Lilia wondered how fast this woman was.
A small shade hovered so close that she might have been the woman's shadow. The girl's eyelids were graced with the same turquoise as the older woman, also unevenly applied. She watched Lilia with open curiosity.
A girl shade, of perhaps nine years of age. Lilia's knees weakened right on cue. Shades of this age and this gender struck her as particularly vulnerable. This one had a third eye like Y654892, which might also have been responsible for the way Lilia's heart lunged for her throat.
Lilia offered her hand. "Lilia Desjardins, shade hunter. I work at a circus on the Frontier and hope you don't mind my visiting yours in off-hours. I felt the need for a little familiarity."
"Not the Lilia Desjardins?" The woman arched an artificially darkened brow. "The shade hunter who found those angels?"
"Angel-shades." Lilia smiled. "Right. That's me."
"Well! I'm Stevia Fergusson," the woman said, taking Lilia's hand and pumping it with enthusiasm. "I can't begin to say what a pleasure it is to meet you."
"Angels!" the little shade interjected. The cadence of her speech revealed that she was a little slow. "I see angels!"
"No, Micheline. You've seen no real angels. The ones on vid don't count." Stevia was patient with the girl, which Lilia liked a lot. "I've told you this before."
"Angels," Micheline whispered, her confidence unshaken.
Stevia looked Lilia up and down. "And here you are, just wandering into my circus on a whim. Don't you have a staff now? A bunch of publicists trailing behind you, or aspiring shade hunters wanting to learn your tricks?" She snapped her fingers. "Hey, you must be a big guest speaker at the Society's convention in town."
Lilia laughed. She'd been within a whisper of being ejected from the Society for years and was looking forward to quitting in a blaze of infamy. "No, I'm not speaking."
Stevia seemed perplexed. "But you're the only one who managed to find an actual pair of angels..."
"Technically, they're shades with wings. It's a mutation."
Stevia ignored the correction. "They must be singing your praises at the Society, for being the one to finally find something profitable for the rest of us."
"Well, not everyone is that impressed."
"They just want a piece of it." Stevia leaned closer. "Because you're going to make Joachim a rich man."
Lilia smiled. Circus attendance had increased tenfold since she'd brought Armaros and Baraqiel onto the payroll. "I think you've got that right."
"Angels." Micheline hugged herself with delight.
Stevia lowered her voice. "So, tell me, just among friends in the business—who did the surgery and augmentation?"
"There was no surgery, none at all." Lilia said. "And it hadn't been done before either."
"Come on! Those wings?"
"The wings grow right out of their shoulders and are as tall as they are." Lilia shrugged and smiled. "It's the most remarkable mutation I've ever seen."
"Angels, then. Huh."
"Shades with wings," Lilia corrected, knowing it was futile.
Stevia looked around, then focused on Lilia again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've seen the images, and they're incredible. And their smiles are mesmerizing. Do they talk?"
"No."
"Remarkable."
There was something else remarkable about the pair, but it seemed rude to express it, especially in Micheline's company. Shades, very commonly, were retarded or at least mentally slow. They were like children, very sweet and simple. This had been used as justification for doing research on shades—of the "they'll never know the difference" variety of logic—but to Lilia, their innocence made their use as research subjects even more horrific.
It was a breach of trust.
The thing about these angel-shades was that their eyes shone with intelligence, more intelligence than was typical in a norm. They seemed to have no need to communicate verbally with each other. They watched everyone, their eyes bright, and Lilia swore they knew exactly what each person was thinking. Even Joachim, who was rarely spooked by anything, had confided in Lilia that he found it unsettling to be alone with them.
The public, though, couldn't see them often enough.
Lilia had assumed initially that their lightning intellect was a hint that they had been surgically altered. There was no one more cynical than Lilia Desjardins, after all.
But if they had been altered, the surgeon had been a hotshot, because they had no scars. The tests had even revealed that their skeletal structure was different, that their rib cages showed more commonalities with those of birds than those of humans.
