by Dan Stout
“How long will that take?” I said.
“As long as it takes!” Baelen’s eyes were still wide, her gills still on display.
Guyer whistled through her teeth.
“Okay, how about this. To do additional testing on our friend here, you’ll need to go through the TPD liaison to your program. And currently,” she tapped her chest, “that’s me.” The sorcerer moved a step closer to the agitated researcher. “And in my official role, I’ve duly considered your request, and my response is,” her voice rose to a shout, “fuck off!”
“Is there an issue here?” Bryyh had emerged from the Bullpen, whether due to the shouting or simply coincidentally.
Baelen spun on her heel and raised a finger, but Guyer cut her off.
“Nothing concerning. I need Detective Carter’s presence for a little longer to conduct an ARC inquiry.”
Bryyh looked at Baelen, one eyebrow slightly raised.
The Gillmyn quivered with rage. “The medical check-in is today, and all participants need to be on time and present!”
“No,” Bryyh said. “They need to attend when they’re available.” She turned her attention to me. “You and your partner have anything booked for Friday?”
I shook my head.
“Good,” said Bryyh. “Report for your check-in first thing Friday morning. Issue settled.”
Baelen rose onto the toes of her shoes, as if about to launch into another speech, then thought better of it. She squeezed her mouth shut, nodded, then departed.
Bryyh threw a skeptical look at Guyer and me. “Where were the two of you coming back from?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. Guyer, I need to borrow you for a few minutes. Come up to 5D with me.”
The captain departed, but I turned to Guyer. “Listen, the dead guy said seed tears. Like angel tears, right?”
“We’ll go over it later,” she said. “I’ve got more work to do.”
“So what if it’s the snake oil that triggers—”
“Later!” She jogged after Bryyh, and I stood in the hallway, alone with my theories and the memories of a dead man talking.
* * *
Sitting at my desk, rolling a half-tael coin across my palm, I watched Jax walk toward me through the Bullpen with wrinkled clothes and slumped shoulders.
“What did you say to Baelen?” he asked as he dropped into the chair across from me. “She stormed into the exam room squeezing that clipboard so tight I thought it’d break in half.”
“She thinks I’m keeping secrets.”
“About the cobwebs?” He leaned into the desk and lowered his voice. “We started talking about this before we found the body. You have to talk to someone. What about Guyer? She’ll listen.”
“I tried. Didn’t work out so well.”
“Try again!” He double-clacked his formidable jaws in a show of frustration.
I pressed a hand to my heart. “I promise. But for now, listen to what I just learned.” I gave him a quick rundown of the confrontation, what the dead man had revealed, and why I thought he had some link to the CaCuris. Jax seemed unimpressed.
“The victim got worked over by someone strong, and an unnamed ‘she’ hit him? That could mean anything. Besides, we both saw the twins walking into the Paradise before we found him. There’s no way they took his jaw. Especially if whoever did that was able to interfere with Guyer’s work.”
I ran both hands through my hair, massaging my scalp. “It still seems connected . . .”
“Well, regardless, we’ve got a two-day reprieve on the medical.” He yawned and stood, rising up onto his toes as he stretched. “I got almost no sleep and it looks like you got less. If we try to function now, we’re going to make mistakes.” He stepped away. “I’m going to recharge, and we can come at it fresh tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I’m right behind you, just need to talk to Guyer.”
“Carter . . .”
“Hey,” I dropped my voice, “I made you a promise.”
He wagged his head. “Fine, but don’t wait around here for an hour.”
In fact, it was several hours before Guyer returned to the Bullpen. Hours to mentally replay the victim’s words and my own failure to manipulate the magic that threaded Guyer’s baton. Why, now that I finally decided to prove what was happening, was it all falling apart? I sat at my desk and drew lazy figure eights on the newspaper, hoping for inspiration.
The newspapers had extensive coverage of the pair of murders and impromptu CaCuri rally in the 24th Ward. The Titanshade Union Record featured unflattering photos of the CaCuris. Thomas’s was a mug shot. Catherine was shown with a slack face, the easy look of disdain she wore when not smiling for a crowd. The headline of The Daily Saber had a photo of Catherine standing in front of her supporters. The caption read: Loud, Proud . . . Destined for Greatness?
Tossing the papers to the side, I kneaded the cramped muscles at the base of my neck, digging the eraser into each knot in search of relief. I was exhausted, and every time I thought I was beginning to grasp what was happening, it slipped away, like trying to carry a snowball to the city’s center. And to make things worse, I couldn’t shake the image of the dying man in the alley. I kept seeing his arms morphing and changing even as he struggled to survive, staring at me with his good eye.
I blinked. The single dead eye. Jane had told Moller that she’d bought true manna from a dealer with a “fish eye.” As I put the pieces together and realized what two murders in alleys might have in common, Guyer cut across the Bullpen, probably heading home, or back down to her temporary assignment in Vice. I dropped the pencil and intercepted her.
“Snake oil!” I said. “The victim will have it in his system.”
She stared at me.
