I guess he had to be, to keep up with Gabe.
He wore a long camel-colored coat and a Boo Phish Ranx T-shirt strained on his massive hairy chest. I studied him for a moment. He stared back, meeting my eyes for once. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, tapping his staff with callused fingertips, his aura roiling, he made the house shields quiver and my own defenses go tense and crystalline. "Eddie."
"Danny." He lifted one shoulder, dropped it. "Guess you wanna ask me a few."
I shrugged. "Why, you know something?" He said nothing, and my conscience pinched me hard. "Not if you don't want to talk," I amended. It was the least I could give him; the gods knew I didn't want to talk about the Hall. An act of mercy, not requiring of him what I wouldn't want to do myself.
But Eddie wouldn't be here if he didn't have vital information. And if it would stop another death, he would force himself through it.
He was as cottage-cheese pale as I'd ever seen him. "Dunno if it's useful, but you better hear it."
I nodded. "Let me get my sword."
"Time was you would'n answer the door without it."
Time was I wouldn't have let even you or Gabe key in through my shields and use the key to my front door, Eddie in 'man. Guess I've grown up. "Someone would have to be pretty fucking stupid to come in here and start trouble. If they could get in at all without my approval."
"So you got another sword?" He lifted one shaggy eyebrow. For him that passed as tact; he must have been taking lessons from Gabe.
"Figured it was time I stopped fucking around."
"Amen to that," he sniffed.
Dear old Eddie, always dependable. I was Gabe's friend, therefore I was—no matter how sarcastic he got—worthy. That was the thing about Eddie Thornton, if you were all right in Gabe's book, Eddie would go to the wall for you. There was no deception in him, no subterfuge. Either you were worth his support, or he would cut you loose. He had no middle ground.
Gods above, but that was refreshing.
I took Fudoshin down from the peg where my old sword had hung. My bag was already slung diagonally across my body, I shrugged into my coat. "My she's outside with Jace's. Let's go."
Chapter Nineteen
We went to the old noodle shop on Pole Street
. It was absurdly fitting. The place hadn't changed a bit, from the dusty red velour hanging on the walls to the old Asiano man sitting in the back booth slurping his tea and eyeing everyone suspiciously, a curl of synth-hash smoke drifting up from his ashtray. Two bowls of beef pho later, I was beginning to feel a little less raw.
"Okay." I grabbed a hunk of rice noodles with plasilica chopsticks. Eddie sucked at his beer and blinked at me.
The fishtank in the back of the store gurgled softly.
I took the mouthful of noodles, slurped it down. Beef broth splashed. I had to suppress a small sound of delight—eating was the only thing that gave me any pleasure anymore. Thank the gods I had a hiked metabolism, or I'd be as fat as a New Vietkai whore.
Well, I got enjoyment from hunting down bounties too. But it wasn't a clean enjoyment. Each bounty was a brick in the wall between me and the uncomfortable thoughts that rose when I had too much time on my hands.
Eating, however, was all mine. I didn't have to think while I ate.
"You're still a goddam pig." Eddie grimaced.
"Says the man who eats with his fucking fingers?" I fired back. "Spill, Eddie. I left a warm bed for this."
"How warm?" He smirked through blond-brown stubble. "Jace finally tie you up? Or did he put on horns and a pitchfork?"
I laid my chopsticks down. It had taken me a year to learn to eat with my left hand wielding the silverware. Now my right hand felt clumsy, as if all it wanted to do was curl around a swordhilt. "That's one, Edward." My tone made my teacup rattle against the table. "Now why don't you quit being an asshole and tell me what you've got?"
"I might know something." He went even paler, if that was possible. Looked down at the table. Gulped at his beer. I suddenly longed to get drunk. This would be so much fucking easier with chemical enhancement.
I picked up the thick, white china teacup. Said nothing.
He squeezed his eyes shut. His hand trembled as he set his glass down. "I was there," he mumbled. "Rigger Hall."
I'd known that, of course. He'd been a few classes ahead of me.
Like Christabel.
