by John Corwin
"You wondering if a man could rip one open from the inside?" He thought for a moment. "They're industrial strength, but, yeah, a strong person could do it."
"A man strong enough to fling another human around the back of a van and put dents in it?"
"It's all a setup. Has to be." Jackson shook his head and walked back to the van.
Alexia leaned against the rental car and stared at the van for a moment. Turning to get her laptop, she noticed a teenage girl with spandex running shorts and matching tank top peering at the van. Somehow the girl had slipped through the tight police cordon. Alexia walked toward her.
"Miss, you can't be here."
The girl's eyes widened. She spun and ran down a blind alley. Alexia sprinted after her. She rounded the corner a split second after the girl. A seemingly dismembered leg flashed in the air for a second before vanishing. Alexia backed away and stared into the alley. Three buildings made up the dead end. They blocked the sun and hid most of it in shadow. She returned to her car, grabbed a flashlight, and walked down the alley. It was no more than a hundred feet long and ended at the back wall of a three-story building. No doors.
A leg vanishing into thin air was not something she wanted to explain to anyone else. Not even Victor. This case had her tingling in a bad way. The sensation was so strong now, it was unpleasant. She tried to filter it out, but the pinpricks waltzed up and down her back shattering her concentration.
"What's down here?"
She jumped. Turned to Victor. "I'm looking for signs that the killer might have been hiding down here."
"The evidence points to something entirely different. They just finished analyzing prints from inside the bag and a print in the blood. Both belonged to the victim."
"The killer set the scene up to make us believe we've got a zombie on our hands. Clearly that can't be the case."
"I looked over your notes. The theory about the same perpetrator setting everything up doesn't hold water. I find it less plausible than the victim rising from the dead."
"Not to sound impertinent, but are you crazy?"
Victor chuckled. "I'm not drawing these conclusions with certainty. I'm hypothesizing."
"Maybe you have to find a supernatural link. Is that why the President has his own task force?"
"I can't tell you about that, agent. Suffice it to say that we are looking at things outside the mundane."
"Look, can you reassign me? Not to Anchorage, of course, but to another case in the area. I'm not into chasing aliens or ghosts."
"You're an atheist. That makes you perfect for this role."
"I prefer to think of myself as agnostic."
"Hardly. You're far too logical to believe in fairy tales."
"Okay, so I'm logical. How does that make me better for this?"
"You don't want to believe."
"Maybe I do."
"No, I'm quite certain you don't want to believe in anything greater than man. If the people your parents associated with had allowed them to receive blood transfusions, they might still be alive. How could God be such an idiot?"
Alexia's stomach went taut. She felt the color drain out of her face. "How did you know I said that?" Her voice was a harsh whisper. She advanced on Victor. "How?" The question came in a sharp scream.
Victor backed away. "Calm down."
"I never told anyone."
"But you wrote it down."
She slumped back against the wall of the alley for support. Her diary. She'd thrown it away along with everything else after applying for the FBI. She should have burned it.
"I can see that you're reviewing your past. Specifically the time you applied for the FBI, I'd warrant. Surely someone as logical as you would realize that every aspect of your life is inspected when you apply for such a sensitive position."
"They pulled it from my garbage?"
"Of course."
"I was angry when I wrote that. I was an enraged and devastated little girl."
"It molded you, Alexia. Made you what you are. I need you to use that part of you to help me, but I need you to open your mind a little as well."
"Transfer me."
"No."
"Please. I'll even take Anchorage."
Victor laughed. "It can't be that bad."
"Do you know how deeply personal my diary was? I wrote everything in that until the year before I applied to the FBI."
"I know. You described it as a vestige of a former life."
Alexia cringed. "Bunch of sadistic voyeurs. Did you get your jollies reading my personal life?"
"I found it deeply intriguing." Victor looked at his watch. "We can't argue all day. I've got appointments to keep. Look, here's a choice."
"I already told you I want out."
"And I'm offering you that out. You take this job and perform excellently, or I'll have you fired for misconduct and make sure you never get another job in law enforcement."
Alexia bolted upright. "You can't do that."
"I can and I will."
"You dirty asshole!"
"Call me in one hour with your decision." Victor turned and left.
Tears clouded Alexia's vision. She turned and slammed the brick with the bottoms of her fists. That bastard would pay for this humiliation. She stayed for a moment to collect herself and thought of violent ways to end Victor's life.
Jackson nearly collided with her as she left the alley.
"This shit is freaking me out," he said.
"It's supposed to. That's exactly what the killer wants."
"No, you don't get it. Every print in there belongs to either the victim, or Wilbur Gates, the van driver. We didn't find any smudges that might indicate someone with gloves was in there. All the shoe prints match the same two people. If the killer did that, he's the slickest son of a bitch ever."
"It looks that way now, but when we find the missing link, we'll see the farce for what it is. It's all an illusion."
"Christ, I hope so." Jackson scratched his head. "Everyone in CSI is crossing their chests over this one."
Alexia was already reconsidering her beliefs. She'd met a demon, and his name was Victor.
