Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

  “I’ve got a file three inches thick on you assholes.” A lie. But like hell was I going to give this delusional prick the satisfaction of a tranquil mind before I died. Let him believe the FBI was on to his deepest, darkest mysteries.

  Even if I had no damn clue what those were. The Crusaders of Paradisum were nothing if not clandestine. They’d been dormant—gone, really, since 1923. But they’d returned with a vengeance here in 2039, announcing their presence with unabashed flair.

  Threatening to toss a newly minted FBI consultant off a skywalk couldn’t be construed as subtle, but it barely rated as newsworthy given their activities over the past 24 hours.

  Donovan finally answered with a derisive sigh. “You are a liar, Realmfarer.”

  “You drop me, the file goes out to everyone.” My heartbeat thudded in my ears as I dipped further over the edge.

  “You shouldn’t have come looking for me again,” Donovan said. “For us.”

  “I always was too curious for my own good.”

  “Such is the difference between you and I, Realmfarer.” His voice was barely a whisper over the roar of the wind. “I possess infinite patience. That of a man who plans to live forever.”

  His goon’s grip loosened one finger at a time, an unspoken countdown toward my demise.

  “You know I’m going to kill you for good this time, right?” I said.

  “That’ll be hard when you’re a ghost, Ruby.”

  “Then you haven’t met a ghost like me.”

  I heard him laugh, not unkindly. “The righteous shall always prevail.”

  “Indeed they shall.”

  And then Donovan Martin’s henchman let go, sending me hurtling to the ground more than a mile below.

  2

  Midtown Phoenix

  Kendrick’s Bar

  24 hours ago

  I grimaced as I slugged down another shot of whiskey. Special Agent Colton Roark’s blue eyes caught the bar’s dim glow as he watched me. His latest drink was untouched.

  “Can’t keep up?” My tongue felt thick. We’d been drinking for an hour. He wore the expression of someone who wanted to unburden his soul. But he probably hadn’t drank enough for that.

  Roark ran his hand through his neat hair and said, “Look, Ruby…”

  Kendrick limped over behind the bar, his wild mountain of white hair flapping. “Eh, Colton, you gonna finally become a man tonight?”

  He gave me a wink as I rolled my eyes.

  Roark’s ears flushed. “I’m in the middle of something here.”

  Kendrick’s ruddy face burst into a wide smile. “Sorry ladykiller.” He offered us a faux bow and grabbed a bottle. “This one’s on the house.”

  The brown liquid flowed over the lip of the glass, spilling onto the well-worn bar.

  “I don’t think…” I looked at the shot, my stomach turning.

  “Well, you can’t say no to generosity, lass,” Kendrick said, pouring one for himself.

  “I’m not sleeping with him,” I said, although a voice—just a little one—whispered what if? Drunk Ruby had bad ideas. This was official business, hashing out how we were going to take down an evil multinational conglomerate.

  No time for personal distractions.

  “I don’t think Colton likes women, anyway.”

  Roark’s face got redder. His muscles tensed as he grabbed his own glass angrily and choked it down. We followed suit. I immediately regretted my bravado as my stomach did a double-flop.

  “Well, get on with your important business.” Kendrick limped off to talk shop with the regulars.

  “Asshole,” Roark muttered, but with some degree of affection. Kendrick had watched out for him and his brother when their old man wasn’t around. The elder Roark had an illustrious career in security. Corporate thug in a well-tailored suit.

  That didn’t leave a lot of time for father-son bonding.

  “I’m dying of suspense, here.” I tried reading the wisps buzzing around his handsome jaw, but it was futile. Too much whiskey, too late at night.

  Roark batted the empty glass between his fingers before answering. “We need to lay off MagiTekk.”

  That dampened my buzz like a bucket of ice water. “What?”

  “It’s just—”

  “You promised, asshole.” I jammed my finger into his dorky polo shirt hard enough to move the bar stool. “Solomon Marshall passed us the baton. It’s our job, now.”

