Holidays Are Hell

by Kim Harrison

She made them wait until her food had arrived and she’d gotten a good bellyful before telling them. If she had to chase them out of the cafe begging for help, she wanted to do it on a full stomach. Surprisingly, when she finished the telling—a mortal child had been stolen by the Shadows, and she needed to get her back—they were still there. Cool. She signaled the waitress for a refill.

  “So, there must be something special about this child,” Warren finally said, cupping his elbow in his hands as he leaned forward. “I mean, to bring you out of retirement.”

  Zoe ignored his emphasis of the last word, and sipped at her coffee as she shook her head. “I was in the wrong place at the right time. I saw the Shadows take her.”

  “Didn’t you try to stop them?”

  “There were probably too many, right?”

  Zoe didn’t meet Phaedre’s eye, or answer Gregor’s question. They didn’t know about her mortality—they probably thought she was wearing masking pheromones, and that’s why they couldn’t scent her. She didn’t want to relieve them of that notion. Not just yet.

  “There were three of them. I was alone.”

  But Warren could tell she was holding back.

  Always holding back, Zoe! Always with the secrets and the lies!

  Still Zoe didn’t consider for one second telling him about Joanna or the attack her daughter had endured just because the Shadows had scented Zoe on her…in her. The Seer had been very clear: No one could know about these girls…these future Archers. The knowledge could one day be used against them all. Thus, beating against Warren’s unspoken accusation was a prophecy that ruled Zoe’s days:

  You must do it alone.

  So she silently willed him to understand that she was still the woman he’d once loved, still Light, but his returned silence was critical, like he sensed her desperation, and he probably did. The unease sitting on both Phaedre’s and Gregor’s faces told her they did as well. Zoe’s lukewarm coffee soured in her belly and straightening, she pushed her cup away.

  “Are you going to help me or not?” she said shortly.

  “Of course—” Phaedre started.

  “Why should I?” Warren interrupted. Not we. Phaedre’s mouth snapped shut.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Zoe said, his imperious tone making her own voice tight. “You’re the one with the power.”

  And don’t forget who the hell helped put you in that position, she thought, blood beginning to boil.

  “What’s obvious,” he said flatly, “is that you’re doing another one of your disappearing acts, and you want us to clean up after you.”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Warren—”

  “Shut up, Gregor.” Warren shook off the other man’s hand without looking at him and threw Zoe’s purse at her. “All your ID is different. You’ve altered your appearance, hid your scent beneath a masking compound—”

  “I’m not hiding it!” Zoe finally exploded, gripping the edge of the Formica table so hard her fingers ached. “I’m human!”

  They all fell still, and Zoe felt herself redden.

  “I have no power,” she said, more normally. “Think about it, smell and watch, and you’ll know it’s true. I couldn’t cross into another reality right now if it unfurled in front of me like the yellow brick road.”

  Gregor’s mouth fell open. “No…my God…”

  The disbelief in his voice had her dropping her head. Only another agent could understand exactly what she’d lost.

  Phaedre was just as shocked. “Zoe, what happened? Did the Shadows find you? Steal your chi? Make you relinquish it in return for your life?”

  Because all those things had happened before to other agents, though not in this troop. Not to anyone under Warren’s watch. Zoe nodded. “How else could you sneak up on me without me even batting an eyelash?”

  “I was wondering that myself,” Gregor murmured, falling back in the booth.

  Zoe was so busy reading the pity in his eyes that when her head whipped back, the open-palmed slap coming at her from nowhere, the sting of it had her gasping. The blood that sprayed from her nose had Gregor and Phaedre doing the same.

  Pressing her napkin to her face, head tilted back, she regarded Warren over the top of it. “I’d make you pay for that,” she said, voice muffled, “but you’d see it coming a mile away.”

  Warren blanched, which cheered her a bit. “What have you done?” he asked, his whisper ragged at the edges.

  “I gave my power away,” she said, with more composure than she felt.

  “Why? To whom?”

