Dead Silver

by Max Florschutz

  “And now we know what we’re up against,” Rocke said, his voice grim as he rose from the chair and glanced in my direction. “Did that look to you what it looked like to me?”

  I nodded, swallowing as my stomach did its own volatile acrobatics. “What did he … it cut Charlie’s throat with? Obsidian?” Rocke nodded, and I shook my head. My hand was gripping my staff so hard that my knuckles felt like they would crack.

  An obsidian knife. An obsidian sacrificial knife.

  “We found Ford’s Aztecs,” I said.

  “No,” Rocke said, shaking his head. “We weren’t the first.” I narrowed my eyes, my stunned brain trying to catch up as Rocke grabbed Sanchez by both shoulders and gave him a good hard shake.

  “You awake?” he asked, leaning in so close their foreheads almost touched. “Huh?” He snapped his fingers, and Sanchez gave a little shake, his eyes fixing on Rocke as if just seeing him for the first time.

  “You … that—”

  “Was an abomination,” Rocke said, giving Sanchez another little shake. “Now shape up. I need you to do your job.” He let go of Sanchez, and the officer slumped back against the wall, blinking up at him with a blank look on his face.

  “Well, he’s out,” Rocke said, turning. “How about you?”

  “What?” Carlton asked, his head turning away from the garbage can he’d filled with the contents of this stomach.

  “Are you ready to do your job?” For a moment it looked as if the young officer was going to turn away, but then he wiped one hand across his mouth.

  “Yeah,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, although his whole body shook like a leaf. “But—”

  “No buts,” Rocke said, shaking his head. “Can you?”

  Carlton pulled in a shaky breath and glanced at his partner. “Yeah, I can. So can Sanchez. He just … He just needs a minute.”

  “Fine,” Rocke said, heading out the door. “Follow me. You can collect your partner in a moment.”

  I followed as Rocke powered through the lobby and out the front door, the metal frame letting out a loud bang as he pushed his way through. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a pale, pink-red light over the street that reminded me far too much of the video I’d just seen.

  “One second,” Rocke said, snapping his fingers and motioning towards my car. My keys made a faint ringing sound as I pulled them from my pocket and tossed them to him.

  At least now I knew what had made the strange footprints that Rocke and I had found near Mrs. Fimmlewit’s home. Pads hadn’t made the depressions in the ground; it had been foot bones, held together by some force and animated to move and operate—

  I felt bile rise in my throat, but I swallowed it back down. In a way, it wasn’t nearly as hideous as the Horror I’d faced the year before, but after seeing what those things had done to Charlie, to Mrs. Fimmlewit … It was sick.

  Blood magic. I held back another shudder. Aztec blood magic. Necromancy, a perversion of life and the kind of thing the NSAU had been formed to deal with. And right now, that was Rocke and I.

  The museum door opened once more and Sanchez stumbled out, still looking a little dazed but up and moving. He wasn’t muttering under his breath anymore, at least. A loud thump from across the street caught his attention. Rocke slammed my Rover’s door and jogged back over towards Carlton and I.

  “You with us?” he asked as he reached the steps. Sanchez gave him a weak nod. “Good,” Rocke said, holding out a folded piece of paper I recognized as one of the maps he’d put together. “This is a map of the city, all right?” He crouched as the map unfolded over the museum steps, the white paper taking on a pink-and-orange cast in the light of sunset.

  “You see these X’s?” he asked, tapping his finger on the map and looking up at the officers. Carlton nodded, followed by Sanchez. “They mark places where the city sealed off open shafts.” He tapped the map again. “These spots are locations like here, where the tunnels aren’t closed or are just gated off. Open, in other words. Do you get what I’m saying?” Another pair of nods.

  “Good,” Rocke said, folding the map as he stood. “Call your boss, your chief, whatever. Send someone to check every one of those sealed shafts and to make sure there’s no way anything could bust out. Seal up the ones that are open or put a guard on them.”

