The Innocents

by Riley LaShea

  “Nothing unusual happened tonight?” Haydn softly questioned. Tilting Vinn’s head back and forth, she found no signs of poison or pestilence, but those things weren’t always quick to appear. Humanity and daemonry had learned time and again that biological adversaries could wipe out entire villages before the first symptom.

  “Nothing,” Cassius responded. “It was the same as always.”

  Looking back into the depths of Vinn’s stare, that was exactly what Haydn saw - nothing - not a lost soul, nor the peace she always hoped would be there in death. Even knowing there had to be a logical explanation for it brought no consolation. There almost always was one. Logical didn’t mean less deadly, and she preferred her threats to sneak up on her in corporeal forms she could fight, not to slip in in clandestine fashions there was no guarding against.

  Fingers moving to Vinn’s eyelids, Haydn pressed them closed.

  “Guess it was just his time,” she murmured.

  4

  The first kill should have felt like victory. The ride back should have been a parade. Instead, the SUV was as silent as if they were returning from a funeral. In a way, Garcia guessed, they were - a funeral of their own making.

  Though they carried light, they spilled heavy from the vehicle into the dark parking lot. Weapons their own, there was no cause to return to the shelter, and Fiona declared it a bad idea, to make an immediate trail back to the place where they stashed their arsenal. Not normally one to agree with her, Garcia couldn’t help but see the logic of her chosen location. Despite the abysmal weather, the holidays close at hand as they were, enough people would find their way to the parking lot the next day to trample and drive over any footsteps and tire tracks they left in the light cover of snow.

  “That was good work tonight.” Garcia knew he had to keep them from returning to their own thoughts. They had plenty of time in the car for reflection. Too much probably. He couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts in Armand’s head. “I know this wasn’t easy, but we need to remember what we really did tonight. Why don’t you take a couple of days? Do whatever you need to do. I’ll handle the recon, figure out our next best target. Then, we’ll go again.”

  “Again?” Armand returned, as if it came as surprise.

  “You knew this wasn’t a one-time thing,” Garcia reminded him. “You know how many we have just here. Then, there are those pockets we know about across Europe, Asia, Africa, the Americas.”

  “We don’t even know if it worked,” Armand said.

  “It had to have worked,” Garcia uttered.

  “Why?” Hysteria in the question barely contained, Garcia realized, with dread, that Armand wasn’t okay. At least, not anywhere near okay enough to go on another mission in the next few days. “Because if it didn’t work, we just stormed into the house of a sick man and killed an innocent woman who hadn’t done anything wrong?”

  “You need to change what you are seeing.” Garcia took a step toward him when Armand’s voice carried too much volume across the parking lot. “Whether they want it or not, these people are not innocent. They are intricately tied to the evil in this world. Their paths were set from birth. We didn’t make them what they are.”

  “But we’re the ones being asked to end what they are.” Armand found his way back to even, but the utter conviction in the statement was almost more troubling than his fleeting panic. “I know what we’re doing here. All I’m asking for is some proof. We did what you asked. Show us something for it.”

  No clue what exactly Armand expected to see, Garcia was about to challenge the impossible request when Jim’s voice cut in.

  “I don’t want to fight about this, but Armand is right. The guy who gave you this list, what do you know about him? Why are you taking his word on this?”

  “I told you,” Garcia declared. “He showed me the data. It’s good.”

  “And no one can fake data.” Argument irritatingly valid, Garcia never expected to hear it out of Jim. A dedicated soldier through and through, as long as he’d known him Jim had been an expert at taking orders without question.

  “Why would someone fake this data?” Garcia posed.

  “Why would someone contact you out of the blue and give you a list of people to kill in order to destroy the deraphs?” Armand questioned in return. “How did he even know about us?”

  Series of questions that could well have been titled “The list of things Garcia didn’t want to ask himself when the means of triumph fell into his lap,” Garcia still didn’t want to answer them. Mainly because he didn’t have the answers, and it would take far too long to try to find them.

  “This is our best chance,” he uttered.

  “Only if it works,” Armand said.

  “I agree with them.” Fiona at last joined the discussion on the side she had least right to be on. “You know I’m more than willing to do whatever, but without some kind of proof it’s working, we’re just killing people.”

  “And since when is that a problem for you?” Garcia snapped.

  Face contorting into what could well have been a permanent kiss-off, Fiona rotated on her heel and started for the street.

  “Fiona, wait.” Garcia felt like he was losing control of his entire team. As much as he liked to act like he didn’t need, or really even want, her there, the truth was Fiona had been an asset from the start. There was a reason he put up with her endless insubordination and less than upstanding background. “I’m sorry.”

  Jaw taut, animosity radiated in her eyes as Fiona turned back, but at least she came to a stop, which Garcia assumed meant his apology was good enough for the moment.

  “I understand what you’re saying, all of you, okay, but we don’t have time for a debate. We need to take care of this expeditiously. The police are going to be all over this. They tie these kills together, it’s going to become very difficult for us to finish what we started.”

  “Murders.” The interjection was so soft, he nearly missed it.

  “What?”

