Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  Cats and dogs, I’m not so sure about.

  Gus answered our knock right away, unfolding his mammoth seven-foot-tall frame through the doorway and ducking under the netting. To the mundane eye, he looks a bit like Andre the Giant, and if you don’t know who that is, you really need to watch The Princess Bride. To the eldritch eye, he looks like Andre the Giant if Andre the Giant were hewn from boulders and stitched together with leather.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said in a deep rumble, baring teeth like smaller boulders in a shy smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “Lurine’s going to summon the naiads,” I said. “Can you make sure we don’t draw any spectators?”

  His smile broadened. “Of course.” He glanced at Mom with puppy-dog eyes. “Present company excepted, I hope?”

  Um, yeah. Gus the ogre has a crush on my mother.

  “Of course Marja’s welcome.” Lurine patted Mom’s arm. “She’s an honorary member of the community.”

  I fidgeted. “This is a police investigation.”

  “It’s okay, honey.” Mom smiled at me. “I’ll stay on the shore with Gus, out of hearing range. I just want to watch. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a naiad; they don’t usually come out this far.”

  I sighed. “Fine.”

  We trooped down toward the river. Some yards away from the shore, Gus planted his looming figure on sentry duty. It was late enough in the day that the sun was riding low in the west, beginning its slow descent toward sunset, and a few people were out on their decks, manning barbecue grills.

  Gus raised his hands and cupped his mouth. “Better you should go inside for a little while, okay?” he boomed. “Go inside and close your curtains! Important community business here!” There were a few groans and catcalls, but everyone obeyed. For an ogre, Gus is an amiable fellow, but not someone you want to cross.

  “Ready, cupcake?” Lurine asked me.

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  At the river’s edge, Lurine shucked her sundress and waded into the murky water, her bare feet stirring up eddies of muck. “Let me call them first. I’ll come back for you.”

  “Okay.”

  In the blink of an eye, she shifted, her shapely human lower half giving way to those vast, glistening, muscular coils. If you crossed a giant anaconda with a rainbow, that’s pretty much what the bottom half of a lamia would look like. Propelled by her undulating coils, Lurine glided across the surface of the river through a thicket of sedge grass, her torso disconcertingly upright and towering in the air. When she reached open water, she halted.

  Her immensely long, powerful tail thrashed, churning the water. She raised her voice and summoned the naiads in a foreign tongue, every word precise and ringing with bronze-edged irritation.

  I don’t know what she said, but she sounded pissed.

  There was a long moment of silence, echoes dying across the bay. And then the water rippled with myriad arrow-headed wakes as the naiads, undines, and nixies came in swift answer to Lurine’s summons, rising to bob in the river, heads lowered in acknowledgment.

  Lurine’s tail snaked back toward me and proffered a loop, the iridescent tip beckoning. Not exactly what I’d expected when she said she’d come back for me. When I hesitated, she glanced over her shoulder with mild annoyance. “I’m not playing, Daisy. Are you coming or not?”

  “Coming.” I pried off my sandals and stepped onto the offered loop of her tail. It dipped slightly beneath my weight, and I nearly slipped. “Whoa!”

  A coil wrapped around my waist, steadying me. “Gotcha, cupcake.”

  Okay . . . gah!

  Lurine retracted her coils, me within them, and in one swift rush I was floating above the river and the aquatic mean-girls club, securely encased in a lamia’s grip. Yep, definitely hot—also pretty exhilarating, like the weirdest amusement park ride ever.

  The head naiad bobbed and glared at me beneath her lashes. I cleared my throat. “Um . . . hi again.” I raised my left hand, the one marked with Hel’s rune. “Remember me?”

  Her voice was subdued, but icy. “Yes, of course. The sun has not set on our brief acquaintance.”

  Lurine’s tail thrashed in warning. I rode out the convulsions, my bare toes gripping her water-slick coils, one hand clutching her shoulder. “Level with me. A boy died, okay? Just tell me what you saw.”

  They conferred in their silvery voices. The sun sank lower, turning the rippled surface of the water to hammered gold.

