The medical examiner’s report indicated the cause of death as a stab wound, so silence didn’t necessarily prove he’d been killed elsewhere. Kirsten closed the terminal and followed the Scorpionz down two blocks and over one. A sense of eeriness grew stronger as they neared the spot. Alex, who’d decided to tag along at the rear, fidgeted and kept looking over his shoulder. He reminded her of a little boy afraid to go into the basement alone. When they rounded the last corner and Nestor pointed at a spot of ground, the intensity of the dark energy in the air took on a familiar tone.
Abyssal.
Kirsten looked back at him. I feel it, too.
Demasiado extraño, replied Alex via telepathy.
She sighed out her nose. Not weird… evil. I’ve felt this before. Something from the abyss was here.
His cheeks faded from light brown to Marsborn white.
“Here.” Nestor kicked at a battered dumpster. “Juan Miguel was on the ground beside this, covered in trash.”
Kirsten looked around at the alley. Though it had been saturated in dark energy—enough to put even the non-psionics around her on edge—no paranormal entities other than Dorian appeared anywhere she could see. She squinted up at a couple of Citycam pods on poles, then at the ground where the body had been.
“No idea what happened, but it was fubar.” Nestor spat to the side.
The energy shifted to a sense of being watched.
She pivoted toward the impression of sentience, but whatever entity checked her out remained too bashful to show itself. Kirsten concentrated on wanting to see the entity in an effort to overwhelm a spirit trying to hide from her, but it didn’t help. It had to be behind a wall or in a patch of darkness, like any ordinary person trying to remain unseen.
She accessed her armband terminal again placing a vid call to Samuel Chang. In a moment, his face appeared. “Hey. Can you do me a favor and check the Citycams around me for sixteen days ago. A murder victim was found where I’m standing now.”
“Sure thing. Give me a few minutes.” Sam smiled at her then looked off to the side at another screen.
“There’s something here, isn’t there?” asked Val. “Feels so messed up. Like someone’s staring at me and they wanna do something bad.”
Again, Kirsten turned, looking at every shadow. “Some spirits don’t like the living hanging around places they’ve claimed. This feels like how they scare people away. Radiant fear. I don’t see anything.”
“Bad energy in this place,” said Alex.
“Maybe you can find it. Your ass is awakened, right?” Val poked him.
Kirsten raised both eyebrows. “What?”
“Naw.” Alex sighed. “Used to be in a gang that called themselves that. Just an ordinary psionic.”
Nestor laughed. “Ordinary and psionic…”
“But your eyes,” said the busty teen. “Don’t that mean you’re like über or something?”
“Some of them have weird eyes, yeah. I had mine modded to throw people off.” Alex smiled. “But the dude runnin’ that show? He’s all kinds of fucked up. Don’t trust it.”
“If you have any information about him, you should really go talk to some of my associates.” Kirsten walked around the alley, reaching out her paranormal feelers. “That group is a serious threat to psionics as a whole.”
“I don’t know much more than not wanting to associate with ’em.” Alex shrugged. “Never saw the dude in person. He kept some of us split up in smaller groups out there looking for more members. Had a main compound, but I didn’t go there. He says everyone is free to leave if they disagree with his vision, but rumor said he abducted some kid against her will ’cause she had some crazy powerful ability. Little, too. Like ten or so.”
The other Scorpionz grumbled.
“Got something for you,” said Sam.
Kirsten raised her arm again. “Wow. Really?”
“Yep.” Sam smiled. “The killers didn’t appear too concerned with who saw what. Here’s the video feed.”
Another window opened on the floating panel, containing a view of this alley from one of the nearby pole cameras. Ten seconds after playback started, a beat-up black van decorated with a red pentagram on the side pulled to a stop. Five men in black jackets bearing the red pentagram logo of the Diablos gang hopped out, opened the back doors, and dragged the nude corpse of Juan Miguel Esparza out. They unceremoniously tossed him against the wall, threw as much trash as they could grab on top of him, then got back into the van and drove off.
