Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  As the kidnappee, I argued against it. “Under Hel’s authority, Stefan’s within his rights to pass sentence on them. Banishment is a fitting sentence.”

  “But they broke the law, Daisy,” he said impatiently. “And you’ve got rights, too. You’ve got a birth certificate and legal citizenship.”

  “I know.” My head ached. “But in the eldritch community, Hel’s authority supersedes the law. And since her justice has been done, as her liaison I have to decline to press charges against them.”

  Cody jerked his thumb at Jerry Dunham, who was propped shirtless against a wall, a field dressing over his gunshot wound. “What about him?”

  “Him? Oh, yeah,” I said grimly. “It’s the only thing we can legally charge him with.”

  “Might want to rethink that, blondie.” Dunham was pale and shivering with the onset of shock, but as remorseless as ever. “You want this whole clusterfuck coming out in a court trial? Ghouls, werewolves, hell-spawn?”

  “No,” I said to him as Johnny and his battered troop beat a hasty retreat. “I was thinking you’d plead guilty.”

  He gave me a rictus of a smile. “Ain’t got no incentive.”

  “I’ll give you one.” Unless it was to speak to the rusalka in a low murmur, Lurine had been silent during the discussion. Now she uncoiled from around the tank with unnerving speed and loomed over him, her upper body swaying back and forth like an immense cobra’s. Her voice had taken on that implacable bronze edge, and I didn’t have to see her face to know her eyes were glittering with a deadly basilisk stare. “If you don’t, I will hunt you down and find you. And I will crush you, bit by bit, bone by bone.” The tip of her tail caressed his cheek with sensuous grace. “You understand a bit about suffering, don’t you? I’ll make it last for days. Did you know that as long as your heart’s still beating and blood’s flowing to your brain, you can live for a long, long time?”

  “Rather like a headless chicken,” I added. “Only with more nerve endings.”

  For the first time, Jerry Dunham looked well and truly afraid. It was pretty damn gratifying.

  Cody shuddered and shook himself. “Jesus!”

  “You should get out of here, too,” I said to Lurine. “We’ve got cops and paramedics on the way, and I can’t vouch for their discretion.”

  Lurine glanced at the rusalka, obviously reluctant to abandon her.

  “She will be safe until such time as arrangements can be made,” Stefan assured her. “I will see to it myself.”

  A look passed between them, and then Lurine nodded. “My husband was on the board of the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I’ll start making calls.”

  “You’re not—” I began in alarm.

  “No, cupcake.” Her tail circled my waist, giving me an affectionate squeeze. “Of course not. Calls about arranging to transport her safely back to where she came from. Or at least to Puget Sound, which is where she got tangled in a fisherman’s net. She’s a long way from home.”

  “Sorry; I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Lurine squeezed me again. After the fate she’d threatened Dunham with, you wouldn’t think that would be entirely comforting, but it was. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough day, baby girl. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder how Lurine had gotten in on this, and I asked her.

  Releasing me, she nodded at Stefan. “He called me.”

  “You did?” I asked him.

  He inclined his head. “Of course. She declared you under her protection. It was a necessary courtesy.”

  “Oh.”

  Lurine shifted, dwindling abruptly from a glorious and terrifying monster to a naked B-movie starlet. “Speaking of courtesies, would you be so kind as to fetch my clothes?” she asked Stefan. “I left them in the Town Car.”

  I caught Cody staring.

  “What?” He shook himself again. “It’s just that I’ve seen all of her movies. Was she really your babysitter?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled wearily. “Still is, apparently.”

  “Oh, you’re all grown-up now, cupcake.” Lurine blew me a kiss. “But do me a favor and call your mom, okay?”

  “I will,” I promised.

  Minutes after Lurine departed the premises, the chief arrived. He stepped through the wreckage of the front door and surveyed the scene without comment for a long, long time before exhaling heavily. “She going to be all right?” He nodded toward the rusalka.

  “I hope so, sir,” I said. “We’ve, um, already got someone working on arranging to transport her home.”

