by Eric Flint
An abandoned hotel, the Euclid Hotel—and like the van, she didn’t give it much thought. Not until she figured out the fate they’d planned for her: sacrifice. Rao spied on her from an area beyond the basement—behind not a wall, but a divider of sorts. Rao stepped through, draped in white robes with crimson gashes running diagonally across the chest. He mesmerized her when he approached, his supplicants melting away into the shadows.
“What is this news of yours?” Rao’s harsh tone snapped her from the reverie and back into the present.
“I may have located something of interest. A company named Wayland Precision.”
“And?” Rao stepped back. “Why does Wayland Precision matter?”
She suppressed a laugh—the mighty Rao, obtuse? And people always misjudged her based on her piercings and tattoos, not to mention the way she wore her makeup and hair. For a Latina woman raised by good God-fearing Catholics, she was as far out there as Pluto to most people who crossed paths with her.
“Carlos visited Wayland after he met with the police.” She put a hand on her hip. “Met with the FBI, to be exact—they didn’t try too hard to conceal their conversation, either.”
“Now, this is fascinating, but how do you know they were at Wayland Precision. Did they mention it during the conversation?” Rao folded his arms and stepped back a little.
“No, I followed them.”
“What? You what?” His voice cracked as the pitch and volume increased. “You followed FBI agents to what may be the hiding place of Völundr’s Hammer?”
Lali stepped back. Her heel caught something, sending her tumbling backward, and sprawling on the metal flooring.
Rao stood over her, hands balled into fists. “You remained hidden, right? Assure me both the FBI and the guild remain ignorant of where your allegiances lie and your role in Câ Tsang.”
She swallowed, and for the first time since she’d met Rao, no, the second time, she feared for her life—the first being the night of her sacrifice. But the sacrifice had never happened. Rao took Lali as his own, saving her life and indebting her. But had Rao really saved her life? He’d been the one who ordered the kidnapping and sacrifice in the first place.
“The FBI agents were too busy following Carlos. So it was a simple matter, remaining hidden.”
“You are overly confident,” Rao said. “You’d better pray they were unaware of you. We need another sacrifice before we can stop caring if anyone finds us. Finds me.”
His fists unclenched and his breathing slowed.
“I’m not going to punish you, at least not in a way anyone will see.” He bent over and yanked her to her feet. The sudden show of force exhilarated her—a taste of the power from beyond? The nâga and what their world had to offer those of the Câ Tsang? “We’ll discuss the next course of action once you’re fully one with Rao, the Tip of the Horn, leader of the Iron Thorn.”
Rao popped the buttons of her blouse as well as the button on her jeans. He tore the clothes from her and stepped out of his robe. He wore a chain with either a horn or thorn dangling from the links. Rings adorned every finger, including thumbs. He discarded the watch, also.
He scooped her into his arms, carried her up another flight of stairs, his bare feet thudding the metal. Upon their entry to his sleeping platform in the abandoned plant, a red light flicked on, casting an eerie glow upon everything.
She’d been up here many times in the past few weeks, but he’d never been this angry with her.
Rao tossed her on his bed as if she were nothing, like a backpack or something. He was very strong, much stronger than you’d expect of a man of average size.
He stood over her once again, and pointed toward a carved headboard, the images nearly impossible to make out other than they represented some kind of orgy taking place in a hellish nightmare. She pushed herself upright and scurried for the headboard. Rao approached and tied her wrists to thick wooden rings protruding from the orgiastic scene.
Given her Catholic upbringing and repeated viewings of The Exorcist while growing up, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Rao sported hooves or spewed pea soup.
It was exhilarating.
* * *
Rao took her with force and rougher than was his usual way. The bastard never protected himself during sex, and he forbade her to use birth control, but Lali always protected herself without him knowing.
Once he’d finished, he paced the room, his naked body glistening against the red light, lending the entire scene a sordid, no—debauched—appearance. He kept her tied up as he paced, and beneath her, a wet spot like one of the Great Lakes welled. What if everything about Rao was now affected by the other world, that of the nâga? Would she contract some sort of disease or give birth to some demon baby? No. She used birth control, the pill, and if worse came to worst, she’d toss herself down some stairs. She’d never give birth to this man’s child, and certainly no half-nâga hybrid…
“We’ll find out more about this Wayland Precision, Völundr’s Hammer, whatever they name themselves. If they are truly the guild and are indeed lurking here, they must be dismantled.”
She remained silent—interrupting him while her arms and legs were bound was foolish.
“We need to sacrifice the leader of Völundr’s Hammer. Yes. You will lead this for me. But first, we need to deal with the FBI agents. Now tell me, who are these people?”
Lali related all she knew of them from what she’d overheard at the diner—which had been fairly substantial.
“Rao is pleased. Very pleased.” He paced, his bare feet padding against the metal platform.
At least the bed was comfortable, though her arms were falling asleep now and her wrists ached, not to mention her insides.
“Will you accept the following plan,” Rao paused, “no matter what it entails?”
She nodded.
“No matter what you’ll have to do or sacrifice?”
She nodded.
“I need your oath.” He leapt on the bed and straddled her naked body. “Speak.”