It was a bit creepy to be in the presence of such a remarkable mutation, especially when the shades in question seemed bemused by such concern. Plus Lilia had never been able to shake the persistent sense that Armaros and Baraqiel had stalked her, that they had just let her believe that she'd captured them when in fact they'd chosen to surrender to her.
She wasn't, however, so troubled by this that she'd declined Joachim's bonus pay or the credit for the capture.
"It's a miracle," Stevia insisted. "I'd bill it as God sending his angels to us, to warn us."
Lilia had heard this logic before. "Of what?"
"Oh, I don't know." Stevia waved off the question. "I'd think of something that played well. The end of the world. God's wrath unleashed. Something that would look good in lights."
"And sell tickets."
Stevia smiled. "Of course!"
"I could show you my angels," Micheline confided shyly.
Stevia stroked Micheline's hair. "Ms. Desjardins is very busy." She turned to Lilia. "They seem large in the images."
"Taller than me."
"My angels too," Micheline added. "They're big, really big!"
"Micheline, that's enough!"
The young shade stepped away, her shoulders drooping with disappointment. "But I see them ..."
Stevia bent to the girl, her manner gentle. "It's not the same, sweetheart, as seeing me and Lilia, though, is it?"
Micheline bit her lip and shook her head.
Stevia smiled. "See? Now, maybe you could go and put the kettle on for me, please."
Micheline nodded agreement, then scampered off.
"Micheline has quite the imagination," Stevia said, her gaze trailing the small shade. "She's always had the most vivid dreams. Sometimes I swear she even has them when she's awake."
Lilia watched the little girl run. She didn't tell Stevia that visions were rumored to be part and parcel of third-eye mutations. After all, there was no scientific proof, just a lot of mumbo jumbo and speculation.
She wasn't going to be the one to sign Micheline up for some extensive assessment of her abilities. Some research results weren't worth the price of learning them.
She also didn't want to take the risk of introducing a notion to Stevia, not without knowing her motives better. The Society might pay for a good research subject, after all, to smooth the transition from circus to slave-den.
It wasn't legal, but Lilia wouldn't have put it past them.
"Since she made friends with the tarot card reader's daughter, it's gotten somewhat out of hand." Stevia shook her head as they walked together. "I suppose, though, that it's harmless."
"She's very cute."
"Which makes her too easy to indulge." She cleared her throat and spoke more loudly, apparently for other ears to hear. "1 don't suppose you might be returning to that hunting ground anytime soon?" she asked. "I could make it worth your while."
"I'm under contract to Joachim."
Stevia sidled closer. "But what if you found another pair and he didn't want them? Or even one. Who would you call?" The gleam in her eyes made it clear what answer she wanted Lilia to give. "A right of first refusal would suit me fine."
Lilia held up her hands in surrender, knowing that any circus owner would be more footsure around the legalities of contracts. "Joachim handles all the business aspects. Mayb
e you should just contact him directly."
"I will, and I'll tell him you suggested it."
"Sounds good."
Stevia gestured toward the plain tent pitched behind the biggest and brightest one. "Let me get you a cup of tea."
Lilia salivated at the prospect. It would be real tea. Little leaves plucked from shrubs, dried and oxidized, then immersed in boiling water.
"There's no need for that," Lilia said politely, not wanting to be beholden to Stevia for such an expensive contraband treat.
"Oh, but there is." Stevia smiled. "You see, I've been expecting you, Lilia Desjardins." Lilia's eyes must have widened, because Stevia chuckled. "The tea is on me, and yes, it's real."
Lilia should have known that a circus owner could be trusted to bait her hook twice.
Montgomery had a bad feeling when the call came in.
