The Harbinger drifted over to hover in front of him, head tilted back, arms held to either side, its silver eyes sparkling with an imperious stare. Malden cringed, shielding his face with his left arm, and screamed as the great cloud of inky blackness fell upon him. Vaporous claws tore into the spectral man’s body, setting loose scraps of ethereal light adrift on the breeze.
Ghost and Harbinger seeped into the ground in a combined mass, Malden’s shrieks fading gradually to silence.
Kirsten looked down at herself. No blood. No cuts, though a handful of tiny white lightning bolts still crawled randomly over her body. Shit. That was almost the same way the Wharf Stalker went. She stared at the spot of ground where Malden had been in silence.
Groaning, Dorian limped over to stand beside her, favoring his left side.
“Thank you.”
He managed a faint bow, wincing. “It’s what I’m here for.”
She looked away from the road to him. “Gah. Are you okay?”
“Moderate to severe ass kicking. I’ll be okay after a couple days of rest.”
“Thank you, too. First one was for the Harbinger… leading me to Malden.”
Dorian smiled. “They’re not supposed to do that.”
She sighed into a chuckle, her teeth chattering from the lingering chill. “I guess either I’m changing the fundamental fabric of the universe… or he wanted to thank me for freeing him from that ritual.”
“Six of one…” said Dorian.
“Right. I don’t really care how it happened. We got him.”
“So what now?”
Kirsten let the Astral Lash recede back into her hand. “A long, hot soak.”
31
Caring
Kirsten glanced over at the woman, who stared out from a small gap in the trash pile at the spot where Malden had been taken. “Aww, crap. She saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“The claiming… or whatever you want to call it when someone gets a one way ticket to the bad place.” Kirsten headed over to the woman, rubbing her shoulder. “Miss? Are you okay?”
“No. Not really.”
Kirsten reached a hand toward the trash pile. “It’s over. You’re okay. C’mon out of there. The ghost that assaulted you is gone for good.”
After staring in shock for a little over a minute, the woman stood, causing an avalanche of empty plastic cartons. The handcuffs still dangled from her left wrist, other side open. “What happened? I think someone slipped something in my drink and I had a wild trip.”
“Should I let her keep thinking it was a hallucination?” Kirsten glanced at Dorian. “Or do I make some therapist wealthy?”
Dorian rubbed his side. “Well, if you’re now part of the universal fabric, maybe you shouldn’t get involved.”
“Ha. Ha.” She poked the button on her armband to summon the patrol craft. Assuming the ghost had made her order the cuffs, she fetched the woman’s handbag, which remained on the ground by the vendomat. Sure enough, it contained the keys still in the packaging. “Okay, start at the beginning, Miss…?”
“Luna Ortiz. There was a company party tonight. I think Alfred dropped something in my drink. I felt light headed and then had these weird hallucinations that someone was groping me under my clothes.”
Kirsten sighed internally while unlocking the cuff. I can’t lie to her. “You were attacked by a paranormal entity. I destroyed it. No one tampered with your drink. We can run a chem screen to make sure.”
“Okay.”
The patrol craft cruised in to land in the middle of the street nearby.
“C’mon, Miss Ortiz.” Kirsten put an arm around her shoulders and guided her over to the car. This is going to be a long night… but I’ll take it. She smiled at the blank spot of road. Bastard’s where he belongs.
As part of Kirsten’s bargain with the universe, she didn’t procrastinate on filling out reports the next day.
Much.
A few extra minutes when dropping Evan off at the school wing, and a few more minutes going to pick up coffee orders from the delivery bot at the garage exit didn’t really count as simple procrastination. Both had been necessary tasks.
One double espresso mostly took away the fatigue of staying up too late, but the long, hot soak had been worth it, even if she did have to sit neck-deep like a mediating monk in a cramped autoshower tube. Maybe someday she’d have an actual bathtub installed. Only high-end luxury apartments still even included those anymore, even though they didn’t cost all that much. She sipped a large standard coffee while working on the reports. With both of her inquests completed, as well as the P10 being basically solved, she expected to burn the entire day writing documentation and filling out forms.
