“Not sure.” He took another drag and blew out smoke that nearly crystallized in the cold air. “I do know I should’ve died at least a dozen times since I met Ian, but I haven’t yet. Still kicking.”
Did I ever know that feeling. Finding out about the Others — and the fact that I was one of them — had been a continuing adventure in not dying. Usually painfully.
“Listen, I was headed out to my van,” I said. “Why don’t you come in? It’s cold out here, and I’ve got a heater.”
He smirked. “You were just going to start your van and sit in it?”
“Not exactly. I mean, I’ve got a space heater. That van used to be where I lived.” I wasn’t going to get into the Valentine Effect just yet. “Come on, let’s get out of this weather.”
“Deal.”
I went in through the back doors, and Donatti boosted up behind me and closed them. The heater and the rechargeable power pack were under the bench seat Chester built for me. I pulled them out, made sure the battery on the pack was charged, then plugged the heater in and turned it on low. “Doesn’t really take much to warm up in here,” I said. “Any higher and we’ll bake.”
Donatti sat on the opposite bench, the one without storage, and looked around the van. “You’ve got some heavy equipment,” he said. “That’s a satellite sweep GPS, isn’t it? Hell of a high-tech console. This thing looks armored, too.”
“It is,” I said. “A few friends of ours gave me an upgrade. It was kind of a thank-you gift for saving them from a bunch of engineered werewolves.” I wouldn’t get into talking about Chester. If I tried to explain him, we’d end up sitting out here all week.
“Some upgrade.” He grinned. “Jazz would love this setup.”
The instant he finished that sentence, the smile died on his face. Whoever Jazz was, he hadn’t meant to bring it up. Now he looked a more than a little awkward.
“It’s fine,” I said. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I will. I should,” he said. “Jazz — Jasmine — is my girlfriend, I guess. I don’t know. Does ‘love of my life’ sound too cheesy?”
I smiled. “No.”
“Good.” He sighed and took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, then gave me a questioning look. I nodded, and he lit one. “She was in the game with me,” he said. “The thief game. Heists, really. She was a getaway driver, a damned good one.” He tipped his gaze to the ceiling. “Long story short, we split, hooked up three years later, and she’d had my kid. A boy, two years old by then.” His eyes closed. “I didn’t even know I was a father.”
That didn’t exactly endear me to the love of his life, but I wouldn’t mention it. Instead I said, “She didn’t tell you that you had a son?”
“It wasn’t even close to her fault.” He shrugged and smoked. “She couldn’t have found me if she wanted to, and she didn’t want to. With damned good reason. That lifestyle, stealing shit — it’s no way to raise a kid.”
“So you’re not together?” I said.
He smiled a little. “We are now. We worked it out, more or less.” Something in his face changed, and he was almost glowing. “Cyrus, that’s my son, he’s six now,” he said. “And he’s the best. But he does drive his mother crazy sometimes, because he’s already got invisibility down.”
It was painful to see, all the love he had for his son. I knew how hard it was to hang onto something like that when you lived in a world like ours. “Your son’s part djinn, then,” I said. “Obviously.”
“Yeah, poor kid’s going to have a lot on his plate. It’s hard protecting them. You know?”
“I was just thinking something like that.”
He laughed. “And that was when I thought I only had to worry about the djinn. Now I find out there’s all this Other stuff, not to mention these Milus Dei assholes. How the hell do I keep him safe from that?”
At least I finally had something useful to say. “Good news there. You can usually pick them out, because most of them have the same tattoo somewhere. Their little cult symbol. Here, I’ll show you.” I pulled my phone out and tapped to the photos. I’d started scanning some of Chester’s files on Milus Dei into it, so I could go through them when I had spare time. I found the ankh and sword symbol, then handed Donatti the phone. “Looks like this. They use dark blue ink.”
He stared at the screen for a minute. “So if I see somebody with this tattoo…”
“Go invisible,” I said. “And run.”
“Got it.” He grinned and handed the phone back. “Speaking of,” he said. “Could you really see us when we were invisible, back there in the cemetery?”
“Kind of. I mean, I saw people-shaped smudges, like distortions in the air.”
“How about now?”
He vanished.
“Um.” I stared at the bench and made out a faint shape.
It was rising slowly into midair.
“Holy shit. Are you floating?” I said.
Donatti flashed back into visibility. He was floating, about two feet off the bench, with surprise etched on his face. “You really can,” he said. “Technically I guess it’s flying, but I’m terrible at it. Ian’s not much better. Wolves aren’t built to be airborne.” He floated slowly back down onto the seat. “How did you do that? I mean, see me.”
“No clue,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s a Fae thing, because Taeral couldn’t see you.”
Just then it occurred to me that it might be a DeathSpeaker thing. I wasn’t sure how or why, but I’d keep that to myself for now. I didn’t think Donatti was ready to hear all that.
“Huh,” he said. “Well, that’ll come in handy if we have to fight this killer djinn. Least he can’t hide while you’re around.”
“If? So you think we won’t have to fight him?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “No djinn I’ve ever met has backed down from whatever they’re doing. They’re pretty much win or die, all the way.” With a nod toward the Castle, and presumably Ian, he added, “You may have noticed they don’t die too easy, either.”