It was early evening, the skies just turning dusky, the time that was usually a lull between daytime routine and the more dangerous night calls. He was restless, disliking that he had no idea what kind of trouble Lilia might have gotten herself into, disliking even more that there was nothing he could do to find out without leaving a datatrail. His new ear stud was tight and pinched his lobe, and the fact that he'd yet to figure out a way to disable it didn't improve his mood.
"I've got an anonymous tip from a public message unit in the netherzones," the dispatcher announced, his voice emanating from every desktop in the detectives' warren of cubes. "The caller reported sounds of violence behind a locked office door."
"I.D. on the voice?" Tupperman asked.
"He used a voice scrambler, sir."
"So, he knows more than he's letting on," Tupperman muttered.
"Maybe he's even the perp," Dimitri murmured. The other detective irked Montgomery with his jaded attitude and expectations that his seniority should be the only asset he needed.
"When and where?" Tupperman asked in a louder voice.
"A place called Breisach and Turner, downtown."
"I'm on it," Montgomery said, snatching up his helm before the dispatcher had finished giving the address.
Had Lilia returned to confront Rachel? Montgomery could believe that interview would proceed badly.
"Can't hurt, although uniform will check it out first," agreed Tupperman. "Dimitri, you're with Montgomery. If it's only a B&E or a fight, you 11 both get some exercise."
Dimitri groaned as he got up from his desk but Montgomery didn't wait for him.
They were walking to the bike garage, checking their equipment, when the call from the uniform division came in. "We need ident at Breisach and Turner," said a young officer and Montgomery broke into a trot.
"There's no fire, Montgomery," Dimitri said. "Didn't they teach you in Topeka that corpses wait?"
"And evidence gets destroyed if the site isn't secured," Montgomery snapped. "Get on the scene ASAP, that's what I learned. Even if it's bad, you've got a better chance of finding witnesses." He spared a glance to Dimitri, knowing that his fictional history in Topeka was a source of amusement in the department. "I figured you hotshots in New Gotham would be teaching me basic operating procedure."
Dimitri made a face but didn't answer that.
"I'll track down the message unit," he said as the pair started their motorbikes. Dimitri pinged the dispatcher for the reader's address and location. "Maybe we'll get lucky."
Montgomery knew it was too late. "He's gone."
"We'll get his prints."
"There won't be any." Montgomery was sure of it. "He thought to use a voice scrambler and a public reader, after all. He had a plan."
"If it was a he," Dimitri said grimly. "Some of those new scramblers provide gender switching too. Didn't they teach you in Topeka not to make assumptions, Montgomery?"
They peeled into the street, sirens blaring as they rode toward the office of Breisach and Turner. Montgomery couldn't go fast enough.
How far would Lilia go to get what she wanted? He could imagine that her determination and passion could easily lead her to make a mistake.
How far would Rachel go to defend herself and her secrets? Montgomery didn't want to guess who might lose such an encounter.
He was through the door of Breisach and Turner well ahead of Dimitri, pushing the uniform cop aside, and almost had to turn back to heave in the corridor.
The dead woman on the floor was Rachel.
And she had been eviscerated.
Stevia's table was set in an approximation of a Victorian tea table. There were mismatched china teacups and saucers, and a battered silver tea tin. Micheline stood by the table with pride.
"Did you collect all of these?" Lilia asked, letting the girl see her admiration. Micheline only managed to nod and blush.
Stevia cleared her throat slightly. "I don't ask." Lilia understood that Stevia believed the collection had been pilfered in the old city. That was the philosophy of the circus: make use of what you find and don't ask too many questions. Lilia would have bet that Micheline had spent less time in the old city finding what she wanted— courtesy of that third eye—than anyone else might have been compelled to do, but then, Lilia was an easy mark for esoteric mumbo jumbo.
"You should get Micheline a radiation badge," she suggested. "Maybe a pseudoskin."
Stevia glanced up. "Why?"
"Well, if she's going into the old city to borrow supplies"—Lilia used circus lingo for illicit appropriation of goods—"then it would be a good plan to keep track of her exposure. That way you can ensure she doesn't get radiation poisoning."
