by Lisa Shearin
Both goblins and elves were very selective over who they let come through the permanent dimensional portal between our world and theirs. Though like humans, if you wanted to get here badly enough, you’d find a way. For supernaturals, that meant paying a small fortune in bribes to mercenaries with access to an illegal portal.
Both races operated under a controlling monarchy supported by a powerful aristocracy. Unless you were related to an influential family or had a magical talent that the nobility were interested in, you might as well not exist. No rights, no hope of a better life, and if you pissed off the wrong noble or mage—no life at all.
Humans weren’t the only species who came to New York looking for a better life.
Unless they could afford papers to let them pass as a legal citizen of the good ol’ U S of A, and could afford to have a mage fit them with a glamour to let them pass as human, they were just like the thousands of undocumented human immigrants in the city, but with goblins and elves, the term “alien” was literal.
In such an environment, it wasn’t a surprise to anyone that organizations emerged to “govern” their people, to resolve differences without human interference, to serve up justice when it was needed, and to execute whoever they decided should be.
Police, judge, jury, and executioner.
Any attempt by SPI to intervene was called interference in a “goblin matter” or “elven business.”
We saw them as the criminal families they were.
And Jesin Nadisu was apparently scared to death of one of them.
“You’re at SPI headquarters,” Ian told him. “So whoever it is that you’re afraid of can’t get to you here.”
The goblin sighed. “Would you like to bet on that?”
“We know about Nightshades,” Ian said. “You’re completely safe from them or anyone else you may have reason to fear.”
Including demons opening portals. Then I had another thought.
“Your employer, maybe?” I asked.
The goblin turned even pastier, if that was possible.
The door immediately opened.
“That’s all, Agents Byrne and Fraser.” Dr. Barbara Carey wasn’t going to accept any response other than us getting away from her patient.
Within seconds, we were in the hall with the door firmly closed behind us.
If I could’ve kicked myself in the ass, I would’ve. “Dammit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Our time was almost up. Dr. Carey wouldn’t have let us have a second more. Sounds like the kid’s afraid of his boss.”
“Do we know who owns the Murwood?”
“No, but Kenji has a database of buildings owned by supernaturals. Murwood is the name of a forest in the goblin and elf dimension, so chances are good that a supernatural owns the building.”
“I have a couple of follow-ups I need to do, so I’ll check in with Kenji on that.”
Ian nodded. “I’ll wait for Dr. Carey to come out and see when she might let us talk to Jesin Nadisu again, though I’m not holding my breath for it being anytime soon.”
I tilted my head down the hall. “And if you could listen out for any celebrations erupting in the lab.”
“Will do.”
I headed down to the bull pen and to my desk.
Only to find Alain Moreau sitting in my chair.
Aw crap.
Being called into your manager’s office was stress inducing enough. But to have your manager camp out in your chair to wait for you?
I’d stepped in something serious. Even worse, I’d stepped in so much lately, I had no clue which pile this could be about. At least he hadn’t had to come down to one of the NYPD’s precincts to bail me out. Regardless, I was sure I looked like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar, even though I didn’t know what I’d done.
Alain Moreau looked like a man about to fire someone.
He’d hired me. He could fire me.
“I can explain,” I told him. That is, as soon as I knew what he was here for. “Or . . . do I just need to pack a box?”
Moreau looked baffled—baffled and tired. “I beg your pardon?”
“A box. To clean out my desk.”
More bafflement as he regarded the surface of my desk. “It appears to be acceptably tidy. Why would you need to clean—?”
“You’re not firing me?”
“You’re not going anywhere, Agent Fraser.”
I took an involuntary step backward. Maybe SPI management considered firing to be wasteful. If I was a failure as an agent, maybe I’d be a rousing success as a meal in the employee cafeteria. After all, I wouldn’t actually have to do anything. I couldn’t screw that up.
“Unless you wish to leave,” he continued, still sounding tired.
Now I was confused.
He had the same expression as Ian had upstairs—too much bad news and no idea how to deal with it. But instead of thunking his head against a wall, Moreau ran his hand through his perfect hair. Hair that was still perfect. I wasn’t sure if it’d even moved. Maybe it was a vampire thing.
“We have questioned both Agent Filarion and Mr. Sadler, and neither have experienced any effects—ill or otherwise—from being exposed to the ley line convergence.”
“Dang it.”
One of Moreau’s silvery eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Okay, that didn’t come out right. Sorry, sir. It’s just that that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I mean, I’m glad that Caera and Ben didn’t get zapped with some kind of mutant power, but it’d be nice not to have the only explanation left being a bizarre mind-meld, power-transfer thing with Viktor Kain. I’m not exactly enthused about catching anything from a multi-millennia-old, psychotic criminal mastermind.” I paused for breath and sighed. “At least I don’t have an urge to take over the world,” I muttered. “Yet.”
“That is not the only explanation left.”
I perched on the edge of my desk. “It’s not? But Ms. Sagadraco said—”
“We need to reconsider your family background. The contact with either Viktor Kain or the diamonds or the nexus—or even a combination—could have awakened a previously dormant ability.”