Of course, the one major upside to being a Division 0 investigator was that her cases rarely ever landed in front of a judge. As soon as she submitted the inquest as complete and it went to Captain Eze for review, she’d more or less finished with it. No worrying about testimony, witnesses flaking out and disappearing, a slick lawyer exploiting a flaw in the process, or overcrowded prisons cutting a spirit loose early ‘for good behavior.’
Three hours into going over the medical reports of the people they recovered from the Diablo camp, Kirsten briefly considered having an M3 port and NIU installed so she could ‘type’ at the speed of thought, but cringed as if someone had covered her in that horrible slime from the Beneath.
No thanks… no wiring in this brain.
She shuddered again and continued working. All of the Diablos had been killed on site and no criminal trial would ensue; however, she had to do a full crosslinking with the medical reports for the inevitable war that would erupt between lawyers and the abductees’ insurance companies over how much to not cover. No doubt, care for a person tortured to a state of catatonia would be expensive… and she assumed the insurance providers would do as much as they could to dodge or minimize their liability. She didn’t want to make any errors that could wind up making the difference between an innocent victim recovering or spending the rest of their life as a shell of a person.
Kirsten finished that part a little before lunch, and decided to take a quick look at the intake reports for the deceased Diablos. Apparently, with them having managed to successfully do ‘something mystical,’ Command wanted their remains brought in for further analysis, including psychometry.
“Oh, that’s not going to end well.”
“Hmm?” asked Dorian from his desk.
“They want a clairvoyant to read the Diablos’ remains.”
Dorian laughed. “I hope they reconsider that before some poor slob winds up needing a reset button.”
“What?”
“Ashford,” said Dorian.
“Oh…” Sometimes, I’m glad I’m not a clairvoyant.
A few pages down the list, she scrolled over yet another image taken of all items removed from one of the bodies. The report had been a nearly endless parade of autopsy photos, various personal effects, and weapons. Though, in the section for suspect eight, she spotted a large combat knife with pictograms and strange symbols scratched onto the blade.
Kirsten zoomed in on it, then tapped the screen to extract a separate holographic representation of the weapon. She pinched the ends of the floating image, stretching it larger for a better look. The markings made no literal sense to her in terms of any written language, but it came close enough to resembling the sort of scribblings that Konstantin had used in the circle for summoning Charazu.
After bringing up the autopsy files of the five murdered young men, she shrank the holographic knife to actual size and superimposed it over the 3D image of Juan Miguel Esparza’s remains. The blade slid into the wound channel, visually a match. ‘Looks right’ wouldn’t stand up in a criminal trial, but her near-certainty that the Diablos had killed those five people plus finding such a close match of a knife on one of them made for too much of a coincidence.
For added certainty, she ran an analysis routine to com
pare the knife to the fatal wounds on the five individuals the Diablos had dumped in the pentagram formation. While that processed, she made a quick trip to the cafeteria for lunch. By the time she returned to her desk, the forensic AI had concluded a ninety-two percent chance that the knife created those wounds, as close as it could get based on 3D scan data.
She didn’t exactly need to pin it down any further with traces of metal in the wound or biological matter on the blade since none of this would ever go to trial, only give her the confidence to reassure a small boy in a scary situation that the thug who killed his brother had answered for it.
Kirsten locked her terminal and made her way down the hall to the elevator, then up three floors to the secure dorms. Even as an adult, active-duty commissioned officer in Division 0, going there still came with a mild sense of dread. Not that she had ever felt the slightest inclination to break rules enough to be considered delinquent, but the mere thought of being locked in a room tapped into her fear of Mother’s closet. Fortunately, none of the other kids around her back then had made fun of her for being such a rule follower.
