by Kim Harrison
“That’s the one,” said the woman. “Her family?”
“None.”
“Her name?”
“None. Our recruiter found her in Shandong Province a year ago. The village was feeding her. She wandered there from the hills. They called her Six, because that was the date they found her.”
“Skills?”
“Some. No artistry. But she’s fast.”
The woman knelt in front of Six. She poked the girl’s forehead with one hard finger. It hurt. She began to do it again. Six knocked her hand away. The woman tried one more time, faster. Six stepped out of reach, her hand raised again. The woman smiled.
“Good,” she said. “We’ll take her.”
Six remembered the woman. She remembered that the woman never had a name. She was simply Aunt. The Aunt who ran a small school for girls, where, in addition to being taught reading, math, and science, they were also educated in a variety of physical activities, many of which involved hurting people. Or at least, people wrapped in layers of protective padding. The real fighting came later. When she was thirteen.
But what struck Six, as she sat in the passenger seat of a strange car, beside a strange man with her hand pressed against a strange chest, was that for the first time in twenty years, she remembered what it felt like to be herself again. The self she had been as a child, hungering for more, knowing her place and dissatisfied with it, looking and looking for that high view of something beyond her life.
She had lost that. She had forgotten that. But now she remembered, and it was the only reason she did not subdue the man at her side. It would have been easy, despite his skills. She had a sense of him now. Somewhat ruthless, but not hard. Not toward her.
But she wanted more. More than answers. What she had stumbled upon was a mystery beyond that which she had set out to solve, and the outcome mattered. She had a chance to see over the wall. She had a view. But the view now was not enough.
Six studied the man. His face was full of planes and angles, shadows dancing over his skin as the lights of the shopping district flickered, burned. His expression was mildly stressed, his mouth set in a hard line. Six remembered the taste of his lips.
“You said earlier that I had been poisoned.” Six touched her cheek. It hurt. The skin felt hot. She recalled the wet tip of a tongue, and suppressed a shudder. “Poisoned by a scratch?”
“That’s all it takes,” Joseph said.
“So you believe I will become…like them?” Six could not say the word. Not Jiangshi, not vampire.
Joseph looked at her. It was the compassion in his eyes, more than his words, that convinced her. She barely heard him as he said, “I can stop it. I can help your body stop it.”
Six tried to see past the surface of his eyes, to something deeper, more full of truth. She imagined she caught a glimmer of something honest, but she did not know if she could trust it. “What are you?”
Joseph grimaced. She pressed her palm harder on his chest, warning him, but he surprised her. He took his hand off the wheel and covered her fingers, her wrist. He had a large hand. It felt strong. He did not try to pry away her fingers, and she did not move. Too much was at stake.
You could make him stop touching you.
But she did not. Other men had touched her hand, in a far more intimate manner, but this was different. This felt like he was offering comfort, and that was new.
“What I am is complicated,” Joseph said quietly. “But the most accurate name is…necromancer.”
Six stared. “You raise the dead?”
Joseph’s hand tightened. “It’s not so much a resurrection of the physical, but of the spiritual, the imprint of the soul. Which is not the soul, but just the memory of it. It’s almost as good as the real thing, though. Especially if you want information.”
“And you are being hunted because of this?”
“I’m being hunted because I refused to do this. For money. For terrorists. How the vampires got involved is another matter entirely. That makes no sense to me.”
It made no sense to Six, either. None of it did. She pulled her hand away from his chest. Joseph’s expression turned puzzled. “You don’t think I’ll try to paralyze you again?”
Six wondered the same thing. “I can still disable your voice before you begin to chant. I know what to look for now.”
“You’re overestimating yourself.”
She pointed to a side street. “Park the car.”
“Is the military waiting?” There was some humor in his voice. Six merely looked at him, trying to remain unaffected. Joseph held her gaze a moment longer than she was comfortable with, and then pulled down the street she had indicated, away from the lights and press of cars and people. Fireworks spat; peach blossoms made of paper fluttered from lines over the road. Six saw red, everywhere. Made her heart hurt, for a moment. She had few friends, but those she knew had still managed to take time off to return home for the New Year. One rare week spent with family.
Six had never done that. She had never celebrated. New Year, Spring Festival—it was always on her own, or around men and women who had somewhere to be, but could not go. Never much happiness, there.
“Where is your family?” Six asked.
“Are you going to hurt them?”
“No. I was just…curious.”
He parked the car at the side of the road. The street attendant, an old man in a blue uniform, wandered close. Joseph pulled out his wallet. “They live all over. Mongolia, Beijing, London. Right now, my parents are in Xian. I was going to fly there to visit. My mother is cooking her dumplings for the holidays. Maybe some red bean cakes.”
“Can she also summon the dead?”
“No,” Joseph said. “That’s my father’s skill. And his family.”
They got out of the car. The old man had his pad of receipts ready. Before Joseph could pay, Six dragged out her identification card, hidden in a narrow pouch inside her pants. The old man took one look at it, nodded his head like there were swinging weights attached, and backed off fast.