  “Good.” His gaze skated over the wreckage again, taking in the shattered glass, Dunham’s shivering form propped against the wall, Stefan, his lieutenant Rafe, and half a dozen other loyal ghouls standing in the shadows by the bar, their eyes gleaming softly in the dimness. Outside, sirens sounded and red lights flashed as the EMS vehicle pulled into the driveway. The chief’s gaze shifted to Cody and me. “You two care to fill me in on the details? Wilkes and Sheriff Barnard are on their way.”

  The paramedics halted in shock at the sight of the rusalka in her tank, although not as much as one might imagine. They were Pemkowet locals, and had seen a few unusual things in their day. Regaining their composure, they worked efficiently to examine Dunham and check his vitals while Cody and I reported to the chief.

  It was another matter altogether when Detective Wilkes and the county sheriff arrived. Wilkes turned pale, but at least his recent dealings with the eldritch community had done a little to prepare him. Sheriff Ross Barnard let out an involuntary grunt, as though someone had punched him in the gut, and stood rooted to the spot, staring at the tank. “Holy Mary, mother of God.” Since that didn’t seem adequate, he repeated it. “Holy Mary, mother of God! Is that thing real?”

  “I told you that’s what we were looking for, Ross,” Chief Bryant said.

  The sheriff glanced at him. “Yeah, you did. Frankly, I didn’t believe you. So that’s how the Vanderhei kid drowned? In there? With that?”

  My tail twitched. “She’s not a thing,” I muttered. “She’s a rusalka.”

  He looked at me. “A what?”

  “A Russian mermaid, sir,” Cody offered.

  Sheriff Barnard scratched his head. “What in the name of all that’s holy is she doing here?”

  “Pull up a chair,” the chief said. “It’s a hell of a story.”

  While Chief Bryant related it, Cody and I helped the EMTs shift Jerry Dunham onto a gurney, unlocking the handcuffs behind his back and cuffing him to its frame by one wrist before wheeling it out to the vehicle.

  “I’ve got to go with him,” Cody said apologetically to me in the driveway. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, partner.” Cody gave me a hug, resting his chin on the top of my head.

  It felt good. Warm, solid, and comforting. I hugged him back, inhaling the scent of pine trees and leather, laundry detergent, a lingering trace of Ralph Lauren’s Polo, and a faint, underlying musk. I wished he didn’t have to leave. Reluctantly, I made myself let go of him. “Hey, we make a pretty good team, don’t you think?”

  He gave me a crooked smile. “Yeah, we do.”

  Back in the Locksley residence, Sheriff Barnard looked dumbstruck. Tim Wilkes had recovered his composure enough to begin documenting the scene with a professional-looking camera.

  “Are you filing an official report on her?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I doubt it. But there should be a record anyway, don’t you think?”

  I placed one hand against the glass of the tank. The rusalka pressed her gray-green hand against mine on the opposite side, webbed fingers splayed. “Yeah. I do.”

  Wilkes stared at her in horrified fascination. “The thing I don’t understand is exactly . . . how it worked?”

  “The mechanics of it?” I asked. He nodded. “It’s a kind of ventral slit.” />
  He blanched.

  In her tank, the rusalka’s face was grave with sorrow, her dark, floating hair a nimbus around her head.

  “I know,” I said. “It makes me sick, too.”

  “I wish I could talk to her,” Wilkes murmured. “Tell her how damn sorry I am on behalf of human men.”

  I didn’t tell him the rusalka had surfaced and spoken to us earlier. She didn’t show any inclination of doing so again, and after the abuse she’d suffered, if she didn’t want to have dealings with ordinary mortal men, I didn’t blame her. Instead, I patted Tim Wilkes on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Detective.”

  He gave me a bleak look. “This job doesn’t make it easy. Are you ready to give me a statement? We’ll need it if we’re bringing charges against Dunham.” He fingered his mustache. “It’s going to be a challenge to figure out how to present the facts.”