Great beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. "There was… a secret." His throat worked, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I don't know much, but…"
Rigger Hall was full of secrets, Eddie. I felt the glowing metal pressed against my skin again, heard Mirovitch's papery voice. Cleared my throat, set my teacup down. "Eddie…" My voice was harsh, harsher than it had to be. The glass of beer rang uneasily. I have got to get some kind of control over myself. My left shoulder burned dully as if in agreement. "Anubis et'her ka, don't do this to yourself."
His eyes flew open. "You don't tell me what I do or don't gotta do," he growled, leaning back. "I can't go home, I can't fuckin sleep, and people are dying. I got to get this done."
I shrugged. My heart beat thinly under my ribs, hammering with impatience and adrenaline combined. Picked up my teacup again.
He took another long gulp of beer. " 'S a wonder anyone made it out. I wasn't in it, not the Black Room."
I shuddered. His eyes flew open, as wide as I'd ever seen them. "No, not that one," he hurriedly amended. "No, that was the name of the Secret. 'Cause they met in that old shed off the lake. You remember?"
I nodded. Christabel's ghostly screaming rang inside my head, I pushed it away. "I remember." Cold sweat lay on my skin. Black Room, remember Rigger Hall. That's what Christabel meant.
His eyes were the eyes of a child reliving a nightmare. "You was in the cage?"
He meant the Faraday cage in the sensory deprivation vault under the school. It had been intended to help telepaths who needed a short-term respite from their gifts. Instead, it had been turned into a punishment. Psions—especially strong ones—can only stand a cage for a very short time before their psyches begin to crack under the lack of stimulation. If you weren't a telepath seeking relief, being in a cage was like being trapped in a black void—no light, no sound, and no access to the ambient Power that fed magickal and psychic talent It is the closest thing to insanity I had ever known, and I still couldn't step into an elevator without shaking and feeling the walls close in. The cage of an elevator or hoverlift was uncomfortably similar to the cage of Mirovitch's Black Room. "Four times," I replied, husky.
"I had two. Two was enough."
"Never would have been enough," I forced out past teeth clenched so tightly my jaw hurt. If it was before Rio, would I shatter my own teeth and swallow them? The thought of the sensory-deprivation vault and the cage, and the blackness rising through me to eat at the very foundations of my mind—"Sekhmet sa'es, Eddie…" I swallowed dryly several times, my throat clicking. Got to get control. Goddammit, Danny, get a hold on yourself!
"The secret… Christabel was one a 'em. I wasn', but I got friendly wi' one."
I waited. He would come to it in his own time. The least I could do was give him a few minutes to work up to saying whatever he had to say.
"Steve Sebastiano," he said finally. Was he blushing?
Now I had officially seen everything.
My jaw dropped. "You got friendly with Polyamour?" Polyamour the transvestite, one of the most famous sexwitches in the world? The sexwitch rumored to be so fantastic in bed that Hegemony heads and even some paranormals paid just to call on her socially? Her house took a healthy chunk of cash just to be put on the waiting list. Polyamour, who used to be Steven Sebastiano, a few classes ahead of me and already the source of whispers and rumor at school. I heard she'd been tutored by Persephone Dragonfly down in Norleans at the Great Floating House, and done an internship in Paradisse as part of an exchange program.
And one of her sexwitches had been a victim. The piece fell into place nea
tly, and I felt the little click of intuition inside my skull.
The first link in the chain, the first arc of the pattern, was always the hardest. It would only get quicker from here.
Thank the gods. I don't think I can stand to look at another dead body.
Eddie shrugged, looking down into his half-empty glass. "We was roommates. Bastian was one of Mirovitch's sexwitch stable. Fucked him up royal."
A sexwitch in Rigger Hall? "Fucked up" would be an understatement. "I'll bet. So what happened?"
Eddie's sleepy hazel eyes were haunted, no longer the eyes of a fully grown man. Instead, they were the deep wells of pain in the face of a terrified child.
I didn't need a mirror to tell me my own eyes were just as dark. Just as wide, and just as deep—and just as agonized.
"Mirovitch," I persisted, my throat dry and tight. "Who did him in?"
The Skinlin shrugged. "I dunno. I just know Bastian was in it with Christabel. They had code words."
"Like what?"
"Tig vedom deum." Eddie took down the rest of his beer in two long drafts. He was sweating. I could smell the fear on him, rank and thick and human. Was it any consolation that my own fear now smelled like light cinnamon and musk?