“When you were here for the last medical,” I continued, “you told me that it’s impossible to know what effect angel tears would have when it was mixed with manna.”
Guyer frowned. “In theory.”
“Close enough,” I said. “Snake oil is the answer.”
She squinted one eye, as if fighting off a headache. “What’s the question?”
“Why I couldn’t do anything with your baton,” I said, managing to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “We need to get some snake oil, and then I can show you.”
She shifted the portfolio to her other arm. “I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” I said. “You just need to—”
“I mean I won’t do that.” She stared me down. “I’m not going to jump through any more hoops. I don’t know what happened to that poor bastard in the alley, but you didn’t do it to him.”
I stared, wordless.
“You’re not a sorcerer,” she snapped. “You don’t have some kind of connection with the universe, and you can’t control manna.” She closed her eyes and forced her face to calm. When she reopened them, her voice was softer. “Whatever happened to that guy, Carter, it’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong in this town.”
Guyer walked away, headed toward the elevators, leaving me with a single person who might listen to my theory. I knew that what I’d seen had been real, and I needed to talk to someone who had experience with manna beyond standard sorcery.
I needed to talk to Gellica, now more than ever.
25
THE LOBBY OF 1 GOVERNMENT Plaza was in fine form, with a well-dressed crowd swigging free drinks while holding small plates of even smaller finger foods. A string quartet lent an air of class to the affair, and the people making small talk looked almost as wealthy as the crowd at Tenebrae’s fundraiser. The AFS couldn’t officially support a candidate in a local election, so there were no posters or collection cards for Meredith Plunkett, but the purpose of the event was obvious.
Unlike the last such party I’d attended, I was able to find Gellica al
most immediately. She was talking to a small group of people, holding their attention as casually as she held her wineglass. I approached the group and stood beside her, causing the polite chatter to fall off immediately.
“Yes?” she said. Not a drop of irritation showed in her voice. She was good at her job.
“A word, Envoy? Police business.”
She bowed out of her conversation with more casual grace than I could muster in a lifetime. We made our way behind a serving station where we could get a semblance of privacy, and she faced me with a frown.
“Here for another awkward confrontation?”
If I wanted to earn her time, I’d have to start by owning my track record of screw-ups.
“No.” I ran a hand across my brow, knocking a few more hairs loose from their fragile roots. I felt old and uncomfortable, and I wondered what the Hells I was doing there, and if this was a good idea after all. “There’s something we need to talk about. Privately.”
She glanced toward the lobby filled with the wealthy influential. “I don’t have time for this.”
“You’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.” I stepped to my left, sliding back into her line of sight. “Trust me.”
Gellica glared at me. “Trusting you is a bad habit.” She circled around, putting her back to the crowd. “What’s so important?”
Over her shoulder the room was a blend of executives and lawyers, judges and bankers making small talk, even Mitri Tenebrae, as well-polished and perfect as ever. Though it amused me to know the sorcerer was probably wearing a thick layer of makeup, since there wasn’t so much as a bruise where CaCuri had struck him. With him and the others there, this was no place to talk about sensitive topics. I had to get her out of there, and I could think of only one thing she might want.
“You wanted to talk about that trait we have in common.”
She hesitated, and I pressed harder.
“Now I’ve got something major to share.”
Her frown deepened. I started to think she was about to have me thrown out of the building before she finally said, “Follow me.”
* * *
Gellica’s office was tidy as ever. Impressive, considering it seemed like she spent more time there than her home. Thoughts of her home conjured images of my hesitation at her doorstep, and I pushed them away as I reached for the light switch. Gellica batted my hand away from the wall switch and strode into the dark, turning on the desk light instead.
“I don’t want anyone seeing my light on and stopping in to say hello.” She leaned against the desk, her eyes more guarded than the Bunker’s holding cells. “I can give you five minutes,” she flicked her wrist, checking the time on an elegant gold watch, “starting now.”
“Thank you,” I said, not quite sure how to proceed, and wondering if I should be there at all. What if I had the same effect on her that I’d had on the man in the alley? If I was right about the cause, we were safe, but if not . . .
When my pause grew uncomfortable, Gellica crossed her arms. “What’s this about? I can’t imagine you’re here to apologize for causing a scene and storming out of Mitri’s party.”
“No,” I said. “I mean, I should apologize, but—”
“So, no meaning yes?” She pulled herself up to her full height, holding the wineglass she’d carried up from the party. “I’m a little unclear on your usage.”
I paused to collect myself and glanced around the office. Somehow the place had grown intimidating since the last time I’d visited. The portrait of Ambassador Paulus glared over my shoulder, the dark pools of her eyes boring into my back as I made my case to Gellica. It occurred to me how easy it would be to string mics throughout an office. Under the coffee table and inside the lamp, anywhere that would defy simple observation. How many deals had been made in that office? How many lives ruined and pleas ignored?
Gritting my teeth, I helped myself to a seat on the couch, perched on the boundary of the lamp’s pool of illumination, bridging the shadow and the light. It wasn’t until I set my fingers on the blue and white flower pattern of the fabric that I began to calm.
