by Lisa Shearin
Ian got his arm between Bert and the corpse, wrapping his big hand around the necromancer’s shoulder, and leveraged his weight against Bert’s chest to pull him off the corpse. Fred did the same from the other side.
Bert didn’t—or couldn’t—budge.
A keening cry came from Sar Gedeon’s now open mouth.
Normally spirits spoke through Bert. I had no idea who or what this was.
Fred blanched and swore. Bracing his feet on the floor, the elf detective twisted his body and pulled harder.
Nothing.
It was as if Bert was fused to the body.
The keening grew louder and more frantic.
Veins were bulging on the sides of Bert’s neck.
Dammit, he was going to have a heart attack.
Bert’s eyes were locked on the open and lifeless ones of Sar Gedeon. His hands might as well have been superglued to the dead elf’s face.
Brute force wasn’t working.
There was just enough room between Bert and where his face was almost touching the corpse.
Human contact. Calm, warm human contact. I wouldn’t be touching the corpse, I’d be touching Bert.
I quickly moved to the head of the table and slipped my hands over Bert’s eyes, breaking the visual contact between him and the dead elf.
“Bert, it’s Mac.” I tried to keep my voice calm. “Come back to us.” Moments passed. “Bert, can you hear me? You can do this. Whatever it is, you’re stronger. Fight it, Bert. Kick its ass.”
Bert drew a breath that I swear must have shuddered clear down to his toes.
Good thing Ian’s and Fred’s arms were supporting him, or Bert would have collapsed on the corpse.
They eased him back onto the floor. There was another steel table next to the one the elf’s body was on, but thankfully the guys chose the floor. Bert was a necromancer and was comfortable around dead people, but waking up on a morgue slab would scare the crap out of anyone. I knew what my reaction would have been, and nobody’s ears could’ve withstood that much screaming.
Fred ran out into the hall to get help for Bert.
Bert’s breathing was still shallow, but it wasn’t as labored. I didn’t know if he was unconscious, but his eyes remained closed. I didn’t blame him one bit. If I’d damned near gotten sucked into the great beyond through a corpse’s eyes—or whatever had happened to him—I’d have kept my eyes closed, too.
Bert might need to hear that, or at least some reassurance.
“Bert,” I said quietly, taking one of his big hands in both of mine. It was way too cold. “It’s over. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
Ian relaxed his grip so that it qualified more as a hug than a wrestling hold. I’d been on the receiving end of an Ian hug more than once. It’d sure made me feel better.
A medical team arrived and Ian and I relinquished our holds on Bert.
I looked up on the table at Sar Gedeon. Whatever had reanimated—or possessed—his body was gone now, but it’d left a calling card.
Sar Gedeon’s dead lips were curled in a smile.
* * *
After our medical folks had taken charge of Bert, Ian and I were alone in the hall outside of the morgue.
Sar Gedeon’s body was back in its refrigerated steel drawer where it couldn’t channel demons at anyone else, securely under lock and key. The smile was gone. I was the only one who’d seen it. The tech explained it as a postmortem spasm.
Right.
Ian slipped an arm around my shoulders, and I wearily leaned into it.
“It was smiling,” I said.
“I believe you.” Ian gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Good work in there.”
I knew he wasn’t talking about seeing a corpse grin.
“I just did what I’d want if I’d gotten myself locked in a stare-off with a corpse—someone to hold my hand and tell me it was going to be okay.” I felt myself start to tear up. What the hell?
Ian gave me another squeeze.
I smiled a little and sniffed twice. Yep, Ian’s hugs always did the trick.
“You did the right thing.” He went quiet for a moment. “Need something to eat?”
I would’ve thought that with all I’d seen and smelled, food would be the last thing I’d want to be in the same room with, let alone actually eat it. Surprisingly, I was starving.
“Come on, let’s get you fed.”
