Boreal and John Grey Season 1

by Chrystalla Thoma

  “Let him out, Martha.”

  “What? I can’t do that, it’s against procedure—”

  “I’m taking responsibility.” Ella still didn’t turn. “Okay?”

  “He’s probably an illegal immigrant. Did David Holborn give permission for this?”

  “Yes,” Ella lied. She’d deal with Dave later. She gave the man — Finn — an assessing look. He was watching her intently. “Now open the cell.”

  Martha hesitated, as if waiting to hear it was a joke. Then she waddled over, keys jingling in her hand, and unlocked the door.

  Finn stepped out. His clothes were a mess. His cargo pants were ripped and muddy, and the white t-shirt was stained so many colors she couldn’t begin to image what he’d rolled into. And he was barefoot. Ella shivered just by looking at him, but he seemed unaware of the cold. In fact, he didn’t seem very aware of anything. He swayed where he stood.

  “Hey, careful.” She grabbed his arm and guided him toward an empty chair, surprised at how skinny he was. He’d moved so gracefully when he fought, she hadn’t noticed.

  But when she pushed him down to sit, he resisted. “I need to go. My knives.”

  “Do you have them?” Ella turned to Martha who sighed.

  “Yeah, I got them.” Martha went to retrieve the two bowie knives from a locked drawer. She handed them over, scowling. “If this costs me my job here, or a promotion...”

  Ella handed the knives to Finn who sheathed them at his sides. “It won’t.” She gestured for Finn to follow. “We’ll be on our way.”

  ***

  Ella kept an eye on Finn as they exited the station, but he didn’t stumble and kept his gaze straight ahead. Wrapped in her leather jacket, with her boots and snug, warm pants, she felt cold just looking at him in his thin t-shirt and bare feet.

  The first thing she did upon entering the car was turn on the heater. Finn belted himself in when she told him to. Sniffed suspiciously at the air, jerked when she turned on the radio.

  “I’ll take you home,” she said. “Give me your address.” She waited, the heater blasting hot air inside the car.

  Finn didn’t reply. His hands clenched in his lap, against the dirty fabric. He had long, graceful fingers, but they were scratched and covered in grime where the ichor hadn’t burned them. Traces of silvery lines rippled on his skin, like the ones she’d noticed on his forearms the first time.

  “What are those? Tattoos?”

  He shoved his hands under his armpits, hiding them.

  “Thank you, by the way,” she said, staring at his profile, the slightly hawkish nose, the pale eyebrows drawn together over intense eyes. “For saving my ass. Did you just happen to pass by when the Shades attacked me?”

  He grimaced. “I follow the thinning of the Veil.”

  “Do you work for someone?”

  He shook his head. Made sense. If he did, he wouldn’t need to steal, would he?

  “Been hunting alone for a long time then?”

  He nodded. So this was how the conversation would go. “Why are you here?” Ella asked.

  “The Veil.”

  Ah, monosyllables and repetitions. Fun. And it couldn’t be that simple. She forced on a smile. “Hey, relax, I won’t bite, okay? I’m just going to take you home. What’s your address?”

  He clenched and unclenched his hands, let out a breath. “Collin Park.”

  “That’s not an address.” But she set off anyway. Maybe in Finn-speech that meant ‘Please drive me to Collin Park, I live nearby, thank you.’ Keeping one eye on the road, she shot him the occasional glance, hoping to catch a shift in his expression. “There was an attack there today. Heard about it?”

  Again he said nothing and generally kept a sullen silence as she drove. She’d somehow expected her savior to be more interested in talking to her. But he didn’t seem curious at all, hadn’t asked a single question. His silent, forbidding presence grated on her taut nerves. She’d been used to Simon riding shotgun, grinning and cracking jokes, or recounting his day on their way to the gym or a bar.

  She tried hard to stop thinking of Simon. She failed.

  Collin Park came into view. Police cars were parked outside, and the area was cordoned off.

  “Left,” he rasped, surprising her, and she turned into a narrow street with uniform buildings, modern concrete walls, chrome and glass. Offices and stores.

