Nick looked toward the door. “All I have to do is scream.”
I laughed. “You think I’d kill you in person?” I made a show of twirling Maggie’s ring. “Nah. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to come up with something good to tell me, and then…” I shrugged.
Nick swallowed.
He’s doing that thing where he looks more like a stupid, scared teenager than a powerful necromancer, Maggie said. Almost makes me feel bad. You are aware that I can’t actually kill him like that, right?
He doesn’t have to know I’m bluffing, I told her. I patted Nick on the shoulder and knocked on the door. “I’m done,” I told the suppression team outside.
I found Justin at his cubicle, answering emails. He didn’t look up as I leaned over the cubicle wall and took a peanut butter cup out of the little jar by his keyboard. “Get anything out of the kid?” he asked me.
“Nothing. He claims that he made a vow of silence to his employer. Which could mean all sorts of things, but I’m inclined to believe him.”
“Should I go ahead and just send him to New York?” Justin asked.
I took another peanut butter cup and tapped it on the top of Justin’s monitor thoughtfully. “No. Keep him around. He’ll probably ask for a phone call soon. When he does, tap the line and let me know who he calls.”
“I’m not sure if I’m allowed to do that,” Justin said, finally looking up from his computer.
“Not sure, or definitely not allowed?”
“Not sure.”
“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” I said with a smile.
He rolled his eyes. “You realize that you’re buying, like, the next ten weeks’ worth of drinks, right?”
“Now, now, let’s talk price once we’ve actually found out who’s trying to have me killed.”
I said goodbye and headed back to my rental, where I took a few moments to close my eyes in the quiet darkness of the parking garage. I could feel Maggie pacing around in the back of my head. I had almost fallen asleep when she spoke. Scaring him into calling his employer is clever.
Glad you think so.
If it works. He’s a smart kid.
True, but most people think that OtherOps are like cops and won’t bug your phones or detain you without reason and bullshit like that.
Aren’t you afraid that he’ll just tell his handlers what he was after? Magicians really like getting their hands on magical baubles, and I bet that one in the OtherOps office wouldn’t hesitate to confiscate me.
You can’t be confiscated without killing me.
You think that would stop her? Magicians are amoral twats.
I sighed. It was an alarming suggestion, to be sure, and I hoped I was as clever as I liked to think I was. He’s under a vow of silence. He literally can’t tell anyone about the ring. I hope, I added in a thought Maggie couldn’t hear.
There was a pause. Okay, I’ll give you credit for that one.
Thanks, I said. I was a little worried that I had tipped my hand about the ring so easily. He knew it was on my finger now, which meant if he managed to escape he could just kill me from a distance and take the damn thing. I had a thought while we were in there. Stop me if this sounds ridiculous.
Go for it.
Back at the cemetery, you mentioned how draugr can become shapeshifters as they become more powerful.
Yeah.
On Ferryman’s case, could we be dealing with a shapeshifter?
We already ruled out werewolves and wendigos.
No, I said, not a man who can become a creature—a genuine shapeshifter.
Maggie seemed to consider the idea. Why do you say that?
Because it’s the only thing I can think of that checks all the boxes: shapeshifters, like undead, are hard to identify with sorcery. OtherOps didn’t have a ready ID on whatever killed those imps. And everything I’ve heard about shapeshifters is that the constant switching between manifestations leaves them unhinged, which you have to be to move in on Ferryman’s turf.
Huh, she responded. I buy it. But there’s over a hundred varieties of shapeshifter out there, and they’re all stupidly rare. What are we looking for?
No idea. But I have another idea.
Yeah?
It’s really stupid.
Oh, no.
I shook the sleep out of my head and started the car. I’m going to poke it with a stick until it decides to come out and play.
Chapter 12
The first thing I did was make a phone call to Zeke. The retired cherubim picked up on the fifth ring, answering with a groggy, “Hello.”
“Morning, Zeke. I need you to do something for me.”
“Alek? What time is it? It’s… oh, Christ, it’s nine in the morning. Call me back in three hours.”
“If you hang up,” I said pleasantly, “I’m going to drive down there and kick the shit out of you.”
That seemed to wake him up. His voice sobered instantly—cautious, with a dangerous inflection to it. Not a lot of people threaten angels, retired or not. “What’s going on, Alek?” he demanded.
I held the phone with my shoulder and ordered breakfast at a Chick-fil-A drive-through. “You still there?” I asked him.
“Yes, I’m still here. What do you want?”
“I want the address of every imp meth house in northeast Ohio.”
There was a long, pregnant pause. I could just imagine the confused look on Zeke’s face as he processed the request. “If I had that kind of information, it wouldn’t come cheap,” he finally said.
“I’m pretty sure you do have that kind of information,” I retorted, “and you’re going to give it to me for free, or you’re never going to get work from me or anyone at Valkyrie Collections ever again.”
“Whoa, whoa! What’s gotten into you, man? Why the hell would you say something like that?”
I let my exhaustion and irritation bleed into my voice. After being stonewalled by a teenage necromancer, I didn’t have patience for Zeke. “Because you sold me to that necromancer.”
