Her eyes rested on the money again.
That three grand might be Pax’s only big pot of the night. Yannick and McRory had been taking most of the hands, with her bowing to their more confident styles. This was her moment, and she silently begged Tycho to fold. If he called, she would be close to walking away empty-handed; a big blow to Monroe’s generous stake for McRory’s arrival.
“You’ve got something,” Tycho concluded. She gave him a sweet smile. More confusing than a blank poker face. But Ward’s comment about Duvcorp flashed up and her smile faltered, paranoid for a second – what’s he doing here? Had he come for her? Was she drawing too much attention to herself?
Silly. He was the COO of a truly enormous company, for crying out loud.
He sighed. “I’ve enough on my plate already without adding this uncertainty. Well done.” Tycho pushed his cards to the dealer.
The other Americans celebrated with loud congratulatory comments. One of them demanded, brashly, “So what’d you have?”
“A gentleman shouldn’t ask,” Tycho admonished the man politely.
“What I have,” Pax answered, masking massive relief to drag in the winnings, “is enough money to avoid stealing soap from public toilets this month.”
It got a few smiles, icy enough to suggest this wasn’t the place. Tycho took it well, though, saying, “We supply sanitary products across Europe, I could get you a deal.” It was hard to tell if that was a joke or a genuine offer, given Duvcorp’s ubiquitous interests. Then he was standing. “Gentlemen. It’s been a pleasure, but my father would disown me to see I was knowingly playing at a disadvantage. That’s been made clear. Somewhere in the world, it’s daylight, and I have work to do.”
He folded his coat over his forearm and waited by the door for Monroe to cash him out. The next hand was dealt and the other players made comments about Pax driving away their most interesting guest. She tried to focus back on the cards. Thankful for the dual reliefs of winning big and banishing her sneaking suspicions of Duvcorp.
Then Tycho called over, “Care to walk me out, Ms Kuranes?”
Not good. Either an indecent proposal or Sunken City complications? In both cases, saying the wrong word to a man of his stature might open up doors she’d rather leave closed. God knows she’d done enough of that for one lifetime.
“Won more than you bargained for?” Yannick sniggered.
Struggling not to let the worry show, Pax forced another smile. She excused herself quietly – not quietly, she tripped on the chair – before exiting ahead of Tycho. The hallway was empty, and it swayed as Pax realised she was a little light-headed. The price of her whisky courage, mounting tiredness and high-stakes giddiness.
“I won’t keep you,” Tycho said, closing the door and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Only, I can’t simply leave.”
Here it was. Come to my hotel, or worse? We’ve been watching you.
“Did I make the right move?” he said.
Pax paused. He’d brought her out here for that? Rather than show crass curiosity in front of everyone? She said, “Ordinarily, I’d say the time to pay for that information has passed.”
Tycho’s eyes watched hers like a retinal scanner. Deciding whether or not she was inviting a bribe. He chose correctly. “I’m at the mercy of your charity.”
“You had ace-queen,” Pax told him, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise. Said nothing, waiting for more. She didn’t give it to him. That she’d figured out what his cards were should’ve told him he was beat, one way or another.
“I was right to fold,” he admitted. “I should not have been playing.”
Correct. Pax smiled to herself. A little more at ease in this territory. Then it just came out. “Can I ask you something? Are you in town because Ordshaw’s falling apart?”
Tycho’s turn to pause. “With the animal attack and the train accident?”
“And the collapsing buildings, yeah. You’ve got that shiny tower to protect, after all.” She heard herself but could not stop. “Why else would you be here?”
“A hundred reasons,” Tycho said, amused by her forthrightness. “Tonight, I shall be briefing a management team overseeing our plants in China. Likely they need replacing by morning or we’re down a few million.”
“Must be an expensive garden,” Pax said. He stared. “Plants. Like . . .”
“Ah,” he said. “No, I meant factories, making computers.”
“Got it,” Pax said. There’d be no fairy tale wedding to this wealthy prince.
“But I’m curious. Why would your city’s problems gravitate towards us, exactly?”
