by Jes Battis
Ah. This was what Selena had meant by a surprise.
“Cindée has the fume hood ready,” Selena said. “She’s waiting for us.”
The five of us walked down the hallway and entered the trace lab. Cindée looked up and smiled at me. “Hey, Tess. Good to see you’re still in one piece.”
“That’s me. Hard to kill.”
I looked at the hood, which was actually more of a steel cupboard with an industrial exhaust fan on the top. It was set against the wall and had a movable fiberglass partition, attached to an aircraft-grade stainless-steel cable which was used to raise and lower the sash. The fiberglass was lined with both cement and a special epoxy resin, to protect the operator from toxic cyanoacrylate fumes.
The gauntlet was sitting inside the cupboard. It looked innocuous, even defeated, with one of its red crystals shattered. But a chill passed through me as I remembered what it had been capable of. Its power had literally ripped my magic to pieces, dissolving and de-creating it, as if it had never existed.
“Should we be wearing some kind of protective gear?” Braxton asked. “I don’t want my lungs filled with deadly chemicals.”
It sounded strange for a necromancer to refer to anything as “deadly.” Weren’t deadly chemicals like catnip to them?
“No need to worry,” Cindée assured him. “The blast shield is heavy-duty, and all the fumes get sucked through a charcoal filter at the top. You’ll be fine.”
Cindée lifted the sash, exposing the gauntlet. Pulling on a pair of plastic gloves, she dropped a tablet of cyanoacrylate, or superglue, onto the burner. Then she replaced the sash and turned the burner on low. White vapors rose from the tablet. I watched in fascination as they coated the gauntlet, like a dusting of snow. The glue worked its way into every contour, crack, and crevice within the glove, as well as the irregular surface of its red crystals.
After letting the fumes settle for a few moments, Cindée switched on the exhaust fan, which got rid of the excess vapors. Then she gently raised the sash.
“Y’all are sure this thing’s dormant?” she asked. “I don’t feel like getting disintegrated today.”
“The gauntlet’s been completely vitiated,” Braxton confirmed. “When the catalytic gem was broken, its power vanished.”
Cindée grabbed a pair of forceps, using them to gently manipulate the surface of the gauntlet. She turned it to the side, then smiled.
“There it is, folks.”
A single print had crystallized on the intricate leather straps of the gauntlet. It was slightly distended because of the textile substrate, but it still looked beautiful, pristine and white from the superglue.
“Fascinating,” Deonara said simply.
Braxton frowned. “How accurate is this type of test? Isn’t it what you call ‘presumptive’ in nature?”
“No,” Selena said. “Spraying a surface in search of hidden blood is a presumptive test, because the luminol can detect all sorts of things. These results are far more probative, as you can see for yourself. The fingerprint is right before our eyes.”
“Care to do the honors, Tess?” Cindée asked. “After all, you nearly got killed by this pretty little thing.”
“Gladly.” I walked across the room and opened a cupboard, retrieving a professional SLR camera with a special diffusion lens for the lab’s poorly lit conditions. I snapped two shots of the white print, then plugged the camera’s memory card into a nearby computer. I tinkered with a few filters to the best of my ability, until the resolution of the print seemed acceptable. Then I fed the digital file into the CORE’s fingerprint database, which recognized both human and demonic prints.
“This will take a few minutes,” Selena told them. “It’s not like on television. Why don’t we sit down in the conference room in the meantime?”
Braxton looked at the screen curiously. “How many fingerprints do you have in your database?”
“A few hundred thousand. We’re still entering a lot of the older prints that were recorded on ten-cards. The software’s always being updated, and we have covert access to the FBI’s IAFIS print bank, as well as our own encrypted database.”
I waved good-bye to Cindée as we followed Selena to the conference room, which was a slightly plusher version of the interrogation chamber. Everyone took a seat. Selena had called ahead to order refreshments from the cafeteria, and we all helped ourselves to coffee and shortbread. She’d thought of everything.
Lucian was the first to speak. “I know that this investigation has been a bit awkward. Perhaps we haven’t shared as much information as we could have. But we’re committed to helping you in any way that we can.”
“Within reason,” Deonara added. “Obviously, there is sensitive information that can’t be divulged. Ordeño was working on a number of political projects before his death. We’re still going through his records to determine the extent of his involvement with the vampiric community, among others.”
“I don’t suppose you’d reconsider releasing those to us.”
Selena flashed her best smile. I had to hand it to her. She was really keeping her emotions under wraps. If this had been a regular informant who refused to share information, she’d be slamming his head into a steel table by now.
“It’s simply not possible,” Deonara said. “As you know, Ordeño was the chief litigator involved in drafting an updated treaty between the Vampire Nation and the Dark Parliament. He’d been working on this for nearly half a century, and he made extremely detailed notations pertaining to nearly every aspect of our city’s political organization. Much of that information needs to remain classified.”
“That doesn’t mean,” Lucian added, “that we can’t give you some idea of the direction of Ordeño’s work. As Prime Solium of the Dark Parliament, he was Lord Nightingale’s principle advisor, and one step away from governance of the hidden city itself. That position gave him considerable power to direct toward drafting a peaceful accord between necromancers and vampires.”
