This time there were a few pieces of the Senator missing, as best as the Kith could tell.
The Aurelian must have had more time with this victim. She’d know more when Aiden arrived, but she’d bet a secluded home, another gated community. A high-end human alarm system would have been child’s play for an Aurelian.
With the kind of tech they fielded, any run-of-the mill box-’n’-wire set up would’ve barely flickered and the alien would have been inside. Hell, if she could do it, an Aurelian wouldn’t even bat an eye.
With a shift of a command key, she switched databases. Entering Aurelian in the search field, she called up stats on the assassin race.
“Ugly son of a troll,” she muttered. Then remembered Aiden saying trolls had died out. Feeling like she was in an LSD dream, she stared at the creature. “Can’t even call it ugly. It goes waaaay beyond that. It’s just fugly.”
Not that it wasn’t true—the creatures was disgustingly unpleasant to human eyes—but saying it aloud was more about hearing a human voice in the silent apartment. “A voice crying in the wilderness,” she said. “That’s me. Wonder if anyone will hear the screams?”
Aiden knocked on the door at that exact moment. Apparently magic gave him extraordinary timing.
She knew it was him. First, she could sense it, which was totally weird. Second, he used the shave-and-a-haircut series of taps, which made her grin in spite of the despair that lurked. She shook her head at herself as she got up from the computer.
Sliding on the wood floor in her thick socks, she surfed to the door and threw the latches. She opened it enough to admit him, then locked it again.
“Those locks enhanced?” he asked, before anything else.
“Enhanced?”
“Magically or with any of your—” he made a wiggly finger motion, “—stuff.”
She laughed. “You know I don’t do magic, and I try to keep the stuff to a minimum.” She mimicked his finger trick. “It attracts attention. Also, it isn’t usually necessary. This trip is supposed to be a critter removal. Round it up, ship it out, done. That kind of thing ain’t rocket science,” she said wryly. “I might have done it unarmed. In fact, I frequently go only lightly armed all over our fair planet.”
“What about now?”
“I’m armed to the teeth.”
He laughed and pressed a quick, hot kiss on her mouth. “Doesn’t feel dangerous, but then again, I know better.”
It took Cait a minute to realize he was complimenting her, rather than commenting on oral weaponry. Not that she used it, but it did exist.
“Yeah, yeah. So you say.” She pressed a hand to his chest. “None of that. We have work to do.” Cait caught herself grinning, and it hit her how much better she felt just because he was here. In a situation that sucked donkey balls, and had every good chance of getting her dead, instead of grim and hopeless, she felt almost…optimistic. Weird.
He sighed dramatically and backed up with comic reluctance. “All right. Slave driver.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a funny guy, Aiden.”
“Funny? Damn. I was trying for suave, smooth, maybe even debonair. Cary Grant territory.”
“One of my favorites. You’re all that, and you got your smooth moves, Mr. Bayliss.”
“Oh, so I’m Mister Bayliss when it comes to smooth moves?”
“You bet,” she said, going into the kitchen to open the wine he’d brought. To her surprise there was a set of nice wine glasses in the cupboard. “I was impressed.”
She glanced over at him. He leaned on the door jamb in an outfit similar to her own sweatshirt and jeans, but his fit snugly to his broad shoulders, and made her shiver at the thought of his impressive body beneath the cloth, and what he could do with it. She had to grin, though. The sweatshirt sported a moose and the words “Whatsamatta U” on it.
“Like I said, funny guy.”
“What, you had your funny bone removed since I left earlier?”
She shook her head, somber now. “It just doesn’t come as easily anymore. I appreciate it, though. It lightens the mood.”
He smoothed one hand over the back of her head and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Tough night,” he said, his tone serious.
“Tough week.” She grunted the words and turned toward the office.
“You haven’t been here a week.”
“Feels like a year.”
“Do you stay anywhere for a year?”
She was pulling out the desk chair when he asked. Her glass, in the other hand, nearly slipped from her fingers, but he caught it, and her hand.