Damn. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.
CHAPTER 17
An incessant buzzing dragged me through blackness and into my van, where I’d fallen asleep on the bench seat. Donatti was passed out across from me, one leg hanging down and an arm flung against the wall, half wedged behind the back of the seat. It didn’t look very comfortable.
I finally figured out the buzzing was my phone.
The number on the screen wasn’t familiar. Faint anger washed through me as I guessed how easy it’d be for the NSA to track down my phone, and I answered with a less than friendly, “Yeah.”
“It’s me, kid.”
“Abe.” Oh, right. We discussed the phone tap thing already, so he was making sure we weren’t overheard. I pulled the phone away, glanced at the screen, and scowled some more. “It’s five in the morning,” I grumbled. “You aren’t even supposed to be at work yet.”
“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up. I don’t think the serial killer gives a damn what time it is right now.”
That got my attention. “You have another body?” I said, trying to sit up and mostly failing. I’d been asleep for maybe two hours, tops.
“’S why I’m not using my phone.” Abe wasn’t exactly awake yet, either. I pictured him at a crime scene, desperately downing his fourth or fifth cup of coffee in an hour, and smiled a little. “Figured we’d keep the vultures away from this one for a while,” he said.
“Whose phone are you using?”
“Got one of those prepaids. Gave the number out to most of the unit, told ’em my cell’s out of commission for a while.”
“Good call. I’ll save this number,” I said. “So where are you?”
Donatti had started to wake up. He stirred, rolled over with a frown, and then noticed the phone in my hand. He gave a faint nod and closed his eyes again.
It took Abe a few seconds to reply. “West Forty-Eighth, the E-Z Park near Broadway,” he sai
d. “All the way down. Bottom floor.”
“Okay. Be there soon.” I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Hey, Abe?”
“Yeah.”
“Do me a favor. Wait five minutes or so, and then call back with your phone and give me a different location. Send the Feds halfway across town looking for us.”
I could practically hear him grinning. “You got it. Talk soon.”
When I ended the call, Donatti was upright and miserably awake. “Time is it?” he slurred.
“Around five.”
“Damn. You ever get to sleep all night?”
“No.”
“Me neither.” He ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair. “So, what body?”
I drew a hard breath. “Another sacrifice, or whatever this guy’s doing to people.” It was chilling how well the word sacrifice fit these murders. I hadn’t even thought it until now, but it was an eerily perfect description. “Gotta go meet Abe and find out as much as I can, before the NSA takes the body.”
His brow furrowed. “The National Security Agency is investigating this?”
“Probably not, at least officially. The ‘agents’ are Milus Dei.”
“Oh,” he said. “And Abe is…?”
I wasn’t sure how to explain him. “I guess he’s sort of my other dad,” I said. “He’s NYPD, and he wants to stop this guy too.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure we should stop him,” Donatti said darkly.
I had to agree — just not out loud yet. That was something we’d need to discuss later. “Guess I’d better get going,” I said. “We might not have much time before Milus Dei finds out about this one.”
Donatti stood awkwardly. “I’d go with you, but I’d better make sure Ian’s okay. He hasn’t been that pissed off in a while.”
“No problem,” I said. “I can’t bring civilians to crime scenes anyway.”
“So you are a cop.”
I smirked. “Actually, I’m a body mover.”
“A what?”
“Long story. Come on, I’ll walk you inside.”
As we clambered from the van into the frozen early morning, I tried to decide how I was going to tell Abe that I might be on the killer’s side this time.
He wasn’t going to like that much.
CHAPTER 18
The barricade wasn’t outside the parking garage. They’d set it up four levels down, out of sight — which I guessed was Abe’s doing. He’d called back on his regular phone and ‘told’ me about the fresh body in the northeast corner of Central Park, behind the library.
Not only halfway across Manhattan, but also in an area that was damned hard to get to. Hopefully, Frost and Gilmore would be chasing their tails for a while.
The officers on the barricade waved me through. I drove down to six, the lowest level, and parked the van just outside the row of squad cars that marked the boundaries of the scene. When I walked over, Abe was holding a clipboard and talking to one of the detectives, who looked vaguely familiar to me. The body was already bagged.
“Hey, Captain,” I said. “I guess you must’ve been here a while.”
His smile was tired and perfunctory. “Not so long. The lieutenant wasn’t going to wake me up, but Thompson here called. On my new number.”
Now I could place him. Brad Thompson hadn’t been a detective long, but I’d exchanged pleasantries with him at various crime scenes over the years. He was decent. The kind of guy I might hang out in a bar with after work, if I hung out in bars. Or worked. My job wasn’t what you’d call traditional, and the ‘save people from monsters and murderous cults’ part didn’t pay very well.
Detective Thompson looked a little confused. Probably wondering why it mattered enough for Abe to mention his new number. But he shrugged and said, “Yeah, I figured the captain’d want to see this, after the last one. Feds are really coming down hard.” He let out a huge yawn. “Always the wee hours, right?”
“I’m guessing nobody got any sleep last night,” I said. “You have a hot date or something, Thompson?”