“What would this treaty entail, exactly?” I asked. “Was it a military agreement? A human rights accord?”
“It covered several different categories.” Lucian didn’t look at me directly when he spoke, but I could feel his aura touching me, like a shadow. I was on his mind. As always, I had no idea what that meant. “On the surface, it was a military document that would ensure mutual harmony between our nations. But it also addressed a number of social issues: citizenship rights, intermarriages, fostering arrangements, and even questions of inheritance.”
“What do you mean by citizenship rights?”
“As it stands,” Deonara said, “no vampire is allowed to set foot in Trinovantum without a diplomatic passport issued by Lord Nightingale himself. The revised treaty would open the border, allowing vampires with community ties to live and work within the hidden city. It’s quite a radical shift in Trinovantum’s foreign policy.”
“There must be opposition to this,” I said. “Ordeño probably earned himself a lot of enemies from the conservative end of your parliament.”
Lucian chuckled. “It’s all conservative. Ordeño was probably the most liberal Solium at the table.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Lucian,” Deonara chided. “You’ve certainly done your part to maintain a democratic voice. You are Seventh Solium after all.”
“Seventh—” I felt my stomach sink as the information sank in. “You’re a member of the Dark Parliament?”
This time, he managed to meet my gaze. “Yes. My position is nowhere near as important as Ordeño’s was. But I do sit at the table.”
Great. Now I was dating an MP. An MP who lied to me, then disappeared whenever it was convenient. I couldn’t believe that he’d neglected to mention this until now. What else was he keeping from me?
“Ordeño was very concerned with ensuring civil liberties for vampires who might decide to live in Trinovantum,” Braxton said. “He also wanted to make it legal for necromancers to participate in the governa
nce of the Vampire Nation. If his changes to the treaty were to go into effect, citizens of Trinovantum would be allowed residence within vampire safe houses across your city. And that would just be the start.”
“So it’s a paranormal NAFTA.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “Would that be so bad? Free trade between Trinovantum and the daegred?”
“There are several schools of thought on that matter,” Deonara replied. “Ordeño believed that social parity was essential for the survival of both our communities. Otherwise, we’d continue depleting our resources by fighting with each other. As minorities, we can’t afford that.”
“If you’re minorities, does that make us the majority?”
“Technically, mortals—I believe you call them pedestrians —are the majority. But there are still more of your kind—mages—than either necromancers or vampires.”
“Most of the Dark Parliament opposes the idea of cultural integration,” Braxton added. “The same goes for the Vampire Nation. Your city’s magnate holds what you might call a ‘swing vote’ in this particular case. But since he’s too inexperienced to make a decision, his counselors are trying to decide for him.”
“Modred and Cyrus,” I said. “The monitors. Do they have the power to ratify the treaty in Patrick’s name?”
It was Lucian who answered. “We’re not sure. Only Ordeño knew the finer points of vampiric clan law. That’s why we’re searching through his records. We need to find out what steps are necessary in order to make the treaty go forward.”
“If it’s capable of going forward at all.” Braxton’s posture was stiff. He was obviously uncomfortable with the discussion. “It needs to receive a majority vote from both sides. And very few members of the Dark Parliament are willing to endorse an incomplete document.”
“Where do you stand on the treaty?” I asked him.
Braxton blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what’s your political position?”
Deonara rolled her eyes. “Braxton is a permanent fence-sitter.”
“Like a graveyard Republican?”
They all stared at me.
I didn’t know why I even bothered anymore.
Braxton shifted his position. “I’m not fully comfortable with every aspect of Ordeño’s design. But on the whole, I support integration.”
Deonara shrugged. “It’s in the spirit of capitalism. Once we lower the border, both communities can profit from each other.”
Selena leaned forward slightly. “I think what we’re all curious about is where this treaty leaves us, exactly. And by ‘us,’ I mean the CORE.”
“We have a long-standing pact of nonaggression with your organization,” Deonara replied. “That wouldn’t change.”
“But a pact isn’t the same as a treaty.”
“Does anyone know what a détente is?” I asked. “I remember it from my twelfth-grade history class, and nobody could ever explain it to me.”
Selena ignored the question. “A treaty between Trinovantum and the Vampire Nation is also a consolidation of power. Should we be worried?”
Deonara kept her expression neutral. “That depends on your definition of ‘worried.’ It’s not as if we’re launching an offensive against the CORE. That would be nearly a logistical impossibility at this time.”
“At this time, yes. But maybe it would be feasible in the near future.”
“The Vampire Nation has a pact with your people as well. I see no reason for them to violate that agreement.”
“Up until the murder of Ordeño, we saw no reason for vampires and necromancers to join forces. But now they are.”
“Nobody’s joining forces quite yet,” Braxton stressed. “All we have is an incomplete treaty, whose finer points are buried within pages of nearly indecipherable legal notes. There isn’t going to be a quick resolution to this.”