7
FOR SPI agents on duty—or who wanted to be nearby when a coworker regained consciousness after being psychically attacked by a demon-possessed corpse—our new onsite cafeteria was the place to get a quick bite. Though calling it a cafeteria didn’t come close to describing the gastronomic delights available to hungry and stressed agents.
It’s said that you can accomplish pretty much anything if you throw enough money at it. And our agency founder and director, Vivienne Sagadraco, certainly had enough wealth to throw around to ensure that her agents were well fed and happy around the clock. There were plenty of hotshot supernaturals and clued-in human chefs available in a city known for its world-class restaurants. The boss simply waved some more money in front of them, got them to sign one hell of a non-disclosure agreement, and we had a kitchen staff that rivaled anything New York City had to offer. Our head of HSR (Human and Supernatural Resources) was a voodoo high priestess. SPI’s non-disclosure agreements for new employees were signed in her office and in their blood. It didn’t matter who or what you did or didn’t worship, nobody messed with voodoo. No one had ever even thought about blabbing about the agency to the press or anyone else. Once signed, our secret was safe.
As to food in our cafeteria, you could get anything you wanted at any time. Human, goblin, elf, troll, gnome, vampire, werewolf, were-anything—if you had a craving, the boys and girls in the kitchens would whip it up—or procure it—for you. It was nothing short of culinary heaven.
Best of all, they kept me in iced tea sweet enough to stand a spoon in. Ask any Southerner; you couldn’t get decent sweet tea above the Mason-Dixon Line. That is, if you could even find sweet tea at all. Thanks to the generosity of Vivienne Sagadraco, there was no beverage homesickness for me. I’d even managed to score numerous converts.
In case Bert came around quickly, I just went with a turkey and provolone sandwich. It sounded simple, but all bread was made on-site. I’d had enough contact with red meat for one day. On second thought, make that for the next week.
I could tell Ian wanted to ask me something, but he kept it to himself until I’d finished eating. He was having an open-faced roast beef, piled high with meat and drowning in gravy. I tried not to look at it. It didn’t matter what my partner had just seen, smelled, or even touched, he could eat anything, anywhere, anytime. Even though his and Kylie’s lunch reservation at Café Mina had been half an hour before mine and Rake’s, and he’d had time to eat, he was hungry again. Ian was about six two and solid. It took a lot of fuel to run that.
“It’s not Café Mina,” Ian noted, when I polished off the last bite of my sandwich.
I sat back with a contented sigh. “You can read minds now?”
“Nope. It was obvious that you were hungry.”
I nodded toward his empty plate. Even the gravy had been mopped up. “Likewise.”
Ian shrugged. “Mina’s was good, but it’s kind of . . .”
“Froufrou?”
“Yeah.”
“I know. You’re a bar, beer, and burger kind of guy. Does Kylie know that?”
Ian smiled slightly. “She does. For our first time out, she said she wanted to take me somewhere nice.”
“Aww. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. That’s just so sweet. Does she know you want actual food, not decorative squiggles on a plate?”
He nodded. “She does. Next time, I pick the place.”
“And?”
“I was thinking about Franco’s.”
Italian. Low light. Romantic ambiance. Best of all, good food and lots of it. A carb-loading, meat-love
r’s paradise. “Good choice.”
“Really?”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but that girl can put away some food. She can flat out load some carbs. I’ve had lunch with her enough to know. She’ll love Franco’s.”
Ian took a breath and looked down at his plate. He could probably see his reflection in the thing. “I’m sorry about what I said today at lunch about you and Rake Danescu.”
I smiled and gave him a little nudge under the table with the toe of my boot. “No, you’re not.”
He glanced up, his lips twitching at the corners. “You’re right. I’m not. He asked you out again.”
“Yep, lunch tomorrow. He . . . Wait, that wasn’t a question. Unless you sprouted eyes in the back of your head, how did—”
“There was a framed print on the wall of the coffee shop behind Fred. I could see your reflection. Danescu must have been hungry, too. I thought he was going to eat your hand.”