“Good to see my favorite couch.” I did my best to fake a laugh.
She didn’t bother to reciprocate.
“Well, when I don’t want you coming around anymore, you can have it.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, and she didn’t give me a chance to gather my thoughts.
“Do you have something to say? I need to get back to the party.”
I took a deep breath and pulled an evidence bag from inside my coat. The broken glass shards we’d gathered from the alley pressed against the envelope as I broke the seal. It was out of protocol, but it was also the best chance to learn what happened to Jane. And what might be happening to me.
I shook loose one of the shards, careful not to touch it. Gellica leaned forward, eyes fixed on the faint iridescent shimmer. I had her attention now.
She stretched out a hand, then hesitated. “Is that . . . ?”
“Not quite,” I said. “It’s snake oil. Manna mixed with angel tears. That’s a street drug that users put in their eyes—”
She stopped me. “I know what angel tears is.”
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Point is, this is mixed with manna. It’s a tiny amount, but I was wondering if you can bind it to something?”
“I’m not a sorcerer,” she said. “Which you already know.”
“Are you telling me that in all your training, Paulus never made you learn any magic?”
She curled a lip. “I never got farther than an introductory binding and bonds class. I can’t do anything useful, especially not with diluted manna.”
“It doesn’t have to be useful,” I said. “Maybe it’s better if it’s not.”
She set her wineglass on the coffee table and glanced around. “It’ll have to be something light, if it’s as diluted as you’re saying.” A few strides took her to a shelf with long-stemmed flowers in a delicately etched vase. Gellica pinched the stem, the bloom of the tallest flower falling into her palm. Returning to the coffee table, she pressed the bloom into the glass shards, letting the flower’s petal soak up most of the iridescent liquid. Muttering commands and weaving her fingers, Gellica focused on the two items. The moment stretched, and the minute hand of the desk clock ticked once, twice.
“Does this count against my five minutes?” I asked.
Her frown deepened. “Shut up.” It was several more minutes before she sat back, beads of perspiration dotting her brow. “Done.”
I shifted uncomfortably. She’d done it, and now the question of my sanity sat in the empty air between the shard and the flower. If there was nothing there but the same lack of sensation I’d experienced with Guyer, I’d have to face the fact that it really was all in my head, no matter what I’d seen or thought I’d felt. I reached out, dragging my hand across the coffee table. Soft cobwebs tugged at my fingers. I sighed, relieved and terrified. Now I faced the next question: could I show it to someone else?
“It’s a one-to-one bond,” she said. “And it won’t work if the flower and shard are more than a hand’s-width apart. Basic, but with the dilution and how rusty I am . . . Frankly, I’m pleased I was able to do that much.”
With a deliberate motion, I nudged the shard toward Gellica. Next to it, the flower pushed forward the same distance. Perhaps even slightly less.
Gellica cleared her throat. “That’s as much as I can do with what you gave me to work with.” She sounded self-conscious.
“Bear with me,” I said.
Concentrating on the threads, I willed them to grow, to be bigger, stronger.
Nothing.
I rolled my neck and grimaced. “Hold on,” I told her.
Redoubling my focus, I stared at the shard, only looking up when Gellica said, “I don’t know what you’re
hoping will happen, but I have a roomful of people I’m supposed to be entertaining.”
I frowned, muttering to the invisible thread I believed stretched between shard and flower. “Come on, you little bastards.”
Shoving my hand between the two objects, the stub of my missing fingers caught on a thread, and I focused on the unnatural tug against phantom digits. Trying to remember the sensations I’d encountered before, I counted to ten and breathed out slowly. The exhalation was accompanied by a painful drag, as if there were a creature sucking at my mangled hand. I choked back a shout, but with a rush the cobwebs grew thicker, the air heavier, and the cold crept in with spider legs. But it was a light chill compared to the overwhelming, bitter frost of what I’d experienced in Bryndel Grove.
I tugged my jacket tighter around my shoulders and smiled. “Watch this.”
I tapped the shard, and it bumped forward with no corresponding movement of the flower. I tried again—nothing.
“Dammit,” I muttered. “Maybe it’s out of manna?” My stomach rumbled, even though I’d grabbed a quick meal on the way over.
“Even then, it would still be linked. But there may be an issue with the binding.” Gellica tugged a curl on her hairline back into place. “I told you I’m no sorcerer.”
If it was still linked, I hoped I could reexamine the threads. I placed my left hand between the two objects, and found the thinnest, weakest shadow of a web. I selected a single thread and wrapped it in my left fist, imagining that I was weaving the other threads around it, first with my three fingers, then including my missing digits in my mental image. The pressure in my sinuses and ears drained away, and I sucked in a sudden breath. Gellica was looking at her watch.
I pushed the shard again, no harder than before, but this time the flower shot forward, sliding over the top of the table and striking Gellica’s wineglass with enough force to tip it off balance.
She grabbed the glass before it toppled, saving the carpet from a stain even as she stared at me.