She stared blankly. Not a word she was in any way familiar with.
“You want to do something about it?” Obrington asked.
From one confrontation right into another. And Fae relations, her burgeoning obsession, threatened to dominate her again. But she shook her head, somehow still riding her authoritative high. “Sir, we’re preparing to enact Protocol 38, and I’m confident if Pax succeeds then the Fae situation will become a lot less complicated. I’d respectfully ask that you keep them at bay while I prepare the team. I’ve just pacified Duvcorp myself.”
Obrington almost looked impressed. “Did you now? Then I guess I can hold off the little buggers.”
Sam had to fight to keep the satisfaction from showing on her face. This was good. This was how you moved on after murdering someone.
Having missed the drama with the criminals, Casaria had hoped to do at least something in Ward’s shady meeting, but he was just there for show. While she put herself forward as the big dog. What an act. It should’ve been him protecting the city, then and before. Not nervous Ward and plodding bloody Landon. The criminals were gone. The chance for justice was gone, with Monroe on his way to jail, and that blond one maybe bleeding out. And back here, with Pax out on her own, Casaria was wasted. They wanted him to demonstrate weapons to the new agents. Dr Galler’s job. Casaria watched Ward instructing Holly Barton, instead. Giving another civilian more attention than her own staff.
Darren Barton limped over, two steaming paper cups in hand, making Casaria square off uneasily. What did this lout want? He held out a cup and Casaria regarded it like proffered vomit.
“Too good for filter?” Barton said.
“Generally, yes,” Casaria replied. What was it with this family and hot drinks? Barton kept it out, so he took it. It did smell inviting, even if it likely tasted piss-awful.
“We haven’t properly spoken, you and me,” Barton said.
“I wonder why.”
“Another time, I would’ve given you a concussion for paying a visit to my daughter,” Barton stated, idly.
“And I could’ve erased you from history for all the irresponsible crap you pulled.”
“Sure. I owe you one, though. For helping Grace. And Pax.”
Casaria was silent. Unsure how best to respond to gratitude from a man he could not respect. He looked at the coffee and realised what this was. A peace offering. He tried again. “I had no intention of calling on your daughter unannounced. I was looking for Sam Ward.”
“I know,” Barton said. And left it there. No words of advice about chasing the woman, or that she didn’t want to talk to him. Barton took a sip of his own drink, breathed in satisfaction, and gestured to Ward and Holly. “I kept the tunnels from her for years. Figured she’d leave me if she knew. Now look at her, more involved than me.”
Casaria nodded. He knew that feeling. “I trained Ward. Introduced her to all this. But she was always too good for me.” He stopped dead, not knowing where that had come from. He left it too long to correct himself.
“Guess we both had high opinions of ourselves. It’s what happens when us foot soldiers think too much. Word of advice?” Barton said. Here it was. “Stock some beer down here.”
With that, he limped off back the way he’d come. Casaria wondered if the man even heard what he said. Ward left Holly, heading for the kitchen area, and Casaria sucked it up to follow. He caught up as she reached the coffee machine and he cleared his throat to announce his presence.
“Jesus, don’t creep up on me.”
“I didn’t,” Casaria told her, sharply, and got a sharp look back. Quickly moved on. “Are you hurt? From the shooting.”
A pause, like she had to consider it, and Casaria’s heart skipped. Had one of them –
“No.”
“I would’ve taken them all down,” he told her. “In the café, too. In a heartbeat.”
“Maybe a good thing it was on me, then,” Ward said grimly.
“I mean I wouldn’t have let you go through that. It wasn’t right. Obrington had –”
“He’s doing okay,” Ward interrupted. Casaria clamped his mouth shut. Unable to say anything right. She saw his frustration and softened. “What happened, happened. We survived. And for what it’s worth, you were right, Cano. Pax is an asset to the Ministry.”
Casaria went quiet. Did Sam Ward actually just admit he was right about something? He resisted deriding her for it. “I should be out there. Tell me where she went, she needs protection. These new bastards from London don’t know the city, do they?”
“No.”
Casaria smiled. “So you’ll tell me where she’s gone?”