“Yes, I swear to you, Rao, and pledge loyalty and devotion to the Câ Tsang.” She desired power, and a glimpse of the fantastic, a taste of the fantastic.
“Manage to do what I set forth and you’ll be promoted to the rank of an adept—a khäp.” Rao beamed. “You begin tonight.”
Rao took her again.
Chapter 22
Temple had never attended an autopsy. She’d seen quite a few dead people over the years, and not in the Sixth Sense sort of way, though she wouldn’t have been surprised to witness souls loosed upon the world—and why not? She’d witnessed otherworldly events, Biblical by her reckoning. Certainly an autopsy wouldn’t, couldn’t, be more vomit-inducing than the mangled bodies she’d seen the past couple of days.
Jasper had pointed her to the Lake County Coroner’s office, part of a larger local government facility. Though they handled routine autopsies at this facility, when presented with a difficult case, such as the bodies they’d come across the past couple of days, they often had the autopsies performed elsewhere. After Jasper explained this to Temple she had Vance track down a medical examiner to assist them.
“You guys, I mean SAG, often contract out for stuff like this?” Jasper asked.
“Stuff like this?” Temple snorted. “There has never been stuff like this.”
“You know what I mean. You have a list or something you go off?”
“No. But the Chicago Field Office used this doc before. Vance called an agent he knew there who recommended her.”
As Temple pulled up to the building, Jasper swore.
“What? You despise the look of these buildings as well?” They were all ugly in that late Sixties and early Seventies way. Clearly governmental offices.
“No,” Jasper said. “Although you’re right. These buildings couldn’t look more drab.”
Temple laughed.
“But no, the problem is that right there.” He pointed at a black SUV with tinte
d windows which completely obscured its occupant, or occupants.
“Is there something I should know?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, unless someone borrowed his bucar, that’s the no-talent clown who currently takes up space as the senior team leader for FBI Indianapolis’s Evidence Response Team.”
“Let me guess, you two don’t get along.”
“Not even a little.”
“And why am I in utter shock at this discovery?” Temple grinned.
“Ha. Ha. Trust me,” Jasper said, “this man isn’t here because he wants to be here. He must have gotten up quite early to get here, since he had to come up here from the Indianapolis area. That’s at least a two-hour drive, more usually two and a half. Let’s just hope he brought along someone I can stomach.”
“You mean there is that special someone in the Bureau that you can stand? Anyone?”
Jasper turned toward her and scowled, but that sly grin and sparkle his eyes often held returned. “Yeah, I’m a pain in the ass for sure. Now, I’m going to try not to start anything with him, but he’s a prickly bastard. He should get it over with and call it a career,” he said, then added in a mumble, “such as it was.”
“This should be interesting,” Temple said.
“Yeah.”
With that they entered the building and soon came face to face with the “no-talent clown,” whose name was as of yet unknown to Temple. He was a Special Agent, appearing to be on the verge of the mandatory retirement age of fifty-seven, and likely Pacific Islander in his origins. He had a tired face, droopy and without humor. He wore khakis and a navy blue shirt adorned with an Indianapolis FBI Evidence Response Team patch. If he packed a firearm, he must have hidden it on his ankle. The fact he didn’t wear a fanny pack with the gun tucked away inside surprised her: He was definitely that type. In short, he looked like a pain in the backside.
“Who’s this?” the clown asked, chubby arms folded.
Jasper cocked his head.
“Ah, yes,” the clown said, “the headquarters puke.”
Temple grinned and Jasper remained silent, though she could sense his temptation to say something.
“Something amusing?”
“No, not really.”
Jasper shot her a look, as if saying, see?
“Hi, I’m Temple Black.” She extended her right hand, which the man stared at and pursed his lips. Wet things, those lips of his, and unnaturally red, as if Temple and Jasper had interrupted his sucking on a cherry-flavored ice pop.
“Yeah,” he said, giving her hand a quick, limp shake. “Can we get this over with? I’ve been ordered by higher pay grades to be here for this debacle. You know, this should have been shipped elsewhere, or better yet, not been anything at all, since I’ve received the prelims and I don’t think we’re going to get anything out of this.”
“Whatever you say, Morris.” Jasper took a deep breath and continued. “Look, these are unusual deaths, Morris, and while I’m sure you have some Little League game to attend or some other father of the year type thing to do, this is important.”
Temple raised an eyebrow and looked at Jasper.
Morris rolled his eye and a sigh escaped from the man’s lips, a sigh that held the pent-up aggressions and stress of a man resigned to the life he had built for himself.
“You have anyone else tagging along?” Jasper asked in a more conciliatory tone.
“Nope,” Morris said, “you can do the photo log. I’ll take the photos, that’s the only way they’ll get done properly. You do remember how to do a photo log, I presume?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“And she can be a witness in case there is any evidence that needs collecting, though from what I’ve heard, there won’t be much.”
“We shall see,” Jasper said, and with that, the three of them entered the stark building.
* * *
Antiseptic, but not fresh smelling, not by a long shot. Temple’s jaw was clenched; the back of her skull ached. She released the tension by moving her jaw around, as if she were trying to pop her ears during a rough flight.