Nestor, close enough to watch the video, erupted in a storm of Spanish obscenities.
“That does look like gang violence.” Dorian gestured at the image. “But… Diablos don’t usually kill people they abduct.”
Kirsten shuddered. She’d only gone through the ‘basic’ training on gangs since her position with Division 0 didn’t normally involve much contact with them. Still, the Diablos stood out in her memory. Not only did their fixation on mythology tweak that same nerve that Mother did, but she also remembered the instructor describing how they abducted random people off the street, tortured them for days, weeks, or even months until they shattered mentally… then released them alive.
It didn’t surprise her that Division 1 more or less shot Diablos on sight. Of course, Diablos frequently fired on cops first.
“I’ll try to see if I can get some faces from the video.” Sam looked off screen again while typing. “But, don’t hold your breath. These guys aren’t usually in the system.”
“Thanks, Sam.” Kirsten let her arm fall to her side, the screen turning itself off. No wonder Div 2 let this one sit. Diablos…
“Damn.” Nestor shook his head. “Didn’t think those crazy bastards gave a shit about revenge.”
“Revenge? Did Juan Miguel have a prior issue with them?” asked Kirsten.
“Not personally. Couple of those freaks came by here like a month ago. Figure they had a probie with ’em and he needed a kill or two to get in. So they saw us and started shooting. We got lucky. No one bit it.”
“What about them?”
He chuckled at her. “See all them holes in the van? Dunno if we sent any of them to their little devil man, but there had ta be blood. Guess they did come back to get revenge after all. Still doesn’t feel right.”
Kirsten surveyed the darker parts of the alley around them, certain something still watched. “Yeah. There’s more going on here than a pissing contest.”
“You still gonna get the fuckers who did this, right?” Nestor rested a hand on her shoulder, staring into her eyes.
“Dude,” said the busty teen. “There’s like shitloads of Diablos. She’ll never find the one who stabbed him.”
Alex smirked. “Normal cops couldn’t. Bet she will.” He stared at her.
“Dude!” She jumped back. “Knock that shit off, you know it freaks me out.”
“Tara…” Nestor cackled. “Why do you think he does it?”
“I don’t wanna like get brain cancer or shit.” Tara scowled. She gasped, stared at Alex, and yelled, “I do have a brain, you asshole.”
He grinned.
Kirsten looked around at the Scorpionz. “I’m guessing none of you know these particular Diablos or where they hang out?”
“Wish I did, but nah.” Nestor folded his arms. “’Course, you find ’em and want a couple extra guns, give me a call.”
“Thanks, but bringing civilians along on a raid is outside the regs.” She attempted a trick handshake, which made them all laugh. “But I appreciate the offer. And yeah, I will find the guy. I promised Rafael.”
In a moment of solemn quiet, the Scorpionz all bowed their heads.
“It’s strange that his ghost isn’t here,” said Dorian.
Kirsten gave him the side eye, but didn’t say what she thought until after she got back to the elevator leading to the roof where she’d parked. As soon as the doors closed, she faced him. “I’m really not liking where this is going. Abyssal energy, dead to a knife wo
und, no sign of a ghost…”
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah.” She hung her head. “Another damn demon.”
6
The Legend
Evan daydreamed about a Monwyn quest he wanted to run later while pushing a cleaning rag around a desk.
He’d been doing tons of after-school work to burn off citizenship points for the past few weeks. Plenty of cleaning, some dusting, sorting crap in the Archives, nothing particularly exciting, dangerous, or difficult. This classroom had huge desks, meant for older teens, so he had to climb up to stand on the seat to reach the surface.
Shawn Fields and Walter Jordan, two other boys from his third grade class, joined him today along with an older girl who he figured for a sixth-grader. She had a sullen quiet air about her, grinding her cleaning rag into the wall as if to punish it for her situation. Her attitude made him want to talk to her as much as it scared him away. He wanted to ask what put her in such a bad mood.
