“I understand,” Edward said.
“Okay,” John said, getting to his feet. “Let’s take you to the autopsy suite.”
“Ah,” Caitlin whispered to Edward as they left the office. “The honeymoon of my dreams.”
“You knew I was a romantic when you married me.”
“Yes, I did,” she said through a smile.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Wraith made her way through the Quarter searching for a suitable door-door. Of course, she could just step through the universal junction point; there were plenty of alleys, side streets, and spots out of sight here. But she didn’t know her destination at all, and she didn’t want to risk appearing out of thin air where a mundane might see. That normally didn’t concern her too much, but from the map, it looked like a residential area, and she might need to stand around watching the place.
Unfortunately, she was having a hard time finding a good door-door. It took her almost twenty minutes of wandering till she found one. It was at the back of a private parking lot, out of sight of the general public. She ran her fingers over the door frame and carefully wove the necessary equation into it from the quantum information around her. It took a few minutes, but she found a matching door a few blocks away from her destination. She zeroed the sum of the equation, opened the door, and stepped through.
She emerged from the back door of a garage, currently closed and several miles from where she’d started. A quick look around told her no one had seen her, and it also told her she was not going to blend in well. This area was predominantly black, which meant a tall white girl with blue hair would stick out like, well, like a tall white girl with blue hair. After orienting herself from the phone, she drew up her hood and made her way toward the coroner’s office. She kept off MLK Boulevard, the road the office was on, just in case Edward and/or Caitlin stepped out and spotted her. As she walked, she drew together a formula and wrapped it around her, modeled on the magic glamour the fae used to keep themselves hidden in plain sight.
Her pseudo glamour seemed to work; she drew little attention as she walked the quiet streets. She passed churches, construction sites, and new row houses that looked as if they’d been spit out by some great machine. The whole time she continued to check her phone. Edward’s phone hadn’t moved. After what felt like hours, she reached her destination. Making her way back to MLK, she scanned for a spot to watch the building without being easily seen herself. Her options were limited, as it was a main road and the houses and business had little space between them. She spotted an abandoned, gutted building on the corner across from the Forensic Center—a whitewashed term if ever there was one.
The windows of the derelict building and the doors had been boarded over, but Wraith had lived on the streets long enough to know that didn’t mean anything. It took her less than a minute to find a board that slid to one side and let her in. The place reeked of cheap liquor, urine, and things she’d rather not think about. It was also dark, the only light streaming in from slits where the boards didn’t entirely cover the windows. She drew a simple equation that opened a micro-wormhole and brought in stray photons from millions of locations across the universe. The light was dim and uneven, but it was enough for her to make her way across the debris-strewn floor. Another formula rotted a piece of the plywood covering a window and let her see out. With a clear view of the building, she put in her earbuds, and, while focused on breathing through her mouth, hit Play and waited.
As she listened to music—the variation in style could only politely be called eclectic—her mind turned as she remembered what Flats had said. Wraith wasn’t stupid. It didn’t take long on the streets to realize it was ripe with rumors and its own collection of urban legends. This was all the more prevalent among the slingers and fifties, since they knew just how strange the world really was. But something about the story Flats had told rang with truth. Sure, it was possible Edward and Caitlin just had a really twisted freaky side—their idea of an awesome honeymoon was visiting a morgue—but Wraith didn’t think so. She hadn’t spent much time with either of them, but another skill of street kids was being able to size people up pretty quickly—you had to. Edward struck her as a nice guy, supersmart but incredibly straightlaced. He was probably from a wealthy family. Caitlin was the tougher of the two, but she was still a genuinely good person. Then Wraith thought of Fiona. Only a moment around that child and a blind person could see how special she was.
So no, it wasn’t likely that Edward and Caitlin were just getting some freaky-deaky jollies at the morgue. What did that mean, then? He was a doctor, Caitlin a nurse. Wraith knew that much. Could they have been tapped for help in something? She had no idea if that kind of thing happened, but even if it did, wasn’t it more likely they’d go to a hospital for that? Wraith had never heard anyone talk about zombies before, and you’d think brain-eating, walking corpses would generate some talk. Even the mundane population would notice that kind of thing. But Flats had said it was voodoo magic and the zombies were being controlled. That would explain why no one knew about them.
But people did know about them, here at least, she rebutted herself.
“That’s a good point,” she agreed.
Before the debate could resume, her attention was drawn back to the street. Two shiny black SUVs and a black, windowless van pulled up and parked right in front of the forensic center. The Suburbans screamed government vehicle, but the van made Wraith shiver. She’d seen a van like that before, in Seattle. It, and the Order’s men associated with it, had chased her through downtown. Her memories of the event were still fuzzy. Shadow, Fritz, and SK, her friends, had all been killed by the Order, and their souls—along with dozens of others—had been bound to Wraith in order to make her more powerful.