  “A guard?” Carlton asked as Rocke handed him the map. “With what? We’re not Unusuals!”

  “Kid,” Rocke said, rolling his eyes as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out his gun. “What does this look like?”

  “A .44 Desert Eagle?”

  Rocke nodded as he slid the magnum back inside his jacket. “That’s how. Magic’s cool and all, but nothing beats a bullet. So you get some men together. Don’t go down those tunnels under any circumstances. But if you see something come out, keep shooting until it stops moving.”

  “But—”

  “Or use a bomb. I don’t care. Just do it, clear?” Carlton stared at Rocke’s pointing finger and nodded.

  “Good,” Rocke said, turning and hopping down the steps. “All right, Hawke,” he said, looking at me as I followed him down. “You know where we’re going?”

  “Yeah,” I said, spinning my keys on my finger.

  It was time to go see Henderson.

  Chapter 19

  Cynthia Valons looked up in shock as we walked into the office. I had to admit, we probably made a pretty intimidating duo. I’m not the smallest person around, and between my dark, long hair and my staff, I can look fairly frightening if I want to. And at the moment, I did. Just a little.

  Rocke, on the other hand, had the look of someone who was going to get his way, someone who’s every order was best obeyed without question or hesitation. If I was a mountain, Rocke was an immovable object.

  I had to hand it to Cynthia though. She knew her job. Before the front door had even swung shut behind us, blocking out the stink of the smelters, she was on her feet, hands balled in fists on her hips.

  “Mr. Rocke, Mr. Decroux,” she said calmly, showing off an impeccable memory for our names, “I’m afraid that per Mr. Henderson’s orders—”

  “We’re through asking,” Rocke said, coming to an abrupt stop in front of her and staring her right in the eyes. I had to hand it to her, although her eyes widened a little, she didn’t back down, even when I joined Rocke at her desk.

  “As I said,” she replied, her mouth thinning as she pulled her shoulders back. “Mr. Henderson has given specific instructions concerning either of you—”

  “I know,” I said, cutting her off. “He told me, remember? He’d call the cops and press charges.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “And—”

  “And that’s not happening,” Rocke said, spreading both of his hands on the table. “Like I said, we’re done making requests. As of now, your boss is under official NSAU investigation.” He pulled his badge out and tossed it onto her desk. “Which means that right now, you need to do everything we tell you, or you’re going to be an accomplice.”

  I wasn’t exactly clear where the line lay on Rocke’s claim, but I knew for sure that we’d passed the point where anyone would be asking ‘yay or nay’ from our end of the spectrum.

  Cynthia’s eyes followed the badge as it rattled across her desk, and she looked up at me and Rocke. “Do you have a warrant?” I almost froze. Did we need a warrant?

  “No,” Rocke said, shaking his head. “But we have plenty of probable cause, and so does the local police force. They’re just a little tied up right now with the other half of the mess. So why don’t you tell us where your boss is right now, all right?”

  For a moment Cynthia looked like she was going to argue, her mouth opening partway, but then she shook her head, her hair whipping around her as the fight seeped out of her. “Damn idiot,” she said as she dropped back into her chair. “I knew there was something funny going on, but no, I’m just paid to push papers.” For a moment she stared at Rocke’s badge, then she flicked
it away with her hand. “All right,” she said as Rocke snatched it up from the desk. “He’s out in the mines. I’ll have him called back. You want to wait here or—”

  “We’ll be in his office,” Rocke said, moving towards Henderson’s door. “Don’t tell him who it is.” I turned to follow him.

  “Wait!” Rocke and I both stopped as Cynthia stood up. She had a somewhat scarred look in her eyes now.

  “What?” I asked, before Rocke could say anything. His current mindset was a little angrier than mine. He had his reasons—most of which we’d discussed on the way over—but Cynthia didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of it. After all, she’d helped us by making the map she’d given us, and I was fairly certain she wasn’t supposed to have done that.