“Evil lurking under the city targets the government,” Pax shrugged, “maybe it’ll target other powerful institutions in the area.”
The analytic eyes were back. “An interesting perspective.”
Yeah, she didn’t like piquing that interest. Really should not have spoken. “I’m babbling, aren’t I? Look, I’m bursting for a piss, so I’ll just –”
“But you’re right,” Tycho said. “That’s the funny thing. My father was concerned by Ordshaw’s news. Not through any fear for Duvcorp, mind. For more . . . esoteric interests. I’m humouring him, coming here, otherwise he would have sent someone less discreet. But that is an interesting thought. The UK government was targeted, wasn’t it.”
Pax quickly shook her head. Christ, he hadn’t given a shit until she opened her stupid mouth. “I’ve had too much whisky, it’s just –”
“Pax.” He said her name like they were old friends, moving closer. “Let me confide. My father entertains ghost stories that strain relationships and drain funds. Mostly it’s nonsense. Yet, as the whole world knows, he sometimes strikes gold.”
Great: exactly the strange sort of turn she wanted to avoid. Still, she had to ask, now they were here. “What sort of gold would involve us, here?”
Tycho’s smile revealed too-straight teeth, as he seemed to remember where they were. “That’s a game you should not be playing. Thank you for this evening. I trust you’ll use the winnings responsibly.”
And with that, he walked away.
Pax watched him disappear around a corner. He had unwittingly imparted some curious details she wasn’t quite able to unpack, while she might’ve set him on a dangerous path. And she had told one of the world’s most powerful men that she was bursting for a piss, to get out of it.
Really. Great.
Fresko watched Lightgate with complete uncertainty. The woman had been sitting staring into the shadows for minutes, seeming to scent the air, ever since some unseen occurrence had drawn her interest. It had happened when Pax left the table, making excuses, following that rich prick out. Lightgate had been suggesting following her when she instead stopped abruptly, entering this weird attentive state. Fresko didn’t dare interrupt. If it meant not causing a bloodbath, he could live with sitting still.
Finally, Lightgate held the hip flask out in front of her, arm straight, tracing something in the air. Fresko followed the gesture through the rifle scope. He couldn’t see anything. She explained, “We are not alone. Very interesting.”
There were no humans, clearly, and if she meant Fae, how in hell could she see?
“Tonight, we observe, my dim-witted friend,” Lightgate said. “I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
14
Returning to the Ministry’s new chambers, Sam was greeted by her young analyst, Ryan, frantic to tell her something. She wanted to brush him off, to draft a report that would slow Obrington’s purge down, but Ryan insisted with waves to his desk.
“It’s strange. Maybe nothing?” He brought up the Ministry’s map of the Sunken City on his computer screen – a three-tier plan of tunnels. It was overlaid by shades of colour, from yellow through to red. “We’ve been going over everything, rebooting the motion sensors, physically going down there. Meantime, I revised our historical markers. This heatmap shows the horde’s movements over a five-year period. All the creatures. An even
distribution, right?”
“Yes.”
“But look here. And here.” He pointed from one spot to another. Then tapped the monitor in a dozen more places. “All these spots.”
Sam didn’t follow. He pointed at a gap between the outer edges of orange colouration. “There’s nothing there.”
“Exactly,” Ryan said. “Nothing in any of these spots. Sixteen of them.”
“There’s a lot of tunnel space,” Sam said. “Some spots are bound to go untouched.”
“But nothing has been in them. Crusads and bunch spiders, they get all over the place, and look, this one, the horde passed right by this room. Nothing slipped inside?”
Sam’s first thought was that the Ministry had been monitoring these tunnels for years; if such a pattern was relevant, someone would have spotted it. But by that logic, they should’ve spotted the novisan transfers Pax uncovered. The areas were mapped, so the Ministry had been to these locations, but perhaps only once, ever, without movement there. Maybe he had something.
“Prepare a list of co-ordinates,” Sam suggested. “Check them against novisan scans and see what’s above them.”
