"You did what?" Plasglass beakers rang softly as the words hit a shrill high. I didn't sound very much like a whispering Necromance. The daturas rustled.
"He wouldn't let us say it was a cure until he'd done it himself and knew for sure. He took a hypo of the datura solution. Sixteen hours later, he was clean. All bloodlevels normal, no aura damage-clean."
"No aura damage?" The thought of a cure for Chill made me feel distinctly woozy. I've faced down Lucifer himself, why do my knees feel weak?
Gods above, this… it could topple the Mob, it could clear the streets and free millions of addicts, stop 70 percent of inner-city crime…. Gods. Gods above and below, Eddie, you came up with a cure for Chill? You beautiful, dirty, shaggy bastard. Gods above and below have mercy on you, Eddie. You deserve a frocking state-sponsored sainthood and federal buildings named after you.
"None." Mercy said it slowly, and very distinctly. She had started to look a little more relaxed. "It's a cure, Valentine. A cure that works on psions and normals, a fail-safe cure for Chill. Eddie didn't want to tell anyone yet, but I'm almost positive Massadie found out."
No wonder the Mob was out for blood. A fail-safe detox of Chill would cut their profits by half if not more, PicoPhize would be able to get Hegemony and Putchkin contracts galore as well as corner the market on other alkaloid painkillers, and other pharm companies would line up espionage agents around the block to get a sneaking peek at the technique. But if Massadie had stolen a sample, why would he be looking for me?
My brain began to work again. There was a certain ironic delight in carrying around a vial of one of the most valuable substances on earth at this point.
Then I remembered I'd given Japhrimel the other three. Well, there was no safer place around for them. And that still left one vial unaccounted-for. Not to mention Gabe and Eddie's kid, in a safe place-for now.
I hoped like hell the hole Gabe had found was deep enough to hide her daughter. One problem at a time, Danny. One goddamn problem at a time. "Massadie. He's been leaving messages for me. Any idea why?"
The healer shrugged. "He's probably a little upset. His most profitable researcher's dead and it's appropriations time. We found a few alkaloids, but without our Skinlin and his notations it's hopeless. We'll lose funding and Jovan Massadie will slip another few steps down on the corporate ladder, losing the discovery that can pay for his retirement." Mercy's eyes lit with sudden hope. "Gabe said she was going to call you. Is she okay? And little Liana?"
Notations. The paper's notations, maybe a formula. I looked at the daturas, glowing with health. "Gabe's dead." I said harshly. "I don't know where the kid is, Gabe told me she was in a safe place. Right now I'm just concerned with icing the motherfuckers that did her parents." Not to mention keeping the Devil off my ass and eluding my Fallen. It was partly a lie, I did know where Gabe's daughter was, but until this was over nobody would hear it from me. Liana. So that's her name.
"Gabriele's dead?" The Shaman exchanged a long meaningful look with Mercy and made a sharp, controlled movement. It looked like pure frustration. Or was she reaching for a blade she wasn't carrying? "Son of a bitch."
It jarred me then, a warning note. I stared at the healer, but she dropped her eyes. There was something going on here, something else.
Then again, I was probably only getting paranoid. This was a sedayeen and a fellow Shaman, Eddie's coworkers, and in just as much danger as Gabe had been.
"Do you two have anywhere you can go, get undercover?" I flipped the flap of my bag open, dug around inside. Metal clinked. I felt the hard leather edge of the book Selene had given me, the stiff but wilting paper of the murder file. I needed a quiet place to sit and do some reading. "And do you have a commnet for other Chill clinics?"
"Why?" The Shaman twirled her staff, ribbons floating on the air. Her aura, a spiked peppery glow, pulsed uneasily. Her eyebrows drew together, and she cast a meaningful look at Mercy's bowed head, as if warning me to be gentle for the healer's sake.
Irritation made my cheeks hot, made my right hand clench into a fist inside my bag. I met her amber eyes squarely. Why? Because I fucking well said so, Shaman. If you'd taken the time to sweat a little more in combat practice, you might have been able to look after yourself and that healer. You might have even been able to give Eddie a little protection. I swallowed, hard, burying the words. "Because I have something I want to spread around the clinic network, Shaman. Are you going to argue with me?"
