“Not surprising,” I said.
“But she says the old records building in Old Phoenix is experiencing unusual power consumption.” I heard him lift the data cube off the table.
“And we care why?”
“It has all the records on LC2,” Roark said. “Which means—”
“Which means someone else might be digging through the archives.”
“Bingo.” I heard Roark pocket the cube. “So I guess we’ll start there.”
“Time?”
“Seven.”
No burning buildings. No feral hordes. We were doing all right. But Marshall definitely had more festivities planned, and I had no intention of letting him unleash his horrific creations on the world.
I opened my eyes and stretched my arms. “When this is over, I need you to promise me something.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, Ruby.”
“I want my shit back,” I said, the implication clear. Vengeance wasn’t going away, and Stevens wasn’t getting amnesty for being a thieving prick.
A little of the darkness was crowded out of his eyes. “I promise.”
“Then we’re in this together,” I said, holding out my hand. “Partners until the end.”
Roark stared at my hand like it represented more than a symbolic gesture of solidarity. But for two lost souls—one stationary, the other as transient as the wind—it was more than that.
Finally, with an uncertain smile, Roark gripped my hand and said, “Partners.”
We walked forward, ready to face the necromancer again.
But for the first time, we’d be in it truly together.
41
After a minute of wrangling with the entrance, I shot the padlock to bits with the rifle. Sawdust streamed from the doorway as we pushed inside the crumbling records building. It was amazing how quickly time reclaimed a place when it was left untouched by humans.
From what I could tell, no one was consuming anything in these dusty halls—unless you counted the termites gnawing through the support beams. The interior looked largely untouched by human hands.
Still, I kept a finger on the rifle’s trigger.
“You’re sure there’s something here?” I asked, looking at the sea of dust-covered computers stretching through a large room. The bright flashlight at the end of Roark’s pistol cut a ghostly glow through the dark. Although it was morning, this place had no windows. A bland concrete box meant for soul-crushing work. The inside bore the ambience of an abandoned prison library, minus the books. Only rows of terminals, each positioned for maximum density while maintaining some modicum of privacy.
Had to love government efficiency.
“I’m not sure about anything,” Roark said.
That made two of us.
“LC2 isn’t even that old.”
“Time moved fast over the last eight years,” Roark said. “Nano-printing.”
“Explains all the skyscrapers, I guess.”
“A lot more than that,” Roark said, without elaborating. He sat down at a terminal and tried the power button. Nothing came on. The building was still, without even the whisper of ventilation present to break the silence. It suggested the main breaker was off.
“Thought Alice said someone was sucking up juice.”
Roark glanced at the floor and gestured with his pistol. The flashlight beam cut across the floor. Next to our footprints were what looked like an animal’s. Small—fox, or a dog, maybe.
“We’re not alone,” Roark said.
“A couple strays throwing midnight raves?” I shook my head. “This place is creepy, man.”
“We should root around.”
“Isn’t all this info in the main database?”
“LC2 is flagged everywhere,” Roark said. “Unless you want to—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” I shivered, feeling like the walls of a tomb were closing in. It was strange that MagiTekk would allow this place to stand at all. But maybe there was something to be said about stealth and keeping in the shadows. If too many suspicious things happened at once, people started asking questions.
If you seized their freedoms bit by bit, the frog boiled without a scream.
Roark rose from the seat, sweeping his service pistol over the dark interior. The light glared off slick monitors, modern to me, but woefully outdated compared to the table and data cube. I wondered what other secrets this world held. Whether it was the time loop or the technology, I felt like an alien who had crash-landed on a hostile planet without backup.
Well, that wasn’t true.
I had Roark.
Gripping the rifle tightly, I followed his flashlight’s path to the building’s basement. The little paw prints crisscrossed the stairs before us. If the main floor of the records building was dusty, the basement was almost ready for excavation. I could feel the dirt crunch beneath my boots, occasionally catching glimpses of the linoleum beneath the decay.
We hit the junction box, and Roark threw the main breaker. I noticed that the switch was covered in claw-like scratches. With a throaty groan, the building’s power came back online. Dim bulbs—many of them broken or simply burned out—flickered in the hallway, illuminating our past footsteps.
Another planet, indeed. Our tracks looked like we’d just cut across the moon.
It felt oddly satisfying to know that, even if we failed in stopping Marshall, our footprints would remain untouched here for years before being reclaimed.
Although I didn’t really have a hidden desire to be preserved like a dinosaur.
I preferred living.
Amidst the buzz, my ears caught a sound. I glanced toward Roark, seeing that he heard it, too.
“There’s something up there.”
“I know,” he said with a slight grin. “You’re not afraid of a stray, right?”
“Just turn your fucking light off.”
I glared at him and took lead, just to prove that I wasn’t nervous. It also helped that I was almost completely silent. I recalled Pearl’s training, the years of walking over dry branches and leaves. Again. Returning to the start of the forest, over and over, each time I broke a stick. Her voice echoed in my head, persisting even in death.
