by Sara DeHaven
“Bastard,” Scanlon muttered, as he reviewed his memory of the fight. He’d heard Thorvaldson was high power, but he’d never seen anything like the casting speed or power of the spells he’d exhibited. The people Scanlon could put together for a side job just weren’t up to safely taking Thorvaldson and holding him long enough to drug him. There were Keltoi in his clan that could do it, if they were prepared and worked together, but he didn’t have the authority to bring them in. He tried to think of an angle that would still impress Carson and convince him to keep Scanlon involved. He’d been the one to locate Thorvaldson, and they may have lost him for now, but he’d probably try to come home sometime. Or maybe he’d show up back at the kid’s house. And there was the kid. Should he tell Carson about that? Not yet, he decided. But how was he going to explain about getting his ass kicked by the Keeper without it looking like a royal balls-up? Well, it was Justice’s fault, or, he supposed, the demon’s. He could just claim they were there to make a positive ID on Thorvaldson to take it back to Carson.
He heard Roget and Atami stirring in the back seat, and waited until he was sure they were fully conscious. “All right, look you guys,” he said, trying to inject some authority into his voice. “Here’s the story if you don’t want Carson to hand you your ass. I called you in on a stakeout and ID on Thorvaldson because I traced him from Kevin Whitman’s. Don't say a fucking word about trying to get Thorvaldson and the kid the other night, or I'll hand you your ass, got it?"
Scanlon saw Roget shoot Atami a doubtful look, but ignored it. He pulled the rearview mirror around so he could see himself in it, and ran his hands through his wavy brown hair, trying to put it in some kind of order. He pulled his shirt cuff out of his jacket and wiped the dirt off the side of his face. It was the best he could do.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, and got out of the car. The other three followed him into the building, and they took the stairs at the back of the warehouse to the office on the third floor.
Jeff Carson headed the South Seattle Keltoi clan, with his office a loft above and to the back of the warehouse. It was a masculine combination of brick walls, wood beams, large windows along the west wall, and black leather furniture. A comfortable seating area fronted a wide screen TV, with a sleek, well-stocked bar was to the right of it. The TV was off and jazz played softly on the sound system. Two of Carson’s usual bodyguards, Mosel and Destry, sat reading the paper.
Scanlon had always had a thing for Destry. He was a leg man, and hers were on display, calves encased in low heeled black boots, with luscious mahogany skin peeking between her boots and skirt. She put down the paper and slinked to her feet. “You have an appointment with the boss?” she asked shortly, a certain amount of doubt in her voice, like she didn’t rate Scanlon important enough for that to be likely.
“No, but he’s going to want to hear my report,” Scanlon replied with some of his usual swagger. Destry shot a look at Mosel, who shook his large, block-like head. “The boss is busy, doesn’t want to be interrupted,” he said, barely glancing up from his paper.
Scanlon hadn’t wanted to play his cards in the open like this, but he could tell he wasn’t going to get a meeting with Carson anytime soon if he didn’t. “It’s about Thorvaldson. I found him.”
Mosel actually looked at him this time. “Now how would you know about that?” he asked softly. Scanlon felt his face heating. He hated this, practically having to beg to get in to see Carson. “That’s for Carson’s ears, not yours,” Scanlon said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Mosel and Destry exchanged another look, and Destry nodded.
Destry narrowed her eyes and with a terse wave of her hand, cast a freeze spell on all four of them, then frisked them. She confiscated Atami's freeze crystal, and as she ran her hands professionally over Scanlon, he realized he didn’t have his knife on him. He’d dropped it in the fight with Thorvaldson.
“The boss is in a meeting. You’re going to have to wait,” Mosel responded after they had been cleared. But just as Scanlon and the others were moving to sit down, the door to Carson’s office opened and Carson came out, accompanied by a woman Scanlon had never seen before.
