Torchlighters

by Megan R Miller

  “The reason they won’t teach most people the summoning trade,” Martin said, “even though it’s so important to how the city works and it would make things safer, is that if everyone could do basic summoning they couldn’t charge so much for it.”

  “Summoning is incredibly dangerou. Even losing control of an imp can cost lives,” Ely said. Even as she said it, it settled on her; losing control of a cook fire could cost lives too, but people were taught to do that and expected to. And no one ever tried to stop a person from learning to use a stove.

  “That’s right,” Martin said. “Every four year old knows that because they won’t stop saying it. It’s in every public service announcement and it’s on every poster. Everyone knows how dangerous summoning is. Everyone knows how illegal it is to do if you haven’t been educated, and to be educated to do it you have to pay a ton of money to the university. Money that most people don’t have. Did you think it actually cost that much to learn?”

  Actually, she had.

  “The proper tools,” Ely said, “and metallic dusts, and expensive incense? Those are all things in my grandmother’s old bedroom.”

  “I used chalk and burned dry lavender to inscribe the walls in my apartment for quiet,” Martin said. “Intent is more important than the materials used. They want it to look expensive.”

  It sounded like a conspiracy theory. It also sounded like he could be right.

  “So you managed to siphon from a powerful demon with chalk and dried lavender,” Ely said.

  “An angel,” Martin said. “But notice you assumed it was a demon. Why is that?”

  He was trying to teach her something in a roundabout way. She kept her face schooled to blank even as he asked, because her irritation didn’t negate the fact that there was a point to be made.

  “The purer materials are usually used for celestial beings,” Ely said.

  “They get talked up,” Martin said. “Portrayed as more pure. You rarely ever see them in the slums. Demons, on the other hand, are let to walk regularly in the lower class parts of town, and if someone is going to try to summon without a license…”

  “They’re going to try a demon,” Ely finished.

  “Most cambion aren’t the children of loving parents,” Martin said.

  “My father was,” she said. “He and Uncle Danny share the same father. Nona Trezza talked about how much she loved him.”

  “That’s the exception, not the rule,” Martin said, sadly.

  “And angels are not as pure as everyone says they are,” she said. She was remembering the wheel of arms again, and the awful sounds that came from it in the first place. That impossible vibration. “They’re horrifying.”

  There was a pause and then he glanced up at her. “So…you’re a nephil?”

  Ely didn’t respond to that, she extended a hand, snapped her fingers and showed him her silver seraph’s fire instead. She tried not to imagine what her angelic grandfather had looked like.

  She tried not to imagine what had happened to her grandmother. She and her mother had never really talked about her.

  “I got Dad’s hair,” she said, “but Mom’s blood. Now, as enlightening as this conversation has been, I want you to tell me where this door is.”

  “It’s under the Orthodox Cathedral,” he said. “You go into the sacristy and walk behind the statue of St. Kernaghan. Go have a look and then come back and tell me what you think. I need a new benefactor since, um…”

  “Since I killed the last one,” Ely said, simply. Martin paled a little and nodded. He’d been lying. He was lying now. Apparently they still hadn’t hit the point where he was willing to tell her.

  “I still haven’t figured out how to open it,” Martin said.

  “That’s alright, I have some time to figure it out,” Ely said. “If this is how the Gaters are getting into the catacombs they did.”

  “That’s just it,” Martin said. “The Cathedral borders on Black Cat territory and they aren’t friends. The Orthos are very against mix-bloods and Vivi’s commonlaw marriage to a half-imp is a bit of an open secret. I think it’s an entrance to the catacombs, but I don’t think it’s the one Gate Street is using.”

  He touched her forearm and she looked up at him. Martin’s face was suddenly serious.

  “Are you following?” he asked. There was a weight to the question.

  “Yes,” Ely said. “I’m following. Someone else is in the catacombs. I’ll be able to evade the Gaters but I’ll need to be on the look out for them.”

  Martin nodded. His expression eased down.

  “I should go,” he said. He pushed himself to his feet and Ely held up a hand for him to help her to hers. She didn’t need it, but it was amazing how much more binding it was when someone else did you a favor rather than the other way around.

  “Be careful and be safe,” Ely said. “You know I’m around if you need me. If there’s anyone else you’ve borrowed money from.”

  For a moment, she thought he might speak up, but he just nodded, and walked away. Ely slipped the file under her arm and headed for the house.

  Corvin tasted copper before he felt the pain of his mother’s blow. He kept his eyes down and said nothing.

  “If you couldn’t find him, you shouldn’t have come back,” she said.

  Even if he had, he thought, she’d have found an excuse to do this anyway. Vivi Verida, his dear mother, was never satisfied no matter how well he did, and it didn’t leave him much incentive to try for her. He didn’t dare say that out loud.

  “We just need a body, right?” Rorik’s voice asked from the doorway. He was leaned halfway in so they could only see one arm and neither leg. Corvin glanced up at him, bitterly. He was Vivi’s only son but his cousin got all the praise and the credit. “We don’t let Price and Chaney go unanswered for?”