  “You live here?” she asked, slowing down, craning her neck to look up at the reflections in the endless windows. “Finn?”

  He opened the door and fell out of the moving car, somehow landing on his feet and staggering to the sidewalk.

  “Finn, wait!” Damn the man and his stubbornness. She stopped the car, jumped out and scribbled the number of her mobile on one of her business cards. She crossed to him, pressed it into his hand. “I’m Ella Benson. Here’s my number.” He clutched it, eyes narrowing. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I owe you.”

  “I don’t...” He looked down at the crumpled card. “I’m tired of this.” For just one second, his impassive facade crumpled and tears shimmered at the corners of his eyes.

  “Of what, Finn? I can help—”

  But he turned around and jogged down the street in an uneven lope. She started after him, but he was ungodly fast for someone who’d seemed so wobbly back at the station. Before she’d broken into a full-out run, he’d vanished into some alley.

  Ella stopped. He didn’t want her after him, or he’d have told her something about himself — at least his real address. He didn’t want her help. It stung but it was his call.

  She returned to the car, got inside and gripped the wheel hard. Thumped her forehead lightly on it. Nothing more she could do. She had Simon to find and her job to do. Hell, Missy needed to be fed, and Dave to be updated. Maybe not in that order.

  Pulling off the sidewalk, she drove toward HQ. But she couldn’t shake off the unease, or chase away the image of the tears in his eyes.

  ***

  Dave received the news of Martha’s unsuitability as Ella’s new partner with a grunt and a sigh, but didn’t seem put out, even though he stressed it would be temporary. Yeah, whatever. He still denied he knew why the Veil was thinning so fast. So Ella avoided him. Punching your boss in the face was bad form. Probably.

  Later that night, when she’d finally curled up on her sofa with a take-out burger and fries, an emergency call came through from another Bureau team and she found herself fighting Shades for the second time that day. More goblins, more horned trolls or whatever they were, and the team emerged from the encounter bruised and beaten.

  Trudging back home to her apartment, she thought of Finn. There’d been no sign of him this time when the Shades attacked. She climbed up the stairs, cooed to Miss Meow, and went to the bathroom where she laid her weapons in the shower and crouched down to clean them.

  She sat still for a long moment. Finn’s absence from the fight worried her, although it shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like he could be present every time the Veil thinned. He was just one person. With the Veil sprouting leaks in more and more places, he’d probably go after the ones he thought important. Important how? What was he looking for? What was his purpose in town?

  Settling on the cold tiles to wipe down and hone her knives, she tried to convince herself nothing bad had happened to him. Jumping to conclusions wasn’t a good idea.

  Stop worrying, Ella. He wasn’t a kid, or a kitten like Miss Meow, to be taken in and cuddled. He was a grown man, a good fighter and a driven one at that. He needed no aid.

  Well, she couldn’t help it. Overprotective and a mother-hen Simon had called her. So what? She thought of Sarah, of Simon not telling her he’d been in a relationship for a month, and anger flared.

  And with it the pain of his absence. What use was it anyway, cleaning her knives and following the other agents to fight the Shades if Simon wasn’t there? Fighting only to escape by the skin of her teeth, bruised and bloody and not knowing why the hell she was do
ing it.

  Protect the citizens. Yeah. With all the Shades pouring in, the few Bureau agents could only do that much. If things got worse, they’d need reinforcements. Perhaps even the army would be called in.

  She stared at the light reflecting on her blade. Pointless, all pointless. They had to find the source of the problem, the reason the Veil was tearing. Could it be this John Grey?

  Dave. She was sure he knew more than he let on. Simon would’ve made him sing easily; he had Dave wrapped around his little finger.

  Damn, she needed Simon by her side. They’d always worked together, since she first arrived at this town and started her training for the Bureau.

  Looking down at her filthy clothes, she realized she had to do laundry and soon, but she kept postponing it. Since Simon had vanished, she lived in a strange vacuum, a bubble in time where all she could do was search and wait.