“Hey, you okay?” Jasper touched her shoulder.
“Not sure yet. You never know what will set a person off.” Jasper removed his hand and shrugged. “That’s true enough.”
“The smell is giving me a headache,” she admitted.
Morris chuckled. “That chemical scent? Soon you’ll be thinking back on this fondly.”
A man wearing light blue scrubs and a white apron paid them no mind as he arranged the instruments resting on a tray. He had a Nordic look to him, which was confirmed by his nametag, Janssen. The man and the setting reminded Temple of a torture room with tile and metal and running water in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. A sink was positioned at the end of an angled table of stainless steel, not unlike her food prep table back in Arlington, Virginia. The thought wrinkled her nose. She’d never see the shiny surface the same way again. Scales hung near the table, much like the type found in a produce aisle. There were also scales resting on a shelf, like the sort a deli counter would employ. Ladles? Like a kitchen. Her stomach turned. She swallowed a retch creeping up her esophagus.
“Here.” Jasper thrust two pieces of flimsy blue material at her which she could see through.
“What are these?”
“Booties.”
She examined them. “And what good will these do me? I mean, they’re see-through.”
“Just put them on,” Jasper said. “It’s not like you’re wearing open-toed shoes.”
She mock-saluted Jasper and slipped them on over her shoes—not her junkiest shoes, either, although they were indeed expendable if need be. Would give her a reason to buy another pair of nicer shoes if fluids of some sort were to get through the flimsy barrier Jasper had provided.
“You want some Tyvek?” Jasper raised an eyebrow.
“No, I think I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s not like they’ll be flinging stuff all over the room, right? And that stuff ramps up the sweat factor.”
“That depends,” another voice said, female, commanding in timbre. The woman who entered the room was the same height as Temple, but sporting a reddish tan and freckles up and down her sinewy arms. “You never know what may get flung about if I really dive in. Hi, I’m Doctor Irene Lewis.”
Temple smiled. “Doctor Lewis, so glad you made it, I was beginning to worry. Special Agent Temple Black.”
“Agent Ravel got me out of a function I’d been dreading,” said Doctor Lewis. “So, thank you all for the bailout.”
“Doctor Lewis, from what I understand,” Temple aimed her words at Jasper and Morris, “is a top-notch medical examiner.”
“A regular Quincy, eh?” Jasper asked.
“Uh, yeah, good one, I love being compared to man on-the-verge-of-old-age,” Doctor Lewis said. “I’m a real forensic pathologist, unlike Quincy. And you are?” She raised an eyebrow at Jasper.
“Special Agent Jasper Wilde,” Temple cut in.
“The emphasis on special?”
“I don’t like this woman,” Jasper said.
“This woman would be ‘Doctor’ to you.” The woman shook his hand, squeezed, and followed it up with a wink. “All right, you can call me Irene.”
“Whoa, that’s my gun hand there Doc.” Jasper flexed his fingers and turned to Temple.
“You sure you didn’t mistakenly hire a mixed martial artist from the Ultimate Fighting Championship?”
“Are you through?” Morris leaned against a wall, the Nikon D700 camera typical of ERT hanging around his neck. “Can we get this show on the road?”
Jasper jerked his head toward him. “Oh, and the ultra-friendly guy over there is Special Agent Morris Chan.”
Doctor Lewis’s mouth opened and shut, keeping whatever barb on the tip of her tongue for herself. Jasper slipped a mask over his face, attempting to hide the broad smile. “You know what, Doc? I think I like you after all.”
“I’m still evaluat
ing all of you, but how about we discuss your needs. From what I understand there are multiple autopsies, but at least one will be different from the others?”
Temple explained the situation to Irene with an occasional interjection by Jasper. Morris kept quiet, a good sign.
The assistant, Janssen, apparently knew the doctor, or at least acted as if he did and found none of the banter unusual. He didn’t even crack a smile, but continued prepping the room.
Irene went about her business, too, arranging the instruments on the tray in the way she preferred. She gave the area a once over while Jasper and Morris prepped the necessary paperwork and obtained the names and signatures of everyone present.
They agreed on performing the first autopsy on the woman who had been kidnapped and presumably tossed from the minivan in the accident near the Euclid Hotel.
“Temple,” Jasper said, “feel free to observe, but you don’t have to stand back. If you want a closeup look, come forward. You should also be watching for possible evidence or things we overlooked while Morris takes photos and I do the log, okay?”
Temple nodded.
“Also, I’ll be using you to assist with the evidence we collect, clothing, and any pocket trash if there is any.”
Janssen wheeled in the first of the three bodies. The remains were in a black body bag atop the rolling cart. How would the others be brought in? Temple wondered. Large plastic buckets, like the ones Home Depot sold?
Janssen positioned the rolling cart next to the stainless autopsy table. Morris moved in and took a photo of the bag and the seal on the zipper, calling out to Jasper what he wanted annotated on the photo log.
Irene cut the seal. Jasper flipped a page on the clipboard and, Temple guessed, noted the time.
Morris took more photos once the bag was unzipped and called those out to Jasper, who was already writing in the log.