The sedayeen stepped forward, partly to deflect me. "Let's just calm down." She spread her hands. "We can broadcast to the entire West Coast network from here, and they can send it worldwide. Is there something you want to send out?"
"You better believe it. Do you have someplace safe to go?" Please don't tell me I'm going to have to find a safe place to stash them. I can't afford to be weighed down by a fucking healer and a Shaman too lazy to keep up on combat practice.
The Shaman laughed. It was a bitter bark, her amber eyes hard and cool. "This was our safe place. What the hell are you?"
I'm hedaira. That won't mean jackshit to you, though. I doubt I know half of what it means. Where are you, Japh? Hunting Eve? My fingers drifted across the leatherbound edge again. It felt too fine-grained to be leather, really, but it didn't feel like plasilica or pleather either. Maybe this will help-if I can translate it. Wonder what language it's in. Quit it, Danny. You have other chips to fry. "For right now, girls, I'm your guardian angel. I'm going to keep you alive." I paused. "And out of the Tanner Family's greasy little hands."
"Why?" Cam's fingers flicked on her staff, her aura pulsing. If she was combat-trained, why didn't she have sharp steel? And why in the name of Anubis was she moving so carefully as if trying to hide it? I felt the nagging sense of some loose end, some instrument out of tune that was screwing up the whole holorchestra. Shook the feeling away.
Because you're bloody well helpless and in over your heads, that's why. I yanked the two sheets of paper with Eddie's careful handwriting out of my bag. "Because it's the honorable thing to do. Where's your commnet?"
"In the office. Cam, please, relax. Eddie said we could trust her." The sedayeen sounded just like Doreen used to when she thought I was being unreasonable-quiet, soothing, her tone suddenly as soft as a pampered cat's fur. But her voice shook, and fear tinted the edges of her shielding. Gods, what a vote of nonconfidence.
Her soothing voice didn't soothe me. I wanted to hear someone else, a dry ironic male tone just slightly inclined toward sarcasm. It shook me to realize that the only person I felt like talking to right now was Japhrimel. I wanted to hear what he'd have to say about Eddie's jacking himself on Chill to test this cure. I wanted to lean my head on his shoulder and feel his aura wrapping around mine, that damnable sense of safety. I wanted the look that sometimes passed between us, his eyes meeting mine and the feeling of being understood, of silent agreement.
Most of all I wanted him to calm me down, because I wasn't sure I could do it myself. I was walking around with a skin full of rage and vengeance, getting twitchy and deconstructing under the pressure.
Anubis, please, help me. Stay my hand, give me strength. It wasn't my usual prayer, but it was all I could come up with.
I held up the papers. "Can you tell me if this is a complete formula?"
Cam stared. Her eyes finally widened, and she looked far more relieved.
Mercy actually choked. "Where did you-that's Eddie's mastersheet! A Skinlin would be able to decode and-"
"Great. Communit, girls. Let's go."
I didn't look while Mercy sent out the datafax to all the clinics, being busy peering out the window and scanning the street below. I did take the mastersheets back over her protests.
The office was cluttered with paper but otherwise neat, with the powerful smell of sedayeen filling the air. I was getting very tired of the smell of violets-I kept expecting to turn around and see Doreen, her eyebrows lifted just slightly and her hands clasped in front of her.
Besides, I was nervous. I felt like I was missing something crucial. The feeling irritated me-was it nerves, the result of being under stress for too long? Or was it my small precognitive talent, warning me of muddy water and danger?
The cold numbness spreading up my arm from the Gauntlet didn't help.
My bankroll was gone, and I had nobody handy to spring for a hotel room. Between them, Cam and Mercy had two hundred New Credits; it would be just barely enough. The mark on my shoulder prickled, the sensation growing to an intensity just short of pain and fading in steady waves. Was Japhrimel looking for me?
I hoped he was. He was my best bet for survival, and things were getting a little too deep for my taste.
