Veruca took it, already knowing what the worn rectangle would say, but nodding with interest anyway.
“Facilitator.” Eleanor snorted, shaking her head. “And a name and phone number. What the hell does that even mean?”
“I take it you had similar questions for Yun Jong?”
“Yeah. Actually, question for you, did you send the suit to me because we’re both Asian?”
“It could have been on purpose, if you were someone we’d had in mind for a while and they’d done research into who they thought might make you most comfortable.”
“Bit racist, don’t you think?”
Veruca just shrugged, refusing to comment one way or another. She wasn’t privy to the details, but she would have been willing to bet Yun Jong probably had some resemblance to Lam’s father or brother and so, on some level, she might have found it appealing to listen to him. There was no saying for sure without tracking the so-called facilitator down and asking what his orders had been, however, so she let it go.
“Anyway. He said he could help me better hunt bad guys, so I let him buy me that drink. He didn’t explain what he was offering but told me to call him if I was interested. After a few days I did, and he put me in touch with Corlon.”
“And he offered you the power to raise the dead, you accepted, and voila?”
“It’s not really raising the dead,” Eleanor said as they approached a pond full of ducks who all veered over hoping for snacks. “I can’t make them get up and shamble around. I can really just talk to them some. They gave me this little pack of these—uh, here, I have them.” Once again, Eleanor pulled something out of her pocket, a small leather pouch that she opened and held out to Veruca. “Those, and this earring to go with it.”
Veruca peered inside, somewhat surprised to find tiny shards of metal that looked like squat, ancient versions of what Finn had been given by Leo Slater. She picked one out, turned it over in her hands, and wondered if the metal was legitimately aged by time or had been crafted to look intimidating and old. When she looked up and found an equally worn earring hanging from Eleanor’s smooth and youthful lobe, she felt a strange discomfort run from the base of her spine to the base of her skull.
“What do you do with them?”
“Stick one of these in the tongue of the victim, say a few nonsense words, and wait a second. From there, I can ask any questions I want and the corpse answers. I thought it had to be bullshit at first, but I’ve caught a lot of breaks since signing up. It works, but I’m sure you knew that.”
Veruca nodded shallowly, looking back up to meet Eleanor’s eyes, though her focus was on the bits of soul she’d been carefully linking together into a whole in Eleanor’s chest.
The necromancer inside was coming to, waking up after what appeared to be centuries of forced rest, and Veruca was sure she wouldn’t have to do much to call him to the surface.
Chapter Nine
Eleanor’s soul wasn’t as malleable as some of the other contracted individuals Veruca had come across in her travels, but souls were her business and necromancer souls were very pushy. As soon as his soul was knit together into one solid whole and weaved easily back into Eleanor’s, Ronald rose to the surface and Eleanor changed.
Her stance shifted, her eyes darted, and confusion spread across her face in a jerky wave. Veruca held up her hands, smiling gently, trying to make sure the man didn’t take off with a cop’s body into a century he didn’t understand.
“What is this? What the— Who— What am I saying?”
“It’s okay,” Veruca said, keeping her tone soft. “I can explain. You’ve been dead for many hundreds of years, your soul kept safe and, for the moment, settled into a nice woman named Eleanor.”
“Elean…” Ronald blinked, his confusion easing toward suspicion, but with a hint of recognition. “Yes, that … sounds familiar. This place—this time, where am I?”
“It’s been a very long time since you’ve been in your own body. I don’t think you’d know the place even if I did tell you.”
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You’ve woken me, tangled together my soul? This is your doing? My confused memories, showing a time I don’t understand, and yet feel at ease with. This strange single vision, like being in the mind of a corpse, but without my own awareness. You—you’re a Reaper, yes?”
Stunned, Veruca stared for a moment, wondering if she should be surprised that this ancient man knew what she was so clearly and so immediately.
“I am, yes.”
“So you work for him.”
“Yes!” she said, delighted he understood the position of a Reaper and that she wouldn’t have to explain. “I’m here on behalf of Belial. He’s—”
Veruca jolted as Ronald turned Eleanor’s face to the side and spat rudely into the dirt.