He smirked. “Actually, yeah. It was Vivian’s night off, so — hey, you know her, don’t you? The ME down at Screw U.”
Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting an answer. I was just making small talk.
“Sure, I know Viv,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too bitter. I probably should’ve taken her out for dinner like I promised, but I’d been a little busy not getting killed for the last few months. Sounded like it was too late now. “How’s that going for you?”
“I think I’m in, man,” he said. “That was date three and she hasn’t lost my number yet, know what I mean?”
“I hear you.” I tried to console myself by deciding it probably wouldn’t have worked out for me and Viv, anyway. She dissected dead people, I talked to them. I would’ve been upset if I wasn’t dealing with sudden djinn right now.
I looked at Abe. “Is he ready?”
“Yeah, they’re done with him. Sign off and you’re good to go.” He handed me the clipboard.
I scrawled my name and the date. “Just gonna grab the stretcher, then.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Abe took the board back and waved the detective off. “Thanks, Thompson.”
“No problem,” he said, and wandered off.
I tried not to hate him too much.
When Abe and I got out of earshot, I said, “So what do we know about this guy? Besides that he’s dead.”
“Poor bastard. Dying that way…” Abe shook his head. “Well, this one had a gun and a badge on him. Agent Herbert Wurther, FBI.”
“Great.” Every time I learned more about them, Milus Dei’s influence seemed a little more impossible to overcome. These people really were everywhere. “Same pattern?”
“Yup. Exploded ribs, missing heart, patch of skin peeled off.”
“I know forensics couldn’t have found anything yet,” I said.
He frowned. “It’s pretty clean, like the last one. And they won’t have time to process anything before the Feds take it all.” We’d reached the van and stopped by the back doors. “At least you can work a little faster,” he said.
“Let’s hope so.” I opened the doors and pulled out the stretcher, jacking the wheels as it hit the ground. Still had to suggest that maybe this killer wasn’t actually a bad guy. But I couldn’t come right out and say it, so I’d feel him out first. “Hey, you ever come across a killer you didn’t want to arrest?” I said — probably not as casually as I wanted to.
“What, you want to let this guy go?”
“I mean in general,” I rushed to add. “Not this case.”
He glanced up for a second. “Yeah, not so much,” he said, and then paused. “Maybe this one time.”
“Which time?”
“Christ, this was years ago. Hadn’t even made detective yet.” His expression fell, and he actually shuddered. “It was real bad. This woman offed her live-in boyfriend. Stabbed him in the … junk with a steak knife, then shot his face off.”
I felt a little shivery myself. “Yeah, that’s bad.”
“That wasn’t even the bad part.” He pressed his lips together. “Thing is, he’d just raped her and beat her into hamburger,” he said in a strained voice. “The gun was his. Probably he was planning to use it on her, but she got to it first.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Yeah, exactly,” he said. “She would’ve claimed self-defense, and got it in a heartbeat. But I still would’ve had to arrest her.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “No part of me would’ve wanted to do that.”
“Would’ve had to?” I repeated. “So you didn’t arrest her.”
He swallowed with a faint click. “No. She died at the scene, not long after we got there. And she was laughing.” He rubbed his arms like he’d just broken out in gooseflesh. Probably did. “I’ll never forget that sound,” he said. “Doesn’t make sense, but I got the feeling she knew she wasn’t gonna make it. And she was glad.”
Jesus. Well, at least Ab
e might’ve been on board with not catching this killer, if he knew what Milus Dei had done to him.
But that was a hell of a way to test the theory.
Finally, he shook himself and said, “Why’d you ask, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s too early to think straight.”
He smirked. “Next time, drink more coffee before you make me remember shit I don’t want to.”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Now let’s go get your dead guy.”
I could hardly wait to talk to him.
CHAPTER 19
About halfway to the hospital, I pulled onto a one-way street and parked. I wanted to question Agent Wurther as soon as possible. I’d thought the play with the phones was pretty good, but I doubted it would hold off Gilmore and Frost for long.
So I’d just interrogate him in the van.
I made sure all the doors were locked, and then climbed into the back, where I’d secured the stretcher just behind the passenger-side bench seat. At least I wouldn’t have to look at this body. And this time I could do it without making myself bleed, since I didn’t have Milus Dei assholes breathing over my shoulder.
It was getting easier for me to reach out without moving. Still strange to ‘feel’ the faint rush of air, the thick vinyl of the body bag, and then the cold skin of the corpse when my eyes insisted I wasn’t touching it. I felt something struggle faintly as I pulled it into my head, and a quick flash of pain before I projected it back out with a glamour.
The body bag sat up on the stretcher.
Okay, that was unexpected. I must’ve glamoured the bag subconsciously, out of a strong desire to not look at another bloodless, shredded corpse. “Agent Wurther,” I said. “Is that your name?”
“Yes.” The body bag moved faintly with the words. I was starting to think this might be creepier than the corpse itself. “What is this? I feel trapped.”
“Well, you’re in a body bag, if that helps,” I said. At least he wasn’t trying to fight me. But he’d probably start soon. “You’re also dead, by the way.”
City of Secrets (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 5) Page 7