Though, she had to laugh at herself a little now. She’d let Adrienne slide for using Technokinesis to pump up the balance of a credstick to pay for her Reinventions procedure. It didn’t bother her that much because the money hadn’t been taken away from someone else, merely generated from thin air. She’d also bent the rules with Emma Mero, asking Sam to alter the records to make her eight months younger so she could slip into the adoption program as a minor. However, Division 1 did that all the time when they thought a recently-eighteen street kid had a good enough attitude to be worth saving. That hadn’t been breaking the rules as much as a rule made to be bent.
“What are you going to tell him if he asks about his brother’s ghost?” asked Dorian.
Kirsten sighed. “Do you think he transcended?”
“I suppose it’s possible. More likely, his essence was consumed in the ritual that forced the Harbinger into the mortal world.”
She folded her arms. “But… the souls Konstantin collected didn’t obliterate. They got away… even if they were stuck with some serious latent self image issues.”
“You interrupted him before he completed the ritual. Those souls—and me—would have been devoured in the process. I don’t think Juan Miguel was that lucky. But… I could be wrong. Who knows what that dark bishop actually accomplished?”
“So…” She exhaled, lips fluttering. “Better off avoiding talking about his ghost altogether.”
“That is one way not to lie, yes.”
“Is it a lie saying I don’t know but I hope?” She fidgeted. “Okay, fine. I won’t bring it up if he doesn’t.”
Dorian nodded.
The elevator doors parted to a painfully white room reeking of disinfectant. Two men and a woman in Division 0 blacks staffed a security station on the left, the remainder of the foyer empty except for plain black bench seats on the right by the wall. One large corridor stretched deeper into the building from the center of the area.
She hooked a left out of the elevator and approached the desk. The nearest man, later twenties with dark brown skin and hair almost the same exact shade, smiled at her. Burgundy eyes, no doubt a bit of custom work, startled her in their oddity to the point she forgot what she intended to say.
“Can I help you, lieutenant?” asked the man, Specialist Troyer, M. (Admin) according to his nameplate.
“Yes. I need to see one of the kids you’ve got here. Rafael Esparza.”
He shifted his gaze to the holo-screen in front of him, the computer reacting on its own. Since he didn’t have any wires plugged into his head, she assumed him a Technokinetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, lieutenant. The boy is a suggestive. We’ll need to get clearance to approve a visit.”
“Yes, I’m aware he’s a suggestive. I am, too. I’m the one who brought him in. Even if he tried to use it on me, I can block him. But… I know he won’t. I’m bringing good news.”
Troyer, M. glanced at his screen again. Light on his face shifted color. “Oh. Right. Yes, that appears to be the case.” He smiled at her. “It’s nice to see not everyone with that power winds up on the wrong side of a locked door.”
“Having Suggestion doesn’t make someone a criminal,” said Kirsten. “Lacking respect for others and a sense of right and wrong does.”
Dorian put an arm around her shoulders. “Isn’t she adorable?”
None of the security team reacted to him.
“You can go on back. He’s in room 116.” Troyer pointed at the hallway.
“Not in class at this hour?” asked Kirsten. “It’s not even one yet.”
“He isn’t in an education program yet. Still undergoing psych evaluation and threat level assessment.”
Kirsten suppressed a cringe of guilt. “Please tell me you’re not keeping him locked in his room twenty-four hours a day?”
“No, he’s out routinely for meetings with medics, counselors, and meals… whenever Hans is available to escort him.”
“One specific guard?” asked Kirsten.
“Hans is our only suggestive on staff.”
“Right. Well that’s two of us on the right side of locked doors.” Kirsten nodded and headed down the hall.
Dorian chuckled.
“What?”
“Oh, just thinking about ancient history.”
She gave him a ‘do I really want to ask’ look.
“Nothing bad. Before they put fingerprint locks on firearms, even cops had to turn in their weapons before going into a detention area, afraid prisoners might grab for one.”