“No, I mean you can’t go after her. And you’re not the first to offer.”
Ugh. Fuck the others, what could they offer? He’d –
“Cano, stop, okay,” Ward said, and he tried to unravel that. He hadn’t been speaking, had he? “Can you just try not to think too much? In that café, just now, that was perfect. Follow instructions, don’t second-guess, just assume we’re doing the right thing, and none of it’s personal.”
Casaria stared at her, unsure where this was coming from – twice in as many minutes, told not to think. But he sensed it was important to her. Say no, and she’d remember it. Have what she deserved, perhaps, for all the spite she’d shown him. He didn’t, though. He nodded. “Whatever you need.”
She gave him the faintest smile before turning back to her coffee. Something moved in his throat. Not risking another word, he turned towards the weapons area.
4
The Fae Council building was a whitewashed monument to opulence. A tapering ringed tower decorated by pillars and arches in a neoclassical style. It stood taller than any building in the FTC, topped by a terrace with a low-walled rock garden, lording it over the city. Ambient spotlights highlighted it, soldiers hovered nearby. They didn’t matter: Letty had a way in. She streamlined to approach as quickly as she could, down towards the base and a small ledge. A guard stood by a maintenance door, idly watching the sky.
As Letty got closer, he jumped to attention. She came fast, hitting him as he started to raise his gun. The guy went down and his gun slid off the ledge. He scrambled onto his knees as Letty bared her teeth. The soft-faced fool’s eyes ballooned in recognition. “Shit –”
Letty rose to pounce, drawing her pistol, but the guard lifted his hands in surrender. A little whiff of something – hell – he’d pissed himself.
“Get up,” Letty instructed. “Open the fucking door.”
The man sprang to his feet. “Yes – of course –”
What had happened to this place, were they all this lame?
She dragged him inside, finding a row of hatch-tunnel entrances, labelled for different floors. “Where’s the meeting?”
“Level eight,” the guard told her. “Concourse.”
“Good. Now, I need to punch your lights out, or you gonna keep quiet?”
“I won’t say anything, I swear –”
“Yeah, whatever.” Letty holstered her pistol. It wouldn’t matter either way, they’d know where she was soon enough. She could spare a little sympathy for this loser.
Flynt fought his escort every step from the Council chamber, through the circular corridor and up the hatch. He bucked in their grips, snarled at Hearlon, their leader, and shouted about the mistake they were all making. Val was making her move – had made it, while he was being taken away. It was too late. The Stabilisers thrust Flynt into an empty room and locked the door. He clawed at the door, the walls, the ceiling, but there was no way out. The bastards had taken his weapons, and it was only a question of if they shot him right here or moved him somewhere more discreet.
Hearlon returned alone, light silhouetting him from behind. Flynt jumped to his feet and backed into the far wall, fists up. “You try me, man –”
“Shut up,” Hearlon said. He was larger than most Fae, with a concrete face, head too big for his body. His black armour added ext
ra bulk. The pistol at his hip was nearly the size of his thigh, and his hand hovered over it.
“That’s it, is it?” Flynt said. “Edwing out in the wilderness – me right here in the Council building? Think the FTC won’t notice –”
“It wasn’t us did your brother,” Hearlon said, coldly. “But he had it coming. Arrogant little shit. Guess it runs in the family.”
Flynt glared back. “You honestly don’t care that Val’s imprisoning us?”
“Protecting us,” Hearlon answered simply. “Like always.” He drew the pistol.
“You’re gonna bury this city,” Flynt said, voice wavering.
“Nah. Only you.”
Letty’s words came to him, strike hard and fast, when they weren’t expecting it – but there was no element of surprise here. Hearlon raised the gun and called over his shoulder, to the hall, a long way from convincing, “Ah, no, he’s going for my –”
A bang shook them from below.