  At last a pair of timid undines with pearls from my morning’s offering twined in their translucent hair came forward. “The boy didn’t drown in the river,” one of them said in a faint, wispy voice. “They put him there.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Who did? His friends?”

  They exchanged a glance. “We don’t know. It was dark,” the other one said. “They were in a boat without lights.”

  “How many people?” I asked. “Human or eldritch?”

  “Four,” the first undine said. “Two were human. Two were not. The two who were not put the boy in the river.”

  “You said the boy didn’t drown there.” I frowned, thinking. “So he was already dead, then?”

  The undines nodded in unison. “Drowned.”

  “Drowned, but not in the river? You’re sure?”

  “All of us know what drowned men look like, halfling,” the head naiad said with disdain. “We have seen many hundreds of them.”

  “No doubt.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she was responsible for a few of them. Ignoring her, I concentrated on the undines. “Okay, the two who weren’t human. What were they?”

  “Pale,” one said.

  “Hungry,” the other offered.

  “Vampires?” I hadn’t considered the possibility that the kids were blood-sluts in the making. But by the look of him, Thad Vanderhei hadn’t been drained, and I’d never heard of vampires drowning anyone.

  The undines shook their heads. “No.”

  I grimaced. “Ghouls?”

  They did their nod-in-unison thing again. I wondered whether undines were a bit simple. It might explain why the naiads were so bitchy, having to share the river with them. “Maybe,” one said. “Not for sure.”

  “Okay, so they put the boy in the river. Then what happened?”

  “We don’t know,” the other said. “We swam away as fast as we could.”

  Lurine muttered something under her breath, the end of her tail lashing ominously. The undines looked scared.

  “It’s okay,” I assured them. “I don’t blame you. I would have run away, too. Can you tell me anything else about the people in the boat? Were the humans the boy’s age?”

  “Yes,” both of them said. “We think so.”

  “Good, very good.” I nodded encouragingly. “What about the other two men? The maybe-ghouls?”

  “Not men,” one corrected me. “One man and one woman.”

  Huh, interesting.

  I pressed them for as many details as they could remember. All I got was that the man and woman were not young, but not old either. The man had dark hair, but they weren’t sure about the woman. The boat was a small motorboat, not a sailboat or a houseboat, but the kind you would take on a short pleasure cruise or fishing trip. Since that described a hundred boats in Pemkowet, it wasn’t a lot of help.

  Still, it was tons more information than I’d had an hour ago.

  When I couldn’t think of any further angles to pursue, I thanked the undines for their help. “I appreciate it. This is very, very helpful.” I glanced from them to the head naiad. “Why were you so reluctant to share it? Why did you make it so difficult?”

  The undines were silent.

  “Because it is dangerous to get involved in such affairs, halfling,” the head naiad said with exasperation. “We do not know who killed the boy or why. There are those who have hunted our kind for sport over the ages.” She waved one alabaster arm, indicating the broad sweep of the river. “In this age, it would be altogether
too easy to take vengeance on us. Mortal folk have all but poisoned the waters through carelessness. Imagine what one of the soulless ones could do out of spite.”

  As much as I disliked her, I had to admit she had a point. “I’ll do my best to keep my sources off the record.”

  The naiad gave me a tight smile. “That may work in the mundane world. In the eldritch community, everyone will know it was a water elemental who gave you this information.”

  “Yeah, and most of them will be grateful for it,” I pointed out to her.

  She tossed her hair. “It is the ones who will not that concern us.”

  Lurine said something foreign and scathing. Her coils stirred, waving me absentmindedly in the air and making my stomach lurch. Remembering my presence, she steadied her coils and switched back to English. “Your concerns are small and selfish, little sister. You do not understand the stakes. If those who did this are not brought to justice, the eyes of the mundane world will turn to Pemkowet.” Her eyes flashed. “There will be talk of rooting out evil. There will be talk of destroying the underworld, of razing the city beneath the sands. If that came to pass, Hel would perish, and the rest of us would follow. As below, so above. Do you understand?”