Just what she needed: a new problem. Thankfully, as she moved to her own desk, Obrington didn’t wave her over, too engrossed in his phone to say hello. At least all these additional confusions would build a case for delaying Protocol 38. Sam just needed to get the report written before Casaria arrived, as he would make it next to impossible to complete it with a clear head. It was her own fault, she shouldn’t have left him in the wind. Damn, it was a minor miracle the Bartons hadn’t gone ballistic.
Casaria swept into the office before Sam had written an introduction to her report. He was clad in a pressed suit and starched shirt, not a hair out of place. Obrington gave Sam a look, directing the problem her way. She opened her mouth to invite his input, but he was already texting again.
Steeling herself, Sam sat up straight. Casaria limped over, examining the vaulted chamber, his toothpaste grin a little uncertain. He indicated the plastic “guest” chair Sam had on the other side of the desk. “You mind?”
“A little,” Sam said. “But go ahead.”
“Surprised to see you here.” Casaria gestured from her desk, on the outer perimeter of their open-plan workspace, to Obrington’s central position. “Shouldn’t you be there?”
“Shouldn’t you have stayed home?” Sam hissed, refusing to let him mock her.
“According to you.” Casaria sat down and stretched out his injured leg, wearing his usual arrogant smile. The cut running across his eye was almost healed. His skin, somewhat concealed by foundation, looked its usual tan-tone, with only a few scrapes showing. Besides the limp, there was nothing visibly wrong with his leg; no cast or bandages like Darren or Grace Barton had, though he’d lost a toe. Sam knew he was a mess inside, though, even if his appearance hid it. Casaria had risked his life for Pax and the city, but had shoved Sam, and might’ve done worse if he hadn’t been interrupted.
She raised her chin. “Yes, according to me. Your superior. You want to get fired? What the hell were you thinking, going to the Bartons’ home?”
“Relax,” he said, cautiously. “I only went because I didn’t know where any of you were. It’s no secret you need staff, how could I sit idle?”
“Casaria, for the shit you’ve done, you could be hanged,” Sam said, as firm as she dared without raising her voice. To hell with it, it was time to put him in his place – but his face clouded over with an unfamiliar emotion. Some sort of . . . shame?
He answered quietly, “I waited by your place.”
Sam’s eyes shot open. He had gone to her bungalow? Her oasis, where the streets were unlit after 10pm because it was safe?
“I didn’t go in,” Casaria continued, some consolation. “I could’ve, your neighbours aren’t exactly vigilant.”
Sam was about to question him, but caught herself. How would her neighbours let him in? Then the realisation hit her. They’d shared rides when they patrolled together. Three years ago. He didn’t know she’d moved out of her West Farling apartment building. She said, “You should have called.”
“You didn’t. And I don’t like doing things over the phone,” Casaria confessed. “Not ones that matter.” He sat forward, then back, unable to pick a pose. “Pax is okay?”
“You didn’t sit outside her apartment, too?” Sam replied. Casaria covered his hurt look with another smile. His demeanour was off, nervous.
“I’m a professional,” he said. “Worrying about the people of this city is my job. And I didn’t sleep with her, before you ask.” Said like it should reassure Sam. “Look. I didn’t scare the Barton girl. Good someone checked in on her, if you ask me.”
“How can –”
“I was trying to find you,” Casaria quickly continued. “I’ve been thinking – a lot – and it’s not good. Before – in Greek Street, when I came for – you know –”
Sam raised an eyebrow. Had the possibility that he might have seriously hurt her stuck in his mind, too?
“I lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I’d spent two nights without a bed. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t want to scare you. I would never hurt you.”
A derisive snort escaped Sam’s nose. She covered her face. “Sorry. Cano. Do you really believe everyone is stupid, or is it just that you keep convincing yourself of your own lies? You’re suspended because you can’t be trusted. You’re unstable and definitely wanted to get in Pax’s pants.” She wasn’t proud the last bit came out. But it was true.
Casaria was speechless. Some of the glow was gone from his blue eyes. Yet he would come out with some offensive or dismissive comment. Damned if she would let him.