“Oh. Why would anyone make a firearm without a fingerprint trigger safety?”
He blinked at her. “Why would anyone make a car that couldn’t fly?”
“Umm.” She shook her head. “Right. Dumb question.”
“This habit of yours not to think when you’re worried is becoming worse.”
She walked on, muttering, “Yeah… yeah. I’ve got too much in my head to care about what year they invented electronic triggers.”
Room after room passed on both sides, plain white doors marked with numbers. Most were open, the rooms evidently not in use. The secure dorms took in psionic juveniles who had misused their powers in ways that couldn’t be brushed aside or excused to bad circumstances. Homeless kids using their abilities to force people to give them food wouldn’t put them here. The young offenders who landed in secure detention varied from the recklessly dangerous, to kids who used their abilities without care, feeling superior to normals and doing whatever they could get away with, to the truly criminal-minded.
As psionics made up something like six percent of the population, the fraction of a percent of juveniles among them with true criminal tendencies made for a small number of detainees. She didn’t think Rafael belonged among kids who burglarized stores, attacked people for fun, and in a few cases, thought nothing of murdering anyone who annoyed them. She put him in with the ‘desperate circumstances’ group, but compelling two Division 1 officers to point their weapons at each other crossed a line. Suggestives put everyone on edge to begin with, and using psionic abilities on cops… Had he done the same exact thing with civilians—made two people threaten to shoot each other if the police didn’t investigate his brother’s death—Division 0 probably would’ve looked the other way and sent him to the standard dorms as long as no one had died.
Maybe there’s a chance once it settles… Being in this place is going to traumatize him more. He’s not a bad kid. She decided to go talk to the two officers involved, Gage and Kepler. If she could convince them to send in official requests not to prosecute, that might do the trick. Of course, she’d need to bring a witness along—maybe Captain Eze—so no one accused her of compelling the cops to ask for leniency.
Kirsten stopped at the door of room 116 and waited. A few seconds later, it chirped. Security people at the front could watch every inch of this place on screens. The plain white door
slid sideways, allowing her into a square room she found large for a cell but small for a bedroom. Two sets of cabinet doors on the right, flush with the wall, likely held an assortment of bright pink ‘juvenile detainee’ jumpsuits and plastic shoes.
Rafael sat on a Comforgel pad, arms wrapped around his legs, head down. His jumpsuit looked too big on him, and a shiny silver band locked around his left ankle made her feel like an ogre for her part in his being here. The electronic bracelet mostly served as a tracker in case a detainee tried to run, but they could also deliver a stunning shock.
The boy appeared even thinner than the last time she’d seen him, but no longer smelled like street. The barrenness of the room—no toys, no color, no electronics—worsened her sense of guilt.
She stiffened when the door closed behind her. I’m not locked in. They’ll let me out when I try to leave.
The boy lifted his head off his knees, his large brown eyes wet with tears. “Oh. Hi.”
Kirsten crossed the room in three steps and sat on the end of the bed. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry for making those cops do that.”
“I know you are.” She smiled. “That’s why I wanted to help you. I can tell you’re a good kid in a bad situation.”
He fussed at the anklet. “It’s not that bad in here. I’m scared of this thing. The guy told me if I didn’t behave, it would shock me so bad I’d pee myself. They put it on my leg ’cause my hand is too small. It kept falling off.”
Kirsten scowled off in a random direction. “They’d only use that shock if someone became actively violent, about to hurt someone… they’re not going to shock you for staying up too late or being a smartass.”
He almost smiled. “I know he said that just to scare me. He thought I looked like a girly little wimp, but he was afraid of me. It’s not breaking the rules to read emotions. And I know you’re sad.”
She reached out and took his hand. “Rafael, I found the man who killed Juan Miguel. He’s dead. The people who helped him do it are also dead.”
Harbinger Page 32