Chapter 6
Tollee phased out of the Blight after using it to translocate to the top of the building at the end of the blind alley. She went prone on the roof out of sight and listened to the dark-haired woman and blonde man talk for a moment. She wished she could hear their conversation from within the Blight, but chum were unintelligible in that dusty, decaying version of reality. The echo in the alley broke the conversation into fragments of gibberish that even her enhanced hearing could not reassemble into words.
Earlier, Tollee had gone to the morgue and waited. But the van had never arrived. She'd waited all night. Finally, two morgue employees had mentioned the crime scene. This place. She'd heard and seen enough to know that something really bad had happened in that van.
She couldn't work up the guts to look in the van. Chum were swarming the scene. Even if they couldn't see her in the Blight, she'd have to touch them. She imagined squeezing into a crowd of the disgusting creatures and almost puked in her mouth.
Martin would be totally pissed. Well, he'd have to deal. Focusing on the ground outside the alley, Tollee used the Blight to hop to a spot and ended up a few feet from where she'd wanted to go. She'd never had a real seeker teach her how to use the Blight to translocate in short hops, but her accuracy had improved with practice. Martin had implanted instructions in her mind but they sucked.
Chum roamed the city streets. She could almost stomach them in the normal world, but the idea of accidentally bumping into one sent a shudder down her back. She stayed in the Blight and navigated down empty streets and alleys until she reached the outskirts of the city. There, she transitioned back to Normal, hopping shortcuts back and forth between it and the Blight to reach Martin's house faster. For some reason, hopping didn't work from within the Blight. She had to transition back to Normal first. Yet another mystery item on a
list that her mentor had never explained.
Martin met her at the door, his jaw tight. He'd obviously read her emotions long distance. She wasn't sure how much he could see but her mental blocks sprang into full alert.
"Don't bother speaking, child," he said. "You're practically screaming 'failure' on your face as well as in my mind."
"Someone else intercepted the body."
His eyes bulged. "What? Who would do such a thing?"
"Besides us?" Tollee said.
"Clever girl. Not clever enough by half, apparently." He stood back and motioned her inside.
Tollee felt the cold wash of air conditioning and sighed. "Where's that chum butler of yours?"
"He quit. I don't suppose you'd know what scared the dickens out of him, hmm?"
"No idea."
Martin slumped into his red leather chair. "Are you quite certain someone else stole the body?"
She described the scene. The blood, the cops, the confusion. "I couldn't get close enough to find out what was going on."
"Did you ever think to read reports from within the Blight? Perhaps the police had written something down."
"It isn't that easy. Most of the time paper is too yellowed in the Blight and the ink is all smeared. Electronics like laptops don't work unless you take them inside with you."
"You should have tried, foolish child." Martin stood and paced for a moment. "I already have doubts about your commitment to my cause. Please don't force me to take actions that I'll regret."
Tollee's heart missed a beat. "I've always been faithful to you, arbiter."
"It isn't your faith I doubt, it's your conviction."
"But the chum—"
"Damn the chum, girl. They're a part of the world, a part of life. Use them to your benefit. Don't let them rule you through fear."
"I'm not afraid of them."
"Your loathing is the same as fear. Do you loathe rats?"
"No. They're filthy but—"
"Chum are large rats. They resemble Scions only in appearance. You are superior to them all."
"Does this mean I have to touch them?"
"It means you won't let them be an obstacle to your mission. If you fail once more due to inaction, I won't let you off lightly."
A knot formed in Tollee's throat. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, sir."
"There, there, daughter." He stood. Wiped a tear from her face with his thumb. Hugged her. "You know I love you as my very own, but I cannot allow feelings to undermine my research."
"I understand."
Martin dropped back into his chair. "Have you found another latent Scion for our next try?"
"I have a lead."
"Then follow it up quickly. It's vital I have a body to continue my research. The stones should take less than five hours to finish their work."
"I'll have a mark ready for you by tonight."
"Excellent. Remember, chum are animals. Harmless, stupid animals."
Tollee shuddered. Somehow death paled in comparison to the idea of willingly touching chum. Then again, Arbiter Martin could do worse things than kill her. What if he took total control of her mind and forced her to live with chum? He seemed to have total control over Lucas Fowler. He might be able to do the same to her.
"What if the factions find out what we're doing? What if they're behind the body snatch?"
"Believe me, that thought has crossed my mind. It seems doubtful they could have caught on so quickly, though. Unless someone else already knew David Young was a latent Scion, neither faction would have reason to look into this, much less steal the body."
"If someone found out about the stones, wouldn't that tip them off?"
"So quickly? Only blind luck would have tipped them off that fast."
"Then why would someone steal the body? I can't think of a reason."
"Did our tool follow the body?"
"He left a long time before the body did. I don't think he came back."
"The point is moot now anyway. Find the next mark so I can activate him."
Tollee left the house and slipped inside the Blight. Martin couldn't reach her here. As she felt his probes fall away her hands clenched and opened. Despite the depressing scenery, she felt safe. She opened the front door of his house and stepped back inside, leaving the door open. Within a few seconds, the door was shut again. That was another aspect of the Blight that puzzled her. She could pick up a lamp, smash it against the wall. A few seconds later, the same lamp would be perfectly whole right back where it had started.