“Just because I haven’t been out before with a goblin millionaire—”
“Billionaire.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, dang.” I shrugged. “Okay, all that means is there’s a couple of extra zeros in his bankbook. And yeah, he’s hot, but money and looks don’t impress me.”
“Then why would—”
“He’s interesting,” I said simply. “Intriguing, even. I want to know what makes him tick. That he’s easy on the eyes while I’m trying to find that out is just a side benefit.”
“The stereotypical mystery man.”
“Hey, I’m not embarrassed to admit it.”
“And if you actually find out what makes Rake Danescu tick?”
“That just might be the reason to keep seeing him—or send me screaming in the other direction.”
Ian’s expression went grim. “That’s part of what worries me. He’s a dark mage.”
“I’ve known dark mages, back home and here. Heck, I’m even related to a few. My family’s thick with seers, but that’s not the only magical flavor in the family casserole. A lot of families have colorful relatives in their metaphorical attic. We Southerners take ours out and show ’em off. Dark doesn’t mean evil. Now the big question would be why is he interested in me? I mean, I clean up good, but I’m no beauty.”
Ian started to speak. I held up a hand. “Thank you, but don’t bother. I’m good with how I look, and I don’t need any empty compliments to boost my self-esteem. It’s quite healthy.”
“Any compliment I pay you wouldn’t be empty.”
“Thank you again.” I smiled slightly. “The only reason I can come up with is that I’m probably the only woman who’s ever told him no. And if it turns out that’s his only reason, I’m not interested.”
“There’s your magic. He tried to hire you away from SPI your first night on the job.”
“And he hasn’t tried again since then.”
“Goblins can be patient.”
“Good, because I’m gonna be trying the heck out of his patience, regardless of his reasons for chasing after me. If you’re worried about my safety, don’t be. Ms. Sagadraco knows all about today’s lunch.”
“She does?”
I nodded. “Since Rake’s on the perpetual suspect list, I thought it might be prudent to check in with the boss first.”
“And?”
“She told me to go and have fun. If Ms. Sagadraco isn’t worried, then you shouldn’t be, either. Rake’s not gonna do anything without my say so, and if he’s serious about trying, he’s gonna have to answer to me. He’s well aware that he doesn’t want to piss off the boss.” I gave him a quick grin. “Or my partner.”
“Damn right, he doesn’t.”
“See? All settled.”
“I wouldn’t call it settled.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“But I feel better hearing your side of it.”
“I can assure you, it takes a lot to turn my head—and I have yet to lose it, over anyone.”
“Just know that if he ever hurts you—”
“Honey, you’re gonna have to get in line behind me. Though we both might have to get in line after Vivienne Sagadraco, and once she’s through with him, there might not be enough left to bother with.”
Ian’s grin was ferocious. “I’d gladly relinquish my place in line and pay to see that. Speaking of our bosses, have you heard back from Alain Moreau?”
“Not yet.”
“Maybe you should go straight to the Dragon Lady. It’s not every day one of her agents can see a portal.”
“I just saw one. That doesn’t mean I’ll be able to see any more.”
“But it makes it highly likely.”
“You’re squashing my hope here.”
“Have you felt any different since Saturday night?”
“I had a couple of dizzy spells, but I chalked that up to getting sucked inside Viktor Kain’s head for a stroll down his World War II Memory Lane. Though the trip inside Kain’s head felt more like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.”
“Can anyone in your family see portals?”
“No. At least not that I’m aware of. I can see through wards and glamours on living things. To the best of my knowledge, portals aren’t living things.” I thought back to the pulsing wall—and what had stood waiting on the other side. “Or are they?”
“No, they’re not. And what keeps anyone—except the person who created it—from seeing a portal isn’t a ward, it’s the nature of portals. The magic used in their creation is specific to that person on a DNA level. Otherwise they couldn’t pass through.”