“No one in my family can see portals. If they can, I never heard about it. Not to mention, I’d kind of hoped to be able to avoid calling home and asking.”
“Why?”
“They worry about me enough as is, moving up here and all. Calling home and going, ‘Uh, Mom . . . yeah, I’m doing great. I’ve got a question. Has anyone in our family ever been able to see portals? No, no. No problems here. Just asking out of curiosity.’”
“I can see how that might be awkward.”
“And impossible to hide why I want to know. Mom’s relentless. And don’t even get me started on Grandma Fraser. Trust me; you don’t want my family coming up here. Nobody wants that. Least of all, me. Has Kenji taken a shot at it yet?”
Kenji Hayashi was SPI’s CTA—Chief Technology Agent. Each SPI office worldwide had their own CTA, but Kenji was the best, which was why he was here at agency headquarters. If it existed in cyberspace, the Japanese elf could find it, and decipher it six ways from Sunday.
“I give him full permission to dig into my family background,” I said. “Just as long as he promises not to laugh at my more colorful relatives.”
“I’ll ask Agent Hayashi to look into it as soon as possible.” Moreau paused. “I have been unable to contact Rake Danescu to ask of any effects he may have experienced. I’ve left two messages, but he has yet to return my calls. He may be more willing to answer the question if it came from you in person.”
“What makes you think I’ll be seeing him?”
“Your lunch date was interrupted.”
“He wanted to reschedule for lunch today or dinner last night. But that got nixed by a squid demon and a possible concussion.” I decided not to mention the flowers I found on my bedside table this morning. Moreau probably knew, but if he didn’t, I really didn’t want to bring it
up. “Are you visiting my desk because of Rake? Because if—”
My manager held up an elegant hand. “It is not about Monsieur Danescu. I will admit to having concerns, but after speaking with Madame Sagadraco, she and I are in agreement.”
I gave him a small smile. “That I’m a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“That and while Rake Danescu may be many things, he has never been foolish.” He narrowed his eyes very faintly. “Do I need to explain that statement?”
My smile broadened into a grin. “Oh no, sir. I got it loud and clear. And I think Rake probably has, too. He behaves or there’ll be a line to kick his ass, and you and Ms. Sagadraco will be near the front. Though Agent Byrne might want to argue for the right of first in line.”
“No doubt. I wanted to speak with you concerning your satisfaction with your employment here.”
I tensed. “Are you or Ms. Sagadraco not satisfied with my employment here?”
“I assure you we are most satisfied with your job performance. The question is how you feel about your job. I imagine it has turned out differently than you envisioned.”
“Yes, it has.” I thought back to the events of the past week. “I try my best to stay out of trouble. Problem is trouble keeps finding me.”
“That is part of our concern. I encourage those who report to me not to hesitate to tell me if parts of their job are distressing to them. You haven’t requested a meeting.”
“Anything that’s happened has pretty much fallen under my job description. More or less.”
“On New Year’s Eve, you chased down a fully grown grendel in a crowd of nearly a million people.”
“I was the only one who could see her.”
“A human without defensive magical powers taking on a monster out of legend bare-handed.”
“I was the only agent there. I couldn’t just let her start eating people.”
“But it was not your job. It was far beyond what anyone would have expected or demanded of you.”
“I had to do it.”
“And last week with Agent Byrne, Yasha Kazikov, and Rake Danescu. You didn’t have to go to that island to take on Bastian du Beckett and prevent those diamonds from being activated.”
“Ben Sadler was being held prisoner. I felt responsible for him. Then there was Yasha, you, Ms. Sagadraco, and every supernatural in SPI. None of you are just coworkers; you’ve become like family.” I said it without one bit of embarrassment. “If there was some way I could help, I was going to do it.”
“And you have not sought me out to lodge a complaint about your life being in danger beyond what you were hired to do.”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, sir, nor am I trying to be rude, but you’re getting at something. What is it?”
“Have you at any point during your employment with us considered turning in your resignation?”
“Not seriously.”
“And why is that? Through no fault of your own, you’ve nearly lost your life on numerous occasions. Other times you have purposefully placed yourself in harm’s way.”
“I don’t think I’m a danger junkie, sir, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I don’t think that you are.” His gaze searched my face. “Why do you do it, Makenna?”
I suddenly knew the answer without having to think about it. I pressed my lips together not only against a tiny smile, but against the sudden sting of tears in my eyes.
“I feel needed. Sometimes I screw up, but I know what I’m doing is worthwhile. I can’t imagine not doing it. I love my job.”
Moreau stood. “That’s all I needed to know. If that ever changes, I trust you will inform me.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Then I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Moreau headed for the elevators, and I realized my teeth were clenched in a smile that’d probably scare small children.
The silence of the agents in the bull pen behind me was absolute.
I turned slowly and was met with dozens of pairs of curious eyes: human, elf, goblin, troll, gnome . . .
“I’m still here,” I said loudly. When that didn’t make them stop staring, I gave a double thumbs-up for emphasis.
At that, everyone returned to what they’d been doing, and the noise levels returned to normal.