My boots glided up the stairs, rifle raised.
Thin, ghostly lights drifted from the drab ceiling, half of the terminals now up and running. I passed by a screen replaying a now-familiar sight: Kalos the half-demon, immolating a row of daywalking vampires, caught on a grainy cruiser feed. Leaked to the public in 2017, it’d finally revealed our supernatural presence to the mortals.
But it was the kind of reveal that made for poor PR.
Roark glanced at the screen and said, “I remember seeing that for the first time.”
“What were you, five years old?”
“Old enough to know things weren’t going to go well.” I watched the grainy footage, feeling odd that I was linked to a pivotal moment in history. No, I hadn’t been there that night. But Kalos and I had been working together at the time, trying to stop a megalomaniac Demon King from controlling all the world’s essence.
The burning vampires were the Demon King’s lackeys.
But the media had glossed over that fact entirely, of course. The danger of magic was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. Out came the pitchforks and the fear-mongering. Kalos became the FBI’s most-wanted target. The perfect bed of shit for someone to plant a foul seed like MagiTekk.
Meanwhile, neither of us got credit for stopping the real assholes from conquering the mortal world.
And this brave, ugly new world was our thanks.
I held my breath, listening to the pitter-patter of small feet. I aimed toward the sound.
An eye emerged, and I fired.
There was a shriek, followed by an exasperated yip that signaled surrender.
That was quick. I walked slowly across the floor, ready to shred the trash bin where I’d seen the eye.
Behind the empty rubber can, I found a shakin
g coyote. A divot in its fur, right on its backside, marked where my bullet had narrowly missed. Sloppy shot; Pearl wouldn’t have been pleased about that. A thin trickle of blood matted the fur, from where the diamond studs had raked against its skin.
Roark stopped behind me. I could feel his breath against my neck.
“It’s just a coyote.”
“No.” I looked at the animal’s eyes, seeing something human. “It’s a shifter.”
The coyote bared its teeth at me and whined.
“Let’s not do that.” I waited for it to shift back to human form, but nothing happened. “What are you waiting for?”
It whined and exposed its belly. From its aura, this was clearly a creature of essence. There was absolutely no doubt about that.
“Well, you can handle that.” Roark’s voice now came from across the room. I realized he was already tapping away at the terminal. Good to know that he thought I had this situation under control.
“I think she’s stuck in this form.”
“Oh yeah?” His thoughts sounded far away.
I looked at the small coyote and it stared back, eyes glowing intently.
“Who are you?”
It let out a whine and rolled over, its ears flattening against its head. Reading the wisps above its head, I saw conflict—a creature caught in an unnatural state.
“Did someone curse you?”
It yipped hopefully, its eyes widening.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I got up and walked away. Not my problem. But it seemed I’d made a new friend, because the four-legged creature trotted behind me. I looked back and said, “You can’t come.”
It let out a kind of barking yip and sat down like a dog, its sharp ears pointed skyward.
“You find anything interesting over there?”
“Working on it,” Roark said, still deep in concentration.
Which left me with my new friend. Curious—or bored—I said, “Show me what you’ve been using that power for.”
The coyote bounded away, slinking beneath the terminals and heading toward a dim hall. I followed the creature, finding myself passing by a series of administrative offices. Yellowed papers were strewn atop messy desks, everything simply abandoned.
It nudged the last door open with its snout.
The room was dark, so I flicked on the rifle’s light and edged cautiously inside. I jerked the rifle toward a noise, but found it was only the coyote hopping up on the desk. It nudged a framed photograph with its nose, leaving behind wet spots.
“Okay, okay,” I said, coming over. I knelt down to get a better look. My brow furrowed. “You know Marshall?”
The coyote whined plaintively as I looked at the picture. In it, a smiling Marshall stood with a pretty young woman in a graduation gown. A proud moment, captured in front of a massive oak tree. Green space stretched out behind the happy pair.
It almost looked fake. Nature started to look strange in this world of glimmering holograms and skyscraper cities.
I pointed at the woman.
“Who’s this?”
Big whine.
“You’re his girlfriend?”
The coyote shook its head, which looked odd coming from a wild animal.
“Sister?”
There was a braying yip. Got it. Here was Solomon Marshall’s sister. Something from an earlier broadcast clicked together—she was the reason he’d started LC2 to begin with. Media darling, hadn’t been seen in seven years. I scanned the papers on the desk, finding a name.
“Eden?”
A tail wag.
“Your parents really liked the Biblical thing, didn’t they?” That got no response. “What happened to you?”
A sad whine, which told me nothing.
I shifted my hands across the papers, searching for any clues. From what I could tell, Eden Marshall was director of the records building. Must’ve been a precocious kid, because I couldn’t see any gray in her pelt.
“How long have you been like this?”
Seven yips.
“Seven years?”
A nod.
“Why?”
A muted growl. I wondered if the padlock on the exterior had anything to do with her permanently shifted state.