  “I want you to know that whatever it is that he’s gotten tangled up in, whatever you guys are after, I don’t know anything about it, all right?” she said, her voice showing the first signs of weakness since we’d walked in. “All I ever do is move files, and report what he tells me to.”

  “Really?” Rocke growled, his voice low and gravelly. “And what does he tell you to report?”

  “It’s not about what he tells me to report,” she said, her voice evening out once again, the tremble vanishing. “It’s what I suspect he doesn’t tell me to report. And whatever that is, I don’t know, alright?”

  “It’s fine,” I said, holding up my hand. “We believe you. Don’t worry.” Her lips came together, her lower jaw moving as if she was holding back. Then she gave me a quick, almost imperceptible nod.

  “Thank you,” she said, dropping back into her chair. “I’ll call and tell him he’s needed immediately.”

  “Thanks.” I gave Rocke a nod and he moved for Henderson’s office. I could hear Cynthia pushing buttons on the phone as I crossed the room, right up until the door shut and blocked out the sound. Rocke was already standing behind Henderson’s desk, running his eyes over the spread of file folders, one of which was already open.

  “She’s not in on it,” I said. “I think she was telling the truth.”

  “So do I,” Rocke said, his attention moving from folder to folder. “She knew something was up, but she didn’t know any details. He didn’t want her knowing any. One less person who could implicate him.”

  He gave the folders one last look, then flipped the open one shut before sitting, Henderson’s old executive chair letting out an audible squeak as Rocke’s frame sank into it. I grabbed one of the chairs across from the desk and pulled it aside, giving myself a good view of both the door and Rocke’s position behind the desk.

  We’d gone over a rough plan concerning what we were about to do on the way over, mostly concerning what we each believed Henderson was guilty of. But, since neither of us was exactly certain what that might be, we’d decided to play things by ear. The question wasn’t whether or not he was guilty—there was already far too much going on for him to not be. What we needed was what he was guilty of.

  I settled in my seat, propping my ankle up on my knee and laying my staff across it. It wasn’t the perfect seat for the position; the plastic beneath me felt like it had been made for someone about a foot shorter than me. Rocke pulled his gun out and set it on the desktop with a low thump. His eyes were locked on the door, and I could almost feel the intensity of his gaze.

  There wasn’t much to do while we waited, so I ran over the events of the evening in my head, trying to sort things into a slightly less jumbled state. Henderson had to know something. The Wraiths had to have been around for decades, using the mines to get around. If they weren’t the cause of Silver Dreams’ missing persons reports over the years, I’d eat my staff. Without sauce.

  But why the sudden jump in activity now? Why the need to kill Felix’s entire herd? There was a piece to this we didn’t have, some lynchpin that tied together everything we’d seen and experienced. The Wraiths had never taken people from the town before. Animals yes, but never people. It was always hikers, explorers, people who were out in the desert.

  There had to be a reason why the activity had jumped, a reason why Henderson wasn’t letting anyone into the mines. Crud, even a reason why I’d found Rocke tied up in the desert.

  There was a faint tremor underfoot, and I glanced at Rocke as he leaned forward and picked up his gun. Moments later, the door to the office burst open and Henderson stormed in, face red and glistening with sweat.

  “Hanks!” he yelled, pointing his finger at Rocke. “What in the hell … are you…” Henderson’s eyes widened as he realized who he was pointing at, his voice faltering for just a moment.

  “Rocke?” he asked, his brief lull in volume fading. “And Decroux?” His eyes met mine and narrowed, bewilderment switching to hot, red anger. “Valons! Call the—”

  The door slammed shut behind him, and he spun around, his anger momentarily vanishing under surprise. I pulled the tip of my staff away from the edge of the door and gave him a slight smile as I leaned back into my seat. “No,” I said as his mouth began to open. “I don’t think that’ll be happening.”