Great, Danny. Go crying back to Japhrimel, you spineless wonder. You've got work to do and you're on your own. Even if Japh could help you, he probably wouldn't. He has his own problems, one of which you've got to make a whole lot worse for him if you can.
I hate it when that deep sarcastic voice shows up inside my head. It's usually right. Some new faction of demons was in the mix, and this treasure-and the Key. If Japhrimel couldn't be sure what I'd told Eve, no wonder he wasn't willing to give me more information. I was, at this point, a distinct liability to him, between being hostage material and a possible information-leak. He couldn't trust me not to go running off to Eve as soon as I could.
He's convinced Eve is going to lose, and he wants to be on the winning side. I had to shake my head, my hair tangling forward over my shoulders. Stop looking at things from his side, dammit! You're furious with him, remember?
True. But I wanted to see him just the same. Things were getting ridiculous. And even if he did manhandle me a bit, he'd certainly kept me alive in the face of distinct opposition from the Devil. That sort of thing will make a girl feel charitable, even toward a lying, manhandling demon.
I got us to the Vaccavine Hotel on the edge of the Tank District, sending the sedayeen I n to buy the room and prodding the Shaman up the fire escape to meet her on the third floor. Once I got them both settled, I warded the walls-ignoring the Shaman's gasp and Mercy's open, wondering fear. I'd gotten so used to having access to almost-demon Power, it was a sobering experience to see even other psions acting like wide-eyed normals.
I was fairly sure we weren't followed, but I settled myself in the window with my sword across my knees anyway. Mercy took the bed and was blissfully asleep in moments, a skill I envied. She didn't seem old enough to have an accreditation tat, and I wondered about the relationship between the two women. They seemed very easy with each other.
That made me remember Doreen, and my heart twisted inside my chest.
The Shaman paced. From one end of the room to the other, she wore a line in the cheap red carpet. The ribbons on her staff made soft sweet sounds as she frowned at the floor. She didn't quite dare to scowl at me, but I got the feeling it was a close call.
I pulled Eddie's file out of my bag. It was beginning to look distinctly battered, the tough manila paper crinkling at the corners. "All right, Eustace Edward," I whispered. "Let's see what you have to tell me."
Seeing the first laseprint again was the same shock. Shattered glass and sticky-dry blood, Eddie's head smashed back too far for his neck to support. His hair was full of blood, and broken plasglass winked on his cheek. He didn't have his coat on. Jeans and the remains of a RetroPhunk 4EVAH! T-shirt. A winking gold chain around his neck that would probably dangle a marriage chip.
I turned the laseprint over, sourness filling my mouth. Glanced at the infosheet below, a standard Saint City copshop document. Name of victim, age, cause of death, scene specifics
I read the address twice, then again. What the hell? Eddie had been killed in a Pico-Phize lab downtown. And according to the file, the number-one suspect was one J. T. Massadie.
No way, Danny, I heard a familiar voice whisper in my right ear. It sounded a lot like Eddie's usual laconic growl. If Gabe woulda had a clear lead to this guy she woulda given you his name.
Lovely. I was dreaming about one dead man and hearing another while awake. Along with dating a demon, my life was getting too interesting even for me, and that was saying something. I wished I had time for some meditation, to clear out and organize my head.
I shifted on my chair, my sword singing softly inside its sheath. Massadie looked to benefit from the cure if Eddie could produce it. His position in the corporate ladder as well as his retirement account would be secure.
There's no way Massadie would have sanctioned this. Greed's a better proof of his innocence than a rock-solid alibi would be.
The investigating officer's name was Gilbert Pontside, And he was a normal. That was wrong-the murder of a psion was the jurisdiction of the Saint City Spook Squad. A Necromance or Shaman should have been assigned to the case, it was standard procedure. A Magi or Ceremonial might have taken the case if they had a Necromance partner.
The rules were clear. The murder of a psion had to be investigated by psions, not only because of the dangerousness of hunting psions or a normal dangerous enough to kill one, but because of the risk of Feeders-psychic vampires. Sometimes a dead psion's body, if left uncremated, could give rise to a Feeder's ka.
I knew enough about Feeders to shiver.