  Wilkes took statements from the ghouls, too, or rather, he took a statement from Stefan, and the others confirmed the details. I had to credit the guy for being thorough. Even if it didn’t all go into an official report, I was glad there would be a record of this. Hel’s justice had been administered to Ray and Mary, but Jerry freaking Dunham couldn’t even be charged for what he’d done to the rusalka. Maybe someday that would change, and if it did, it would be good to have this on record somewhere.

  “I think we’re done here,” Sheriff Barnard said when Wilkes had finished. “I’ll prepare a press release declaring that my office’s investigation has concluded the Vanderhei boy’s death was an accident. When all’s said and done, it was.” He glanced at the tank and shuddered. “And I’ll be in touch about a private conference after I’ve spoken to all the parties involved.”

  “Sounds good.” The chief shook his hand. “Daisy, you need a ride home?” His voice was kind and concerned. “Or maybe to your mother’s house?”

  I hesitated. “Can you give me a minute here?”

  “I’ll be outside in the cruiser,” he said.

  Once they’d exited through the gaping hole that had once been a front door, I approached the tank. The rusalka rose to the surface again, dank water streaming over her shoulders.

  “Hi,” I said softly, touching dauda-dagr’s hilt in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Would you like me to stay here with you?”

  The pale, translucent membranes over her eyes flicked open, and she gazed past me toward the ghouls. “Do you trust them?”

  “I trust their leader,” I said, realizing as I said it that it was true. “And he’s given his word to keep you safe.”

  The rusalka’s gills fluttered weakly. “Him, then. Not the others. I do not want the others here.”

  “Is that okay with you?” I asked Stefan.

  He inclined his head. “Of course. If you wish, Rafe will give you a ride home.”

  Rafe stepped forward, his dark eyes glittering faintly.

  Okay, maybe Stefan’s other lieutenant had proved himself to be loyal, and maybe he had the ravening under control, but . . . no. Just no. I wasn’t ready to climb onto the back of a ghoul’s motorcycle anytime soon.

  “Thanks,” I said to him. “But I think I’ll take the chief up on his offer.”

  Stefan made a slight gesture with his left hand, still holding the sword in his right. Rafe and the remaining ghouls departed without a word. Outside, a full-throated chorus of motorcycles rumbled to life.

  The rusalka sank back into the murky waters.

  Stefan came toward me, stopping a few feet away. My chest felt tight. I could see the slit over his heart in his black T-shirt where the sword had pierced it, his skin gleaming pale through the rent. “What you did today took a tremendous effort of will, Daisy Johanssen,” he said to me. “And I owe you a great debt.”

  I looked involuntarily at my hands, still feeling the residual chill of dauda-dagr’s hilt, the tremor of death.

  “I do not speak of dispatching the Outcast,” Stefan said gravely. “I speak of what you did to quell the battle.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That.”

  He nodded. “You shared a profound glimpse of all that you hold dear. It was a valiant gesture, and I will not forget it.” Closing the space between us, he took my hand and placed it on his chest. Beneath the rent in his shirt, I could feel his heart beating. I could sense the deep stillness within him. He gazed at me with his ice-blue eyes, his pupils stable, calm, and perfectly controlled, centuries of patience behind them. “It is as I have said. There are things I could teach you. Methods to ward your formidable emotions, even from the likes of me. We could help each other, you and I.”

  It felt good, too.

  Maybe too good. And definitely not comforting. At least what I felt for Cody was familiar territory. What I felt for Stefan scared me.

  My tail twitching with suppressed desire, I curled my fingers into the fabric of his torn T-shirt. “There’s a part of me that wants that, Stefan,” I whispered. “But I’m not ready for it. I saw you die tonight.”

  “I have died many times,” he said in a formal tone. “The result is always the same. One day, perhaps it will be different. Perhaps it is you and I together that will make the difference, serving notice to heaven and hell alike that matters have changed.”

  God, he really was ridiculously good-looking.

  I opened my hand, releasing the bunched fabric. “One day, maybe. But not today. Okay?”

  Stefan inclined his head. “I can wait.”

  Forty-one

  In the days that followed, things happened.

  The press release from the county sheriff’s office did a lot to put a damper on unrest in the media. Warned by the sheriff that the details of their son’s death would cast Thad in a highly unflattering light, the Vanderheis went silent and ceased to exert their influence. Accordingly, the protesters in downtown Pemkowet vanished.