Scanlon literally stopped breathing when he saw her. She was tall, close to six feet in the heels she wore, and had the kind of body most women would have to have surgery to get. She looked Italian or Greek or something, with long, curly black hair, dark eyes, and elegant bone structure. She looked expensive; Scanlon had no other way to describe it. Expensive, and striking, and way out of his league. She was laughing at something Carson had just said. Scanlon’s eyes tracked along her throat and down to the cleavage she displayed in the scoop of her tight, white sweater. Scanlon heard Justice stir behind him, and thought wryly to himself that Justice’s demon would probably come out of hiding now, if only to ogle the babe. Carson had a possessive hand under her elbow, and Mosel had to walk close to him to get his attention. He leaned in close to Carson, and all Scanlon could make out was his and Justices’ names, and Thorvaldson’s.
At that, the woman gave Scanlon a penetrating look. It felt like a cold wind had blown across the back of his neck. She was reading him, the kind of up front, in your face reading that someone high up did to someone they thought little of, someone they didn’t have to be polite with. Scanlon felt a sharp sensation in his head, a sense of invasion that produced a wave of embarrassment and shame. She looked away, and quite suddenly, the feeling vanished. Scanlon felt almost as reamed out as he had after the Binding spell by Thorvaldson had worn off. He heard Carson say, “All right, just Scanlon and Justice then.” He and the woman turned and went back into Carson’s office. Mosel nodded to Scanlon and Justice, while Atami and Roget went to sit and wait.
Carson and the woman were already seated when he and Justice came in, the woman in one of the leather chairs, legs crossed, and Carson behind his desk. He and Justice were not invited to sit.
“So what’s this about you doing a locate on Thorvaldson?” Carson asked, his tone neutral. He was an unassuming looking man, someone you would barely notice on the street, average height, average looks. The only feature that stood out was the thick head of blond hair he still had into his fifties. There was something Teflon-like about the man. Scanlon always felt like there was no way to get to him, no way to get his attention, no way even to get him mad. Scanlon figured it had something to do with Carson being surrounded by a lot of Readers, most of whom wanted his job. He’d obviously worked harder than most at eliminating tells.
Scanlon wasn’t fooled by Carson's even tone. He knew he wasn’t supposed to know about Thorvaldson. And he’d better tell the truth where he could. Carson wasn’t much of a Reader, but Scanlon knew the woman was.
“Frankly sir, it was just a matter of luck. I happened to overhear you talking a couple of weeks ago about wanting Daniel Thorvaldson found, and later on it hit me I’d heard the name before. Darrell Chang had talked to me about him. He went to school with Thorvaldson. I gave him a call, got a description, and asked if he knew anything about Thorvaldson’s friends. I found out one of them was this guy named Kevin Whitman, who lives here in Seattle. I followed Thorvaldson home from Whitman’s.”
“And how does Justice, and the two out there come into it?” Carson inquired mildly.
“Back up, sir. And…” he hesitated, then plowed forward with enough of the truth as he could manage without screwing the whole thing up. “And I guess I was hoping to get lucky, looking for an opportunity to maybe bring him in.” The woman nodded her head slightly, and Carson took note of it.
“Anything else I should know?” Carson continued, leaning back and folding his hands on his stomach.
Damn, Scanlon hated those kinds of questions. Very hard to weasel out of that one. “Sir, we did end up in battle with Thorvaldson. Justice’s demon took some kind of dislike to Thorvaldson or something, and Justice went for him. I had no warning and I had to make the best of it. I didn’t want Thorvaldson to take down Justice, so I called in Atami
and Roget, and we had a go at him. There was some woman with him, and she was a distraction, so we almost got him. I don’t know how it ended, because Thorvaldson put me down.” He looked over at Justice, but Justice stayed silent. Carson glanced over at the woman, and she leaned forward.
“Mr. Justice, were you there for the end?” she asked.
“Yes,” Justice answered.
“And?” she prompted, with a hint of irritation.
“And I had the guy. He’d put down Scanlon and the other two, but he was drugged, I managed to cut him, and the woman obviously had nothing but defensive spells. But then he called out my demon and mastered it.”
