by Tina Gower
Not always, I nearly say, but then I realize. I’m the baby. Or the parents. It actually doesn’t really matter. We’re feeding off a loop against each other.
“What do I need to do? If you say it’s too late to get you a new pack and I’m not—”
“No. It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve done this before. I nearly destroyed my last pack. But Jackie and Marco caught the dynamic before it caused too much damage.”
“So what did they do? How did they make it better?”
“Diet. Exercise. It worked with pack. Got me through my first year as a police officer. But I still felt like I was walking along an edge and I could fall in the pit at any moment. There was always pack stress, especially with Tonya and Jackie trying for a baby. And I was always there to key up the tension, and everyone was being patient, but I knew that patience would run out.”
“But you found something that worked. It worked enough. We can do that, too, and just pull ourselves in when we stray from that path.”
“You shouldn’t have to—”
“Becker. Stop. I want to. This is part of the relationship thing to me.”
He takes a shaky breath. “Okay.” He nods. “I think it can work again, but there’s a problem.”
“Let’s work it out then.”
“I don’t think it can be worked out.”
I shake my head, not believing it.
He opens his mouth, but he shuts it just as quickly and grunts. “Put your shirt back on, someone’s coming.”
We both scramble up from the couch and Becker digs my shirt from under the couch. He glances out the front and curses. “Shit. It’s Lipski. He’s not in his usual car, the fucker.”
I wiggle into my shirt. “But it’s a good thing he’s here, right? It means he has news on my case.”
“Yeah, but he also heard me tell you to put your shirt back on. We’re never going to hear the end of it.”
I cringe thinking of all the fun Hank is going to have with this. Becker buttons his shirt, missing the top button, so it skews his entire shirt. He doesn’t notice until he gets to the bottom. He curses, starting over.
My vision wanders to the envelope from my work. Might as well see if they deposited a death bonus or not. Sometimes with high enough probabilities they issue an estimate of payout to family members from the death insurance company. Happy fact: the government takes out insurance policies on each of its employees. If one of us dies, not only do our named beneficiaries get a cut, but the company also gets a nice sum. Presumably it covers the cost of finding and retraining a new actuary. We fondly, unofficially call it a death bonus.
I rip the side and pull out the card. It’s one of those humor ones that has a picture of fate blindfolded while a mischievous nymph holds out a paper cutout of itself, thus tricking fate to take the fake nymph instead. Ha. Ha. Inside, each employee has signed the card. There are tickets tucked inside too and a note from Yang.
Hey Kate, I got these this morning right after we spoke, but before we heard the news. I’d love it if you could join us, but understand if you can’t. Best wishes and cheat fate,
~Yang
It’s tickets to Michelle Kitman’s talk tonight. I clutch the tickets to my chest. Gods, I really, really want to go. If I had a last wish, this would be it. I form the request in my mind. How exactly do I convince my obsessive werewolf boyfriend that letting me go tonight will not be a death wish? He’d asked me to take the threat seriously and I would, but…
Becker curses again and holds up the uneven ends of his shirt. “What am I doing wrong? Why isn’t this working?”
I shove the tickets into my pocket and toss the card onto the coffee table. “Here, let me.” I unbutton all the buttons and straighten the shirt for him.
Lipski bursts into the door, duffle slung over his shoulder, and covering his eyes. “Everyone decent?” He chuckles as though he expects us to get the joke he’s playing on us, but when we don’t laugh he uncovers his eyes and drops the duffle. “Oh shit. I thought you were pulling my leg about the shirt thing.”
Becker glares.
I button the last button and do a double check of my own garment. All clear. Nothing indecent. “Please tell me you’ve solved this whole case and we can drop Kyle.”
Becker’s hands clamp into fists at the mention of my ex.
“Sorry, Katie cupcake.” He kicks the duffle on the floor. “Wolf. Your stuff. And the rest is in the car.”
Becker lowers his head but keeps his gaze on Lipski as if he could jump him at any moment.