I wondered if Pontside was Gabe's friend. I wondered if he was on the Tanner Family make. And I most especially wondered if she'd opened her door to Pontside, or if her shields knew him and didn't react when he came to toss her house over.
It was a workable hypothesis. No wonder Massadie was trying to track me down. Was he on the Tanner Family payroll too, or just afraid for his own miserable life?
I was thinking this over when the hair on my nape stood straight up. My left shoulder prickled urgently, I glanced at my left wrist. The cuff was quiescent, no green light.
But it was so cold, its surface dead and dark. I wished I had the time and the means to cut the damn thing off my wrist.
I jammed the folder back into my bag and made it to my feet. "Get on the bed," I told the Shaman, my right hand curling around my swordhilt. My brain began to tick over likely avenues of attack, fire angles, and what I was going to do if it came down to defending them both.
"Were we followed?" Her throat moved as she swallowed audibly, her fantastic eyes widening. I would have bet she was closer to forty than anything else, but she looked as young as Mercy at that moment. My sword whispered free, the metal ringing softly as faint blue flame slid along the keen curved edge.
"Get on the fucking bed!" Goddamn civilians. My heart began to pound. How was I going to protect two helpless humans, take down a Mob family, and keep my head down with demons in town looking to take me hostage?
I didn't get another argument from her, because three light taps resounded on the flimsy door. I ghosted toward the door and to the side, behind the wall the room shared with a small bathroom. My sword lifted just as the shields and wards I'd laid on the room turned purple.
The deadbolt and maglock both clicked open, the hinges made a rough sound, and the edge of the door rasped along the cheap carpet. I glanced back-Cam stood next to the bed, her shoulders stiff. The edges of her oak staff glowed red with a Shaman's defensive spells, and her stance was the basic stave-against-unknown-threat.
So maybe she wasn't completely helpless. Was the soft act just another defense?
"Valentine," I heard a familiar voice from the door. "Stand down. It's a friend."
My heart thudded in my throat. I don't think you're my friend, mister.
Footsteps, deliberately loud. The door closed behind him. He halted in the hall. "Relax, milady. You need my help. I've got some really bad news."
I stepped out, the sword held slanting up, and faced McKinley.
He looked like hell, but he'd found a new set of black clothes and his shoulder appeared to be back in its socket. He slid a familiar-looking knife-mine, was that how he'd tracked me? — into a plasticine sheath and made it disappear. His face was bruised and swollen, his
nose crooked, and his right hand looked like ground beef. But his black eyes traveled down and back up again, taking in the sword and my stance. He looked almost impressed despite himself.
His left hand, with its silvery metallic coating, raised a little. "Easy there, Valentine. You don't have time to kill me."
Says who? I'm a busy girl but I could probably fit you in.
And oh how satisfying it would be to take some of my rage out on him. Dangling from his silver-coated fingers was a silver chain. Swinging on the chain was a star sapphire that cried out to me in its own tongueless voice.
I'm getting pretty used to the sensation of being hit I n the gut, I thought dimly. My left shoulder woke in one vivid flare of pain that threatened to drive me to my knees. I dug in, stayed upright. I was also getting very used to the sensation of my left shoulder being run through a meat grinder. At least that drove the numbness away, down my left arm. Gee, Dante. It's sucking to be you lately.
"The Eldest has been taken," he said. "By the Twins."
"What are you talking about?" My voice cracked uselessly. "Taken? Japhrimel?"
"There were too many of them, and they ran him to ground while he was out drawing them off and away from you. Their next move is going to be to try to acquire you, and they're not the only ones." He offered the necklace. The sapphire swung gently, a spark of blue light caught in its depths. "There are other demons in town, at cross-purposes to both the Prince and the rebellion. It's crawling out there, I've got to get you out. We can catch a transport-"
"I'm not going anywhere," I said flatly. "I have business here. Who's got Japh?"
He swung the sapphire again. My eyes tracked it helplessly. "You don't get it," he said quietly. "He's the Eldest, they can't hold him for long. But if anyone gets their hands on you he's helpless. He has to do what they want. If any demon takes you we're all doomed."
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