Death Dealers

by M. G. Gallows

  A short time later a doctor came in, flanked by the guard. He checked my eyes and pulse.

  “Mr. Fossor, can you hear me?”

  “Yarp.”

  He went down a list of questions about what I could and couldn’t feel, where the worst pain was, what I could remember, and all the while he checked and rechecked my vitals. I was cooperative about everything but the memory, lest I incriminate myself in something.

  “Very well,” he said. “You twisted your leg and there are multiple contusions and cuts, but our X-rays showed no fractures or deep tissue damage. You can focus and answer me clearly, which is good.”

  “Blerf,” I agreed.

  Then he gave me some painkillers and left me alone, so he was my new favorite person in the world.

  I let the numbness take me under for a while, and when I woke the doctor took some more tests. It went on like that for a while. Sometimes there was a nurse, sometimes a different doctor. The security guard didn’t change. I named him Bob. He looked like a Bob.

  I progressed to where the pain was just annoying and not torturous. Then they sat me up and fed me soft food in little trays and made me drink about a gallon of water. Hospital food is nothing to write home about, but after my week, it was a feast for the senses.

  I had just finished a breakfast of oatmeal and scrambled eggs when my two favorite detectives arrived. Runner had his big smile and anachronistic duster. Lorensdottr wore her sharkskin suit and a scowl with her stunning blue eyes.

  “Mr. Fosser, how are you feeling?” Runner asked.

  “Good as I look, I imagine.”

  “Then you must feel like shit in stitches,” Lorensdottr said. I couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed.

  “I know you’ve got questions,” Runner said. “But we’ve got more important ones.”

  They grilled me for nearly an hour. My whereabouts over the past week. What relationship I had with Josh Wilkes, with the Brothers Midnight, if I’d ever taken Stig, the nature of the setup in my basement, and how Josh had ended up there ‘unconscious’. I fed them a lot of confused uncertainty, and Runner did his best not to smirk when he knew I was lying to his partner. Then they started over, asking the same questions with different context or perspectives, trying to peel the real details from the bullshit I fed them.

  “I barely remember any of it,” I insisted for the fourth or fifth time. “The last memory I have is buying some chops from Kent’s. Then I woke up here.”

  “This is such horseshit,” Lorensdottr muttered. “If you expect us to believe any of it-”

  Runner put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Lo. Mr. Fossor just needs to gather his thoughts. Why not grab some coffee?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then walked out, fists at her sides. Runner watched her from the door, then looked at me and mouthed ‘ouch’.

  “What does she remember?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “I brought her upstairs and sat her on a couch in our break room. She woke up assuming she’d returned from your place and fell asleep.”

  “She still suspects.”

  “That’s who she is,” Runner replied.

  I remembered Maman Bridgitte’s presence, when she wanted to impress on me just how big an entity she was in comparison. It had put me on my knees. Lorensdottr’s soul would remember when they had shared a body.

  “Maybe, but do you remember what Maman Brigitte said about Consent? Even a Loa can’t force itself into your body if you don’t give it permission. On some level, Loren understood what was happening, and allowed it. I think Brigitte offered something in return.”

  “Like what?” Runner asked.

  “Dunno.”

  He exhaled and made the sign of the Cross over his torso. “This crap is a bit too heavy for me. I never stopped believing, but circumstantial evidence is more than I ever got from Sunday Mass.”

  I shrugged. “You’re toes deep. Look at what I have to deal with, and it’s at my ankles.”

  He took another peek down the hallway. “So, what about the real details of what happened?”

  I told him what happened on the boat, but not everything. No reason to pull Runner in any deeper than he was.

  “After I blacked out, I woke here,” I said. “So, it’s your turn. What happened?”

  “We found your friend Madelyn onboard,” Runner said. “She was leading the survivors off the ship.”

  I felt a touch of pride. “She needs to be near her gravesoil. The pot in my house.”