When Becker’s gone, Lipski’s voice drops to the gravel-popping tone. The one that can mask his words from Becker. “He gonna be okay?”
I nod.
“Fuck me, Kate, when he pulled his gun on that asshat…” He shakes his head. He rolls his neck and stares at the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think anyone in that room would have objected, but I thought I was going to have to tranq Beck again.”
Again? Tranq Becker again? As in he had to do it before. I don’t have much of an opportunity to open that little nugget because Becker returns with a box in his arms and a look that says he will rip his partner into pieces if he so much as sneezes wrong. “Whatever you have to say about me you can say it.” He drops the box onto the kitchen counter with a bang. “To my face.”
“Fine. Sit.”
Becker paces, rubbing the back of his neck, eyeing Hank like a gazelle he’s planning to cut from the herd.
“Sit,” Lipski says louder. “Next to your girlfriend, preferably. And hold her hand or whatever, so you can think more clearly.”
Becker hesitates. A quick look at me as though he’s thinking of actually doing what Lipski says but his muscles lack the ability to cave in to authority.
I sigh, meeting him in two steps. I’m shaky from whatever news Lipski might drop on us or what he might hold back. A muted shade covers my vision and I dull the edges of my emotions. Becker had said my reactions cause a feedback loop, and right now would be a perfect example of why I should insist on us separating instead of coming together. Except I trust Lipski sees something I don’t. Maybe something Becker can’t see. Hank follows my motions the same way a schoolteacher waits impatiently for a student to finish a complicated equation. Becker doesn’t sit, but he grasps my hand and his fingers connect with mine before I can even reach for him.
He takes a few steadying breaths. Each less labored than the last. “Okay. Okay, I’m fine.”
Something eases in me too.
Hank’s eyebrow twitches, looking back and forth between us. “I’ll say. That’s impressive, Beck. Much better.”
And he doesn’t mean better from this morning, or the last few weeks or months. His tone implies better from where Becker had been for the last few years. But even though that assurance gives me hope, there’s a heaviness in the room.
Hank takes a seat; his large body dwarfs the recliner. “Now. Listen up, I’ve got some intel from our Norn contact. As we suspected, they’re not involved, but they confirm our guess that Wyrd is running this show.”
“How do we know they’re not feeding us false information to keep us off their trail?” Becker asks.
Becker wants it to be Norns. Needs it to be Norns. He has his own vendetta against the Norns, a faction of which claimed responsibility for the attack against his pack.
“We don’t know,” Hank continues, “be we don’t have any reason to not follow up on the lead. The group using the wyrd symbol is a group that refers to themselves by many names. One, they’re fairly disorganized in their philosophy and mission statement. Two, they prefer to be shifty due to the fact they’d like to remain secret and under the radar. Can’t very well mess with fate if they’re caught.”
“Right.” I tug on Becker’s hand and he follows me to the couch. “What are they calling themselves?”
Hank grunts. “Depends on which of them you ask. So far I’ve got seven names. The most common? New Karma, Skuld’s Dagger, or Wyrd’s Swo
rd.”
“Wyrd. Like the symbol we found on the flowers to Jack, the bus driver’s schedule, and the fate-changing promise card Julia had to get her husband out of the traffic predictions.” I latch onto the familiar term. The symbol showed up a couple times in my last case. “It’s a druid term. We should get Ali’s take on this.” Arm on the armrest, I let my head fall into my hand and rub my temple. “I don’t know much about the symbol, just that it’s used in both witchcraft and druid magic. It means fate, doesn’t it?”
Lipski taps his armrests with his thumbs. “Sure. At least that’s my research on the name produced.”
It didn’t make much sense, but then again Hank did warn us they were unorganized. “Why would a group that’s anti fate use a fate term?”
Becker shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Norn is the name of the fates in Norse belief and that didn’t stop a group of people from bastardizing it.”