My left shoulder began to throb again, evenly, almost comfortingly. "Part of the Nine Canons. Second canto, line four." I shifted on the vinyl bench, looking down at the remains of my second bowl of soup. I've lost my appetite. Go figure. "For sealing a spirit in its grave."
"And for short-circuiting a Feeder." Eddie's bushy eyebrows drew together. He glared at the table as if it had personally offended him.
"Any truth to the rumor that one of the students was a Feeder?" And why would that have jackshit to do with these murders? Mirovitch is dead. The Hall's closed down.
"I dunno, Danny." He looked miserable. I didn't blame him.
"There's a lot of shit you don't know." Frustration turned my voice sharp and angular. My teacup rattled slightly, I took a deep breath. Power swirled the air in lazy waving tendrils.
If I didn't know better, I'd say it's gotten stronger. I've gotten stronger.
I shoved that thought as far away as it would go. I didn't need another problem.
His eyes nickered up to my face, slid away. He could barely stand to look at my new face, and my heart squeezed inside my chest. "Don't ride my ass, Danny. I've given you all I got. Now go and get this thing done so I can go home and sleep again."
"Why are you afraid? You weren't part of it."
He shrugged. "Don't look like this thing's too fuckin selective, if it'll kill a normal."
Thank you, Eddie. I realized that was precisely what was bothering me. Why would whoever-it-was kill a normal to start off with? Unless it was practice, a dry run—but that didn't seem too likely. Once you've mastered Feeder glyphs and enough power to charge a Ceremonial Magick circle, dry runs lose their usefulness. The higher up you go, the more everything depends on Working perfectly under pressure—getting it right enough to work the first time.
"Unless the normal wasn't so normal." But the coroner's scans would have caught it, if he'd been a psion. I stared at my water glass, my index finger tracing a glyph on the table. A loose, spiked, fluid, twisting glyph in another magickal language.
A glyph scored into my own flesh. If I kept tracing it, fiddling with it, would I eventually get an answer? A whole year of longing hadn't brought me anything but grief.
Quit daydreaming, Danny. "What are you aiming at, Eddie?"
"Seems like someone's cleaning up some loose ends, don't it? I called Bastian. He'll see you soon as you want." Eddie sank down further in his seat, studying me. "You lookin' better, girl."
"Thanks." I don't think my tone could have been any drier or more ironic. "You got me a personal interview with Polyamour? Just how friendly were you?"
There it was again, that flush. I never thought I'd live to see Eddie acting like a blushing teener. I'd planned on interviewing Polyamour anyway, but having an introduction would make it much easier.
"Friendly 'nuff." Eddie reached for the second full glass of beer, downed it in one long gulp, his throat working; smacked it back down with a little more force than necessary. He looked at the two empty steins with a mournful expression, his lips pulled down and his sleepy eyes pupil-dilated and dark under his frowsty, bushy blond hair.
"You want another one?" My tone was uncharacteristically gentle.
"No. Danny…" He trailed off, tapped his blunt fingertips on the table.
"What?" I had, for the first time ever since Japhrimel altered me, lost my appetite. I pushed the remains of the second bowl of beef pho away. Took a drink of tea.
"Nothin. Just… be careful."
I let out a short bark of a laugh. "Since when have I ever been careful, Eddie?" I never would have guessed Eddie knew the most famous transvestite sexwitch in the western half of the Hegemony well enough to get me an immediate interview. Wonders never cease in this wide, wide world.
"You mighta been once or twice. When you was young." Eddie's lips pulled back in a brave attempt at a smile.
"Maybe. When I was young." I set my teacup down, extended my hand over the table. "Eddie? Thanks. It…" The words failed me. If I still had nightmares about Rigger Hall, he probably did too.
And if my reaction to having the Hall resurrected were enough to make me laugh like a crazed lunatic into the dirt under my own home, what was Eddie going through? Hadn't we suffered enough, both of us?
"Yeah I did." Eddie looked at my hand. His eyes flicked back up to my face; he extended his own hand, touched fingertips with me. His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed, convulsively. "I got to be able to sleep again, Danny."
