “But it’s not something you need to worry about. Yet.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.” She gestured to the supply cabinet behind her. “Should I prep anything?”

  “No, no.” He waved off her concern. “It’s Jack who’s putting himself in the hot seat. Worst case, he’ll come back with another scar, and Jill will come back covered in his blood. Again.”

  Laura hummed a note of comprehension. “One of those situations, huh?”

  “It’s turning out to be that kind of day. I sure do hope it ends soon.”

  Laura glanced at a clock on the wall. “Still got a few more hours yet, I’m afraid.”

  “If I worshipped a god, I would pray.”

  “Can’t you ask your great-great-great-grandpa for a favor?”

  Smith winced. “His usual favors are less ‘protecting the meek’ and more ‘smiting one’s enemies.’”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway.” Smith turned to Tanner and located the completed NSPSA on the dresser. “You’ve already finished? You know this is a bit more important than website terms and conditions, don’t you?”

  Tanner shot him a blank look. “I’m a speed reader. Unless the document I’m reading is Middle English, in which case I’d still read it a whole lot faster than you.”

  The corner of Smith’s lips twitched. “Is that so?”

  “I do have a PhD, you know.”

  His hard expression softened, ever so slightly. “So you do. Which certainly sets you apart from Saul.”

  “Yeah, he was never academically minded. I, on the other hand, am so academically minded that in middle school I regularly got stuffed into lockers.”

  He snorted. “I see. Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to review the NSPSA one last time…”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then we’ll move on.” Smith slipped a small notepad from an interior pocket of his suit jacket and recovered his pen from the dresser. “As you may have inferred, you are a key witness in an ongoing investigation into the murder of Marlene Witherspoon, an eighteen-year-old freshman at Weatherford College.”

  Tanner’s heart sank. “Was that her name? Marlene?”

  “You didn’t know it?”

  Tanner shook his head. “It’s the first week of classes. I’m still getting acquainted with all my students. So I…I couldn’t even put a name to her face, not even after Muntz told me he killed her. It made me feel like a grade-A asshole.”

  “Her death is not on your shoulders,” Smith said. “You are not a guilty party, and you need not feel responsible for what happened to her.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “I am well aware.” Smith grabbed a chair from a row set along the wall and placed it beside Tanner’s bed. “But the needless guilt will gradually erode, and though it may never completely fade, time will smooth it out into something that does not hinder your path.”

  Tanner smiled faintly. “What self-help book did you steal that from?”

  Smith returned the smile. “The PTAD academy manual for the remorse and grief management course.”

  “You have a whole academy?”

  “Well, it turns out that catching preternatural bad guys requires a few more skills than the standard FBI repertoire.” He opened the notepad to a blank page. “Which is why I’m here. I need you to recount what happened to you. Everything from the time you were abducted to the time Saul and his team saved you from the manticore. Include every detail you remember, no matter how insignificant you think it is.”

  Tanner bit the inside of his cheek. “Do I have to do this now?”

  “Yes,” he said bluntly. “Muntz has always been a dangerous actor, but today, he moved with a boldness he has never displayed before, and he utilized preternatural tools he should not have access to. So we need to know exactly what you experienced, lest we unwittingly run into something we don’t expect when we move to arrest him. It’s a matter of safety, for you in the future and for my people now.”

  Tanner gripped the sheets tightly, then let them go. “I understand. I’ll do my best to recall everything.”

  “Good.” Smith put the pen to paper. “You can begin.”

  Tanner closed his eyes and started talking.

  He spoke of the violent ambush outside the library by the two men, Don and Drew.

  He spoke of waking up in the slaughter room at the abandoned factory, and the conversation with Muntz that ensued.

  He spoke of the attack by the sable wight, how the near-total drain of his life energy triggered his revenance, which allowed him to fight back using magic.

  He spoke of his hard-wo
n escape from the factory, the encounter with the men at the riverside, their untimely deaths, and the race across the bridge.

  He spoke of the strange vision of the seven figures, followed by his leap of faith into the river.

  Here, he paused to catch his breath. He was shaking head to toe from the mental exertion of reliving those horrible hours.

  Laura shuffled over with a steaming mug of something that smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. “Sip on this,” she said, offering the mug to Tanner. “It reduces anxiety.”

  Tanner looked at the mug, suspicious, but accepted it anyway. “This isn’t bitter, is it?”

  “No,” she assured him. “It tastes a bit like sweetened coffee with a few spices added in. It’s a big hit with the agents around here.”

  Tanner took an experimental sip. “Not bad.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to continue,” Smith said, expectantly spinning the pen around in his fingers.

  Tanner nursed his anti-anxiety coffee for a few minutes, until his heart stopped trying to take a trip to Florida. “Okay,” he finally said, licking his chapped lips, “so after I woke up on the riverbank…”

  From here, he relayed the rest of his crazy tale.

  The slog through the construction site, guided by the will-o’-the-wisp.

  The accidental eavesdropping on the necromancer and his companion in the raincoat, and the murder of the deliverymen.

  The moment where Tanner did something he couldn’t quite remember—caught his palm on a splinter, maybe?—that alerted the murderous duo to his presence and spurred his flight from the manticore.

  And lastly, his arrival at the market populated by those weird green creatures his revenant memories now informed him were goblins, where Saul and that older man came to his rescue.

  “And that was my day,” he finished. “How was yours?”

  Smith didn’t reply. He turned back to the first page of the three he’d written while Tanner was talking and reviewed everything. When he got to the end of his notes again, he said, less to Tanner and Laura, and more to the world in general, “We have problems. Big problems.”