“Ah, power,” Joseph said, sardonically. “It’s heady, isn’t it?”
“You would know better than I,” Six replied. She felt her two stolen guns press against her lower back, hidden beneath her blouse. Their weight was a comfort.
The corner of his mouth curled. “What are we doing here, really? It’s not safe, you know. There are people hunting me. Hunting you, maybe. And I can’t imagine your superiors would appreciate you running off like this, without checking in, and with a suspicious character such as myself.”
“You are testing me,” Six said, concerned by those very issues, but unable to step back, to lay down her desire to know more, to hold on to the old lost feeling of hunger. “We are here because I said so.”
Joseph shrugged, and turned around. He started walking. Six matched his pace, watching his throat, his mouth, any sign that he might turn on her. She also watched the people around them, remembering Chenglei—so human, so warm, shriveling into a monster before her eyes. If it could happen to him, no one was safe. Not even her. Not now.
That is what you will become, a voice whispered inside her head. Monster.
Joseph’s pace faltered. Six took a deep breath. “Assuming, for a moment, that I believe you—which is debatable—what possible use could terrorists have for the spirits of those who are already dead? How in any way does that support their cause?”
Joseph shoved his hands in his pockets. “Here’s one example. You want some information from a top-level official, but you don’t have the time or opportunity to get it? Order an assassination. Murder the man or woman you want, then question the dead. You don’t have to be close to the corpse. And souls, even the memories of souls, don’t lie. Not ever.”
Six thought of the Foreign Minister’s wife. “You said that was just one example.”
Joseph glanced at her, his eyes dark, serious. “A necromancer, despite the title, can also control the living. I think you’ve seen
some convincing demonstrations of that.”
Six looked away, toward the road, staring at the cars and people. Ten years ago, Shanghai had been an ordinary city, not terribly large or advanced. Still some farms, still some quiet. Now, though, it was all light and flash and thunder—and not just because of the New Year celebrations. Money had been poured into this city. Vast amounts of money and pride and hard work. It had been a beautiful effort, and still was.
Six tried to imagine all of it gone. Blown away. Laid to waste and rubble. It was a possibility. Part of the message recently received. Intelligence reports confirmed that certain extremist cells had begun to focus, not just on the West, but on any example of capitalist success. And China, despite all words to the contrary, was very much a capitalist nation. The iron rice bowl had become a fleeting memory, hardly worth contemplating. Certainly, there were enough people out shopping to indicate that times were, indeed, better. And those better times had to be protected.
“You could make someone carry a bomb,” she said quietly.
“I could,” he said, just as quiet.
“And you did not have to paralyze me earlier. You could have just forced me to follow you.”
“True.” Joseph stepped close, forcing her to crane her neck. “But feeling captured is one thing. Violated, another. I took a guess at what you would prefer.”
“Neither.” Six placed her hand on his chest to push him away. “I prefer my freedom.”
He caught her hand, holding it to him. The warmth of his skin traveled through her. She tried to remember the cold he had created, but it was a distant, fleeting memory. She did not pull away.
“I’m going to help you,” he said gently. “We’re going to help each other, Six.”
“No,” she replied, unable to look away from his eyes. “You were right. I should not be here with you.”
“I don’t see you kicking my ass.”
“No kicking. Men like you should not be allowed to live.”
“Really.” Joseph’s mouth curved into a slow smile. Six remembered the hot taste of ginger, the spice of his lips. “I can think of better uses for me than killing.”
She pulled her hand away from his chest. “Do you have any idea who your rival might be? Who would want you dead?”
“No,” Joseph said. “Don’t know where to find him, either. Unlike some people I know, we don’t run around with tracking devices taped to our chests.”
Six narrowed her eyes. “And are you certain you know nothing else about the organization that tried to hire you? You seemed knowledgeable enough about Chenglei’s circumstances. You could have told the police.”
“Who would have believed me? Besides, I had no names, no proof, no locations. No desire to get involved. I didn’t think, ever, that they would find someone to take my place. I can’t even imagine how they managed it the first time. Discovering what I could do was supposedly an accident.”
“I don’t believe in accidents,” Six said. “Especially those that happen twice in a row. They knew how to find you.”
“I agree,” Joseph said. “I can only think that the vampires told them.”
“And how would they know?”
“They know. I get around. That must be why they infected Chenglei. Because they knew I would answer his request for a meeting. Easy target.”
“So you hunt these creatures.”
“The ones who aren’t careful. You would be amazed at how many of them work in hospitals, around the dying. It’s easy for them to siphon off energy there. Patients are already weak. Problem is, with a vampire around, there’s no chance of getting stronger.”
“And no one notices? No one sees them for what they are?”
“Why would they? They usually look exactly like you and me. Shifting as they have, in front of us and in public, is extremely rare.”
“They did it for a reason, then. To make a point.”
“That they’re not afraid of being caught?”
“No,” she said softly, clarity becoming instinct, fear. “Because they are not afraid of people knowing they exist.”
Joseph sucked in a quick breath. “They have a reason not to care anymore.”