“True.” I cross my legs. “If we can’t get one of these guys to talk then we’re probably not going to get them to explain the reasoning behind their names. What about the symbol?”
Becker shifts in his seat. “Yeah, we showed that to our shades and Liza this morning. They definitely recognize it. Of course they verbally deny it. Only Liza had the balls to pretend it didn’t affect her, but her blood pressure gave her away.”
Lipski leans forward. “After I left Homicide, I ran the names by Liza. She’s our talker and her nonverbals give her away.” He passes his phone to Becker. “I know you do better when you get an in-person confirmation.”
“I’ll do my best.” Becker plays the quick clip.
It’s only a few minutes. Lipski asks her about each name he’s found for the name of the group. He shows her the symbol again, asking if they’re connected. There’s a long pause and then she laughs, telling Hank he has shitty investigative skills because she has no idea what he’s talking about.
“She’s lying.” Becker turns off the video and hands it back to Lipski.
Lipski glances at his phone and then at Becker with an unbelieving look. “Lying because you want this lead or lying-lying?”
He squeezes my hand at the accusation. I hope it’s not because Lipski has nailed him on creating false leads.
Becker leans forward. “Lying-lying. When she blinks long and slow there’s usually a rush of cortisol to follow. She sweats a little more. I can hear her arteries straining to pump blood from the increase in her heart rate. I’ve been in the room with her enough times to memorize her tells. I don’t need her vitals to confirm it. She’s lying and we’re narrowing down on the people responsible.”
“We caught her cell,” I say, “but we didn’t bring down the brains of their organization. What about the information Julia gave us? They gave her the card to change fate because Wyrd wanted to ‘make it right’ when her husband got screwed after government intervention on a forecast. Could there be some connection to old cases?”
“We’ll have to pull out Jack’s case again.” Becker stretches as he scratches the back of his neck. “Now that we have more information we should see if we missed something. See if the symbol turns up again. Or a phrase we might have missed. We had a robbery case that hit a dead end, but have coins with rune symbols on it. There’s a chance of a connection there. We’ll hit the apothecary district, the witch training centers, see if anyone can offer any information we won’t be able to gather in research and asking the witches on the force.”
Lipski shakes his head. “Witches, especially the rougher side of the apothecary district, aren’t exactly forthcoming with their history or interworking of magic.”
“We’ll get Ali in on it. She’s as invested in finding these guys as we are. Apparently it’s a huge no-no to cast this kind of magic and can affect the rest of the magic community if it continues. All right, on to the other names. Skuld is the Scandinavian name of one of the three fates.”
Becker has his tablet ready. “According to our records, she’s associated with debt and guilt.” He gives me the tablet when I lean over to read. “Lipski, didn’t one of the shades say something about a debt payment to fate?”
I take a look at the entry he’s talking about, until Ian mentions the debt payment. “Guilt? Debt? How are they going to achieve that by destroying the oracle net? It’s not like they can control the information the fates are passing along.”
“But Predictions can,” Lipski says. “They can sway the outcome.”
“We can’t though. And nobody in Predictions has been targeted.”
“Until now,” Becker corrects.
I twist on the couch, so I’m facing him. “But that’s different. I’m the actuary that keeps getting in their way.”
“And you’re fateless.”
The room goes silent. Fateless. It’s not just an elephant in the room, it’s the whole damn circus.
I take a long, deep breath. “Okay. Okay. We have to accept the very real possibility that the ripples are because of me. I could have changed too many fated outcomes just by standing in the way. It might not all be fear and misinformation; there could be a real risk to having a fateless in my job role. I know fateless aren’t supposed to be able to do that. Change fate. But maybe they’re wrong. Maybe there’s some truth in it? Maybe they want to take me out of the equation because they see me as a road block to fate’s true outcomes.”