I sat down with a sigh. Nothing about this place was normal.
16
I’D barely gotten started digging for an answer to a question that’d been nagging me, when I heard the click of Kylie O’Hara’s stiletto heels coming toward my desk. I’d never seen her in heels lower than four inches. She was pretty much five foot nothing, and while human women of her height would have worn heels for added height regardless of the excruciating pain, Kylie wore them because they were fun.
It had to be a dryad thing. They must have tiny arches of steel.
She nodded toward the elevators. “Well, how did that go?”
“Good. He just wanted to be sure I was happy in my work.”
“Are you?”
“Sure. Until something kills me, but then it’d be too late to lodge a complaint. Well, unless y’all get Bert involved, but I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Noted. So you’re definitely staying?”
“I don’t think I’d be allowed to leave if I wanted to. And I don’t want to,” I hurried to add.
“Good.” She shot a withering look at the bull pen. “Because there’s way too much testosterone around here.”
“And eavesdropping.”
Kylie shrugged. “Agents. They can’t help it.”
She perched on the edge of my desk. In her stiletto heels and short pencil skirt, she did a better job of it than I had. The boys in the bull pen agreed. They eavesdropped on me; they ogled Kylie.
“I found out from Baxter the Bastard about those Sex in the City segments,” she said.
Both monikers were her creation. The first was the God’s truth. Baxter Clayton, news anchor, was most definitely a bastard. The other was a cute and clever name for the series the aforementioned bastard was doing on New York’s high-class sex industry.
“And?”
The dryad leaned in closer. “His producer shut down the project last month. The sex industry in this town must have a lot of pull.”
“Pun intended?”
She thought a moment. “No, lucky coincidence. And it wasn’t the station that pulled the plug. The network brass axed it.”
“Oooh. Wanna bet some of those bad boys are clients?”
“I’d put money on it, though it sounds like they already have.”
“So would anyone who was going to have their business featured have known that the series had been scuttled?” I asked.
“Definitely.” Kylie gave me a fess-up look. “Why do you need to know?”
“Yesterday in the coffee shop, Rake needed to leave. Fast. He claimed it was because Baxter had been stalking him for his segment.”
The dryad sighed. “Honey, think about the goblin mind for a minute.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Too bad. Besides, if you decide to make this thing work with Rake, you’ll need the practice. Technically, he didn’t lie. I have no doubt that Baxter would have been stalking him for that segment. The total truth was that Bax wasn’t stalking him anymore. So, the question then becomes, why the sudden need to leave?”
I sat back and wished I had a wall behind me to thunk my head against. “It was obvious he didn’t want to get away from me. So we can toss out fear of commitment. Aversion to commitment maybe, but not fear. I think he saw someone he either needed to get away from . . .”
“Or chase after,” Kylie finished for me.
She hopped off of my desk. There were a couple of sighs from the bull pen. Kylie ignored them.
“Sorry hon, you’re on your own to pry that out of Rake.” She flashed a dazzling smile to a few more sighs from the boys. “But if you play your c
ards right, you could at least have fun doing it. And yes, that pun was intended.”
“Thanks, Kylie.”
“Anytime.”
* * *
Damnation.
About an hour later, I didn’t want a wall to thunk my head into, but I’d sure take one to use on Rake.
Kenji had gotten me into the databases I’d needed, but I’d done the digging myself.
I’d hit pay dirt all right. The operative word there being “dirt.”
The Murwood and the office building where the second murder had taken place earlier this afternoon were both owned by none other than Rake Danescu, under the name of Northern Reach Holdings. That made Jesin Nadisu—with his kilo of Brimstone and Nightshade bullet—Rake’s employee. An employee who had looked ready to faint at the mention of his boss. On a hunch, I ran a search on the office building where Alastor Malvolia’s supersized pocket dimension contained his law firm.
Yep, Northern Reach Holdings, aka Rake Danescu’s personal property.
Jesin Nadisu’s reaction could have been his morphine getting low or any number of sudden pains after having a sniper’s bullet blast through his insides, but eyes don’t lie. That wasn’t pain; that was fear. As a result, I had several urges bubbling to the surface, but the front-runner was an overwhelming need to kick Rake Danescu’s ass.
The goblin was capable of a lot, maybe even murder. Who was I kidding? Definitely murder. But what had been done to Sar Gedeon and Kela Dupari wasn’t Rake’s style. If he wanted someone dead, he’d just kill them, not make a B horror-movie production out of it. And then there was all that blood and the brimstone stink. I couldn’t see Rake getting within smelling distance of a demon, let alone partnering with one. No dry cleaner could get demon stink out of a silk suit. Plus, my gut told me that his hand would never go fishing around in a chest cavity for a heart treat to toss to his demon accomplice. “Innocent” was the last word I’d use to describe Rake Danescu, but he wasn’t the murderer.
I knew in my gut the man whose silhouette I’d seen on the other side of that open portal had been the one to paralyze Sar Gedeon and the others while his demon used his claws to go grocery shopping. That silhouette didn’t belong to Rake.