It was the first time he had ever voluntarily touched me. We are skittish about being touched, we psions.
My throat was dry.
I swallowed, and I spoke my promise. "I'll catch him, Eddie. Or her. Whoever's doing this. I swear it."
He snatched his fingertips away. "Yeah. You do that. Word of advice? When you do catch 'em, don't bring 'em back alive. Anything to do wit' Rigger Hall is better dead."
You better believe it, Eddie. "Including us?" I sounded wistful, not at all like my usual self.
Eddie moved, sliding his legs out of the booth and standing up. He tapped at his datband, then looked down at me. "Sometimes I think so." His eyes were still haunted wells. "Then I look at Gabe, and I ain't so sure."
I found nothing to say to that. Eddie stumped away toward the door, and I let him go. I touched my own datband, and found out he'd paid for my dinner.
Nice of him. Oh, Eddie.
I sighed and took one last mouthful of tea, rolling it around in my mouth to wash away the taste of fear before swallowing. It would take something stronger than tea to get that taste off my tongue, though.
Chapter Twenty
I came in the back way, dropping into my backyard with a whine and a rattle. My board needed servicing. The media vans sat squat and dark at my gate, bristling with fiberoptics and satellite dishes to catch footage if I ever came in through the front door. I toyed with the idea of giving a press conference. It wouldn't help anything, but it would put off what I had to do next.
I let myself in the back door. Jace looked up and yawned, pulling his T-shirt down and buttoning his jeans. His golden hair was mussed, sticking up in all directions, but at least he was clean. "Hey, baby. What did Eddie have to say?"
I shook my head. "Got any coffee? We're going to Polyamour's as soon as possible."
His mouth curled into a grin. "I didn't think you liked bought sex, sweets. And I didn't think a fempersonator was your type."
I made a face at him before I could help myself, sticking my tongue out. He laughed, blue eyes dancing, and I was surprised by the way my heart squeezed down on itself. "Turns out Eddie knows her. They were chums at school. And Poly might know something about this group of students that took Mirovitch down." I guess that wasn't a rumor after all. I wonder what
else wasn't a rumor?
"Good." He poured me coffee, brought it over. I folded my hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth; both of the cup, and of his concern. "Do you think that's what happened?" Carefully-reined curiosity sparkled behind his eyes.
"It's as good a place as any to start, it's our first break. Eddie's nervous, says if the murderer started with a normal then he obviously isn't too picky about his prey." I stared down into the thick black liquid. I liked Jace's coffee. He was the only one who made it strong enough.
"I know that look." He leaned hipshot against the kitchen counter, cocking his head. Breathless morning darkness pressed against the kitchen window. "What are you thinking, Danny?"
What doesn't bother me about this? It's going too slow. I should have latched onto something before this. "Something about that normal bothers me. Why would he have a sealed trust? Why would he have shields? It doesn't make any sense."
He nodded, tapping his fingers against his swordhilt. Took a gulp of his coffee, made a face as if he'd burned himself. "Yeah, it's weird. And who is this Keller?"
I shrugged. "Maybe Polyamour can tell us."
"You want me to go with you?" He didn't sound surprised, but he did arch one eyebrow. He took another long draft from his coffee cup and grimaced. If it didn't hurt going down, it didn't feel like real coffee to him.
"Sure. I hear Poly likes pretty boys." I caught myself smiling, tilting my head slightly to the side and regarding him. "She might tell you more than she tells me."
"You're using me for my looks." He mock-pouted.
"I guess so. Does that bother you?" The smile felt natural, so natural the corners of my eyes crinkled.
"Naw." His grin answered mine, widened. "I kind of like it."
The footlocker lay silently in the middle of the living room, dusty with sterile earth. I took a deep breath, regarding it from the doorway the way a mongoose might stare at a particularly poisonous cobra. Jace, behind me, didn't ask what was in it.
I'd waited for false dawn, pearly gray light beginning to flower through the windows. The upswing of hovertraffic buzzed in the distance; Saint City's heartbeat quickened slightly, shaking off dreaming and getting ready for the day. I still waited, watching the gray metal as if it would sit up and accuse me. Jace was absolutely still at my shoulder, obviously curious, wanting to ask, not daring to.
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