  I watched Roark’s lip turn upward in disgust. Good and evil were such complicated concepts. Yes, Solomon Marshall had used his powers of necromancy for murder and chaos. But it had all been for a good end—to expose MagiTekk’s massive corruption.

  The tech conglomerate, which sold everything from supernatural suppression rifles to magical dampeners, was quickly becoming a law enforcement monopoly. Their influence spread everywhere, burying its little tentacles deep within every facet of the government. Eager to make a profit, no matter the cost—and there were many costs, namely to creatures of essence. But the mortals were losing, too, since MagiTekk’s propaganda created boundless war, spurred on by the omnipresent illusion of the dangerous vampire or wolf.

  Of course, Marshall had also killed Roark’s older brother. As payback to Malcolm Roark. So I could understand the subject’s touchiness.

  I swallowed hard, still tasting the whiskey’s burn. “I didn’t mean—you know what I meant.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “You can end this thing,” I said. “And I’m going to help you.”

  “How?” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement from a man whose mind was already made up.

  “Isn’t that what we’re hashing out now?”

  Call Marshall crazy, sure—there was no denying that. But you spend a year in a time loop, gathering resources and researching how to bring down your darkest enemy, and I guarantee one thing. You’ll learn more than a thing or two about their weaknesses.

  He’d done the research. He knew we could bring down MagiTekk.

  All Roark and I had to do was keep pressing.

  “Too dangerous. Too much collateral damage,” Roark said.

  “Then we do it piece-by-piece.” Roark and I weren’t the barbarians sacking Rome. The goal wasn’t for the world to burn. MagiTekk had its tentacles wrapped around the heart—the government, the financial system, everything. Excising it carefully—like a bad virus—was the only option.

  Otherwise, the host would die.

  “We can’t do it.” Roark stood abruptly. “End of story.”

  “Like hell it is.”

  Roark reached into his pocket and pulled out a lanyard with a laminated ID. “You’ll need this.”

  I squinted, the text wobbling in and out of focus. “FBI consultant? A supernatural behavioral psychologist? That’s what you call sticking to the shadows?” I was going to be right in the middle of the FBI’s crime scenes. Hardly stealth mode.

  “You’re the one who wanted to help, Ruby.” Roark reached the thick wooden door and looked back, blue eyes shimmering. “Leave MagiTekk the fuck alone.”

  I glared at him. “And what are we gonna do when the world starts to burn?”

  A piece of paper drifted from his pocket. The door shut with a loud creak.

  After a couple minutes, Kendrick limped back over. He ruffled his white mountain of hair with his craggy hands and said, “The boy’s just trying to protect you.”

  I pushed the glass across the scratchy counter. “One for the road.”

  “You need to understand that.”

  I downed the last shot of whiskey and said, “Put it on Casanova’s bill.”

  Kendrick gave me a wry smile. “And where are you headed at this late hour?”

  “Home.”

  “I bet.”

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and headed out the door, into the dry summer air. The magically augmented shotgun rattled on my back as I knelt to pick up the paper Roark had dropped.

  Meeting with Malcolm.
3:00 AM.

  And there was an address.

  I certainly had no intention of going home. Instead, I had every intention of doing what we’d agreed to do.

  Bring MagiTekk down.

  3

  Old Phoenix Outskirts

  21 Hours ago

  The autocab dropped me at the edge of a construction site. Whatever project had been started here was now forgotten, the skeletal structure crumbling into the desert dust. Glowing skyscrapers loomed around the empty space like they were eavesdropping.

  I climbed a rusted steel girder up to what would’ve been the second floor. No sign of Roark or his father. My legs dangled off the side of the beam as I took in the glowing moonlight and waited.

  A large SUV, the government issue type, rolled up. My muscles tensed from instinct, and I reached back for the shotgun. Malcolm Roark stepped out of the vehicle’s back seat.