  This time the naiad really did look chastened. “Yes, kyria. I understand.”

  “All of you?” Lurine persisted. “And if there is anything else you remember, anything else you learn, you will come forward with it?”

  There was a silvery chorus of agreement from the bobbing figures of undines, naiads, and nixies.

  “Are you done with them, cupcake?” Lurine lowered me so she could look me in the eye.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She dismissed the assembled water elementals with a foreign word that sounded like a thunderclap. Once again, they scattered like minnows—like scared minnows. I had to admit it was infinitely more satisfying this time.

  Thirteen

  Back at the river’s edge, Lurine deposited me gently on solid ground before shifting back to her human guise, the imposing millennia-old monster resuming the form of every heterosexual fourteen-year-old boy’s wet dream.

  I’d always been fond of Lurine, but I had a whole new respect for her.

  “Did you get what you needed, baby girl?” she asked me.

  I nodded. “More than I’d hoped. Thanks, Lurine.”

  “Anytime.” Lowering her voice, she gave me a serious look. “Sweetheart, if you need backup, don’t you hesitate to call me. You might be getting in over your head here. I’ll keep my promise; I won’t say a word about this, not even to your mother, but it sounds like we’re talking about a murder, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed. “It kinda looks that way.”

  She sighed. “Goddamn ghouls.”

  It seemed to genuinely disturb her. I wondered fleetingly about Lurine’s wealthy octogenarian husband’s death, and pushed that thought firmly away. Still really, really didn’t want to know. And then I thought about dark-haired ghouls who were neither young nor old, and Stefan Ludovic’s patient, piercing, ice-blue gaze.

  I shivered a bit. Didn’t want to know if he was involved in this, either. Or at least I didn’t want it to be true.

  “Daisy, baby!” Mom hurried over to the shore, a pair of clean, dry towels over her arm. “Are you cold? I brought towels.”

  “I’m fine.” It was true; I didn’t have a drop of water on me.

  “You’re not.” Since Mom couldn’t fuss over me, she fussed over Lurine, who bore it with amused fondness. “Look at that muck! You don’t want to get it all over your pretty sundress.” Picking up Lurine’s discarded dress, she eyed it critically, examining the seams. “Is this a Marc Jacobs? Because you know I could make it for you at a fraction of the price with twice the workmanship.”

  “It’s from last season. Don’t worry about it.” Having wiped the river water and clinging bits of rotten plant matter and other unidentified muck from her legs, Lurine held out her hand. Mom hesitated. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk about a commission, but not at a fraction of the price. I don’t want to have this fight again. Can I get dressed now?”

  “Yes, please!” Gus’s voice boomed in answer. He was still standing sentry duty, now with his massive back pointedly turned and a ham-size hand shielding his eyes. As it happened, the ogre was a gentleman. “Can she get dressed?”

  “Hey, Gus! Can we come out now?” someone called from one of the mobile units, peering cautiously through the curtains. “I’ve got hungry kids and burgers turning to charcoal on the grill.”

  I laughed.

  Nothing was funny, not really. It was just that the absurdity of the exchange in the midst of some very scary and ominous goings-on reminded me that I loved this place and these people.

  “It’s okay, Gus.” I patted his arm, which unsurprisingly was a lot like patting a boulder. “They can come out now.”

  “Do you have time for a cup of coffee, honey?” Mom asked me in a hopeful tone.

  I shook my head. “I need to touch base with Cody.”

  She did her best to look crafty. “Oh, of course.”

  Lurine took my mom’s arm in hers. “If it’s no trouble, I’d love a cup of coffee, Marja. We can talk clothes.” She glanced at me, her gaze light, masking her concern. “Don’t worry about me, cupcake. I’ll call my driver to pick me up.”

  “Okay.”

  In my car, I slid my phone from my purse. No reply from Jen—oh, well. The ball was in her court now. Suppressing the tiniest pang of guilt, I called Cody. He answered right away, sounding disgruntled. “What’s up, Pixy Stix?”

  I cradled the phone against my ear. “No luck?”