  “She told me,” Runner said. “It took a bit of convincing, but when I realized we had a mutual ‘friend’ I got her released from the hospital. So what is she, like, a zombie or a vampire or something?”

  “No. It’s complicated. Let’s leave it at that for now. What about the Brothers?”

  “Forensics is still going over the ship, but they found aquariums full of fish, and a grow-op for datura metel, a poisonous flower. Between the fire at the Arlington and the stuff we found on board?” He shook his head. “The consensus is that they were a cult, using drugs and religious iconography to twist addicts into followers. Most of the other gang—the ones who had guns on them—were all dead. We figured it was a ‘drink the poisoned punch’ moment.”

  “Close enough,” I said. “How many people died?”

  Runner looked at his feet. “There’s still people in intensive care with unidentified trauma, and a lot of the junkies fled before we could do a proper head count. Current toll is seventeen, not including the cult members.”

  I closed my eyes. There was no way of knowing when they’d died, or if I could have prevented it if I’d been faster. And Runner’s count didn’t include those killed at Aubergine’s.

  I had set out on a mad quest to save my own skin, but there were people who would never go home, never see their loved ones again. It made me question every action I’d taken, every mistake I made. Every scar became a penance.

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “Far as we know, you got dumped outside the hospital. The doctors thought you were a hit-and-run. When they tagged your ID, we had them hold you, but since the Wilkes kid was found alive on the ship, we can’t exactly stick you for murder, so no homicide case, again. No idea when or if they’ll let you keep your scary ass Vodou shrine. That’s all you were using it for, right? Please don’t tell me you were trying to make Frankenstein’s monster.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him, because he would have arrested me. “I was trying to summon Samedi.”

  “And the mortuary slab?”

  “My boss was getting rid of it.”

  “That’s morbid, you know?”

  I let myself smile. It hurt my stitches. “Yeah, but for me it’s a Tuesday. Anything else I should know?”

  He shook his head. “As far as the law is concerned, the case is closed. I heard Jefferson is getting a parade.”

  I frowned. No doubt Agni had gotten Jocelyn and Eddie off the boat. But what about Jesse?

  Runner checked the hallway. “She’s on her way. Put your game face on.”

  “One question,” I said. “Loren Lorensdottr?”

  He grinned. “Her first name is Olga, but she’s touchy about it. Picked on as a kid, is my guess. It’s not even on her driver’s license. You say it out loud, or tell her I said it, and I’ll make sure she guts you first.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Ditto.”

  Lorensdottr entered with a styrofoam cup of coffee and pushed it into Runner’s hand. “Tastes like shit,” she said. “Like his story.”

  Runner tasted it and winced.

  “I could make you some later,” I said. “Assuming my coffee grinder isn’t also evidence.”

  She glared. “Everything about you is evidence, Fossor. Every thread I pull on you stinks like death. I don’t know when or how, but one day, I’m going to find out where those threads lead, and when I do? I’ll bury you.”

  She badgered me with
a repeat of a few questions, but half-way into her third question she got a call on her phone. “What?” She listened for a minute, then tucked the phone away. “Let’s go, Runner.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Come on!” She gave me one last glare and left. Runner shrugged and followed.

  I watched them go. Another homicide, I figured. Someone dies all the time in most big cities. Believe me, I’m in the business.

  Agni was standing at the foot of my bed.

  I jumped, and it made every part of me hurt. “Don’t do that!”

  He sipped Runner’s discarded coffee, indifferent to its flavor. “Only when it stops being immensely funny.”

  I sighed. “So, what? Come to finish me? Or gloat?”

  He smirked. “Who do you think brought you here? All things considered, you did well, Alex. Sloppy, but for your age and skill, few could have done better. Co-opting the energies from the ritual was impressive, though I was about to kill you for it. If it weren’t for Mrs. Breckenridge’s intervention, well…”

  “Where are they?”

  “Home, I assume.”