I could see what Selena was doing now. By switching from docile to aggressive, she was trying to throw the necromancers a little off guard. If they couldn’t figure out where she stood as the CORE’s representative, they were more likely to let slip something by accident. Plus, if they were focused on placating her, that left me a bit of maneuvering room to ask questions while they were distracted. I could play good cop.
“Have you had the chance to look over Ordeño’s autopsy report?” I directed the question at Braxton. Deonara had a poker face, but Braxton seemed to fluster a bit more easily. I could tell that he was more conservative than he wanted to admit. His lip curled slightly whenever he used the words “culture” and “integration.”
“I read it briefly,” he replied. “You concluded that he died from a wound to the neck. Sharp-force trauma.”
“He seemed to have faced his attacker head-on. Who do you think would be powerful enough to kill someone like Luiz Ordeño with a knife?”
Braxton shrugged. “You’re asking for speculation.”
“By all means. Speculate. That’s what we’ve been doing.”
He looked slightly uncomfortable. “A lot of things could have killed him. A pureblood demon. Or even a mage. Don’t you carry daggers?”
“Yes. But an athame is a ritual tool. And the wound-track doesn’t match the serrated pattern of an athame blade.”
“That seems overly convenient.”
“How so?”
“You’ve managed to rule out your own weapon, with your own equipment. One might accuse you of analytical bias.”
“Come on, Braxton.” Deonara put a hand lightly on his arm. “You’ve seen what an athame looks like. It’s certainly not what killed Ordeño.”
Braxton looked at me, and I saw something different in his eyes. “Maybe it was an Iblis. Didn’t you tangle with one of those recently, Miss Corday?”
I started to say something, but Lucian raised his hand. “I don’t think these questions are getting us anywhere. We need to get back to—”
There was a knock at the door. Cindée appeared.
“The program finished its search,” she said.
“Was there a match?” Selena asked.
“You’ll have to come see for yourself.”
We all followed her back to the trace lab. I saw the white print flashing on the computer screen. The whorls and tented arches of the fingerprint looked like patterns drawn in snow. Three points on the dermal surface had been highlighted by the program, but that wasn’t normally enough to make a match.
“There’s insufficient data for a confirmation,” Cindée said. “But the print does share some characteristics with a few that we have on file. They’re definitely humanoid, and there are traces of materia on some of the epithelial tissue. But the pattern’s too degraded for us to match it to anything.”
“It would help if we had even one genetic profile from your community,” Selena said. “Simply for purposes of elimination.”
Deonara sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
Braxton glared at her. “What do you propose? Is the Third Solium going to have herself fingerprinted?”
“Of course not. There’s no need for that.” She sat down in front of the computer. “I can give them temporary access to our records.”
“Deonara!”
“Don’t have a stroke, Braxton. The uplink is encrypted.”
“You need majority approval from the Parliament—”
“I’m the chief tactical advisor. I can approve it myself.” She gave him a cold look. “If you want to lodge a grievance, you’re more than welcome to.”
Braxton made no reply.
Deonara rebooted the system. As the computer began to perform its start-up checks, she quickly pressed a sequence of keys. A blue screen appeared. She typed in a long string of unfamiliar characters, then pressed the enter key.
“Tricky,” Cindée said. “Becka’s going to have a fit when she reads the security logs at the end of the day.”
“Not to worry. They’ll be wiped clean as soon as I exit the system.” Deonara typed something else. A new menu appeared
, with the fingerprint saved in a frame. She clicked on it, and the word SEARCHING appeared.
“Our local area network is a lot smaller than yours,” she said. “This should only take a few seconds.”
A new window popped up:
/ERROR CODE 901/
SHADOW SECTOR: GLOBAL OVERRIDE REQUIRED
“What’s a shadow sector?” I asked.
Deonara shook her head slowly. “Very strange. A shadow sector is a part of the database that’s been triply encrypted. Only the Prime Solium, or Lord Nightingale himself, would be able to access this.”
“Prime Solium. That’s Ordeño, right?”
“It was Ordeño,” Lucian clarified. “The seat is currently vacant.”
“So who has his access code?”
“Nobody,” Braxton said. “It was disposed of when he died. The only person who could decrypt this file now is Lord Nightingale.”
“But what does that mean? Is the print a match to someone from the Dark Parliament? Is that why the information’s being protected?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Deonara said. “Without a higher security clearance, we can’t know for sure.”
“Maybe we can ask Lord Nightingale to decrypt the file.”
She rebooted the computer again. “You’d have better luck reversing gravity. He’s in the middle of locating a suitable replacement for Ordeño. He’s not about to give you access to a protected piece of government information, simply because of a print that you found on a smashed Vorpal gauntlet.”
“Even if that gauntlet was attached to a necromancer who tried to kill me?”
She shrugged. “I suspect you’ll need more than that. I’m sorry.”
“I think we’ve shared enough already,” Braxton said coldly.
I studied his face again. His eyes seemed to be changing from moment to moment. They’d seemed warm at first, but now there was a metallic edge to them. His cheeks were angular and hard, his mouth compressed. The light from the computer screen threw odd shadows across the lenses of his glasses. Colors danced across them, reminding me of something. I blinked.
“Braxton, can you do me a favor?”
He looked at me. “Possibly.”