  “Oh really?” Henderson hissed, clenching his teeth together as he looked at me. “I warned you.” I frowned as his finger came up and jabbed at me. There was a strong smell in air, one I’d smelled before but couldn’t quite place. “Valons will face a reprimand for letting you two shove your way past her and bully her into calling me in. I’m going to have her call the sheriff, and he’s going to do what he was supposed to do and arrest you both.” He turned away and pointed toward Rocke again. “You’ve come in here, you’ve threatened …” His voice trailed off and then both his hands rose into the air.

  “Actually, Mr. Henderson,” Rocke said, the barrel of his magnum pointed right at the man’s chest, “now I’m threatening you.”

  “See the difference?” I tapped the small of Henderson’s back with my staff and gave him a gentle push towards the room’s other seat. “Now, why don’t you take a seat and answer a few questions for us?”

  He dropped into the chair with a look of shock, his eyes still fixed on the barrel of Rocke’s gun. For a moment he sat there, breathing heavily, eyes slowly moving up towards Rocke’s face, then to me, and then back to the gun. Eventually, he straightened, a little bit of the self-confidence he’d had when he’d first busted into the room coming into his face.

  “I’ll see you both in prison for this,” he said, his eyes still flicking to the gun barrel occasionally. “You’re both going—”

  “No, I’m pretty sure we’re not,” Rocke said, cutting Henderson off. “In fact, I’m willing to bet that even if we called up the police right now—not some sheriff who I’m guessing, based on his behavior and you little comment from a moment ago, is in your back pocket—and they took a good, long look around this room, they’d find that the only one going to prison would be you.”

  “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henderson said, his arms slowly lowering. There was another strong whiff of metallic scent, and I realized that his clothes were filthy. My eyes widened as everything clicked together in my head: The smell, the clothes, Aaron Peters, Professor Ford. I had it. The missing piece.

  “Really?” Rocke said, not lowering the gun. “And if I start looking through these folders on your desk?”

  “Go ahead,” Henderson said, a little too quickly for my tastes. “You won’t find—”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” I said, Rocke shooting me a surprised glance as I spoke up. “Not unless he really dug, at least.” Henderson’s brow crinkled in confusion.

  “Running the smelter again?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “That smell,” I said, tapping the side of my nose with my finger. “The smelter’s running.”

  “So?”

  “Why is the smelter running?” I asked, dropping my raised foot and leaning forward. Rocke gave me a curious look, and I gave him a small wave to tell him I knew what I was doing. He lowered his gun, Henderson’s eyes catching the motion.
r />   “Because, because we’re working,” he said, his arms finally dropping. “And you—”

  “You know,” I said, turning slightly away and looking up towards the ceiling as if deep in thought. “Thinking back on it, I’ve spoken with one of your workers about it. He said that the smelter hardly ever ran. But since I’ve been here, it’s run almost every night. But only at night.” I could still remember the metallic scent on the air the night we’d found Rocke in his cave.

  “We try to keep—”

  “According to this employee of yours, the smelter hardly ever runs, maybe every few weeks. But just since I’ve been here, I’ve smelled it a couple of times.”

  Henderson shook his head. “We … hit a small vein of silver.”

  “No you didn’t,” I said. “You hit a large one.” Henderson’s mouth opened and I spoke up before he could say anything. “A really large one, except you didn’t find it, did you? Aaron Peters did.”

  “I—”

  “He came across it while he was searching for Professor Ford’s Aztec ruin, didn’t he? He was a geologist, or at least he was going to school for it. Did he find it while he was down in the mines? Someone told me—might’ve been you—that there are some natural caves down there. Was it in one of those?” Henderson stared at me, silent for the first time since he’d walked into the room.

  “I’m just sort of guessing here,” I said, waving a hand as the pieces continued to line up in my head. “But you found out, somehow, and you made a deal.”

  Again, silence. Rocke was nodding now, a grim but approving look on his face. Satisfied with the way my logic was lining up, I continued.

  “You must have cut a deal with him to pay for his education in return for the information. But it must have gone past that, though. You gave him a job, even though you already had one geologist.” I leaned back for a minute, sorting through things in my head. “I bet you had to keep him in on things or he’d let word get out that you’d found a massive vein of silver.”