Another pause. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He told me it was you, twit. His draugr almost killed me twice, and they smashed up my truck. I’m driving around in a goddamn rented Prius and I’m pretty pissed off about it, so if you want to remain my go-to guy when Ada’s looking to spread around the bribe money, you’re going to get me those address.”
“I might be able to dig something up by next week.”
“You’ve got twenty minutes,” I said. “Ticktock.” I hung up and pulled into a parking spot, where I ate my breakfast slowly and downed four cups of fast-food coffee. I’d just finished picking the crumbs off my shirt when my phone buzzed. It was an email from Zeke, and it contained eight different addresses and a note at the bottom that said, This is Kappie’s territory. If he catches you snooping around, I had nothing to do with this. I made a quick mental map of the addresses, working clockwise around Cleveland, and typed the first address into my GPS.
Do you think this is a good idea? Maggie asked.
Not really. If it doesn’t draw him out, I’ll have wasted my entire day. If it does…
Then you’ll probably get killed by a shapeshifter.
That’s why I have you here, I said.
I’m not a fan of going after creatures we know nothing about. If it is a shapeshifter, it could be anything from a goblin wizard to an ancient trickster god. One of those is out of our league. I’ll let you guess which.
The first address was actually less than ten minutes from Valkyrie HQ, on a cul-de-sac in Euclid. At first glance, the place was abandoned—the windows boarded up, the roof in disrepair, the driveway cracked and full of weeds. But there were two cars parked in the cul-de-sac, and as I scoped the place out, I watched an emaciated imp walk past with a littl
e mutt cattle dog on an extension cord as a makeshift leash. The dog stopped in the driveway and threw up bile before the imp dragged it around behind the house.
“Prick,” I said aloud. I got out of the car and strapped on my holster and flak vest, then put on a hat with the Valkyrie company logo on the front. I didn’t bother with a jacket, despite the chill spring weather. Because of my troll blood, my arms look like I work out a whole lot, and I wanted to show them off in short sleeves. The display of force was for a couple reasons: first, because low-level imps tend to be sniveling cowards who will cow before an immediate threat; and second, because if this hypothetical shapeshifting creature showed up to tumble, I wanted it to think my gun and vest were the only surprises I had ready for him.
How we looking? I asked Maggie.
Four imps inside. Another two out back.
I ignored the front door and walked around the side, following the imp with the dog, only to find him and a friend standing by the back door. They poured a can of beer into a bowl and laughed while the dog slurped it up hungrily.
“Beer is bad for dogs,” I said flatly.
Both imps leapt out of their skin. They turned on me and froze, sharing a single glance.
“I’m not a cop,” I added quickly.
The two imps looked so much alike that they might have been twins. One wore a red sweater—probably a thrift store find—and the other a T-shirt with the slogan of a failed presidential campaign from six years ago. Red Sweater nudged his friend and lifted his chin toward my gun. “If you’re not a cop, who are you?”
“Alek Fitz. I’m a reaper.”
“Reapers ain’t got shit on us, man,” T-shirt spat at me, his initial fear turning to posturing.
I walked over to the two and gently took the bowl of beer away from the dog, tossing it over the nearby fence.
“Hey!” T-shirt began.
I grabbed him by the chin and squeezed a little. “You—walk to the store and get two cans of good dog food. And a real leash.”
“I’m not—” he tried to say.
I squeezed until he let out a high-pitched squeal. “I’m not a cop. I don’t mind hurting you. Good dog food and a leash. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah!”
I let him go, and he sprinted off around the side of the house. I tilted my head, listening to make sure that he continued down the sidewalk instead of going in the front door. When I was satisfied he was gone, I said to his friend, “I’m looking for someone.”
Red Sweater shied away from me. “If you’re looking for an imp, you’ve got to take it up with Kappie. I just work here.”
“I don’t want to talk to Kappie. I want to talk to the peons. Some of your friends have been taking work on the side—stuff Kappie didn’t give them. I want you to tell me what you know.”
Red Sweater’s eyes grew large. “Shit, man, Kappie’s the big guy. We go against him, and we’re fucked.”
I don’t think he has any idea what you’re talking about, Maggie said.
“I’m looking for the person offering these side jobs,” I continued.
“We wouldn’t . . .”
I cut him off. “The employer is either scarier or paying better than Kappie. Maybe both. I don’t really give a shit. Do you know Kappie’s cookhouse out in Ashtabula?”
He gave a dumb nod.
“Do you know what happened?”
Red Sweater licked his lips. “Heard there was some kind of a gunfight. Everybody ended up dead.”
“That what Kappie told you?”
“Yeah…”
I put my hand on his shoulder. The little creep was barely more than skin and bone. I spoke in a low, gentle tone. “What really happened is that almost a dozen imps got torn to pieces. Pieces. They were working for the thing that did it to them, and I’m on its trail.” With one hand, I produced a card from my pocket and put it in his hand. “I want you to call around to all your friends and cousins. You tell ’em that something is killing imps. Your boss doesn’t care, but I do. If any of them tell you a story about a stranger offering work, you call me immediately.”