“It’s an honest question, but if you can’t answer it, it’s okay.” He rubbed his thumb over her scar again. She’d never considered it an erogenous zone, but with Aiden it was intimate, sexy. “I’m not sorry I asked it, but I’m sorry it upset you.”
“This might not be strong enough for that story,” she said, avoiding his eyes and waggling the wineglass. “And there isn’t enough time. We have to get to work.”
“We’ll make time. Soon.”
She nodded, but doubted, now, that it would happen. If it did, if she lived to be with him again, maybe by then she’d figure out what to tell him and why she needed him so much even when she wasn’t supposed to.
Maybe by then she would know why.
Aiden pulled up a chair and rolled it next to hers. “Tell me about Seattle.”
“First, let’s start with Chicago.”
“Okay.”
She’d compiled the areas where O’Reilly and Hathaway had intersected. There weren’t many, but of the places, several were controversial. Now she needed to add Swanson. She swiveled to face Aiden.
“Tell me what you know about Senator O’Reilly of the great state of Illinois.”
“Other than the latest news that he’s very dead, I can tell you he lived in Schaumburg, an upper middle class suburb. Nice house, gated community.”
“Got that in one guess,” she toasted herself. “Sizable lot, right? Fenced, gated property too?”
“Two acres, well-landscaped. O’Reilly and his wife gave an interview with pictures in some fancy decorating magazine.”
“I got the police report through my contacts,” she said. “He bought it in the family room. Lots of blood, he was…um…” she hesitated, still not sure he was up for this sort of thing.
“Spill it.”
“Ugh, bad choice of words,” she said. “He was dismembered, disemboweled.”
Aiden didn’t blink. He just nodded. “Nasty,” he said, setting his glass to one side. He kept surprising her. “Not impaled, though. How’d they peg it as the same? Not that it isn’t, but how’d they decide that?”
“Oh, there was impaling,” Cait said. “They haven’t let that out in the press, so it would be hard to find. My people found it though. Smaller pieces. More rods. The cops and Feds have no ideas, and are working on symbolism of the rods, etc.”
“You have theories, Ms. Alien Hunter? Or insider knowledge on that?”
“On the rods, my team thinks it’s part of the revenge signature like I said. I asked,” she admitted. “The police are right, though. It’s not how they were killed. Aurelian’s aren’t specific about kill methods. Impaling is as good as garroting or a bullet, or what passes for a bullet on the interstellar assassin level. A long fall off a short pier would work too, as they’re multi-limbed and versatile.”
“Multi-limbed. Great. Just what we needed. And multi-talented.”
“They think so.”
“Arrogant?”
“No. They’re strong, ugly, mean, and capable. Well-trained. It isn’t arrogance if you can do what you say you can do.”
“Sounds like excellent date material.”
She shuddered, pulling up data and pictures. “No way, José,” she said, pointing. “Take a look.”
“Daaaaaamn.” He drew the word out, using it as epithet and commentary. “That is nasty. I’ve seen boggles that look
better. Looks like a big sucker too,” he said, scanning the picture.
“Six and a half feet, as we measure. Hide is tough, like a rhino or crocodile. Maybe tougher. They wear body armor too. Knife fights are their method for clan status climbing, so that makes sense.”
Aiden rolled his chair closer, and his nearness made her nerves twitch. Even in these dire straits, the pull of him drew her in.
“Man, look at the size of the knives.” He pointed at the screen where the measurement was listed. “Am I reading that right?”
“Closer to sword length, yes.”
“If that’s how they settle clan problems, I’m guessing there aren’t many clan problems.”
“And that doesn’t count how much they love their work,” she said sarcastically.
“Are we on its radar?”
“The K—my bosses say no.” She prayed they were right. “They haven’t gotten to the bottom of the thing’s mission yet, but it’s not me.”
“I hear a big, ’ol’ but in your answer.” He took her hands again. “What’s the monster in the closet?”