  “That was the idea,” Vivi said, straightening.

  “How about we send them back their mole in pieces?” he asked. The woman he dragged around the corner with him had been beaten so badly Corvin could barely pin her facial features. Her head was full of black curls, her sunburned face freckled. Even if he were in a position to recognize her, he didn’t think he would have.

  He wondered if Sam knew her.

  “What have I told you about beating people to within an inch of their life?” Vivi asked. She narrowed her eyes at Rorik and it made the dark circles around them look more prominent.

  “Ask first?” Rorik asked. “I wouldn’t say an inch, Aunt Viv, she’s got at least a foot to go.”

  The boyish grin on Rorik’s face gave Corvin a rush of envy. He said nothing, and didn’t let his eyes linger on the woman.

  “Justify yourself,” Vivi said. “And you had best have witnesses to whatever you’re about to tell me, Rorik, because beating on women doesn’t look good on you.”

  Corvin licked the bead of blood from his lip and said nothing.

  “A couple of the boys saw her reporting to Ophelia Trezza through the estate window,” Rorik said. “I’ll bring them in to talk if you want.”

  “Do so,” Vivi said. “Now both of you get out of my sight. I have work to do.”

  Corvin slipped from the room, brushing past Rorik and his captive on the way out. Those reports would take time to gather. She was no one to him, like Price and Chaney had been no one to Sam.

  It got out of hand.

  Did he really want to punish Sam for that? This woman was a person and she didn’t deserve that. He tongued at the split part of his lip. It would bring down worse on him.

  If he was caught.

  Damn.

  The concubus’s body was male when they found it. This time, he and Augury had been called in directly to the scene of the crime and the body hasn’t been removed.

  “They lived here,” she said, standing in the doorway. Barghest stopped a stride in and turned to look at her. “Someone came in and got them where they lived, where they were supposed to feel safe.”

  There was a stutte
r in the conversation, because as far as he could tell, only one person lived in this apartment. Then he realized what she meant, that she was referencing the fluidity of the concubus. They were the most common type of cambion and often inherited their ability to meld seamlessly from male to female and back again from their demonic parent.

  And Augury was referring to the home. To the fact that someone had come in here and killed this person in their own abode. That held its own certain terror.

  “Take a minute,” he said. “Let yourself feel what you need to feel. Then we have to get to work. It sucks, it does, and I’m with you that this was beyond the pale, but we’ve got an untainted crime scene and this might be our best chance to get an idea of who was behind this.”

  Augury chuckled. “I know how to do an investigation, Tin Can, but it’s important to remember these were people, too. You’re right. Take a minute.”

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  “Stay with me in the entryway, will you?” she asked, and skipped forward to meet him.

  The apartment had four rooms. There was the living room, that they were standing just on the border of right now from the five foot long entryway, the kitchenette that was partially connected, then the bedroom with the door partially ajar and the bathroom that was closed.

  The concubus was lying on the floor with an arm laying over their chest wound, as if they’d been trying to keep their blood pressed inside before their body finally gave way.

  “Do you see the obvious screw up that I do?” Barghest asked.

  “They’re on their back,” Augury said, leaning against the wall. “I’ve been in situations where I was trying to keep my blood in me. I was almost always on my side or on my belly. Someone put them like this.”

  “I was going to say there’s no blood around the body,” Barghest said, “but it leads us to the same conclusion, doesn’t it? They were moved here.”

  Augury took a couple of tentative steps into the apartment and started looking around. Barghest stayed where he was and watched her.

  “It’s the same face in all the photographs,” Augury said. “And clearly they were wealthy enough to afford them all. I don’t know many people that get pictures made of just themselves.”

  “That would make a tempting target,” Barghest said. “Pride?”

  “Don’t concubi generally get pinned with lust?” Augury asked, flashing him a quick smirk over her shoulder. She paused, then, stopping and cocking her head at something on the shelf beside her.

  “What is it?” Barghest asked.

  “The dust,” Augury said. “Everything else has a place and is pretty well stuck in it, but this one has smudge marks where it’s been moved.”

  She held the camera up and kept it still for several seconds while she snapped the photograph.

  “What is the picture of?” Barghest asked.

  “Them and a dog,” Augury said. “Looks pretty recent, too.”

  “That would be a good reason not to come at them in the apartment,” Barghest said, “but where’s the dog?”

  “One of many good questions,” Augury said. “So that’s four of the big seven. We’re going to need to look out for others, now. We’ve got…”

  She tucked the camera into the crook of her arm and started counting on her fingers.

  “We need to be on the look out for imp, rhakshasa and preta,” she said. “Preta aren’t easy to find, though, you tend to get really careful after you’ve died once already.”

  “There’s seven kinds of common half-blood,” he said. “You’re bound to get a few different kinds. You know I don’t like speculating.”

  Augury passed Barghest the camera and lifted the concubus’s arm to reveal a stab through the jacket. There was a lot of blood on their clothes, just not on the carpet or anything else in here. She looked up at him.