  “Jesse’s too dangerous. He’s broken free before, and with his knowledge he could try this all again.”

  “Mrs. Breckenridge has assured me that Jesse will remain secure,” he said. “A pity he may never awaken from what you did to him. It would have benefited us to question him on where he learned his ritual.”

  I frowned. “He said he learned it in a dream.”

  Agni’s eyebrow piqued. “Curious. But if you wanted him dead, why not kill him yourself on the boat?”

  “I didn’t have a choice,” I said. “Jocelyn wouldn’t let me.”

  He nodded. “Suffice it to say, the case has been dropped. Mrs. Breckenridge has spoken in your favor, and between your service and the evidence collected, the Council’s vote has swayed in your favor. The Archmage has removed the hex. You’re a free man, relatively speaking.” He gestured at the handcuffs.

  “Of course, there is the matter of your own actions over the past few days. Allowing unsanctioned wights to run free, leading to a fatal attack. Creating a wight of your own from the victim, one that possesses an unforeseen amount of power in her own right. Interfering with Ascended beings. Exposing your abilities to the Untold, and police for that matter…”

  I glared at him. “I did what I had to. You didn’t care to notice, but I’ve been getting my ass handed to me left and right to fix a mess that you and your Society could have solved with a hand wave.”

  Agni smiled. “But-?”

  “But, uh,” I stammered. “If you knew the Archmage was involved, but didn’t stop it… you didn’t want to?”

  The smile vanished. “Or those of us who wanted to, could not.”

  A chill settled in my gut. “Kincaid’s ward wasn’t keeping the Brothers hidden. You were. You and the Archmage. Why?”

  “Because that’s the nature of what we are, Alex.” He leaned close enough to whisper. “There are always bigger fish, and they control the Society. They make the rules and they like things quiet. When one of them tells us we’re forbidden to intervene, we are literally incapable of doing so.”

  I took a long breath. “Walter didn’t want the rest of the Society learning about Jesse.”

  “He already had a considerable record in Europe when he was first arrested. The Council believes Walter executed him, but for the sake of his recent marriage, he contained Jesse instead. The Society doesn’t jail lawbreakers, Alex. Execution may seem rash to you, but the Versed grow in power as we age. The resources needed to hold a single person are astronomical, as I’m sure you realize.”

  “And he still got out,” I said.

  Agni nodded. “His escape threatened to expose them both. The Archmage could have weathered the scandal, but his wife’s sponsorship would have been forfeit. Thus, when Jesse attempted to frame you, the Archmage saw a rare opportunity. He took steps to assure you could deal with the problem.”

  I frowned. “That’s why he let me go. He wanted me to sweep up his mess, while making it look like you were dealing with me.”

  “And you performed as needed,” Agni said. “The Brothers are dealt with and Jesse is back in custody. I’m told it has lent the Society considerable negotiating power in bringing Haiti’s Versed into our fold. That’s all the Council needs or wants to know. If you think it’s unfair that we used you in this manner, then I suggest you cry into your pillow.”

  I flipped him off.

  He grinned. “Archmage Breckenridge may be a bastard, but his rivals would make your life a much shorter, far more hellish one, if they were in his place. Remember what you did to your friend Max. Understand how the people who make themselves responsible for us will react if we don’t walk the line they draw. We all have swords to our necks.”

  It was unfair and pragmatic. It was bullshit, and it was smart. Jesse proved that even a young mage could do unspeakable damage if he had a will to. The only way to prevent that was to have another, stronger mage ready to stop them.

  Detente. It was a horrifying, sobering thought.

  Agni nodded as he saw me connecting the dots. “Puts the world in perspective, doesn’t it?” He brushed off his coat and returned to stand near the foot of my bed. “While your services can’t be officially acknowledged, you are expected to keep the details discreet. As far as anyone is concerned, you fought and killed a coven of rogue Versed from Haiti, who had violated the Edicts. Neither Jesse Kendall, Jocelyn Breckenridge, nor Walter Breckenridge was involved. I don’t need to remind you what the consequences will be should anything contrary reach the Council’s ears.”