  Everyone breathed easier for it.

  Hel summoned me to deliver what felt like unearned praise. When I protested that I’d temporarily lost dauda-dagr and nearly botched the entire affair, she merely fixed me with her baleful ember eye and her compassionate eye alike until I got sort of squirmy.

  “You upheld my order, Daisy Johanssen,” Hel said in her sepulchral voice. “In the end, it is all that matters.”

  I took the hint and thanked her. Beneath Yggdrasil II’s roots, the oldest Norn winked at me on the way out.

  Mogwai was less forgiving, treating me with disdain for ignoring his covert bristle-furred warning not to trust Johnny. Privately, I agreed with him.

  Sufficiently intimidated by Lurine’s threat, Jerry Dunham chose to keep his bones intact and pled guilty to conspiracy to commit kidnapping and assault charges. I breathed a sigh of relief at that, too.

  Cody and I delivered the news of Mary’s death to Emma Sudbury, who wept tears of mingled grief and release. I talked to Mom’s friend Sandra Sweddon about the senior center’s community outreach program, and she promised to pay Emma a visit.

  Sinclair Palmer’s paranormal tour proved a great hit. Under orders from the Oak King, the pretty, sparkly fairies made regularly scheduled appearances, smiling with their mouths closed. Locals got used to waving to Sinclair’s brightly painted tour bus while he charmed the tourists with his semi-faux-Jamaican patois.

  Lurine utilized her contacts with ruthless efficiency. The day after my kidnapping, a team of marine mammal experts from the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago descended on the Locksley residence, monitoring the pH balance and other chemicals in the water, examining the rusalka to the best of their abilities, once they’d recovered from their initial bout of disbelief and giddy astonishment. In exchange for the unprecedented experience, they had agreed to legally binding terms of secrecy.

  I would have thought getting the rusalka back to Puget Sound would be a considerable undertaking, but it’s pretty amazing what can be accomplished when money isn’t an issue. Lurine footed the bill for the whole thing. A day later, I was there to watch as the Shedd staffers lifted her
out of the tank in a stretcher they used for transporting dolphins and transferred her into a specialized water-filled shipping container in the back of the cargo truck that would carry her to O’Hare airport.

  “When we had to move our dolphins and belugas during the renovation, we had someone they know and trust ride along with them every step of the way,” one of the staffers said to Lurine, looking starstruck and vaguely perplexed by Lurine Hollister’s involvement in the entire thing. He was probably dying to tell someone about it. “I don’t know how you feel about it, but the, ah, rusalka seems to trust you. . . .”

  “Sure.” She stepped out of her high-heeled pumps and handed them to him. “Put these somewhere safe, will you? They’re Louboutins.”

  “Okay.” Holding her shoes, he stared as Lurine hopped up to perch on the container’s ledge, her legs dangling in the water. “Don’t you, um, want a wet suit?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She looked amused. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along, Daisy? My treat. No sense letting space on a chartered flight go unused.”

  “Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “I’d love to, but I really need to be here for this conference with the families.”

  “Okay, cupcake.” She smiled at me. “Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, will you?”

  “I’ll try.” I leaned over the container.

  The rusalka surfaced. Already her skin—if that was what you called it—looked healthier, more greenish than gray. Her nictitating eyelids opened, her lucent emerald gaze meeting mine. “Thank you.”

  I clasped her hand for the last time, feeling the cool, rubbery webbing against my own warm fingers. “Be safe.”

  The conference took place two days later at the county sheriff’s headquarters. Jim and Sue Vanderhei were there, along with Mike Huizenga, Kyle Middleton, and their parents, me, Cody, Chief Bryant, Detective Wilkes, and Sheriff Barnard. I have to admit, it was pretty much the last place on earth I wanted to be. Seattle would have been a lot nicer. The sense of anguished loss and devastating guilt hanging over the room was palpable, so much so that I found myself wishing Stefan were there to siphon off a measure of it, like he’d done at Thad’s funeral.