  “They moved this person here,” Augury said, straightening. “There’s something I want to go check out. Can your people handle this from here?”

  Barghest snorted, softly.

  “Can we,” he said. “Where are you going?”

  “Following a hunch,” Augury said, starting for the door. He held out a hand to stop her, and she came up short, looking up at him.

  “Someone’s out there bumping off cambion,” he said. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little worried about that.”

  “I can handle myself,” Augury said. “I’ll come back. I’m not Ophelia.”

  He dropped his arm. He couldn’t pin down exactly why that made him feel uncomfortable, but it did. He stood where he was until the door shut behind her and he was left, just him, his memories, and the body of a dead concubus.

  The Ninth was as empty as he’d ever seen it. The sign on the door said ‘closed’. He walked in anyway.

  “Zenith,” he said. His voice was like a whip crack.

  “Joey,” she said, coming around the side of the island bar. She stopped halfway down the counter and rested her arm there, waiting for him to meet her. He started that way, stopping with a barstool between them. He met her eyes without fear.

  “I saw a concubus in the alleys,” he said. “One that knew something about my son’s murder.”

  “And you think because I am one I would know them?” Zenith asked, raising a brow. “I expected better from you.”

  “It happened here,” Joey said. “I’m asking if you know anything about this that you haven’t told me.”

  “I’ve told you what I’ve been able to uncover,” she said. “There are hundreds of concubi in the city, my brother and I included.”

  “This one had your hair,” Joey said.

  “Asura can have hair this color. Are you sure they were a concubus?” Zenith asked.

  “I saw her putting someone under,” Joey said.

  Zenith shifted her weight and slipped up onto one of the stools. Joey did the same, leaving the empty one between them.

  “You’re the only one I’ve ever seen able to do it that thoroughly,” he said.

  “And you’re the only one I’ve ever seen able to shake it off that easily,” Zenith said. She reached over the bar and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf there. Another reach, and a couple of glasses joined it. She poured him one and slid it across.

  The silence was filled by the soft tinkle of amber liquid into her glass. She took a sip before she spoke again.

  “What did she look like?” Zenith asked.

  “Blue hair,” Joey said. “Probably about 5’5” if I had to guess, but I didn’t get a good look. I saw her through the reflection in my switchblade. She did not see me.”

  “Let me look into this,” Zenith said. “I will, I promise, but I want to know for sure before I make an issue of this.”

  Joey took the glass in his hand and tipped it back. It burned all the way down and the bottom of the cup clinked against the bar as he set it back down.

  “I trust you to tell me if it’s important, Zen,” he said, looking back up at her. She was staring into her cup.

  “I will,” she said, glancing up at him finally. She met his eyes. “If it’s really important, I will.”

  There was something she wasn’t telling him now, and he could see it on her face. His choices were, accept that she would keep her word, or press and potentially lose her as a friend. They’d been close, once.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be around. You know where to find me if anything does come up. Give Uther my regards, would you?”

  “Of course,” Zenith said.

  He left the glass lying on the table and moved for the door.

  Geist Manor was one of the smaller ones on the northern end of town. He’d had Mirin watching the door up until this point, but she’d stopped checking in a couple of days prior. That was important, but so was this. Life goes on.

  Julianne Geist stepped out onto the walkway, clutching her hat with one hand as she started down the street. She would be stopping by the bank, first, and then taking a walk down theate
r street. He followed at a distance for about a block before he came up beside her.

  “Ma’am,” he said.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, giving him a once over. Recognition started to edge into her expression almost immediately. “Trezza. I’m afraid Alban isn’t home right now.”

  “Pardon?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Our sons,” she said, brow furrowing. “They had a small tiff New Year’s night, I thought…”

  “You thought wrong,” he said. “This is personal, you’re the one I’m here to see. You’ve been buying up buildings along the docks.”

  “I needed a location for a factory,” she said. “The owners are being well paid. I take it you had something to do with Mr. Malhana’s deal falling through? He never mentioned any names, but I should have figured you’d have something to do with this.”

  “Those buildings are occupied,” he said. “I thought I’d give you the chance to sell me the property.”

  Julianne laughed.

  “We’re a bit far into this to simply move development,” she said. “How about you sell me the property you bought up instead and your tailor won’t end up in an unfortunate situation? They are going to be summoning demons for use in production, after all. I hear it isn’t pleasant to live beside.”

  “There’s a district for that,” Joey said.

  “Have you seen the cost of building there?” Julianne asked, raising a brow.

  Joey chuckled and offered a smile in response.

  “Sure have,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Alright. So you won’t sell. I guess we’re past talking about this, then.”

  She looked around at the people on the street and then back at him, as if daring him to do something overt. He withdrew his hand, put it back in his pocket and started to walk away.

  He barely caught sight of the concerned look on her face before he vanished from view.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Angelic Letters

  “I hear a lot of you calling in doubting the existence of ancients, but let me assure you, they are just as real as the ancients and demons that get called down around here on the regular.