“And I can’t create portals, so there’s no good reason that I should be able to see one.”
“Creating one takes a level of magical skill and training that you haven’t had. That being said, there aren’t many people who took a direct hit from a ley line convergence.”
I knew about ley lines. We had one running through the mountain near where I grew up.
Ley lines were narrow, intersecting energy streams that magnified magical and paranormal powers. There were a number of them near Manhattan. One ley line ran north and south roughly along the East River. Another ran more east to west. The east/west ley line ran directly beneath the SPI complex. It was one of the reasons why Vivienne Sagadraco chose this location for SPI’s world headquarters.
Those possessing earth magic could tap a microscopic amount of power from ley lines, but they would be unable to use the lines to magnify and spread their magic. Diamonds, like ley lines, are of and from the earth. Rare diamonds—like the Dragon Eggs from our most recent big case last Saturday night—that are imbued with power can tap directly into ley lines to carry and spread the power they contain like an underground river.
The results of that connection had nearly been catastrophic.
I’d been woozy, dizzy, and faintly nauseated after experiencing just a fraction of that power, though I’d chalked it up to an involuntary psychic link to a psychotic Russian dragon/crime lord.
Maybe my dizziness then had more to do with coming so close to a convergence of major ley lines that’d been kicked awake by the power of the activated Dragon Eggs.
No one else had picked up any additional mojo.
Or had they?
Caera Filarion didn’t have any magical talent to speak of. Was that still the case?
And Ben Sadler probably wouldn’t know if he had picked up any extra power. He was still getting used to his gem mage powers waking up.
Crap.
What about Rake Danescu?
He wouldn’t tell us how he was involved in what we were standing knee deep in. Why would I think he’d tell us he’d picked up an extra magical talent or two that night?
“Ian?”
“Yes?”
“If my being able to see portals is somehow connected to what happened on North Brother Island . . . I wasn’t even touching the Dragon Eggs, and now I can see portals. What about Ben and Caera?” I paused. “And what about Rake?”
Ian ran his hand over his face.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And fat chance of his telling us if he did pick up a ‘little something extra.’ Ben and possibly even Caera could have gotten a boost. Though if Rake did get one of his talents supersized, at least he’d know how to control and use it. That could be good, or it could be cause for a whole mess of concern.”
“You got it.”
The cafeteria doors opened, and there stood Vivienne Sagadraco and Alain Moreau.
Our quiet meal was about to turn into a serious meeting.
8
WHEN SPI’s top necromancer tried to link with a murder victim and got zapped with a demonic booby trap, you knew there was gonna be a meeting. If it was strong enough to put Bert in a psychic headlock, it was serious enough to earn a visit from the occupants of the fifth floor—SPI’s executive suite.
And when one of the agents who witnessed said zapping had also developed an inexplicable talent for seeing portals, the bigwigs would quickly bring that meeting to you.
Entirely too many of my cases ended up with me explaining myself to Vivienne Sagadraco. Only once had I been in real trouble, but that time hadn’t been my fault. A doppelganger had been impersonating me to plant grendel eggs in headquarters with the intent of slaughtering—and eating—as many of our agents as they could. When I’d seen me on that surveillance camera, for a minute there, I’d almost believed I was guilty, too.
Ian and cookies had saved me from a fate worse than firing. My doppelganger had been dressed exactly like me. My distinguishing characteristic that day had been powdered sugar sprinkled down the front of my sweater. I’d been eating cookies that a coworker had brought in and left in the break room.
My doppelganger had not. No cookies consumed. No powdered sugar to show for it.
Saved by my sweet tooth.
My sweet tooth wasn’t going to help any of us today.
Vivienne Sagadraco stood five foot and some change. Back when she was born—actually hatched—that had probably been quite tall. That had been a little over two thousand years ago. The founder and CEO of SPI was a dragon—a three-story-tall, iridescent blue and green dragon. In her human form, she reminded me of 007’s M as played by Judi Dench.
