GRIT

by Elle Cross

  Corbin coughed gently. "What can you tell us about this card?" She held it up. "It seems…special. Like it belongs to special people that could get to special places."

  He lit up conspiratorially, like we were in on the joke, too. "Indeed. Had that been Owen's? Maybe you could trace where he had gone?"

  Corbin nodded, like she had considered it. "It's that easy you think?"

  "Well, I don't know the specifics, but someone at Janus Holdings I'm sure could help you. They'd know about stuff like that." He beamed at her, as if we were talking about some customer service issue at a store.

  My mind flashed to the memory of Deimos handing me that black card back at the precinct, and I wanted to be absolutely sure. "Because of course Janus Holdings would know where their clients came and went."

  "Yes."

  "Because you're a client."

  He laughed bewitchingly at our little game. "Yes."

  The metallic tang of pine needles cut through the saltwater air. Corbin was impatient to get out of here and get to Janus Holdings next. "Thank you so much for your time, Jules. I have no further questions. Ms. Tallinn and I need to be on our way."

  Without a word, I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder. Taking out my gloves, I slipped them on, finally comfortable.

  "Please feel free to visit any time, Ms. Tallinn. Any time. My door is always open to you."

  I swallowed hard, remembering how he had opened his door.

  Corbin and I were out the door and made our way down the landing and steps. We said nothing on our way down. We continued our silent progress, gliding wordlessly toward her police issue. We opened our respective doors, and slammed them closed.

  Once we were safely inside the car, we looked at each other, and then a dam broke.

  "Did you see—"

  "—Are you freaking kidding me—"

  "—Bite him. I wanted to literally bite him—"

  "—He smelled like caramels—"

  "—Probably tasted like them too—"

  "Are you sure he's a Dagan?"

  "Totally. Definitely at least half if not full-blooded."

  "But, they're like a myth."

  "I didn't want to dry hump a myth just now talking about fabric, I'll tell you that."

  "Please, I was lucky not to spread him over that couch. I couldn't stop thinking about licking his face."

  "His face...I'd have licked more than that."

  "It was a place to start."

  Then we laughed, a little release from the effects of basking in the glow of a fertility god. Dagans used to proliferate the Earth. They were a race easily worshiped for their ability to make anything fertile and grow. Several temples have been preserved to this day that speak to their orgiastic ritual worship.

  But they, like most of the other god-tribes, retreated from Earth centuries ago. Only a few tribes, like Sylphs, remained behind in enough numbers to be known as a collective. Most were solitary.

  "Let's reel ourselves some big fish."

  Corbin maneuvered through the snarl of traffic among the cluster of high rises in midtown. I hated this mess. The crush of it.

  Give me an express train downtown any day of the week.

  Janus Holdings was a full city block, the pinnacle of which eked out the other skyscrapers around to be the tallest building in the city. It blotted out the sun over most of midtown. In recent years, it had also managed to become “The Landmark” in the city, which was saying something in a city built of landmarks.

  I leafed through the sparse file Corbin had on Janus Holdings, and the man who ran it, Deimos. His hair and eyes were listed black, but that little word didn't do them justice. I remembered the pull in them. Like gravity.

  I shivered just thinking of him.

  The spare personal information was to be expected. Name: Deimos. No indication whether that was a first or last name. Possible alias: Deimos du Caeleon. No birthdate, contact information, or address associated with him other than Janus Holdings' corporate one.

  I shut the folder. I didn't need to read anything else in it to know about this guy. Deimos was celebrity famous in the way that everyone seemed to know his movements and business deals, but knew nothing private about him at all.

  Including, apparently, where he lived.

  Corbin's anger was down to a manageable simmer. Aside from the traffic, she hated that she hadn't seen or caught this connection between Owen and Deimos earlier. She'd been muttering how he'd been in her house—her precinct—and had not said one word.

  Investigations always depended on time. Corbin had solved countless cases often moments before someone else would have gotten killed or harmed. If there was another body before she found the people responsible, I was almost positive she would wield whatever power she had to make Deimos and Janus Holdings’ utterly miserable for the rest of their days.

  We both knew that the Remnant God tribes operated under a completely different set of rules, and had their own way of dispensing justice. They smiled for the cameras and said the right things, but did what they wanted anyway. At least Deimos had been committed to finding what happened to Owen. Corbin had said that he had mentioned that to her last night, and I repeated that fact to her now.