Sam said, “You see Obrington over there? Your fate’s in his hands. But I’m pretty sure I can predict what he’ll say once I tell him you couldn’t lay low.”
“Please don’t,” Casaria said, a shimmer of fear finally on his face. “You’re right, okay? Pax spun me out. Talking to her –”
“We’re gonna go in circles,” Sam huffed, but he hurried on.
“She said the same things. Not just her. I’ve really been thinking. In that church, I was there to protect her, but it was me on the floor, her firing the gun. If I wasn’t good for that, then what?” He continued with a mad smile, almost laughing. “I don’t know what I’ve been doing, and I’m pretty sure she hates me and thinks I’m useless, like you – but I found her, at least, didn’t I? She told you about her sensing things, the . . .” Casaria held up his own hands, fingers spread, as if that explained something. “I made mistakes, but it was on her behalf. And I don’t want anything more from her – or those civilians – I just want to keep doing a good job. Don’t take that from me.”
“You want to prove you’re professional, wait for us to contact you,” Sam said, trying to remain firm. Panic crossed his eyes, like an opportunity was slipping away.
“But you know me,” he said. “And this isn’t over, is it? You need those tunnels secured, and the Fae –”
“Casaria.” Sam held her mouth closed.
He paused and seemed to suddenly sense his own pitiful display. His grin came back, utterly empty, and he stood. “Right. No, I’m sure you’re hard at work. Always at it, aren’t you?” He straightened his jacket. “I’ll go. I didn’t mean harm – you know someone should’ve been checking on that girl anyway.” He paused again. Then rushed out a final idea, almost as one word: “Maybe I could get you dinner when you’re done here?” Only the briefest pause for Sam to take it in. “You know, to apologise. If I need to? I don’t know how upset you are?”
No words came to Sam. Her face was stuck fast, wide-eyed, as she realised this wasn’t about his job. Not entirely. This self-pity and apologetic routine, his nerves – was he psyching himself up to ask her out? Sam feared the slightest movement might make her gag.
Casaria’s eyes slowly tracked up to read her stricken face. Then he muttered under his breath. “Of course. S
tupid idea.” He turned to leave and Obrington finally intervened.
“You two having a good meeting?” he boomed, pacing across the room. Sam gave him a cringing look, not wanting to stretch this out. Had he been waiting to make sure the conversation reached its awkward zenith before joining them?
“I’m going,” Casaria said.
“Oh, but we haven’t had the pleasure.” Obrington made it sound like an order, positioning himself in Casaria’s way. Sam hadn’t quite recovered enough to know where she wanted this to go. She simply wanted it gone. “Wayne Obrington, your new chief, in case that wasn’t obvious. Ward, I take it you’re reconsidering sidelining this man? Might be as well – when my next set of steel-dicked agents with fingers on the triggers get here, I’ve got a mind to –”
They were saved from hearing his plan by a loud beeping, a flashing red light drawing their attention to a Support computer. Ryan raced to check the details, calling out, “Proximity alert – human – maybe a blip.”
“You can tell that from the pitch of a beep, can you?” Obrington said, sarcastically, as Casaria gave Sam a knowing look. One that said, see, this place is falling apart.
“There’s been a couple today while we reset the sensors,” Ryan explained, frantically deactivating the alarm. “It’s BGb-67, up on the –”
“St Alphege’s,” Casaria said. “The closest access point’s the Victorian sewer, off Meer Street. There’s about two blocks between that and BGb-67, no way someone gets that far without setting off another sensor.”
The flashing light and the beeping stopped. Sam stood carefully as Ryan’s hands went up, denying responsibility.
“Sometimes the myriad creatures trigger the human sensors,” he said. “Cloth frogs, maybe.”
“This how you usually deal with blips?” Obrington said. “Reason your way out of it with whatever daft idea pops to mind? On a day when we’ve seen repeated evidence of things not being where they’re supposed to?” He turned to Sam. “Anyone nearby?”
Sam shook her head, aware that Landon was starting a shift in East Farling and Obrington’s new men would be finishing up in Nothicker. “We’re closer ourselves, by far.”
The Violent Fae Page 10