  Malcolm stood taller and straighter than his son—no small feat—carrying himself like a man confident in his ability to do terrible things. He’d earned the aura of invincibility: his résumé was the platinum standard, each bullet point purchased in blood.

  But no one got into wetwork for the career building prospects. They did it because it offered them a license for their creative outlets.

  Murder, extortion, being a general asshole. That sort of thing.

  Malcolm buttoned the top of his suit jacket as he headed across the dusty debris field.

  I racked the shotgun, aiming straight at his head.

  He stopped and looked up, halfway between me and the car.

  “I don’t have time for games, Miss Callaway.”

  “How do you know who I am?” I arched my eyebrow. We hadn’t met in person. Or ever spoken, for that matter. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

  “I’m good at my job.”

  “Where’s your son?” I glanced at the black SUV, but no one else appeared to be coming out for a little chat.

  “You should come down, Miss Callaway. Before something happens that we’ll both regret.”

  It wasn’t a threat. A flat statement of fact. The sun sets and rises. People go to work and come home. And Malcolm Roark did bad things to his enemies.

  I slid down the girder, landing in the chalky dust.

  “Son of a bitch knew I’d follow the trail,” I said, putting the pieces together. The note slipping out of Roark’s pocket had been an obvious breadcrumb. One I couldn’t resist.

  “My son understood that we needed to have a little discussion.” Malcolm Roark didn’t smile or tense up as I came closer. His bravado was slightly annoying. Coming out here alone, without bodyguards. When I was armed with a big-ass gun.

  His son had an interesting concept of the shadows. First an FBI consulting gig, now a meet and greet with MagiTekk’s very own infamous Chief of Security. If I’d had a bone to pick with Roark before, my grievances were compounding at an alarming rate.

  “We have nothing to talk about.” I stopped about five paces away from Malcolm and raised the shotgun.

  A curt nod. “The two of you wish to bring MagiTekk down?” Malcolm’s voice didn’t change tone. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t anything.

  That was unsettling.

  Facts were facts.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I could read it on Colton’s face.” Malcolm looked into the distance, past me. Through me. “It’s a fanciful notion. Futile. I told him as such.”

  I gripped the shotgun tighter. “And?”

  “And I’d prefer to keep you alive, Miss Callaway. For a mutually beneficial relationship.”

  “You’re not going to haul me off for treason? Kill me like you did Marshall?”

  “You’re of much more use to me alive.” Malcolm Roark reached toward his suit pocket, and I racked the slide. “Relax, Miss Callaway.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust you.”

  “You don’t have to trust me.” Malcolm Roark took out a piece of paper, yellowed and old. Wisps danced around it, telling a story. This had something to do with me. No bluff. “All you have to do is listen.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “My son listened.”

  “Roark says you aren’t close.”

  “We aren’t, and we never will be.” His frankness was disarming. “But allow me to explain something.”

  “This ought to be good,” I said, watching the paper between his fingers flap in the late-night breeze. But I was curious enough to resist blowing him away.

  For now.

  “You understand that the FBI was involved in your set-up and capture back in 2018, of course. They wanted to study you. The legends swirling about your abilities outstripped any creature on the face of the Earth.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Some might consider immodesty a character flaw.”

  “I learned a lot in two hundred years.” I recalled my mentor Pearl’s instructions. They still bounced around in my head, even though she was dead going on twenty-one years.

  “Indeed,” Malcolm Roark responded, his posture stiff and unmoving. “But, of course, the FBI never could quite figure out who you were—or what. I blame government bureaucracy. Stifles innovation.”

  “I’m assuming there’s a point to recapping ancient history.”

  “MagiTekk couldn’t figure it out, either. Even with all that information being fed to our servers from the dark room, through the internment camps.”

  “What a shame.”

  I stared at him, trying to figure out his game. Lethal MagiTekk assassin. Driven only by money—if his son’s accusations were true. But here we were, enjoying a pre-dawn chat about the corrupt nature of current affairs.