“What, are you psychic too?” she joked to cover the weak feeling in her stomach, the lurch to her heart that someone cared. When you were dead, no one knew they should still care about you.
“Sometimes,” he answered, the serious note staying solid in his voice. “And evidently with you, more frequently than not. So spill the diagnosis, Dr. Brennan.”
“I’m not a doctor, or a geologist.” The words just popped out, unbidden.
“I know,” he grinned. “And I’ll bet your name’s not Brennan either. Is the Cait real?”
“Yes.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, smiling, but he didn’t relent. “So, Cait, not-named-Brennan-not-a-doctor-or-geologist, what’s the deal with the big bad wolf?” He indicated the Aurelian with a jerk of his head.
“They hate my kind. Slip Travelers. They hate what we do, who we are and who we work for.” The words came out in a rush. “They killed my predecessor. They hunt people like me for sport when they can get away with it.” She pulled her hands free. She had to stand, to move. “I might not be his original target, but if he figures out what I am before I can kill him? I’m toast. He’ll climb up a pike to put a knife in my eye.”
“Now there’s a visual.”
She whipped around. “Are you making fun of me?” She could hear the temper in her voice.
“No, sweetheart, but if you get wrapped up in fear, it’s already got you.” He held her gaze. “Believe me, I’m not thinking this is easy or making light of it. I’ve dealt with this kind of thing. I’ve handled it okay sometimes, and I’ve botched it totally, as you well know, so no stone throwing from me. Earthly nightmares are bad enough, but this? What you deal with? I’m a—forgive the pun—a piker by comparison.”
“Jesus.”
“Hey, hey.” He got up and came to where she was, ran his hands down her arms and took her hands in his again. “Cait, don’t let this thing psyche you out. The mistake of trying to plan from a place of anger and fear is one I nearly didn’t live through, so I’m trying to get you to shift out of it.”
“The Nightflyer.”
He nodded. “Getting help isn’t an option with this.” He gestured at the Aurelian’s picture. “No one to ask. They’d lock us up. Chavez already thinks we’re a threat to national security.”
“I hope he never gets his hands on me again.”
“Exactly. We’ve got to be careful, and stick together.”
Cait wasn’t sure about that, for Aiden’s sake, but she nodded.
“Let’s talk about its weaknesses. It has them. Every creature does.”
She closed her eyes and focused, letting the anger and fear seep away. He was right. You never let fear drive your plan. She hadn’t as a marine and she wasn’t going to start now.
“You’re right. You’re right,” she repeated. “They’re illogically put together,” she said, taking a deep breath. They did have weaknesses. It was a good place to start and she already felt the mental shift mitigating the fear.
“Kind of like those made by magic,” he mused.
“Made? You can make a creature, create one? How much power…sorry,” she said, realizing that likely wasn’t a particularly nice question.
“It’s okay. You can, yes, and it takes a lot of power. People don’t do it anymore because there’s not that kind of power loose in the world, and yes, once upon a time, people did make weird creatures with magic. Or so the Tradition tells us.”
“Weird.”
“In a word.” He turned back to the computer and she sat. He kissed her neck as he rolled her forward, then he sat again and scooted closer to her keyboard and scrolled down. “So, does this database list, ah, yes, it does. Vulnerabilities. That’s what we need. Okay, hearts? It has two hearts? Bellows? Seriously, a bellows system for lungs? Why a bellows? Those things suck.”
“Equivalent. The translator doesn’t have a word for it, so it comes as close as it can.”
“Translator?”
She looked at him, realizing he still didn’t totally get it. “Translator. You think this is usually printed in English?”
With a toggle of one button, she returned the Aurelian’s description to the Kith language. Purple script filled the screen.
“Now that is something.”
“The script?”
“Yeah, can you read it?”
“A little. By the way, bellows blow, they don’t suck.” As far as jokes went, it was lame, but she needed to give back, hold her own beside Aiden’s sensible process.