Pain, grief, guilt, and sadness all took turns washing over her. With concerted effort, Wraith pushed them aside and returned her attention to the new arrivals. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was probably common for government people to visit the place. After all, wasn’t it a government building? But something about it didn’t sit well with her. Especially the van. Just seeing it made her uneasy, and she had to clench her fists to stop her hands from shaking.
Six men in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses—didn’t they even try to be inconspicuous?—climbed out of the SUVs and van. Something about them didn’t sit right. It was obvious they were government types. In fact, it was too obvious. Wraith lowered the goggles, adjusted the lenses, and checked them for hints of magic.
Her mouth fell open.
Even mundane people had traces of magic. It appeared as colored smoke drifting around them, the color denoting the temperament and nature of the magic. For the most part it was thin and wispy strands, like something from the dying embers of a fire. Slingers and fifties were wrapped more completely in the colored smoke, but it was usually still mostly transparent, except for the most powerful.
These six guys, all of them, were like walking clouds of dense colored fog. They were on par with the most powerful slingers, Edward included, that Wraith had ever come across. If it had just been one or two, Wraith could dismiss it as slingers working a day job, hiding from the mundane world. But the entire team? No, someone had put them together specifically because of their power. Wraith would bet money on it—okay, Brigid’s money, but money nonetheless.
Then the world dropped out from under her.
One of the six removed his sunglasses as he held the door open for the others and looked directly in Wraith’s direction.
“Ovation?” Wraith whispered.
Her brain went into a sort of lock. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. She’d seen him die! The Order had slit his throat right in front of her!
Ovation had been the de facto leader of the group of fifties and slingers who’d lived in the squat she’d found herself in after a step through the universal junction point went wrong. Con, Geek, and Sprout were the others. She’d even started crushing on Ovation a little. Okay, maybe more than ju
st a little. He’d been so kind to her, defended her, made her feel sane again, and offered help. He and Geek had been at her safe house when the Order arrived, and they were consequently snatched by them. She’d saved Geek, but the Order had killed Ovation. The memory of seeing his blood and his limp, dead body falling to the cavern floor still haunted her nightmares.
No, it had to be someone who just looked like him. Or maybe, maybe she was hallucinating again!
As she watched him turn and go into the building, she knew neither was the truth. It was him. His hair was shorter, almost like a military cut, but it was the right shade of dark auburn. And everything else was right too: the way he stood—a sort of confident nonchalance—to the expression on his face, and especially his eyes. It was him, in a government suit, travelling in a government car. Then she remembered how Con, Geek, and Sprout had lost their memories of the time Wraith had been with them and the couple of weeks before. Someone had messed with their heads, taken their memories.
And now Ovation, who’d died in front of her, showed up wearing a government suit and riding in a government car?
It was him; it had to be.
But why would he do that to them?
Her stomach twisted at the implication.
What if they weren’t government suits? What if they were the Order? What if Ovation had been working for them the whole time? It made sense, didn’t it? They’d tried to make her into something dark and powerful, but failed. Maybe they had sent him to gain her trust, so they could try again or outright kill her so they could take back the souls and pass the power on to someone else.
She had to brace herself against the wall to keep from falling over as fear, panic, and undiluted rage fought for dominance in her guts.
But why fake his death? They’d intended to kill her right after—they just hadn’t succeeded. Was it a last little bit of mental torture?
She thought back again to her encounter with the black van and the events that led up to it. She had been at a grocery store with SK, Fritz, and Shadow. Well—they weren’t really there. They were dead. Wraith had unconsciously created bodies for their souls after theirs had been bound to hers by the Order. The Order had showed up, and everything went to hell. Wraith rubbed at her temples, trying to get the memories to become clearer. That stage of her life was a mess of hallucinations and false memories. The Order had chased her, on foot and in that van.
But what if it hadn’t been the Order? a nagging doubt whispered from the dark corners of her mind.
But who else could it have been?
Had it all been a lie? Ovation’s kindness? The way he’d comforted her? The kiss? At the time it had sent her heart racing. Now it made her stomach turn and her heart break.
“No,” she said, putting her hands to her face. “No, no, no, no, no!”
A fury rose inside her at the thought of the betrayal, of being manipulated. Time slowed as reality seemed to crumble around her. The only sound was the song playing in her earbuds: Angela Webber’s familiar voice over a guitar, a cello, and other strings, and even a thermophone.
There’s a perfect metaphor for what you did to me:
You are the changing seasons; I’m a guy in shorts heading for the sea
You are a thunder cloud and I’m an outdoor wedding with a nonrefundable fee
You are Godzilla, baby . . . and I’m Japanese
That’s when Wraith remembered Caitlin and Edward. There was no way Ovation’s arrival while they were inside was a coincidence. She opened her eyes, the rage still burning like the fires of hell, but under control now and focused.