The imp stared at my card for a few moments, then looked up at me. I could see him summoning courage. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.
Oh, for fuck’s sake, I said to Maggie. It’s almost like not getting killed isn’t enough. “You find me this asshole, and I’ll give you five hundred bucks, plus another hundred for whoever your source is.” I leaned forward so that we were eye to eye. “After I get my hands on the guy. Got it?”
“Right. Got it. Yes, sir.”
I opened the back door, covering my mouth against the eye-watering stench of ammonia. Four imps sat on bare, stained carpet watching an old tube TV. Two of them got to their feet as I entered. “Sit down,” I said. “I don’t give a shit what you’re cooking in here.” I produced a handful of business cards and gave them each the same spiel and offer I’d given their red-sweatered friend, then went back outside as quickly as I could manage.
I hocked up a wad of phlegm, spat in the dirt, and rubbed my eyes. “How the hell do you guys breathe in there?”
“We wear masks when we’re cooking,” Red Sweater replied.
“And the rest of the time?”
He shrugged.
I looked down at the little cattle dog and chewed on the inside of my cheek. It stared up at me expectantly, clearly disappointed I had taken its breakfast. It inched forward and licked the tips of my fingers.
We don’t have time for this, Maggie warned.
I took the extension cord out of Red Sweater’s hand. “I’m confiscating your dog.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t keep pets in a meth house,” I called over my shoulder as I left.
I went out of my way to drop the dog at a nearby shelter whose owner owed me a favor, then headed to the next address on Zeke’s list. It was much the same as the first: occupied by a handful of imps who cooked meth for Kappie. The imps protested that no one would accept work without Kappie’s allowance, but they all ate up my promise of a five-hundred-dollar bounty for this mysterious employer.
The third house followed suit, and the fourth and the fifth. It was getting late in the afternoon when I reached the sixth house, in a town called Berea. I pulled into the driveway, and Maggie immediately chimed in. Don’t bother. The house is empty.
Completely?
Completely, she confirmed. Kappie must have cleaned it out months ago.
I sighed. This isn’t working, is it?
Before Maggie could answer, my phone rang. It was an unidentified number. “Alek Fitz,” I answered.
A nasally voice said, “Are you the reaper guy?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I thought I recognized the voice of Red Sweater from the Euclid house. “Do you have anything for me?”
“Maybe,” he answered. “My cousin’s friend is helping open up a cook house over in Painesville. He says some spooky dude offered them a side job, but he wouldn’t say what it was.”
“That’s not super specific,” I said.
“Hey, man, that’s all I’ve got. Do I get the five hundred bucks or what?”
I checked Zeke’s list. No houses in Painesville. “Text me the address,” I told him. “If it’s a good lead, you’ll get your money when I drag this sucker down.”
The address arrived on my phone within thirty seconds, and I was on my way to Painesville. It was dark by the time I pulled up in front of a little cottage on a two-acre lot that still had a realtor’s sign out front. Someone had spray-painted Black Mold on the realtor’s sign. There were three cars in the driveway, the lawn was unkempt, and I could see light coming from around the edges of blacked-out windows.
It didn’t take a lot of effort to bully my way inside and corral seven imps onto the two beat-up couches in the living room. I stood in the mid
dle of the room, looking at the seven as if I were about to give a presentation. Not a single one gave me trouble beyond asking who I was, but they all fixed me with the same hollow-eyed look I had seen on the guy back in Euclid. Something was most definitely wrong here, though. “Five hundred bucks,” I said firmly, hoping to get a rise. “First one of you who sells out your boss gets it in cash.”
“Kappie’s our boss,” one answered.
“Your other boss,” I clarified.
One of the imps, a younger one with a hairlip, looked around at his friends before opening his mouth. “I—” His closest companion punched him in the shoulder, and he fell silent.
“You what?” I asked, walking over to stand above him.
We came to the right place, Maggie told me.
You sure?
They’re all scared shitless. They’re practically exhaling fear.
“Come on,” I said. “Five hundred bucks to the first one to speak.” I did a circuit around the room, then returned to Hairlip and nudged his shoe with my boot. “Five hundred not good enough? You guys need some group courage? How about two hundred each?”
Still no rise. I straightened, scowling at the assembled imps. It’s like they think he’s going to show up any second, I said to Maggie.
About that, Alek—you have company.
You’re shitting me. Where?
Outside, coming quick.
I drew my Glock and backed into the corner of the living room, one eye on the front door and the other on the window. The imps stared at me in confusion. Where is he? I asked Maggie.
I’m trying to figure that out! I can’t pin the bastard down; he’s—
Maggie was cut off by a deafening rumble. It felt like a concrete truck driving by at full speed, and I tried to pinpoint the source with no more luck than Maggie when I heard a snap, felt a breeze on my neck, and something snagged the back of my flak vest all in the course of a split second. The word shit wasn’t out of my mouth when I felt myself yanked through the wall of the house, crunching through the drywall, framing, and siding. I was suddenly tumbling through the air. I instinctively curled into a ball a moment before I bounced off a tree and went skidding across the muddy yard to land in a heap about twenty yards from the house.
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