  “To someone who needed it more than I did.” To someone, she didn’t say, we’d all need before long.

  “Brave,” said Gregor, fingering the inverted gold horseshoe shining from a thick chain around his neck.

  “Heroic,” Phaedre agreed, on an awed whisper.

  “Stupid,” Warren said. He shook his head, his expression again shuttered. “Why do you always have to be so stupid?”

  Zoe’s jaw ached from the effort to hold her tongue and temper. She wouldn’t get into a pissing contest with Warren just because he was still nursing hurt feelings. He could deal with those himself. She’d had to. “Look,” she said, pushing her cup aside to lean forward on her elbows. “The baby’s mortal. We’re still in the business of protecting mortals, right? Or are we only interested in slaughtering rogue agents who are doing nothing more than looking for sanctuary?”

  Warren colored at that. Good. She was useless physically, but at least her words still had some sting. “We protect mortals. You are a mortal.”

  “Warren,” Phaedre chided.

  Zoe shrugged like it didn’t matter. “That may be…but I’m still Light.”

  Warren just quirked a brow, and when it was apparent he’d do no more than that, Phaedre reached out and patted Zoe’s arm. “Of course you are.”

  Gregor put his giant palm on her other arm, glaring at Warren. They all stared at him, linked and acting as one—even though he was their leader—daring him to tell the Archer of the Zodiac no.

  For a moment she thought he’d hit her again. She didn’t have to scent his emotions to know how angry he was. “Fine,” he finally said, voice frighteningly low. “But let’s get one thing straight. You’re just baggage, Zoe. You’re no good to us—” She flinched; to me, he was saying, “—to anyone. We’ll get back this precious mortal for you, but after that you disappear for good. And you formally relinquish your star sign.”

  Zoe sucked in a breath. Formally renouncing her star sign meant another agent born under the Sagittarius moon would fill her place on the Zodiac, in the troop. It would void her lineage forever, and nullify everything she’d sacrificed.

  And that just wouldn’t do.

  But Warren didn’t need to know that. So she held her indrawn breath, and inclined her head. And Warren was just arrogant enough—and angry and righteous, too—not to insist she do it right then and there. He shot the three of them a grim, closed-mouth smile, then threw down his napkin and rose. “Fine. Let’s work it out.”

  Gregor shot Zoe a relieved smile before following, and Phaedre took her hand, helping her up. Zoe wanted to thank her but didn’t know if her voice would hold. Besides, just because they said they were going to help didn’t mean they could do it.

  The Shadow and the Light had been battling in the valley ever since Vegas was just an X on some prospector’s map. Each side was comprised of twelve agents—one for each sign on the western Zodiac—and when both sides were full there was balance in the mortal realm. People were then free to make personal and societal decisions uninfluenced by paranormal nudges meant to bring out the shadow or light lurking in their own souls.

  As tempting as it sometimes was to interfere in the world’s human dramas, agents of Light worldwide had fought to preserve the gift of choice for too many centuries to blithely disregard it. The Shadows, conversely, specialized in that, which gave them a distinct advantage over the
mortal realm; it was far easier to cause heartache and mayhem than clean up the resulting mess.

  Zoe’s life work, before she threw it away, had been to neutralize this advantage. She’d grown up idolizing the elder agents, devouring the manuals that depicted the fight between good and evil. From the moment she’d undergone metamorphosis at the age of twenty-five, coming into her full powers, she’d dedicated her life to infiltrating the Shadow organization. She was patient, wickedly sharp, and determined to use whatever resources she had to fell her enemies: her strength, her craftiness, and eventually her body. She’d spent more years than she cared to remember using that last tool…but an effective weapon it’d turned out to be.

  So Warren had no right to complain about the means by which she garnered her information or stalked her prey. Hadn’t she always reminded him that no matter whose bed she woke in, her heart remained solely with him? “It’s what I was born to do,” she told him, years ago when they were both still young and arrogant enough to think philosophically about the whole thing. “It’s what I’m good at.”