  “Murders,” Armand said again. “Kills happen on a battlefield, or during a hunt. What we’re talking about now, what we did tonight, it’s murder.”

  “What the hell difference does it make what we call it?”

  “It makes a difference,” Armand uttered.

  “Start seeing things differently, Armand,” Garcia warned him again, trying to dispel the unnecessary complication of conventional morality with a shake of his head. They were not in a conventional situation. Everyday morality had no place in what they were doing. “If the police tie the… victims… together,” he went on at last, “it may be impossible to get to them all. We need to get the job done, and get the hell out.”

  “Then I guess we need to get proof now, before there are any other victims to tie,” Fiona reasoned, and, the odds of the argument three-to-one against him, Garcia had no options left.

  “All right.” He went for reason of his own. “What do you want? It’s not like I can call up the deraphs and ask if any of them have dropped dead in the past few hours.”

  No answers coming forth, it was just as Garcia expected. They all wanted proof, but not one of them had any ideas on how to go about getting it.

  “There has to be a way,” Armand said.

  “Yeah, sure, there has to be,” Garcia tossed off, trying to divine what that way might be. Steeped as they were in mythos and fiction, digging up real information on deraphs was a nearly impossible task. Getting close to them, even more difficult. They were so adept at hiding and secrecy, they were damn near ghosts in the world. It was a rare feat to catch a glimpse of one, let alone take away proof of its existence.

  “Did Slade really kill a deraph?” Recalling, at last, one of his grimy rival’s great claims, Garcia cast his gaze to Fiona.

  “So, he says.” Fiona shrugged.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know,” she returned. “I don’t even know that he really did it. It was before I was with him. Men lying about their conquests is ki
nd of a staple when they’re trying to get me into bed, and it really didn’t matter to me.”

  Because Fiona wasn’t in it for any real cause, Garcia reminded himself. It was just a trip that paid well. At least, he was under the impression it once had for her. Not entirely sure why she chose to remain in the game when there was no payroll on the righteous side of things, he was just glad, at the moment, Fiona had come to them for whatever reason she did.

  “It does now,” Garcia declared, and Fiona got the point before Garcia could pose his request.

  “Oh, fuck you.”

  “You know I wouldn’t ask, but…”

  “You are,” Fiona stopped him. “You are asking.”

  “It’s not for me. It’s for…”

  “The sake of humanity? The greater good? Or whatever virtuous, phony fuck-phrase you pick today? You know, I know your bullshit almost as well as I know Slade’s.”

  “It isn’t bullshit,” Garcia ground out, the comparison of his belief to Slade’s dog and pony show wearing on his civility.

  “Call it what you want,” Fiona said. “In the end, it all comes down to getting people to do what you want.”

  “You are the one who wants proof,” Garcia reminded her. “You need proof? We need a deraph. And we don’t have the tools or the insanity to catch one. Slade has both. The only reason he and Sean haven’t been able to wipe out the entire lot of them, as far as I can tell, is because they get their own team members killed or scare them off with regularity and they can’t take out a dozen deraphs on their own.”

  When Fiona said nothing in return, just staring off at the falling snow, Garcia realized she didn’t really need the proof. Unpaid and untethered to a cause, she was the only one amongst them who could simply walk away, and, if Fiona chose that moment to walk, she would take any chance they had of getting Slade’s help with her.

  “I don’t know why you left,” Garcia said. Maybe she was right. Maybe everything on the surface was just bullshit to get to the depths beneath, every interplay a means to an end. It was the importance of the end that mattered, and, for him, eradicating evil was a pretty worthy fucking cause. “I assume, if you wanted me to know, you would have told me. So, let’s just lay out the facts. The world is fucked. That, we can’t change. We do have the power to tweak it just enough to make a difference. If that means working side by side with Slade, so be it.”

  “What makes you think Slade will want to work side by side with you?” Fiona looked back to him, and Garcia wished it wasn’t such a spot-on question.

  “My guess is he won’t,” he admitted. “That’s why I need you to convince him. You just have to decide if you’re willing to have one conversation you don’t want to have to make that kind of change. I know it’s about the furthest you can get from where you’ve come from, but that’s what we’re about, Fiona.”

  “He’s not going to care what I have to say,” Fiona uttered, and Garcia felt the hopelessness of the situation recede somewhat.

  “Maybe he will,” was all he could say. “You know him better than I do. If there is any way to convince him, you’ll have a far better chance than me. If not, I guess this is it.” Glancing around at his crew, Garcia could see their unwillingness to budge on the issue in the rigidity of each stance. “We’ll go our separate ways.”

  “And what will you do then?” Fiona asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will you go on?” she questioned. “I mean, this is the cause, right? It’s what you’re about. You can’t kill a deraph alone. Hell, the four of us can’t kill a deraph together. But you’ve got a hit list now, and I have no doubt you can kill every one of those people on it without leaving a trace. So, I’ll make a deal with you. I will go and talk to Slade, if you answer one question honestly.”

  When she paused for some sort of response, Garcia gave a small nod, jaw ticking against whatever might be in Fiona’s mind to ask.