“I don’t think so.” Becker jumps in too quickly, as though he’s unwilling to accept that scenario. “They changed Alana’s fate. You had nothing to do with that other than calculating the math on it. Beatrix paid the group to intervene. New Karma stepped over the line. Or Wyrd’s Hand Baskets or Skuld’s Shovels. Or whoever they’re calling themselves today. Not you. Who knows what other instances they’ve been manipulating and for how long? And that death note could be real. If it is, then you’re not fateless.”
“Well…” Lipski draws out the word. “I sort of got out of your ex that they did have a ream of letterhead go missing about eight months ago. He didn’t report it because they didn’t think a stack of paper was worth the fuss. Not until they were in high water after they had a leak discovered in their department. He mentioned it to the detectives on the case and I did verify that it was in the report after the investigation of the office worker. It’s there as basically a footnote. They didn’t find the letterhead after a search, and it hasn’t surfaced in any false reports, so they assumed the two were unrelated. Kyle still insists we call that oracle in India to cover every base. If it is the missing letterhead and all signs point to yes, we can make the assumption your death note is fake.”
“Great.” I do a calculation of timetables. “Then I can be reinstated at Accidental as early as tomorrow morning. I’ll explain it to Gretchen and see if she’ll let me have my case.” I can’t believe we’re finally getting some leads and my hands are tied.
There’s some male throat clearing.
I straighten, eyeing them both. “What?”
Becker lets go of my hand, but only briefly. Instead, his arm goes around my shoulders and he pulls me close. “I’m sorry—”
I try to shove him away. “No. You do not get to pull that obsessive werewolf crap on me. I want my case back and you’re going to have to deal with it.”
Lipski jumps forward in his seat, making a time-out symbol. “Whoa, it’s not him. Not this time.” He waits for me to calm down before continuing. “It’s funny you should mention being fateless.”
“Shit.” I close my eyes. I’d nearly forgotten.
“They’re putting together a task team to escort anyone out of Predictions and Investigations and related staff who hasn’t ever had a prediction for full evaluation.”
I curse a few more times, because once isn’t enough.
“You go back in there and show them your death notice is faked and they won’t let you resume your actuary role. They’ll do everything they can to be sure you never work in Predictions again.”
Chapter 6
“No,”
Becker says around a mouthful of mushroom sandwich. “It’s too much of a risk.”
I wave the tickets to Kitman’s talk frantically. “But it might be my only chance to meet her in person. She’s hardly in town anymore. She travels all over the world for lectures and consultations. She’s my hero!”
He chews, glaring at the tickets like they’re an annoying teenager talking on the phone at a movie theater. “I can’t go. I have the night shift all this week, starting at nine p.m., which means I’ll have to be at the precinct at eight thirty. That lecture starts at eight.”
“Which means…” I interrupt his train of thought. “You can be there when they drop me off and check the place out. You can swing by when it’s over.”
He pauses, considering. “No,” he says into his sandwich and goes for another huge bite.
I analyze the tickets as though they might give me an answer. I hold them to my heart. “What if Kitman can help us? She’s the best of the best. She knows the system. She knows the players. She’s had to deal with the Norns and their various branches at some point in her career. At the very least she can offer some advice.”
He doesn’t respond, which is practically a yes. I just need verbal confirmation.
I slam the tickets onto the counter. “Come on, Lipski. Help me out here.”
Lipski doesn’t look up from the mile-high sandwich he’s building. “Nope. Not going to interfere. In fact, my kid has a softball game in twenty, so I’m out before Angela goes crazy that I’m late again.” He wraps his sandwich and heads for the door, opens it. He pauses. “Angela has some girl’s night thing later and I already ran through the entire season of Vampire-Fairy Roadshow.” He flashes me a half grin. “I’m available at eight.” He meets Becker’s insta-glare. “Just sayin’.”
He locks the door and leaves us alone to hash it out.
I peel off a paper plate from the stack and start piling cheese and meat on a bun. “Ali doesn’t work today. She can come too. I checked the publicly available forecast for the event and there is low chance of crime in the area. We leave right after I can get an introduction to Kitman and nobody even has to know we were there.”