Six imagined the temperature dropped. It was a good reflection of the way she felt—cold, so cold—and she found herself speaking secrets, things she should not say, because in her gut she knew Joseph was the man who would understand.
She leaned close. “We were warned something was going to happen. The government intercepted a message, a death, but it made no sense. Only we knew it was related to terrorist activity in the region, a new cell that we have been unable to track except through remote contacts, like Chenglei.”
“It’s the holiday,” Joseph said urgently, voice dropping into a hush. “There’s no better time.”
“But what do those creatures receive from the bargain? Freedom? People to feed upon? And where do you come in? Why pass on your name, if that is what happened? Why ally themselves with a group that would hire someone who hunts and murders their own kind?”
“I don’t know,” Joseph said grimly. “But we don’t have much time to find out. A day at the most.”
“Why a day?”
Joseph hesitated. “Because after that, you’ll start changing.”
Six forgot how to breathe. “You said you could help me.”
“Yes, but—” Joseph’s voice was cut off by the loud wail of a siren. They turned, but Six already knew what she would see. She recognized the sound. And for the first time in a long while, she was not happy to hear it.
A black Audi with military plates pulled to a quick stop beside them. There were two women in the front seat. Familiar faces.
Joseph murmured, “How?”
Six looked at him. “I did not.”
The women got out of the car. Slow and easy, as graceful as wolves. Taller than Six, though just as lean. Hard eyes, thin mouths, street clothes that were plain and cheap.
“Ying,” Six said to the woman on the left, who had a thin scar tracing the edge of her lip. She glanced right, to her companion, the prettier of the two. “Xiu.”
“Six,” they said in unison, and she could not help but feel a thread of unease pass through her heart. It startled her, that emotion; she could not understand it, not when she had known these women almost her entire life.
Six found herself edging in front of Joseph. “How did you find me?”
Xiu stopped. “Luck.”
“Accident,” Ying added.
“Of course, now that we’ve found you—” Xiu said.
“—we have some questions,” Ying finished.
No, Six protested silently. Not yet. Time is running out.
But she said nothing, and listened to Joseph sigh.
Chapter 4
Joseph had never thought much about what it would mean to spend time in a Chinese prison, but now that he was actually in one, he really did not know what all the fuss was about. The cell might not be all that clean, but there was a toilet and a bed—albeit, without a mattress—and while the naked springs were rather tough on his spine, at least he was there alone and not in any danger of becoming a poor man’s version of some Brokeback bitch. Although a drink would be nice.
He also wanted to see Six. He worried about her. It surprised him, just how much he worried. Out on the street, at the moment of their separation, he had felt inside her a terrible uncertainty. A lack of faith—not in him, but in the people she worked with. She was afraid of losing something, something no one else would understand, and that uneasiness had filled him, as well—though for a different reason entirely. He had, after all, been the one associating with a known terrorist flunky. That, and they had confiscated a very long dagger that no doubt carried the trace DNA of quite a few individuals. Which, frankly, meant that he might as well assume the firing squad position and start thinking about all the people his vital organs were going to save.
The lights had been turned off in his cell. There were no bars, just w
alls and a door inlaid with a narrow strip of wire-encased glass. Joseph did not mind the darkness. He lay on his springs with his hands behind his head, eyes closed, and searched the surrounding area with his mind. He found very little of interest. Mostly a keen desire to be home, with family; the occasional bout of despair; lust; in the other prisoners, ungodly fear and resignation.
He looked for Six. He thought about her eyes as he searched, the darkness of them, the hard warmth that had finally, at the end, begun to soften when she looked at him. He thought a smile might be next. Just one smile. He wanted to see that very badly.
This is not the time to be thinking about a woman you can never have. Six is not for you. Even if you want her to be.
But Joseph found her. He caught a hint of her spirit and pulled himself along the line of her heart. He tried to see through her eyes, but could not. Her mind was strong. He settled for listening to the edge of her thoughts, and sensed a defensive posture, anger and worry.
He could not help himself; he whispered her name. He did not expect her to notice his presence, but once again, her ability to perceive his mental voice surprised him. He felt her stillness, and then, quietly: I hear you.
Relief filled him. Are you okay?
I will be fine. You?
Still alive. No one has come to question me.
Soon, she said. I am being…reprimanded…for not bringing you in more quickly. They think it is suspicious.
What have you told them?
Only what I think they will believe. Which is very little. I have tried not to implicate you in anything. Nor do they know who you are. Your lack of identification, or fingerprints in any file, has disconcerted them.
You know my name.
I pretended not to know.
That surprised him. Thank you. Can I ask why?
Six did not answer, but he picked up the tendril of a thought; one word: Believe.
Joseph heard footsteps clicking down the hall, and he split his focus, trying to identify who was coming and why. He discovered Xiu on the end of his thoughts, though it was hard to get a read on her mind. Like Six, her thoughts were slippery, hard to listen to for anything more than the most basic emotional impressions. In this case, determination, satisfaction, a hint of eagerness.