Walter and Shawn had been in and out of citizenship point time over the past few weeks. As usual, they both had on the same baggy grey pants and plain lighter grey tops given to kids who lived in the dorms. Neither had gotten as many points Evan pulled, but Shawn, big for nine, got in trouble a lot and Walter always followed him. They’d started off picking on Evan for being a ‘wimpy astral,’ but wound up on friendly terms. Shawn’s father had slapped him around a lot as well, though at least his parents had never locked him in his bedroom.
Concern won out over fear, so Evan cleaned desks in a path that brought him closer to the girl, watching her swipe a dusting wand at the wall. She wore a purple pleated mini-dress over tight black leggings that reminded him of Mom’s uniform pants. Her high sneakers had a cartoon rabbit on the sides holding up a middle finger over the word Netßunny.
“Hey, what’s up?”
The girl ignored him.
“Hola! Cómo estás?” asked Evan.
“We’re not supposed to talk,” muttered the girl, most of her light brown face concealed under a black bob. “And I’m not Spanish.”
“They just don’t want us getting loud and sounding like we’re having fun. Besides, Mr. Short isn’t even in here watching us.” Evan spritzed cleaning solution on a desk and wiped it around in an expanding circle. “Sorry you’re sad.”
“Don’t mind him,” called Shawn from the other side of the room. “Little Man’s like half empath.”
The girl twisted to peer at Shawn, then at him. He froze, never having seen such a vibrant shade of emerald in anyone’s eyes before.
“I’m not sad. I’m pissed off,” said the girl.
“Cit points aren’t that bad.” He grunted, scrubbing at a stubborn dark spot. “Just boring. I’m Evan. What’s your name?”
“I’m mad at getting caught.” She swiped a duster at the wall, then moved a few steps to the right to start on a shelf of boxes. “Maela.”
“Cool.” Evan smiled.
Shawn paused his mopping to grin at her. “What are you in for?”
“What about you guys?” Maela kept dusting.
“Talking back to a teacher.” Shawn shrugged and resumed mopping. “Only got forty points. We called this other girl dumb.”
“We weren’t trying to be mean.” Walter snickered. “Hayley isn’t smart.”
“You’re new, right?” Evan smiled over at her. Standing on the seat, he wound up a little taller than her. “Never saw you before in the cafeteria.”
Maela jabbed the duster at the shelf like a sword. “Yeah. Just got here.”
“Wow. Cit points your first week? That’s epic.” Shawn raised a fist in salute.
“It’s not bad here.” Evan hopped down from the desk and moved to the next one.
Maela flopped in place and hung her head, seeming out of breath.
Walter looked up from air-dusting a desk terminal. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just a bit tired. Still not used to it here.”
“It isn’t that bad.” Shawn shot her an odd look. “How’s dusting make you tired?”
Maela stretched. “Existing makes me tired. I’m from Mars. Everything’s so heavy here. They said I’ll adjust in a couple of months.”
“No way,” said Walter with a big grin. “You’re messing with us. People from Mars are as white as this wall. Even paler than Little Man.”
Evan swiveled to look at him. “You’re the same size as me.”
“You’re skinny.” Walter flexed his—not too impressive—bicep. “We may be the same height, but you’re still smaller.”
Maela sighed. “Not everyone from Mars has the bleach job.”
“Bleach job?” asked Shawn. “I thought it’s ’cause they all live in tunnels like moles or something.”
She shook her head. “No. It was some political thing university students did generations ago. Genetic modification.”
“So, what’d you do to get points?” Shawn leaned the mop on a desk and walked over.
“Have you been missing class?” She peered up at him.
“No…”
Evan laughed. “Shawn’s in third with us. He’s just huge.”
Maela gawked. “You’re nine?”
“He is. His dad’s a mutant from the Badlands.” Walter wobbled around, miming a troll.
Shawn flipped him off.
“Didn’t feel like doing homework, so I just changed records to make it look like I finished it all.” Maela shrugged. “Stupid Mrs. Grey caught me. It’s not fair the teacher’s psionic, too.”
All three boys laughed.
“Well, this is the dorm for psionic kids.” Shawn threw an arm around Evan. “Wren here holds the record for the most cit points ever awarded in one shot in the history of the school. Five hundred.”