"I thought you could only get that after a blast."
"No, it can creep up on you over time. It's cumulative." Stevia grimaced, made a comment about people who detonate nuclear devices that was inappropriate for polite company, then indicated a chair. "Please, help yourself. What's ours is yours."
Stevia lifted the chipped teapot to pour and Lilia leaned across the table to catch a whiff of the good stuff before she could stop herself.
"Ceylon Black," she breathed with pleasure.
"Loose leaves, even." There was pride in Stevia's tone.
"My mother has always said that you couldn't get a decent cup of tea south of the Mason-Dixon Line."
Stevia snorted. "Well, she's never come to my table, has she?"
Lilia sipped with satisfaction, then met Stevia's gaze. "But why were you expecting me? How can that be? I came on impulse."
"Well, I didn't believe it either, if that makes you feel any better. But he told me that there was an overwhelming probability in favor of your coming here, and that odds were decidedly in favor of you appearing this weekend." She shook her head. "He had a strange way of expressing himself, so it stuck in my mind."
Probability. That was the only word Lilia had to hear to know who Stevia's visitor had been.
"Gid was here," she whispered.
"I don't know his name." She pursed her lips. "Early August it would have been. Maybe late July."
Lilia was too shocked to speak.
Gid had known he was in danger. He had guessed not only that she would come south, but that she would come to the circus at some point. Even that she would attend the conference.
It was disconcerting to realize that she was that predictable.
"He left you something special."
Lilia must have looked alarmed, because the older woman smiled reassurance. "Don't worry. It's nice."
Who else knew about this besides Stevia? Was she the kind of woman to keep her mouth shut? Or did everything simply have a price? Lilia couldn't guess the answer and didn't like it one bit.
Montgomery composed himself, secured the scene, and looked again. Rachel had been left by the killer in the same posture as the shade Lilia had found dead in the old city.
It was such a distinctive way of leaving a body. Either this was the work of the same killer, or someone had done a copycat.
He couldn't avoid the realization that only he and Lilia had seen the images of the sh
ade in Gotham.
Except that he had loaded her images into his desktop. Someone could have accessed them from there and the databank spiders might have automatically generated hotlinks.
Where was Lilia?
"Easy, dude," the younger cop said. "Don't puke on the evidence."
Montgomery swallowed and made a point of taking notes.
Rachel was dead.
It never occurred to his fellow officers that Montgomery knew the victim. There was no reason for any association to be made, and Montgomery wasn't the only one to have trouble with the scene.
He was glad that Rachel had been so careful about disguising their connection. Montgomery doubted there was a hint of it anywhere in the Republic databanks. He knew he would never have been able to manage that himself, much less have survived his first month in human society without her assistance.
And now she was dead.
And all her secrets with her. How would he complete his mission?
By the time Dimitri emerged from the netherzones, Montgomery had measured and examined the corridor and brushed the door for prints. They entered the scene together with the coroner's team and image grabber. The sight of Rachel's violated body made Montgomery think again about the consequences of volunteering.
Without Rachel and her information, he knew nothing. He wasn't the kind of person who could easily rely upon divine intervention to set things straight.
What was he going to do?
How was he going to return home?
Rachel was dead. Montgomery felt abandoned and isolated. He knew there must be other angels on earthbound missions, but he didn't know who they were. Rachel wouldn't have left any links to them either.
It was procedure, to limit the damage if one of them was captured and compelled to talk. Rachel, Montgomery was sure, would never have talked.
What happened to volunteers who died? It was all so mortal, so final. It was a denial of what she had initially been. Had she returned heavenward? Earthbound assignments were temporary and after a successful mission, volunteers regained their wings. The successful ones returned to their previous celestial existence.
But Rachel's life force was gone. Her body was merely a shell, a damaged one. Had her soul returned to the creator? Montgomery didn't know, he had no one to ask, and he feared the import of what he saw.
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