“Belial,” he sneered. “Traitorous, evil beast. Prince of lies indeed.”
“I’m sorry?” Veruca asked, thrown. “Has he wronged you?”
“You don’t know?” When Veruca shook her head, Eleanor’s body animated with an undoubtedly ancient fury that could no longer be contained. “You have no idea the true depth of evil to which that vile man will sink. He had me fooled, be sure. He set us, his henchmen, up in lavish appointments. He gave us all the finery we could wish for. He sent us on errands he didn’t explain, had his Reapers bring back souls in droves, stripping them from the people, leaving many dead atop the earth. Worse than a plague. Yes, true, he is an evil man—be he a man at all.”
Lost, unsure when the bottom of her stomach had dropped out and left her feeling empty inside, Veruca looked around, blinking excessively, hoping to find something to sit on or lean on in case her legs decided to weaken.
“I’m … that’s not the Belial I know,” she said shallowly. Ronald watched her seriously, Eleanor’s brow knitted as he studied her. Moments passed as Veruca took a deep breath, trying to reconcile what she believed, what she wanted to believe, and what could have just been an elaborate trick on the part of Fairy. It was known they didn’t like Belial, and especially that the realm as a whole was not a fan of his methods.
Eleanor’s face softened after a moment, and Ronald reached her hand out, patting Veruca’s shoulder. “My mother was a Reaper,” he said, shaking his head. “Called to his service as a young girl, believing him to be a king amongst men. It wasn’t until the true queen came, until she ripped the banshees from our care and had her minions slaughter us that it was revealed the true nature of Belial’s plans for domination.”
“I don’t … the Fairy queen?”
“Indeed,” Ronald said, sympathy still naked in his gaze. “Ruthless, deadly. I haven’t met her myself, but it was made clear she was behind the culling of our kind, the Fairies three who led the creatures that tore away our humanity and stole our souls. The Lady who plucked me was impish, delighting in revealing the depth of Belial’s betrayal both before and after hacking us apart.”
“You said…” Veruca breathed, still at a loss, still unsure what was truth and what was cruel fiction, but latching on to her mission like a lifetime. “Banshee?”
“Indeed,” Ronald repeated gravely, Eleanor’s lip pulling up in disgust. “What he caused for those poor creatures. It was not right for the queen to make them suffer for his indiscretions, but for the betterment of mankind, it was right that he be separated from their power.”
“Oh god,” Veruca gasped.
****
“Donny!” Finn said, clapping Donald on the back and grinning. “It’s fine, my friend. They’ve stopped. They’re probably just talking. No running or jerking around, it’s good.”
“No what?” Donald turned, eyeing Finn like people so often did when Finn said something that made sense to him but evidently left others perplexed.
“You know,” Finn elaborated, flailing his arms and dancing back and forth. “They’re just—well, Veruca’s just standing there. The lady cop could be doing some flailing. Can’t see her.”
&
nbsp; “But you can see Veruca?”
“Ehm...” Finn tried to decide how to explain. Donald knew empathy, had given Finn a primer on it once or twice, so he figured he could do the same. “You know how you see people, what they feel? From far away and through walls? How is that, again? You see little blobs of feelings? A blue raincloud for sadness? Hearts for love? It is like looking at spilled Lucky Charms?”
“No—what? You said you can see Veruca. Can you tell she’s okay? I can see where she is, and she’s not been hurt, but—well, I wish she’d let me go with her—us. Wish she’d let us go with her.”
Finn eyeballed the bigger man, a realization pushing to the surface of his mind, wiggling out of the dark pocket it had been sitting in since he’d first seen Donald look at Veruca the night Finn had stumbled on her at a fancy, underground art gallery.
“You in love with my girl, Donny?” Finn asked, smiling to let on that he didn’t mind if it were true.
“What?” Donald asked with a stutter, pulling out of his concerned bubble and looking down at Finn with a bit of alarm in his eyes.
“No foul, friend. She’s the whole package, how could you not be? Generous, funny, clever as hell, lovely to boot. What man wouldn’t be?”
“Why—what would—”
“You’re awfully worried about her is all.”