The woman gave Carson a triumphant smile. Scanlon saw that one of her canine teeth was crooked, just overlapping the tooth next to it. The little imperfection drew his gaze. This close, he noticed that some of her apparent perfection was due to artfully applied makeup. And she was older than he’d originally thought, maybe in her thirties.
“As I told you, Jeff,” she said to Carson. “And he got by the Keepers with that. Just think what might be possible if we knew how he does it!” She turned again to Justice. “I’ll need to talk with your demon,” she said, and stood up and approached him. Justice tensed as she put a hand on his shoulder and said, with authority, “Demon, come forth!”
It didn’t take long. Justices’ face altered. The corners of his mouth pulled down, his eyes went wider than usual and his voice roughened as the demon’s voice took over and answered, “Yes, master.”
“Tirakku, report, “ the woman commanded.
Scanlon wasn’t surprised the woman was a Demon Master. Her power was evident. But how would the woman know Justice’s demon, unless she’d had something to do with the possession?
“It is as the man says. The Keeper was a Master. He compelled me, and I could not refuse him. I tried to take him as you commanded, Master, but he was very fast, and very strong.”
“Does he compel you still?”
“I may not move against him or his for three days. He commanded I could not follow him, so I do not know where he is now.”
Scanlon had to work hard not to show his relief. The demon hadn't mentioned the kid at all. That, at least, could stay his little secret.
“And what about the woman, the one who was with him?”
“I did not know her.”
The woman turned to Scanlon, and he shook his head. “I don’t know her either. She’s not a Keeper, and she’s not anybody big with the local powered, or I’d recognize her. She’s definitely not Ecclesias. It’s like I said before, she just had defensive spells.”
“Describe her,” the woman demanded, anger charging her voice.
“I don’t know, average height, long brown hair, probably in her twenties, pretty," Scanlon answered. "I noticed she was wearing one of those Irish rings, the ones with the hands and the heart, but she was definitely American, I heard her speak when she did her defensive spell.”
“She was an Exorcist. I felt her touch me,” Justices’ demon broke in.
The woman looked at Carson, brows raised.
“No one I know,” Carson answered her look. “It’s a big city, and there are plenty of small time Exorcists running around. There’s a fairly big powered community here, and they don’t mix with the Keltoi much. It’s more segregated here than it is back east. And there are fewer Keepers on the take. But if she’s an Exorcist and was wearing a claddagh ring, there’s a chance she’s a Catholic Irish-American and can be traced. There are several Catholic priests here in town that call on low powered Exorcists. They assess the case, and if it’s not too bad, they handle it without calling in a Keeper.”
The woman looked thoughtfully at Justice, then at Scanlon, and nodded decisively. “May I have these two show me where they saw Thorvaldson? I may be able to pick up some useful traces.”
Scanlon watched Carson with interest. If he allowed the woman’s request, it would tell him two things: That he’d finally gotten Carson’s attention and Carson was ready to let him try something different, and that the woman had power in the Keltoi at least equal to Carson’s. And if that were the case, it would be a step up for Scanlon to work directly with her.
“That would be acceptable,” Carson replied after a barely perceptible pause.
“Tirakku, you may go,” the woman declared, releasing Justices’ shoulder. Then she turned to Scanlon, and put out her hand to shake. “I should introduce myself if we’re going to be working together,” she said with a smile. “My name is Franchesca. Franchesca Gambrini.”
Chapter 8
In the morning, Bree felt nervy after her restless night. She hadn’t had nightmares exactly, but her dreams had been full of frustration and anxiety. Cars she couldn’t quite control, needed objects she couldn’t find, and one of her least favorites, the dream where she’d heard some threatening noise and couldn’t open her eyes to see what it was. She couldn’t shake her dread that she was in for a whole slew of bad nights. It was really only the last few months that she’d been sleeping better, and she didn’t want to go back to how it’d been before.