  “No,” he said shortly. “You?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “And it’s a pretty major development. Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to meet?”

  There was a pause. “You had dinner?”

  “I never even had lunch,” I said, only just now realizing it.

  “Me neither. Meet you at Callahan’s in ten.” He hung up.

  It turned out to be more like twenty. Parking in downtown Pemkowet is a nightmare in the summer, and I had to circle the block several times before, miracle of miracles, a car pulled out of a space right in front of Callahan’s Café just as I was about to begin another circuit. I whipped into the space and was fumbling for my purse, which had fallen onto the floor, when someone rapped on the passenger-side window, making me jump.

  Cody’s face peered at me. I leaned over to unlock the door. He opened it and squeezed his tall figure into the passenger seat.

  “Change of plans?” I asked.

  “No, I just thought you could give me a quick rundown.” He nodded at the café. “Too busy for privacy tonight.”

  I told Cody the gist of what I’d learned. He heard me out in silence, an increasingly dark scowl on his face.

  “Damn!” He pounded the dashboard with one fist when I’d finished. My poor little Honda rocked under the impact. “Sorry. I was really hoping this would turn out to be nothing sinister.” His face looked grim. “Now I’ve really got to find Ray D. I don’t suppose your mysterious friend has any pull in the ghoul community?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Too bad.” Cody searched my face, his gold-flecked topaz eyes unnervingly intense. “How sure are you about this info, Daisy?”

  “Pretty sure,” I said reluctantly. “Those undines really didn’t want to talk about it. None of the water elementals wanted to get involved. They’re scared. They wouldn’t have given it up if Lur . . . if my friend hadn’t made them. I don’t think they’d lie.”

  “Undines.” He ran a hand over his chin. I couldn’t help but notice that his stubble was gone. “God help us. That’ll stand up in court.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Chief says we ought to have the autopsy report tomorrow. Hopefully, that’ll give us something more substantial to go on.”

  My stomach grumbled. “Can we still get dinner?”

  “Yeah.” Cody’s ex
pression eased into a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I think we’d better. I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.” Unable to resist, I brushed the line of his jaw with one fingertip. “Plus, you shaved, didn’t you?”

  “I might have,” he admitted.

  “And you smell good.” I did successfully resist the urge to sniff his neck. Yay for me! “Is that aftershave? What is it?”

  “Ralph Lauren’s Polo.” Cody made a face. “It was a gift, okay? No special occasion—I just didn’t want it to go to waste. Don’t read anything into it.”

  “I won’t.” I paused. “A gift from a lady friend?”

  He wagged a finger at me. “None of your business, Pixy Stix. C’mon; let’s get a bite to eat.”

  It was a nice piece of lighthearted banter and a welcome counterbalance to the day’s grave revelations. And on that note, both of us exited the Honda and headed for the door of Callahan’s . . .

  . . . just in time to encounter Jen and her friend Greta Hasselmeyer standing on the sidewalk and staring at us, having just emerged from the café.

  Oh, crap.

  “Hey!” My voice came out overbright and chipper. “Oh, hey, Jen!” I cleared my throat. “I’ve been trying to call you. Did you get my message?”

  She continued to stare at me for a long moment, then slowly and deliberately shifted her gaze from me to Cody and back. “Yeah.” Her tone was flat. “Thanks. I got it. Loud and clear, Daise.”

  I winced. “It’s not—”

  Jen held one hand out. “Whatever.”

  “It’s just work!” I protested.

  She walked away without a word, her dark, shining hair hanging down her back and swaying like a river. A pissed-off river. Greta Hasselmeyer, who worked alongside Jen in the Cassopolis family industry of caretaking and cleaning for the privileged and wealthy, folded her arms over her chest and shook her head, voicing her disapproval in equal silence.

  I probably shouldn’t have stroked Cody’s jaw.

  Crap.

  We entered the café and took seats across from each other in a corner booth. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Not your fault.” Cody studied the menu, although, like me, he probably had it memorized. “I called her. She wasn’t too thrilled by the ‘it’s not you; it’s me’ routine.”