“And you’re not worried at all,” Donny spat back, embarrassment making him bitchy. Finn knew the feeling, had seen it in himself and others often enough that he didn’t take it personally.
“Ah, I don’t worry much about Veruca. She can handle herself. We’ve both seen her work her magic here and there. Plus, Eleanor may be a cop, but she’s a cop. And Canadian, to boot! Even if she had it in her—which, you know, Canadian—we don’t have to worry. Imagine the problems if she just took out some random American? I’m sure the—ehm, what’s it called? Royal Mountain—eh—Services? Police—Canadian Police?”
Donald’s expression softened, laughter easing his embarrassment and worry as Finn had hoped it would. “The Royal Canadian Mounted Police?”
“Yeah—wait, mounted? Not mountain? Isn’t this country lousy with mountains?”
“Get to the point, Finn.”
“Yeah, right. Anyway, she’s a badass, she can take some second-rate Canadian cop—Mounty! That’s what they’re called?” Finn let his gaze drop. “Probably what some could call me, you know? Mounty? Pretty sexy nickname, I think.”
“No one would let you into the service, Finn.”
“What? I could—nah, you’re right. I’m too pretty. I’d be a distraction to everyone.”
“Probably,” Donald agreed half-heartedly, leaning back against the car, his shoulders relaxing. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Can’t say, but probably whatever it is we’re here to find out. Never did figure out about that passenger, though, did we?”
“No,” Donald said, still distracted, even though he no longer looked as if he might need to bolt in and save Veruca from a dragon at any given moment. “I guess not. Maybe it’s someone she arrested recently or might be after right now.”
“Yeah, maybe she’s hunting a serial killer, needs our help. Some clue around only we can spot. Like, eh … I dunno. Oh! Maybe that’s what these are for!” Finn dug into his suit jacket, pulling out the unpleasant metal Leo had passed along. “Maybe we’re supposed to raise a victim and ask who killed her, and then we find the guy and ask him some questions.”
“About what?” Donald asked.
Still grinning, but no longer confident in it, Finn stared for a moment, lost. “Ehm. Well. I’m sure Veruca’ll figure it out.”
“You have a lot of confidence in her,” Donald said, a small smile on his face, before his gaze dropped and he seemed to consider something.
“Course I do, she’s worth it. Hasn’t let me down yet.”
“Not her style,” Donald agreed, before lifting his eyes to spy through the distance at Veruca.
Finn did the same, curious what was going on between the two women.
****
“Why is it that you seek me?” Ronald asked, when Veruca had been silent for a bit. She shook her head minutely, not sure what the answer was. Ankyati had suggested she speak with Eleanor’s passenger, but she had not been given instructions on what to ask about. She had only Belial’s request to go on, and could at least recognize that there was a connection between the two missions she’d been given.
“It’s … a long story,” Veruca said, steadying herself, a little ashamed that she’d been so shaken by what Ronald had told her so far. She had no way of verifying that he was being truthful, or even that, if what he was saying was true to him, it was true to the rest of the world.
Donald had pure faith in his empathy and was right most of the time in what he read when he came to untruths and little white lies. Humans were more complex than simple black and white answers, though, and sometimes a truth to one was a lie to another. Veruca didn’t have the same power as Donald. She had to rely on good old-fashioned body language and verbal cues to tell when someone was lying, but she believed that Ronald considered his truth the only truth.
Perhaps the way forward was to learn how correct he really was.
“You’ve a problem with Belial,” Veruca said, looking up to meet Eleanor’s gaze.
Ronald nodded, before looking around and seeming to really notice the scenery for the first time. “We were on a walk? You, rather. You and … the girl, my host, you were walking? Can we continue? It’s been much too long since I’ve walked.”
“Will you be okay?”
“I shall be better than that. I miss the feel of air, the crunch of gravel. It was my task, at a time, to tour the countryside with my mother and—you seemed curious,” he said, as they started walking. It was interesting, watching Eleanor move as though she were no longer herself, even though Veruca knew she was in still in there. She no longer moved like a woman, like a cop, like someone who knew how to handle herself, but like a gentleman squiring a lady: posture stiff, hands folded behind her back.