Hearlon looked down as though he could see through the floor. Another bang followed, distinctly a gunshot, and Hearlon’s distraction was complete. “What in hell –”
Letty’s words exploded in Flynt’s mind – win by acting, not fucking thinking – and he sprang forward. Hearlon twisted and the gun went off, but Flynt was already past it. He drove a knee into the big guy’s crotch, the same time he slammed his forehead into his face and got a hand on the gun. As Flynt pulled away, Hearlon stumbled into the wall, growling like a bear. But Flynt had the pistol. Right in his face. A corner of Hearlon’s mouth rose in distaste and he started to speak. Flynt cut in, “I’ll shoot, I swear I’ll do it.”
There was shouting below.
Hearlon didn’t move, face bloody. Not his own blood; Flynt blinked a trickle out of his own eye, wounds reopened from his scuffle with Letty. He flicked it away and said, “Open the door. You son of a bitch.”
“I want a talk, that’s all!” Letty yelled over the shoulder of a Stabiliser a head taller than she, her pistol digging into his temple. The closest man when she had smashed her way in. As the other guards went for weapons, she fired a warning shot into the ceiling. Anyone who hadn’t already leapt for cover did so. “You all keep calm, don’t do anything stupid!”
“Letty.” Valoria took charge, standing from behind the podium where she’d ducked. Her dignity returned with defiance. “You can’t possibly expect this to work.”
“Where’s Flynt?” Letty shouted. She sidestepped along the wall with her hostage as a shield, getting closer to Val. “Get him back here!”
“He was disrupting the meeting,” Valoria answered snidely.
“Did I fucking ask? You want to test me?” Letty flicked the gun from her hostage to the governor, and Valoria’s arms went rigid at her sides. She was shitting one, even if she knew how to hide it. “You bring him back, and you – all of you! – sit the fuck back down!”
“Letty –”
“Now!” Letty’s voice shook the room.
The guards all had their eyes on her, looking for a way through, as she shifted around, keeping her hostage between them. Fuming on the inside, Valoria held up a hand and spoke with acid. “Everyone keep calm. We are a civilised people, are we not?”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” Letty bit back.
Valoria slowly pressed a button on her collar, activating a radio. “Bring the boy back in here. In case you didn’t hear, we have company.”
“Good,” Letty said. “Now. You lads – bunch closer together, over there. Where I can see you. Everyone else, in your seats. You’re gonna listen to me, seeing as you’re all incapable of talking sense. Now!”
The councillors hurried to sit back down, hands up, curling and hunching fearfully. Valoria stayed rooted to her spot. Letty said, “We’re gonna have a reckoning, you pestilent grub. Tell these people exactly what you’ve done.”
“There are no secrets here,” Valoria answered. “The Council backed the actions we’ve enacted. For the good of the whole FTC. Whatever you hoped to find, it’s not here.”
“Uh-huh,” Letty said. “They know all about the septjad poison, do they? How you’d risk threatening a chemical weapon rather than fucking negotiate? And all about the Dispenser? How you killed Apothel for it, but the weapon was never found? Not then, not now? How about the one about the fact that it never needed to be found? That we’ve got engineers that could’ve made a new one. Tell me, Val, how none of those are secrets here.”
Valoria glared in furious silence.
The door creaked open and Stabilisers filled the gap. The governor ordered without hesitation, “Hearlon, join us. Let’s see how tough she is with a friend on the line.”
Letty watched the door, but the trio of guards who entered were unarmed. The two in front had their hands up. The trailing one was Hearlon, ahead of Flynt rather than the other way round. Flynt gave Letty a triumphant smile. Even better was the look on Valoria’s face, crushed.
“Time to talk, Val,” Letty said. “Time you fucking answered.”
5
By the time Pax reached The Sandwitch, the sense that she was doing something remarkably stupid was deeply entrenched. It combined with a rumbling in her stomach, as the coming dusk reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Hopefully passing Palleday’s rotten shop floor would stifle her appetite. When he let her in, the scent of mouldy bread did make her stomach churn. Then it rumbled more. Great.
“In here,” Palleday called from the room of towers, where the crappy light was on. Pax strolled in, thinking how best to broach the subject of hunting their most hated felon. She found Palleday standing on a ledge with Fresko and Mix sat next to him, legs dangling over the edge, drinking from miniature bottles.