  And Warren knew it. Maybe, Zoe thought now, that was the problem.

  “The child is how premature?” asked the troop’s physician, Micah, over the car phone’s speakers. They’d called him on the way to the real McCormicks’ residence, hoping he’d be able to better deduce where the Shadows would have taken the child. “Well, the nurse—though an imposter—was right. Children can be saved at twenty-four weeks, though it’d help if she were an initiate. One born to the Zodiac is naturally more resilient than a mortal infant.”

  Zoe knew that, which was why she wasn’t as concerned about the child’s health as much as her continued health.

  “So they’re hiding her, incubating her, keeping her safe from discovery—”

  “Not exactly news to us,” Warren snapped, hands tight on the steering wheel. The dueling sides of the Zodiac were constantly shifting their appearances, their occupations, and haunts. Settle in one place too long and you were just begging for a paranormal ambush. As Zoe had discovered.

  “Geez,” came Micah’s voice from over the speakers. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of reality today.”

  Gregor and Phaedre snickered in the backseat, but Zoe kept staring out the window, careful to keep her expression neutral.

  Micah continued before Warren could reply. “We have a couple of locations scouted out. Nothing confirmed yet,” he added quickly, and there was a shuffling of paperwork as he searched for the addresses, then read them aloud. Two were located on Charleston, a street where the single-family homes of the seventies had given way to medical and legal offices along both sides of the streets. The third was downtown.

  They thanked Micah and hung up as they pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story in an enclave of middle-class homes. Zoe stepped out onto the walkway, stretching in the morning light, thinking the neighborhood was a good fit for the couple she’d seen grieving the night before. Comfortable, yet without ostentation; orderly, but still welcoming.

  Zoe grabbed the briefcase she’d retrieved from her car on the way over, and started up the walk. She halted halfway, causing Warren to plow into and then steady her, though he released her as soon as he’d done so. That fueled her indignation, adding a sting to her words. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “You’re not going in there without me,” he replied, just as coolly, his light brown eyes hardening on hers as Phaedre and Gregor joined them on the walk. Zoe made a point of looking him up and down, taking in his ratty trench coat, tattered hems, and mussed hair. All that was missing was the cardboard sign around his neck.

  “Why? You want to scare the poor people to death?” She smiled when he scowled, adding, “Besides, you smell.”

  His mouth worked wordlessly at that, and a furious blush stained his chapped cheeks. Zoe would’ve laughed…if she weren’t so pissed. She’d brought this case to them, and now he was acting like she couldn’t be trusted to convincingly play her part.

  Gregor, sensing an argument brewing, quickly threw in his two cents. “She’s right, Hog. You’re as ripe as a maggoty brisket.”

  Fuming, Warren looked from Zoe to Gregor, then over at Phaedre.

  “You stink,” she confirmed, and the three of them headed up the sidewalk without him. Even with her mortal hearing Zoe could hear Warren cursing as he returned to the car. Gregor shot her a smile as she rang the doorbell, and she grinned back. It felt good, knowing they were behind her, flanking her, trusting her. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how lonely she’d been.

  It was the husband who answered the door. Zoe’d expected that, but what made her heart catch in her throat was the red rimming his eyes, making him look older than his thirty-six years. Making him look ill as well.

  “Mr. McCormick, I’m Traci Malone. The caseworker for United Hospital. We spoke on the phone.”

  Recognition flashed through his eyes at her name, but it didn’t brighten them. The guy looked like he’d been extinguished inside.

  “Can we come in?” she asked, inching forward. The physical suggestion wasn’t as powerful now that she was mortal, but he did take a small step back. “It’s about your daughter.”

  And now the pain followed. He shook himself as if from a dream, and began to shut the door. “You haven’t heard, then. We don’t have a daughter.”

  “Ashlyn’s alive, Mr. McCormick,” Phaedre said, from behind Zoe.

  The child’s name was what stopped him. Zoe saw that. The rest took a moment to sink in.