She got up and checked the house wards the minute she was awake enough to move. They were still in place, though beginning to show signs of weakening. She hoped Daniel might be up to boosting them once he woke up. She paced around, looking out each of her windows, and cast both her Reader sense and Demonsense as far out as she could send them. All she saw and felt was a normal weekday morning.
She had just started a quick brush through of her hair in the bathroom when she heard the sound of the garbage truck coming down her street. With all the drama last night, she'd forgotten to put out the trash and recycling. She ran for the door, shoving her feet in her gardening clogs on the way, and had her hand on the doorknob when she paused. Could she be sure there weren't Keltoi out there waiting for her? She scanned again, and still couldn't find any power signatures or signs of demons. She reminded herself yet again that the Keltoi who had attacked her and Daniel yesterday had been bound by Daniel not to come after them. She gestured to let down the house wards, and forced herself out the door.
She hauled the trash and recycle bins around the side of her house and out to the curb just in time for them to be picked up. It was a brisk morning, still windy after the storm last night, and the sun was in and out from behind scudding white clouds. She stood for a moment in front of her house, arms crossed for warmth, and scanned the street in both directions. All she saw was the garbage man and a neighbor four doors down getting into her red Honda and driving away.
Satisfied for the moment that no one hostile was lurking, Bree headed back inside. She was too distracted by her anxious hypervigilance to see the three cats converging on her as she neared her door, so she wasn't quick enough to prevent them dashing past her as she went back inside. She swore as she nearly tripped over the striped ginger cat as she stepped into the kitchen. She was torn between resetting the house wards quickly and trying to get the cats out first, but after a few ineffective lunges for the feline invaders, she gave up and set the wards.
The cats followed her back into the living room, the ginger and the calico that were regular visitors, and a fluffy white cat she hadn't seen in a few weeks. The white and ginger cats were talkers, and their meowing interfered with her attempts to listen up the stairs for signs that Daniel was up and moving. She'd checked on him an hour before, and he'd still been sound asleep at that point.
She didn't hear anything, so she made herself some breakfast, just cereal and a banana. Finishing was not an easy task, what with having to banish one after another cat from the table. Between that and all her speculation about what the attack yesterday might mean, she barely tasted her food.
She considered doing some yoga after breakfast to try to settle her nerves, but she knew the damn cats would be all over her if she worked out on the living room floor, so she gave up on it and settled sideways on the couch, thinking up questions for Daniel. The calico cat sat on her lap
, the ginger on her feet, and the white one at the other end of the couch. She'd been there for about twenty minutes, thinking furiously, when Daniel made his way slowly down the stairs and into the living room.
He looked unwell, even though Dion had done another healing on him last night. His eyes had dark smudges under them and were half squinting, as if he had a headache or a hangover. His hair stuck up every which way, and he moved with gingerly caution, holding his breath with each step, bracing against pain.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps and regarded her with brows raised. “Wow,” he said, “three cats. Are you a Cat Master?”
“These aren’t my cats. I don’t really care for cats much at all. I'm actually a dog person," Bree said with some attempt at dignity.
Daniel snorted out a laugh, then grabbed for his injured side. He took in a careful breath, then said, repressed humor evident in his voice, “You are a Cat Master, aren’t you? My god, a Cat Master who doesn’t like cats. You know that’s funny, right?”
“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before,” Bree said, flashing a reluctant smile. Here she was preparing the Great Inquisition for him, and he was making her want to laugh. She had to admit that Daniel desperately trying not to fall over with manic glee at her expense was an improvement over the death warmed over look he’d had coming down the stairs.
He made his way to the bathroom, little gasps and snorts trailing behind as he continued to fight merriment. He came back ten minutes later looking only marginally better physically, and a lot more serious.
He sat down carefully in the chair across from her, and folded his hands in his lap as if he were settling in for a business meeting.
Bree didn't have to bring up her Reader sense to see that he was embarrassed and ill at ease with more than pain from his injuries, and that the brief bout with humor had been erased by these less pleasant emotions. His shoulders were held too high with tension and pain, and she longed to get her hands on them and work them until she felt him sigh and soften under her hands.