Fresko said, “You survived, then?”
“Apparently. Is that beer?” Pax leant closer. Did the Fae have glass manufacturing plants? What kind of tiny branding did they have?
“Not so close, please,” Palleday insisted, holding up a hand, cringing.
“Sorry.” Pax backed off. She was right by his buildings now, able to see into the nooks of their cave-like hollows. Empty.
“Yes, well, shouldn’t expect a human to realise how big they are. How imposing they might be.” Palleday distanced himself from the other two, folding his arms. The pair of mercenaries ignored him.
“Want one?” Fresko said, pushing himself up to approach what she saw was a tiny cooler. As he removed a beer, Mix snapped, “The fuck you gonna waste one on her for? Might as well throw it away.”
“It’s reckless,” Palleday agreed. “Sharing that.”
Fresko, apparently driven more by drinking etiquette than logic, opened the bottle with a tiny hiss before holding it up to Pax. She was torn: it was definitely a waste, and it would only irritate the other two, but she definitely wanted to try it. After a bad day and a worse week, hadn’t she earned a little merit? Taking great care, she took the bottle in thumb and forefinger and poured the contents onto the tip of her tongue. It was hard to judge the taste from what amounted to a drop, but she told herself it was good. Very good.
“Bloody pointless,” Mix huffed.
She dwelt on it for a moment, trying to savour it, and as she did she felt something. A refocusing of her eyes, a tingling around her fingers. The very barest trace of what the blue screens’ energy manipulation stirred in her. She frowned, focusing back on the fairies, all three of them watching her.
“What’s in it?” Pax replied. “This isn’t like our beer . . .”
“It is your beer,” Fresko said. “We rebottle what you lummoxes make. With twists.”
“Twists, like . . .” Pax’s voice got deeper. The liquid was taking a familiar but unsettling effect. She sensed her glow without looking down. The electric blue under her skin, the one the blue screens’ liquid revealed. And the glow around the Fae; each of them a slightly different colour. Fresko was red, Palleday orange, Mix a steely grey. And the building behind them, it pulsed like it was subtly, slowly, breathing.
“What did you put in it?”
Fresko answered slower than she could comprehend, lips barely moving. Pax scanned each Fae in turn as they looked at her with expressions shifting, at glacial speed, towards concern. Palleday’s arms started to uncurl, Mix was lowering his beer, Fresko’s head tilting to one side.
Pax leant in closer. Time had slowed down; she backed off again, raised an uncertain hand, dropped it, all in the time it took them to widen their eyes.
Then it was like someone hit play again, and all three of the Fae leapt backwards, shouting in surprise; Palleday fell over, crawling away, Mix scooted back, grabbing at a pistol, while Fresko jumped half a foot in the air and hovered there.
“The fuck was that!” Mix roared.
“She – bloody hell!” Palleday gasped.
Fresko kept quiet, staring.
With them watching her like she might explode, Pax remained frozen. “What just happened?”
“You moved like a twitching fucking bird,” Fresko said, settling back onto the ledge.
“Bird’s not that fast,” Mix snarled, getting to his feet, slapping off dirt. “Never seen nothing move like that. Specially not some human.”
Whatever it was had passed as quickly as it came. Pax’s hearing, vision, and movements were all normal again, no more glow, no unsettling feeling. “What’s in that beer?”
The fairies exchanged worried looks. To them, it must’ve been the opposite of what she’d experienced; in the space of time it took them to breathe in and out she’d gone through all those movements, spoken. Warped time?
“It’s standard crank brew,” Mix said. “Only a fucking beer.” Pax let her eyes express the idiocy of what he was saying. He asked Fresko, “Think it’s the dust?”
“Of course it’s the dust,” Palleday said. He, too, turned on Fresko. “What the hell are you thinking? Born yesterday, giving a human that?”
“There was Fae dust in there?” Pax asked.
“Alright, my bad,” Fresko grumbled. “Forgive me for being fucking companionable. Figured you’d already crossed that bridge with Letty, seeing as you’re such great mates.”
The Violent Fae Page 24