You took my heart to the park and you told it to hide
With no plans to seek it; that’s great
And now I am ready, ready to destroy you
There’s nothing wrong with me; you just broke my heart
Now hold me close so I don’t punch your face
She kicked the board from the window and climbed out. As she crossed the street, she dropped her glamour and began drawing power in. If this turned violent, and part of her really hoped it would, she’d need all she had to throw against those guys. These weren’t lightweight street kids. They weren’t even Order flunkies. These suits, no matter who they were, had real power—and probably training too. It was possible Wraith was getting in over her head. But she wasn’t about to leave Edward and Caitlin. Not even if she hadn’t promised to keep them safe.
Opening the door, Wraith strode in like she owned the place.
“Can I help you?” a woman behind the reception desk asked.
“No,” Wraith said and tossed a formulation at her.
The woman fell asleep instantly, slumping forward onto her desk.
“I’ll find my own way, thanks.”
CHAPTER NINE
“This is interesting,” Edward said as he looked over the body. It had been closed up, the organs returned. He’d given the man’s tattoos a cursory examination. He wasn’t familiar with this particular gang, but from the number of them and the age of the victim, he was probably a low-level member.
“Witnesses report that William Boulard,” John said to Henry, “also known as Pit Bull, entered the house. It was a popular and well-known hangout for the Royal Skeleton Brigade. William didn’t say anything. He just drew out two pistols and opened fire.”
Edward made a noncommittal sound as he leaned in to examine the incision. John had made his new incisions just inside the scars of the old one. They’d healed very cleanly and were hard to spot. Something about this, aside from the obvious, seemed odd to him. Then it occurred to him.
He leaned in close and took a long smell.
“You noticed it too,” John said. “The lack of decomp.”
“He doesn’t smell at all,” Edward said.
“Damndest thing,” John said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s been here almost a week, and even kept in the cooler there should be some stench. Just another factor of weird in this case.”
Edward shot Caitlin a glance before returning to his exam.
“Oh,” she said and bent over a little.
“Are you okay?” John asked, turning to help her.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I think it’s just the small room and the chemical smells.”
As Henry and John helped Caitlin and her rather-brilliant manipulation of their Southern gentlemanly nature, Edward dragged a finger along the arm of his glasses.
“Gadewch i mi weld,” he whispered and focused his will on the tiny symbols he’d etched along the inside of the arms.
The world shifted around him, the colors becoming more vivid, and he could see the traces of magic in the air. It would also allow him to see through fae glamour. In fact, that had been the original intent of it. Caitlin could see through them naturally, but Edward couldn’t, and he’d decided this was easier than casting a spell every time.
There was a subtle haze of magic around the body, drifting and flowing like smoke, except this was purple. That was not normal. While everyone had magic in them, even if only an infinitesimal amount, that magic died when the person did. Edward dragged a fingertip over the abdomen and up to the chest, trying to feel any lingering power beneath the skin. Cold raced up his fingers and into his arm, numbing it.
When he touched over the heart, it took all his control not to jerk his hand back. Cold sweat ran down his back as he recognized that power.
When Fiona had been taken, he’d tried a spell to find her. He’d failed, but worse, he’d let something dark and powerful get inside him, something alien and inhuman. Patiently, it began to manipulate him, feeding him power and warping his mind. He never learned exactly what it was, but he suspected it was the same Hellspawned that had controlled Aiken, the wizard who’d been helping a group of dark fae but ultimately outwitted them. Edward’s confrontation with that demon had nearly killed him. That power was the same power he was feeling now.
Slowly, he drew back his shaking hand, straightened his glasses, and took in
a deep breath. He was only dimly aware of his surroundings.
“Thank you,” Caitlin was saying as she accepted a cup of water and drank it. “I’m fine, really.”
“I sometimes forget how overpowering it can get in these close quarters,” John said, then turned to Edward. “Dr. Huntington, have you found—good Lord, are you all right?”
“Oh my God, Edward,” Caitlin said and went to him.
“I’m fine,” he said, then whispered to Caitlin. “I recognize the magic.”
Caitlin didn’t say anything, but her eyes did get a little wider.
“You’re sure?” John asked.
Edward nodded. “I think it’s probably the same thing that bothered Caitlin.”
“If you say so,” John said.
Henry just gave him a questioning look.
Edward nodded subtly in response.
“Did you find anything?” John asked.
“There was—” Edward started but was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway.
“I told you,” said a woman—the receptionist, Edward thought. “You can’t just go back here. I don’t care who you are!”
“And I explained to you we can,” said a male voice.
A moment later, six men in dark suits approached the autopsy suite, two of whom stepped inside. Edward’s blood ran cold, and it took him a moment to realize the spell on his glasses was still working. All of the men were wrapped in magic. He instinctively stepped in front of Caitlin and readied the most potent protection spell he knew.
“What’s the meaning of this?” John said and stepped in front of the men, blocking their way. “This is a restricted area.”
“I tried to explain that, Doctor,” the receptionist said.
“It’s fine, Bessy,” John said. “I’ll handle this.”
The receptionist left, muttering less than polite comments under her breath.
Two of the suited men in the hall turned their backs to the room and blocked the doorway. One of the men in the room, a man in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and built like a linebacker, stepped forward and flashed some credentials.
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