  I frowned. “You’re welcome, asshole.”

  Agni shrugged his head. “If nothing else, consider this ordeal an overdue opportunity to expand yourself. Jesse was right about one thing, Alex. Intentionally or not, you’ve been keeping yourself in a box, ignorant of your potential. You would do well not to squander that. It will be necessary in the future, should the Society have need of talented agents again.”

  My anger boiled over. “Fuck you. You didn’t do this for my benefit. Necromancers don’t get to expand ourselves. We don’t get a seat at your table. We get treated like garbage ‘cause our magic scares you! You bully us, threaten us, you beat the rules into our heads and kick us for every mistake! You stuck us in that box!”

  Rage wafted off me in a cold fog. “Don’t you tell me what a ‘good soldier’ I am for your crooked little clubhouse, when you put a gun to my head and told me to fix your fucking mistakes! Jesse Kendall is the monster you created. All those people suffered for your fucking careers. You, Walter, Jocelyn, you can all jump on your golden thrones and go fuck yourselves!”

  Agni’s face was unreadable. I waited for him to lash me with another potent reminder that he was in charge, that my life was something he could snuff out if I didn’t bow my head and grovel for it.

  Instead, he nodded, once. “Until we speak again.”

  It took my eyes a moment to grasp that he’d vanished. I laid back and tried to calm down. Thinking over my life until that moment, I realized that being the world’s most unobtrusive necromancer, a bottom-feeder too weak to notice, was more appealing than ever, and the stupidest thing I could do. It was only a matter of time until another mage with an agenda saw me as an easy mark, and the insanity would start all over again.

  I had been the pawn in all of it. Jesse’s patsy. Jocelyn’s bloodhound. Walter’s gravedigger. I hated the feeling, the sickening knowledge that they had used me, that I was just a tool for people’s goals. It’s not like I had a lot of choice.

  Sort of like Max.

  If the week had taught me anything, it was that the city—the entire world—was crawling with assholes, wielding a power that was leagues above mine. But there was no way I would let them throw me under the bus again. That meant spending the rest of my life preparing for the next time someone tried to stick his nose in my business. A magical arms race, one that I an
d every other mage on the planet were playing, and had been for centuries. No peace. Just detente.

  Like I said. Horrifying.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I didn’t want to think about it for a while.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I used the time cuffed to my bed to catch up on the sleep I’d missed. No one else came to visit, and after two days Bob the hospital guard stopped by to remove my cuffs without a word. I hobbled into the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror.

  Days after the fight on the boat, I still looked like a week-old corpse. Gaunt and covered in deep purple bruises. I had enough stitches for a closed casket funeral, and each cut would form a nasty scar. The one across the left side of my lips would get me a few gawkers. People would assume I repaired a cleft palate with a staple gun.

  When I came out of the bathroom, I found three people waiting. Philip Wilkes, his cousin Josh, and a small, elderly woman who radiated the warmth only a loving grandmother could.

  “There’s the man,” Philip said. He stepped forward and clasped my hand tight. “I owe you big.”

  “Glad to see Josh is okay,” I said.

  “Whatever,” Josh said. He looked haggard, and a lot less cocky than the last time we’d spoken. “Why are we here?”

  Philip patted his shoulder. “Gran wanted to share a few words with the man.”

  “Why? All he did was a job.”

  “Joshua,” the old woman admonished.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Josh said. The deference he showed, quiet and patient, proved she was the woman who owned that pleasant-looking yellow home on Lincoln Street.

  Philip gave me a sidelong glance. “Hey Josh, you mind givin’ us a few minutes? We’ll hit the road in a few.”

  “Fine,” Josh said, wandering out.

  Philip shrugged at me. “Sorry. He doesn’t remember anything.”

  “Not as dead as either of us thought,” I said.