“Holy shit.” Maela blinked.
The boys all chuckled at her language.
“I’m almost finished with them.” Evan couldn’t wait to be free from the stink of cleaning solution. The smell had even started to invade his dreams. “Only have like eighty left.”
Maela whistled. “They only gave me thirty.”
“Little Man is a legend.” Walter wandered over to play-punch Evan in the shoulder. “No one will ever get that many that fast again.”
“I took points from—” He froze, feeling watched. A moment’s concentration activated Astral Seeing, and the wall behind Maela lit up from the pale white glow in his eyes. He turned in place, looking around, but the room appeared devoid of ghosts despite feeling like one had joined them.
“What the hell?” Maela cringed back, pressing herself into the wall. “Your eyes are on fire.”
“He’s doing the ghost thing again.” Shawn eyed the back corner of the room. “Feels creepy in here now.”
“Ghost thing?” asked Maela, her voice quivering.
“I’m an astral. I can see and talk to ghosts. They show up sometimes asking for help. Mostly, they just want me to tell people stuff before they go away. Feels like there’s one around, but I don’t see them.”
Walter opened a panel on the next desk terminal and shot it with the air blast to knock dust out of the components. “You let somethin’ loose again?”
“No.” Evan shook his head. “Might be a ghost wandering around, already went through the wall before I turned my eyes on.”
“Still creepy in here.” Maela relaxed and resumed dusting the shelves. “Just thought it felt weird because this hallway is empty. Places like this are scary when there’s no one around.”
Evan smiled to himself at the worried expression on Shawn’s face. Despite his size, he frightened pretty easily—especially from supernatural things. “Two more desks.”
“Last terminal,” said Walter.
Maela puffed air at the shelf. “I’m done. This is stupid anyway. Why are they making you mop? There’s bots for that.”
“It’s just some chores to do.” Shawn smeared dirty water around the floor in a back-and-forth pattern. “The bots are gon
na come out and clean it again as soon as we leave. We’re not here to clean anything, just to kill time doing something un-fun.”
“Bots don’t wipe desks or dust shelves.” Evan moved to the next desk.
A shadow moving near the back of the room made him spin. He caught a hint of face and shoulder sinking into the wall. The sudden motion startled a yelp out of Maela. Her unexpected yell made Shawn jump.
“Dude, not cool.” Shawn frowned. “Talk about ghosts then scream like that.”
“I didn’t scream,” said Maela with a superior tone. “I was simply startled and—”
“Screamed,” deadpanned Walter.
“No.” Maela sighed. “It’s like a yelp or something. I’d show you what a real scream is, but we’ll get in trouble for making noise.”
“Whatever.” Shawn laughed.
“Just… don’t talk about ghosts and jump like that.” She pointed at Evan. “And those glowing eyes are creepy.”
“Sorry.” He continued looking at the wall. “I saw someone peering in at us.”
“Ghost?” Walter’s expression lit up with eagerness. “Cool. Who is it?”
“I dunno. Just saw like half a face.”
“Eww!” Maela cringed.
“No… not like ‘cut off’ half a face, like part of a face sticking out from the wall.” Evan sprayed the second-to-last desk down and wiped fast, not liking the mood radiating from the spirit. “I don’t think he’s a nice ghost.”
Everyone hurried the last of their chores, except Maela who considered herself done already.
Once he finished the desks, Evan jogged over to the wall terminal by the door and paged Mr. Short, a teacher from the Admin group who supervised the afternoon’s citizenship point crew—from across the building and three floors down.
The holographic head of a twenty-something man in the ubiquitous clingy black uniform appeared in front of the panel, wearing a senshelmet with the eye-blocker shield lifted up to expose his face. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”
“Hi Mr. Short,” said Evan. “We’re done in here. Ready for you to check it out.”
“Oh, cool.” The hologram head stretched up, pivoted around, then shrank back with a smile. “Looks good. C’mon back down here so you can do the thumbprint thing.”
Harbinger Page 7