I heard Roark yell, “Goddamnit,” and slam his fist against the keyboard, interrupting my brief stint as animal whisperer. Rushing out, rifle raised, I found him pacing in front of the terminal. Eden sprinted behind me, desperate not to be left behind.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Everything was scheduled for demolition,” Roark said, the veins in his neck pulsing. “Headquarters, factories. Sold into receivership, and the new owners took it down.”
“How do you know?”
“Recognize the addresses?” Roark pointed an exasperated hand at the terminal.
I looked at them, trying to piece things together. One was familiar from the news.
“The MagiTekk District?”
“MagiTekk killed Marshall, and then they paved over what was left of LC2.”
“What about his house?”
“They’re building a mile-high scraper on it now.”
A whine from Eden broke through our conversation.
“What’s that thing want?”
“It’s his sister.”
“Marshall’s?” Roark’s eyes flashed, and he drew the pistol, aiming it at the coyote’s head. Eden flattened against the floor, exposing her belly.
“Woah, what the hell are you doing?”
“She’s as guilty as him.”
“Are you listening to yourself?”
Roark gritted his teeth and holstered his weapon. Running his hands through his neat hair, he said, “Damnit.”
Eden watched us through the corner of her eye, the wisps around her body clashing. Fight or flight depicted in magic.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what happened to her,” I said.
“We don’t have time for that,” Roark said, shoving the chair against the desk roughly. There was a loud, echoing slam.
I said, “You need to pull it together.”
He bit his lip and said, “Let’s go. There’s nothing here. We need to find Marshall.”
Eden yipped, stumbling to her feet in that way a dog might when you startle it.
I don’t know where the question came from, but I asked, “Do you know where to find your brother?”
There was a growl.
“He did this, didn’t he?”
A growling nod. Or at least what looked like one.
“We need to stop him.”
Eden sprinted forward toward the door, then looked over her shoulder, as if to ask, Coming?
Without any other options, I followed, Roark muttering behind me.
42
Eden led us to an apartment building in Old Phoenix, pointing to it with her paw.
“Your brother’s inside?”
There was a questioning yip, followed by the cock of a head. She didn’t know. Her snout raised in the air, sniffing the wind.
I noticed a tremor in her back legs.
If Solomon Marshall wasn’t here, then he’d been here recently.
“Floor?”
I counted the sharp, punchy barks.
“Seventeen?”
Roark said, “Jesus Christ, are we really listening to a coyote?”
“You’d listen if she was a person.”
“She could be leading us right into a trap.”
Eden growled, her lip curling at the accusation. Call it intuition, but being cursed by her brother had probably left her with little love for the silver-haired freak.
“I don’t think so,” I said, staring back at the building. The concrete was beginning to crumble, but I could tell it had once been a nice place to live. Wide balconies, empty planters still hanging from many of the guardrails.
The kind of high-end place a media starlet might once have lived.
/> “This your old apartment?” I asked.
The coyote started up at me, eyes soulful.
“Nice place.”
I tried to imagine it as it once was. The people coming in and out of the automatic doors at its base. Now, one door was broken, the other half-open. Made it hard to fall into the illusion. I walked across the abandoned street. Roark followed without protest, his steps heavy. I didn’t hear the pitter-patter of feet. Glancing back, I saw Eden sitting down on the sidewalk.
“Coming?”
A growl indicated that this was an emphatic no.
Whatever Marshall had done to his sister, she wasn’t eager to see him again.
Roark and I entered the ruined lobby, sweeping it for threats. We needn’t have worried. Even the rats had abandoned Old Phoenix, and it wasn’t because of the structure.
It was because of the aura that pervaded every square inch of the place, even at the bottom.
“Death,” Roark said.
You didn’t have to be supernatural to sense it everywhere. A necromancer’s pall hung over the structure like a tapestry of bones.
“He’s here,” I said.
“What’ll we do with the rest of the time?” Roark said, glancing at his watch. “Only nine thirty-four.”
“Maybe we’ll get out of here before breakfast.”
But our bravado was empty. We both knew just how dangerous Solomon Marshall could be. His power coursed through the building, simmering in the shadowy corners. I remembered his cold, paralytic touch, recalling the ease with which he’d dispatched us before.
“Any plans on how to get the drop on him?” I asked.
“One in the head.”
“We gotta break the loop first, though.”
Roark gritted his teeth, handsome jaw set into a grimace. His biceps quivered slightly as his muscles tensed. His plan wasn’t one that called for nuance or more steps than necessary. Vengeance was funny like that: it turned someone prudent into a psycho.
I felt the list crinkle in my back pocket as we walked past the broken elevators. The carpeting on the stairs had been worn ragged, fraying at the edges. As we climbed, the numbers passing us by, I wondered what Marshall had planned.
Fail-safes.
Too many loose ends and problems. I watched as the wisps flitted about aimlessly in a confused muddle.
Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection Page 19