  She only had to find him, and the world would be right again, she was sure of it. Clues were what she needed, and there was a place where she might find them.

  ***

  Late next morning she stumbled blindly out of bed, found the bathroom and took a quick shower. She pulled on a knee band, threw on jeans and her favorite purple tee, holstered her gun and sheathed her knives, and set out to visit Simon’s apartment. Dave would have a fit if he knew where she headed, but she hadn’t been called on a case yet. Her free time was her own.

  She hadn’t been at Simon’s place in a while — not, in fact, since their aborted fling a year back. Leaving her car down the road, she cautiously made her way through a verdant garden to Simon’s entrance. Elegant, typical of the high-end neighborhood, the building always made her feel out of place, dirty and uncouth. She’d always stuck out like a sore thumb around Simon’s friends. Probably one of the reasons it hadn’t worked out between them. She bet Sarah had fit right in.

  Let’s hear it for self-pity.

  Grimacing, she entered the lobby and climbed the stairs to the third floor. A police seal covered Simon’s door, yellow and black, and it brought a lump of fear to her throat. She tore the damn thing off and unlocked with the key Simon had given her back when they’d dated. He’d never asked for it back, and by implicit agreement she’d kept it in case of emergency. Though she’d never thought it would be this. No, never this.

  Quiet. A fine layer of dust covered the furniture and the orderly rows of books on the shelves. A bunch of withered red roses stood in the vase on the coffee table. Simon’s drawings of nudes covered the walls. A dirty mug and a kitchen towel sat on top of the counter by the stove. Simon’s last breakfast in his apartment.

  She looked away.

  What was she searching for? Some sort of clue as to where Simon had gone and what had happened to him, but everything looked in place. Nobody had attacked him there; nobody had disturbed the military order Simon kept. His bedroom was cast in darkness, the light from the open door showing his neatly made bed and his slippers by the side. She went in regardless and opened the drawer of his bedside table, rifled through his clothes. Then she stood by the window and looked through the slats at the street below. What happened to you?

  She wandered back into the living room and sat at his small desk. His laptop was missing. Taken by the police to search the files, as per procedure. They’d taken his papers too, the boxes with his notes and bills. She put her elbows on the desk, propped her chin on her hand. What now?

  A folded piece of paper under the leg of the coffee table caught her eye. A support? She couldn’t remember the table listing. It was an expensive one, made of massif wood and glass. She bent over and pulled the paper out.

  Smoothing it out on the desk, she stared at Simon’s scribblings. Looked like a page torn from a notebook. It was covered in cartoonish characters, circles and dots, as if Simon had it by his side while talking on the phone. Nothing important.

  She was about to get up and look around the kitchen, when she flipped the page and froze. She sank back in the chair. A spiral was drawn in the center. She traced it with her fingertip. The pen had been pressed deep into the paper, leaving an indent. In the center of the spiral, a stick figure had been inked, a person, and below black marks. She bent closer and read her name, etched in flowery script. Her hands began to shake. Next to it Simon had written a row of numbers and letters. Her heart began to pound. A code?

  Get a grip on yourself. It was just scribble paper. He’d used it to prop the table’s leg, for god’s sake.

  The table that had never listed. She’d sat with Simon countless times there, talking about the Shades, Ella’s dysfunctional family and Simon’s archaeology interests. Had he left the paper there for her?

  Yeah, why would he do that? If he’d found out anything important, the first person he’d have gone to was Dave. And, really, the spiral was one of the most common symbols, a natural design, something Simon must have drawn unconsciously. It meant absolutely nothing.

  But what if it did? What if Simon had wanted her to see this?

  On a whim, she shoved the paper in the pocket of her jacket. It wasn’t a clue, she told herself, not until she found a meaning to the numbers and letters, although she’d give it a shot. She’d swing by HQ, see if Jeff had any ideas.

  But she’d barely stepped out the door when Dave called her.

  Chapter Four

  Andlangr

  Carlton Hospital was huge and built like a maze. She lost time trying to get directions and then trying to follow them. You’d think they’d have signposts in a place that big. Maybe even traffic lights and pedestrian crossings.