“Funny girl,” he said. “I helped a guy forge ironwork for antique fencing when I was in college. A unique experience.”
“Said with sarcasm?”
“Oh, yeah,” he grimaced. “That is damn hard work. Why anyone would do it for fun baffles me.”
“You do computer stuff and think it’s fun. That baffles me,” she said, curious to see what he’d say.
“Must not be too baffling, or you wouldn’t be surrounded by electronic gadgets.”
“How do you know I’m surrounded by anything?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Power signature,” Aiden replied without taking his eyes off the screen. On the English page, he keyed in different search terms. “All electronics have a power signature. I’m more sensitive than some to that sort of thing because I work with it every day, both technically and magically. I could probably pinpoint every piece of equipment in here. Actually,” he said a bit apologetically, and without looking at her. “I did already. When we came back from dinner, I checked to see if the Feebies had decided to put ears or eyes on either one of us.”
“And I thought I was paranoid.”
“What, you didn’t want me to check?” His mobile, expressive face was all innocence.
“No, I’m glad you did, although I had already scanned the room too.”
“They’ve got ears on Mrs. Potts’ phone, did you know?”
“Really? Why?” she asked, surprised. “And no, I didn’t know. I checked my place and the senator’s. No ears or eyes.”
“Glad we both got that result.”
“But why Mrs. Potts?”
He looked at her, and shook his head. “No idea. Maybe she was a Mata Hari type in Korea. Makes no sense, though, because as she herself said, she couldn’t have held up meaty Senator Hathaway to kill him, nor does she have an erg of magical talent. I’ve checked her and rechecked her for that. It takes some major power to hold a shield, kill people and leave it intact when you, the killer, are gone.”
“I checked Mrs. Potts too. I got no hinky feeling when I shook her hand, which usually means no psi ability.”
“Is that why you didn’t shake my hand that first day we met? The pizza incident? You couldn’t know I was an adept.”
“No, but I did get a hinky feeling around you, so I wondered whether you had psi ability. Then after the murders, I saw your bl
ue thingie. A shield, I guess?”
“Yeah?” He spun in the chair, looking at her with astonishment. “I wanted to ask you about that. How could you see it?”
“Hey, it was in the visible spectrum, dude.” She held up one hand in a “you got nuthin’ on me” gesture, and with the other, she swirled the wine in her glass. “It’s not like I go around with my radar on for that sort of thing. I’m not that good, and again, hey,” she protested. “I didn’t know you could do it with magic, since I didn’t know there was magic. I figured mechanical, or psi. Earth has a lot of inhabitants with psionic power. We just don’t use it.”
“Yeah, I know. But I was visible to you?” That seemed to really bother him.
“You were. I was pretty wary, to tell you the truth. Then later, when Mrs. Potts screamed, you came out of your apartment like some kind of avenging angel, and I saw it, but there was no chance to say anything until after the EMTs arrived.”
“I shouldn’t have been visible. I…” he trailed off. There was silence for a moment.
“Aiden?”
“Yeah. Maybe it was just the intensity of the situation,” he said, and turned back to the computer.
He was lying about that. She knew it. There was something he wasn’t telling her.
“So,” he said, “How much help can you count on from this team you keep talking about?” It was a clear change of subject. She knew a don’t-go-there wall when she saw one. It would have to wait for later.
“Intellectual backup they’ll give. In the field, it’s me or nothing. It’s a ‘One riot, one Ranger,’ sort of thing.” She made little quote marks around the expression. “Like with the Texas Rangers. The real ones, not the baseball team. Oh, if I got killed in such a way they might be exposed, they’d help with that,” she said. “I’d still be dead, but they’d make sure I wasn’t connected to them or anything resembling my past.” She took a sip of wine and shrugged before she went on. “Or if there was something so major it would damage the planet due to extraterrestrial interference, they might step in. But again, I’d have to be dead, and it would have to be kill-three-quarters-of-the-population major.”
Modern Magic Page 112