“About the banshee,” Ronald continued after a couple jogged by. “Has tale of the wailing ladies been lost to time?”
“Not at all,” Veruca said, shaking her head. “Though, I can’t say how much of what is known is true. I was actually—as you said, I work for Belial.”
“Under false pretenses no doubt, much like myself and mother.”
“Perhaps,” Veruca conceded, not wanting to argue with the man. Whomever Belial may have been hundreds of years ago, she didn’t see that in him now. Granted, it was hard to see much of anything in him, considering how his soul was so blindingly dynamic there was no way for her basic power to read or interpret what went on within his chest. “May I ask what makes you despise him so?”
“His tactics,” Ronald said, spitting once again. “Many of us were not aware of the truth, or perhaps we refused to see. Mother was collected as an infant, given everything, trained by the most learned scholars and raised in finery. It was only when I came of age that I was told of my purpose. As a child, I was reared similarly, with everything I could want handed to me. Then, when my predecessor passed, I was introduced to Ceydan. She was pure magic, they said, important above all the rest of us, and to be given anything she requested.”
“The banshee,” Veruca surmised, remembering what Belial had said. “She was to be kept safe, away from the queen?”
“Not at first. For years we did not fear the queen, were not even aware of her existence. We lived a privileged life alongside our charge, in a palace, never tasked with lifting a finger for ourselves.”
“It sounds nice,” Veruca commented, watching the glow of another fae spawn pass by on the other side of a line of trees. She was a fire-starter, though her ability was mild, barely worth worrying about. “It sounds like how I was raised, though we had no servants.”
“Ah, yes, the modern times.” Ronald shook Eleanor’s head as if the concept baffl
ed him, before getting back to the subject. “You have not yet learned Belial’s true purpose? To gain power from acquisition at the price of innocents?”
“It’s not about gaining power,” Veruca said, shaking her head, though she was aware her voice didn’t hold its usual confidence. “He collects souls, but only from those who give them freely. He takes them, ferries them to Hell for safekeeping.”
“To Hell?” Ronald said, stopping and turning to her, lifting Eleanor’s brow, a touch of pity in the woman’s face. Veruca frowned, bothered by the look he was giving her, sure that he was wrong to look down on her. “Reaper, what do you know of Hell?”
“It’s … a simple place, a community,” Veruca said, finding herself repeating the words Belial had told to her much younger self two decades before. “There is no suffering, no pain. It’s not only evil souls who go, and it is not as the Christian church would have you believe. It’s safe there. It’s not a bad place.”
“Reaper,” Ronald said quietly, reaching out with both hands to gently grasp Veruca’s shoulders. “Hell is not a place at all. Hell is Belial himself.”
Chapter Ten
“You don’t know that,” Veruca said, glad his hands were steadying her, though she wasn’t sure why. There was no reason to believe any of this, nothing saying Ronald knew what he was talking about. He’d been angry, disgusted at first to find she worked for the Prince of Hell, and now here he was, trying to break that bond with lies.
Lies, she assured herself, feeling hollow inside.
“What purpose would Hell serve? You think Belial a good man? You think he glows with power by design? I cannot see the world as you do, but I’ve seen souls. I have on occasion shared the power of Reaping with my beloved mother—at Belial’s request, mind you, and for his own gain.”
“What?” Veruca asked sharply, thinking of what he’d said about the connection she shared with Finn. “What do you mean, for his gain?”
“My dear, don’t you know? That deepest bond, the one between Reaper and necromancer is the only way one might control a banshee. Without it, the task of stealing souls is much more dangerous, much more taxing. You’ve seen, I’m sure. You’ve felt the way a soul fights when you pluck it free without permission. A banshee’s cry shatters the connection between soul and body. When a banshee screams, a soul is free to be collected. Under Belial, thousands of souls were taken, kept, stolen. Be glad they were banished, and necromancers and Reapers wiped from this earth, for under Belial’s rule, the world would be free of lesser creatures, perhaps free of life itself were he foolish enough to believe he could take on the queen.”
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