  At last she found the right place, and there was Dave, sitting in the waiting room and nursing a cup of coffee.

  “You took your time,” he grumbled.

  “How’s Sarah?”

  “Lost a lot of blood. They’re operating now.”

  “So how did she escape?”

  Dave shrugged.

  “Okay.” They’d have to ask her. “Where was she attacked?

  “On her way home, in the street. The Shades carved her up pretty badly.” He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked much older than his forty years. His hair seemed to have turned grey overnight. “Did you hear about Greary?”

  “The hell? Simon’s uncle?” A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “What happened?”

  “Dead.”

  Crap. “Heart attack?”

  He gave her a funny look. “These days? A Shade attack on the institution. Question is: why him?”

  Ella sat next to him and tangled her fingers together, stared at the knot. “I think he was an oracle.”

  “And Sarah...?”

  “An oracle, too.”

  Dave grimaced. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Guess so. The Shades have started attacking oracles.” Damn, Mike. She had to check up on her neighbor.

  “And voyants. Two more agents have gone missing. Nicki and Shawn.”

  “I thought Shades didn’t work in an organized manner.”

  He shrugged. “Something has changed.”

  “Yeah.” The understatement of the year. A thought struck her. “Dave, maybe it’s time you told me—”

  Dave cut her off. “Listen to me. You need to get a partner ASAP, or else you’re staying home with police detail.”

  She opened her mouth to retort, when a doctor came out of the surgery room, pulling off his latex gloves. “Are you next of kin?”

  “Captain David Holborn, police.” Dave flashed his badge. “How is she?”

  The doctor nodded. “She’ll be fine. She’ll need to rest.”

  “We must talk to her,” Dave said, looking over the doctor’s shoulder at the nurses wheeling Sarah out of surgery. “It’s urgent.”

  The doctor sighed and gestured for them to follow. “Five minutes. If she can.”

  They were let into her room. She was propped on two pillows, looking pale and drawn. Her face, clean of makeup, seemed very young. Her short hair was mussed.


  “Ms Williams, we need to ask you a few questions,” Dave said. Sarah ignored him, turned her gaze to Ella.

  “Simon?”

  Ella shook her head. “Still missing.” She walked around the bed so Sarah wouldn’t have to crane her neck to talk to her. “Who attacked you, Sarah?”

  “Shades.” Her voice was rough. There was a paper cup with a straw on the bedside table, and Ella offered her water. Sarah refused with a shake of her head.

  “How did you escape?”

  “A man...” She winced, shifted on the bed. “Helped me.”

  Finn? “A blond guy with a bandana?”

  Sarah nodded. “He seemed hurt.”

  Ella’s stomach roiled. “Hurt how?”

  “Ms. Williams.” Dave shot Ella a dark look. “What else can you tell us about the attack?”

  “Beware,” Sarah rasped. “The guardians.”

  Dave’s eyes flashed. “Ms. Williams...”

  “Guardians?” Ella prompted. “What guardians?”

  “She’s clearly not lucid,” Dave said, face hardening.

  The doctor entered and hovered by the bed. “I’m afraid you need to leave now. She needs to rest.”

  Dave cast Sarah one last look and turned to go, shoulders stiff. “I’ll post security outside. Coming?”

  “Go on, I’ll see you at HQ,” Ella said. “I’ll ask her a few more questions.”

  “Suit yourself. Remember you need to find a partner. I wasn’t kidding.” Dave left the room, his steps fading.

  “I said she needs to rest,” said the doctor, folding his arms across his chest.

  “And I said just a few more questions.” Ella smiled sweetly. “Alone with the patient, please.”

  He scowled and lingered a moment too long, then left the room and closed the door.

  “Sarah.” Ella took a deep breath. “I’m still looking for Simon. I need information. For Simon’s sake, tell me, what else did you see or hear?”

  Sarah reached out a shaky hand and grabbed Ella’s wrist. “John Grey,” she whispered. “John Grey.”