  “Honey? Who is it?” Andria McCormick must’ve been crying all night. She appeared, pale skin blotchy, hair falling out of its loose ponytail, and wearing the same rumpled clothes she’d been in the night before.

  “These…these people…” But Dennis couldn’t finish. Fresh worry sprung into his wife’s face as she studied his reaction. Then it iced over with protectiveness. Zoe knew then that she’d chosen right. This couple—their love and home—would’ve been perfect for her granddaughter. Would be perfect, she corrected, and straightened her shoulders.

  “Mrs. McCormick, we have reason to believe your daughter was abducted from the hospital last night by a couple posing as you and—” Andie gasped as Dennis’s head reared up, “—your husband. They were assisted by a nurse named Nancy Allen. May we please come in?”

  By the time the McCormicks had led them through the living and dining rooms, Dennis had regained his wits enough to ask to see their credentials. Zoe handed him one of her social services cards, her eyes catching on a Welcome Home, Ashlyn banner draped over the glossy dining room table, while Gregor and Phaedre flashed detective badges. Andie then settled them in the cozy kitchen nook while she put on a fresh pot of coffee, and Dennis opened the shades, the morning light invading the darkened house in unrelenting streams. Zoe let her eyes pass over all the baby gear and followed Andie’s movements as she pushed aside the preparations for the following day’s Thanksgiving celebration, making way for a tray and five cups and saucers. Her attention, however, never strayed from her visitors.

  Damn, but Zoe wanted this woman as Ashlyn’s mother.

  “What we need from you,” she said, ten minutes later after telling them all she could about the previous night’s events, “is to tell us everything you remember about the nurse who called you last night. Even the smallest detail might help us find her.”

  The McCormicks looked at one another desperately.

  “Nothing stands out,” Dennis finally admitted, running his hands over his chin. He looked more composed now, Zoe thought. He’d recovered fast, and concern had replaced his grief, anger superseding his worry. “We wouldn’t have noticed another couple, and the birth mother didn’t want to meet us, so we never met any of her nurses before either.”

  Gregor glanced up from where he was pretending to take notes. “Did she try to convince you to have the child moved to another facility? A clinic…a private practice?”

  Dennis shook his head,
glancing at his wife again. She did the same. “Nobody expected the baby to be born so early, though there was clearly a chance of that. Because of the birth mother’s…trauma.”

  “Poor thing,” Andie murmured, pouring more coffee all around. Zoe lifted her cup to hide her expression, knowing Phaedre and Gregor would’ve scented the bump in her nerves. This woman’s life had just been ripped at the seams and she still had sympathy to spare for her Jo-baby. Sometimes, she thought sighing, she really wondered who was superhuman.

  Dennis ignored his coffee, rising instead to pace. “We got the call around eleven last night telling us the baby was coming. We rushed right down, but by the time we arrived it was…she said it was too late. I—I don’t remember anything after that.”

  Zoe nearly wept.

  “I do.”

  Four pairs of eyes fastened firmly on Andie’s pretty, determined face, and she rewarded them with a tight smile. “The nurse, Nancy, gave me a card. Said I could call her next week to find out the exact cause of death…or if I just needed to talk.” The smile turned bitter. “I hugged her and thanked her for her kindness.”

  “Mrs. McCormick,” Gregor said, while everyone else held their breath. “Do you still have that card?”

  She pushed her chair back and stood with a small, victorious toss of her head. “You bet I do.”

  The address matched one of those Micah had given them. Phaedre and Gregor disappeared with a hasty goodbye to the McCormicks, leaving Zoe to wind things up…and leaving her alone with Warren afterwards. He was waiting at the corner—the others had taken the car—and they fell in stride without speaking, she walking normally, he with the limp from a blow that’d almost killed him years before. As if knowing her thoughts, Warren accelerated his pace. He’d hardly feel it, but knowing she was mortal, he’d also know she would. She gritted her teeth and bore it. The next persona she donned would just have to be extremely fit.

  “So what happened to your car salesman identity?” Zoe finally asked, when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

  “What always happens,” he answered shortly.