  I recalled Administrator Warren, of the Tempe Supernatural Internment Camp, screaming during one of the loops, you know what this place does to Roark. We’d found out: all the camps were basically massive data gathering sites for MagiTekk.

  “What is it you needed to explain?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

  “Despite their shortcomings, MagiTekk and the FBI took 21 years of your life.” Malcolm smiled. “Which is to say that you can’t hope to win.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “However, I can help with the people who screwed you over.” Malcolm cracked his neck. “From my research, I’d say there are three left.”

  An impressive trick—or a display of MagiTekk’s vast security resources. Either way, it hammered home his point: I was battling Goliath. And I’d left my lucky slingshot at home.

  “I’m not interested in revenge.” Quite possibly a lie. The hardest person to know is yourself.

  But I had torn up the list. Right in front of Roark. Twenty years of obsession made into confetti.

  Turning over a new leaf was a bitch, though.

  “And then there’s this.” Malcolm shook the paper, the wisps rustling around it.

  “Which is?”

  A small grin passed over his lips, but he didn’t say. “You can tell it’s important.”

  “And what do you want for that important piece of paper?”

  Malcolm said, “You made a deal with me. All you need to do is hold up your end.”

  “I don’t recall any deals.”

  “Down in the Mud Belt. I’m sure you remember.”

  Sure. While I’d never spoken with Malcolm directly, I damn well knew what deal he was referring to. Aaron Daniels, the crime lord. Taken out by Malcolm Roark’s elite squad of Ghosts. They’d gotten us the intel we needed to track down Marshall and end the time loop. But it had come with strings.

  Nothing in this life is free.

  Roark’s words echoed in my ears. The favor for his father was coming due. He’d asked his father for help one other time—to be put on the fast track through the FBI. To do good.

  I wondered what that was costing him.

  I said, “I gave you that genetics lab. We’re even.”

  “I’ll tel
l you when we’re even, Miss Callaway.” He shook the paper. “Think about it.”

  The whiskey buzz humming in my ears, I thought about it.

  And then I pulled the trigger.

  The air rippled around Malcolm Roark, and then the shells dropped to the dust. I racked the slide, finger hovering over the trigger. But it seemed pointless to blast off another shot. This was some impressive magic.

  “One of MagiTekk’s perks.” The gray-haired bastard didn’t even blink. Turning on his expensive shoe, he headed back toward the black SUV. “You understand why I killed Mr. Marshall, right?”

  “Money.”

  “LC2’s essence gene-modulation implant would allow creatures to control their baser urges and instincts.” He opened the door to the vehicle. “And peace is not good for our business.”

  “What a surprise.”

  “MagiTekk is changing the world this Friday, Ruby. I need you to make sure that happens. Then we’ll be even.” He shrugged. “You’ll have your three names. The locations. And maybe you’ll even get the note. FBI evidence is so very lax these days.”

  “Can’t you get your Ghosts to deal with this?”

  “It is better to bend your enemy to your will than to break them.” Malcolm raised one eyebrow. “We’ll see how far you bend, Miss Callaway.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  I watched Malcolm Roark’s SUV disappear into the neon metropolis.

  Goddamn did I need another drink.

  4

  Downtown Phoenix

  17 hours ago

  Ring.

  Ring.

  I rolled out of bed, slapping the buzzing phone away like an annoying insect. Gray light streamed in from the half-open curtains as I flopped to the floor. My head exploded in a sea of hangover fireworks.

  I barely stifled the urge to throw up on the bedspread.

  “Good morning, Miss Callaway,” my apartment announced cheerily.

  “It’s not morning yet, jackass.”

  “You have an incoming call.”

  “No calls.” I rubbed my temples, pain surging through the tender nerves. The phone continued its aural assault, blissfully unaware of my current condition. With a flailing hand, I tried to silence it, but instead inadvertently answered.