  “I’m sure you needed these guys once. I mean, deraphs, that is a serious enemy,” she said. “But things have changed. It’s kind of my curse. Doesn’t seem to matter if I get recruited or walk into a crew on my own. Someone else comes along, or some guy hands you a list, and everything is suddenly different.”

  “Was there a question in there somewhere?” Garcia queried.

  “The question is, do you really think you can’t kill all those people yourself, or do you just need a team to diffuse responsibility? I mean, at this point, aren’t we really just your conscience rounds?”

  Having never taken part in a firing squad, or even having witnessed one, Garcia was familiar enough with the concept, a few blank cartridges mixed in with the real ammunition, nobody knowing who got the blanks, so every member of the squad could maintain the presumption of his own innocence.

  “What is the saying?” It was the same mentality that made wars work, the never knowing whose bullet killed whom. “Joy shared is double the joy. Sorrow shared is half the sorrow.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Fiona returned.

  “We’re doing the right thing,” Garcia told her, and Jim and Armand by proxy. They all seemed to need the reminder.

  “So you keep saying.” Fiona’s laugh sounded almost pained. “I’ll warn you now. The right thing, not really Slade’s forte.”

  Turning away again, she tugged the zipper higher on her jacket as she moved off. Not sure where she was headed, Garcia had a pretty good feeling about where she would eventually end up. He only hoped, whatever the contention between Slade and Fiona, it wouldn’t get in his way.

  The place reeked of cheap booze and leather - that second skin people put on to make them feel less vulnerable than they were. For those in Fiona’s line of work, her normal line at least, it was practically a spirit smell, and an irony of sorts. The more damage one knew how to inflict on the human body, the more one couldn’t help but recognize the fragility of her own skin.

  Female patronage of the place long gone, too aware there came a time each night when hanging with the boys became pressing their luck, Fiona drew more attention than usual as she walked through the door. Lucky for them all, the closing down crowd, those without jobs or family lives, or whose lives had become relegated to the hours of darkness by necessity, had seen her there before. The ones who didn’t know she could kick the shit out of them personally knew Slade could, and there was no reason for them to think he no longer had reason.

  “Look who made it home.” That very devil paused in his round of pool when he spotted her, and the notion she belonged in such a place was both accurate and bothersome to Fiona in the moment. “I knew you’d come around eventually. Finally get enough of Garcia’s righteousness?”

  “Is Sean here?” Fiona didn’t bother to scan the room herself. There was no need. If he got too close, she would know. Never again would he get the upper hand on her.

  “No,” Slade said. “He took some woman out of here an hour ago.”

  “Did she get any say in the matter?”

  Small huff escaping him as he pressed away from the table, Slade shook his head. “Why do you make him out to be such a bad buy?”

  “You are not fucking serious,” Fiona returned.

  “So, Sean got toasted one night and came on a little strong.” She was shocked he would admit to even that much wrongdoing. “It’s not like you don’t know guys want to fuck you.” Motioning to the hangers-on in the bar, Slade seemed to think a bunch of drunken losers ogling her ass was proof positive of her irresistibility amongst men.

  “Came on a little strong?” Arms trembling as she leaned on the bumper, Fiona fought the urge to scream or rip it from the edge of the table in a fit of rage. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Slade.”

  Still not sure what exactly had turned her feet in the direction of the bar when she really wanted to just go home and sleep, she convinced herself on the ride over she was doing it for Garcia’s greater good, that it had to do with some higher purpose she wanted to believe in. She wasn’t, though, and it didn�
�t. She had come for herself, she realized, because this was a conversation she needed to have.

  She could tell by the unassuming way Slade asked her to let Sean into the car earlier that he didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all, and this entire time she let him simmer in his dumb fucking ignorance. When she laid out her ultimatum, that’s exactly what she did. She laid it out. She didn’t argue it. She didn’t see the point. To her, the evidence was pretty clear. Only Sean had offered any argument on his behalf. Fiona just demanded a verdict, and took off when it came down on the wrong side.

  “He held me down on a coffee table and was halfway in my pants, and you thought it was a fucking joke.”

  “He was just messin’ with you,” Slade returned. “I knew you could take care of yourself.”

  “How?” Fiona demanded. “He outweighs me by a hundred and fifty pounds.”

  When Slade shook his head, as if to dislodge the logic from his ears, and leaned down to take his shot, his lack of focus infuriated Fiona to no end. Plucking the orange ball from the table as the cue ball was about to strike it, she held it hostage in the air, forcing Slade’s eyes back up to her.

  “I can take out anyone at any time,” Fiona granted. “When I have my guard up. When I am ready. I could kill you with this pool ball before you even think about breaking that cue in two, and the rest of these idiots in here before they realize what happened. Don’t think I couldn’t.

  “I could have all the training in the world, though,” she stated very carefully, hoping Slade’s unreceptive brain might actually decode her words, “and I cannot get out from under a guy who weighs three hundred pounds. Not when I am taken by surprise because I think that I am safe. You brought him into our crew. I trusted him because you did. So, I guess that part is my fault.”

  Letting the ball fall back to the table, she watched it dent the blue fabric, and the fact that Slade didn’t even notice as it knocked two other balls out of place was a minor phenomenon.