Arbiter Martin was standing at the window again, deep in thought. His glow was brighter than latent Scions. Several probes like glowing threads emanated from his head, twisting and curling toward other unseen Scions that he'd formed connections to. One probe would wisp into nothingness and another would replace it as he closed connections and opened new ones. It gave her a queasy feeling watching him in action. She wished she had a way to find out where the probes went, but he closed the connections too quickly for her to follow one to its terminus.
Tollee knew he must check up on her a lot. Fucking voyeur. How could he threaten her after all she'd done for him? He couldn't touch her here. Couldn't intimidate her. Tollee screamed. Grabbed Martin and shoved him through the window. Glass shattered. Martin fell without uttering a sound and slammed onto the sidewalk two stories below. Blood spattered and seeped into the cracked concrete. A shard of glass protruded from Martin's chest.
Giddiness swept through her. She backed away and waited. As if by magic, Martin blipped back into being, an unbroken window in front of him. She walked up and pounded him in the face. He never once put up his arms or attempted to protect himself. The force of her blows bloodied him and knocked him over. Tollee turned and left the house before the Blight reverted. She had work to do.
An hour later she perched atop a condemned brick building and watched her mark at work in a new building across the street. The woman glowed like a dying light bulb within the Blight. Tollee's hands clenched.
Taking a deep breath, she loosened her fists, threw up her mental blocks, and shifted back into Normal. She felt Martin's probes find and settle into her like strands of a spider web. She wondered how he always found her so quickly. It must be because she was attached to him. Tollee took another deep breath and focused on her mark, the woman in the building.
Questions from Martin pinged her mind. Rather than risk opening up, she opted for a mundane solution and called him with her cell phone.
"What is it?" Martin asked, impatience edging his words like a razor.
Tollee relayed the details: location, appearance, and name of the mark.
"Lower your blocks, girl, or I can't very well do anything."
"But—"
"Do it. Now."
Tollee closed her eyes and calmed herself. She dropped her mind blocks. Invisible probes swarmed around her, prickling against her scalp, entering her mind. She felt physical control abandon her as Martin borrowed her eyes. He looked over the location, the mark. The probes abruptly disconnected. She fled into the Blight, hoping Martin didn't need her for the next part.
The woman sat at a desk. Glowing, pulsating probes intersected her head. Her shoulders stiffened. Her gaze locked straight ahead. Within seconds her glow brightened perceptibly, as if she'd been upgraded from 40 watts to 75. Now she was an active Scion, no longer latent. She relaxed, looked around her office in a daze. A moment later, she shook her head and bent back over a computer on her desk.
Uncertain if Martin needed her for anything else, Tollee shifted back to Normal and waited. Once again, she sensed him but he communicated nothing. She knew the next step anyway. The tool had to see the mark.
"What are you doing up here?"
Tollee spun. A man, probably in his early twenties stared back.
"I didn't think anyone else but me knew about this place," he said.
Tollee found her voice. "I was just leaving." She looked for the way he'd reached the roof and saw a squ
are slab of plywood had been pushed away from a hole. The man stood in her way. She swallowed her queasiness and tried to act nonchalant.
"You can stay if you want. I like the view. I even brought something to drink."
"I don't have time."
"Not even for one drink?"
Tollee shifted her vision into the Blight rather than her entire body. She looked away immediately and flicked her view back into normal. The man was chum. Martin's warning echoed in her head. If she had to overcome her loathing, best to start small.
"What are you drinking?"
He pulled out a bottle of red wine. "Only the best."
"I'm not that knowledgeable about wines."
"This stuff is two-hundred bucks a bottle. A cabernet."
"You must be rich."
"Nah, I know how to get into places."
Not only was the man chum, he was a thief. He pulled a cork remover from his backpack followed by two glasses.
"If you come here alone, why do you have two glasses?"
He shrugged. "I always have an extra just in case. Kinda weird, huh?"
She stared at the wine, forcing her unease to settle. "Fine, just a little."
He poured both glasses half full. Tollee took the glass from him, keeping her fingers as far from his as possible. She gagged and looked away.
"You okay?"
"Sorry. I think I'm getting sick."
"Wine is good for what ails you."
Tollee brought the glass toward her lips. Her hand trembled. Her gorge rose again. The chum was looking at her with undisguised curiosity. Clenching her teeth so tight they ached, she got the glass to her lips, loosened her jaw, and took a tiny sip. The wine was bold with a pleasant aftertaste. It took all her will not to spit it back out.
"Good, right?" the man asked.
"Yes."
"I'm Jason, by the way."
"Tollee."
He held out his hand. Tollee recoiled and nearly dropped her glass.
"I'm sick. Probably shouldn't."
His forehead wrinkled. "Yeah, sure."
She managed one more sip of the wine. It was good. But not good enough to disregard the source. She made her way toward the hole.
"You haven't even finished."
"I'm really late. Thanks, Jason."