  She grumbled under her breath, acknowledging my words, but her anger lessened from a super nova to a banked fire by the time she found a place to park.

  I followed her from the garage through the breezeway that connected to the sprawling building of Janus Holdings. A dark amber and peppery scent suffused the air, raw and heady. I took in the intricate carvings along the passageway, marveled at the bas-relief detail in the obsidian marble that flowed into the main foyer.

  I pre-emptively slipped on my favorite fitted demi-gloves, leather lined with micro-suede and silver weave. Hopefully, this would avoid any more awkward introductions.

  There was only one elevator despite the size of this building, and only one guard on duty. He looked nothing like any guard I'd ever seen. He was draped in Armani and looked like he was waiting on his callback auditions for the next panty-dropper movie.

  He stood at attention as soon as the breezeway doors opened for us. His gaze probed over us as we strode across the lobby.

  I roved my gaze over the rest of the lobby. The unrelenting black did a fair job in concealing the mundane. Movement along the marble caught my eye, but I couldn't track it. I wondered what else the marble concealed.

  "Greetings, ladies,” his voice was like the soothing sound of calming seas, “your names, please?"

  Corbin’s eyebrow shot up. She was less than impressed by him. "Detective Troy. Here to see Mr. Deimos."

  He cocked his head, his hair rippling in an imaginary breeze. "Do you have an appointment?"

  "He and I spoke last night. I have a few follow-up questions."

  A flicker of lightning strobed over his eyes. "I apologize, but without an appointment—"

  I felt for the black card that Deimos had given me at the precinct. I'd slipped it inside my jacket pocket. "Would this help?"

  Corbin raised her eyebrow, but otherwise hid her surprise.

  Something changed in the guard’s face. Instead of a cool politeness, it became a warm welcome home. I crossed my arms, physically restraining myself from pressing against him and giving him a hug. I had never been compelled to touch…anyone before, yet lately, I’d been drawn to everyone I’d met.

  Was it the lack of tattoos? The fact that my shields were drained? No, that couldn’t be it. I’d been shield-less and unmarked for the majority of my life, and I had never been compelled to touch anyone.

  I pushed the thoughts aside to think on later.

  "Oh, my deepest apologies, ladies." He gingerly took my card and placed it against the elevator panel. The card melted into it, and the panel glowed golden. The elevator opened. "Ladies," he prompted. Corbin and I entered, and he followed after, entering a code into the panel.

  As the elevator doors closed, I wondered if the lobby would stand
empty, when another similarly dressed man took up guard duty. As if buff models were just waiting in the wings.

  A second later, the door opened. I hadn't even felt the car move. This had to be the most efficient elevator in the city.

  We followed our guard through a skywalk of glass and marble. It gave the feeling that we floated over the city. I tried to figure out how this was architecturally possible, an open skywalk when the black tower was entirely enclosed. We arrived at another waiting area, this one with high, cathedral ceilings and luminous windows.

  There again was that feeling of warmth and welcome that drew me in and told me that I had arrived home. And what a home this would have been, too. The warm woods and potted plants—enough to create a jungle—gave an elevated feeling of comfort over the otherwise cool marble and glass.

  This space had to be for privileged and invited guests.

  The guard checked in with the receptionist, and stood at attention by her desk. The petite woman was older, elegant and reserved. Her sable hair fell in soft waves just past her shoulders. The delicate strands of gold at her neck picked up the golden flecks in her green eyes, and softened the lines of her cream linen suit. She was vibrant and warm, the perfect complement in coloring and manner to the decor.

  "Good afternoon, ladies. I am Mr. Deimos's assistant, Sage." She extended a hand toward Corbin. "Detective Troy, I presume?" she said, clasping hands with her. Even Corbin softened toward this woman. Then, Sage extended her hand toward me. "And, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

  I forgot that I never gave it, so flustered by the guard’s demeanor. I clasped her hand lightly with my gloved one. I felt the steel behind her soft exterior. The strength there. And for some reason, that made me relax even more.

  Sage's eyes rounded in recognition at the gloves before I finished speaking my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guard discreetly lift his hand to his mouth. He spoke low into his mic, barely moving his lips.

  "Oh my, it's lovely to meet you, simply lovely. Of course, I haven't seen your pictures in years, and I remember you always had your lovely hair down, too. But I remembered your hands, so elegant! I simply love your artwork." Sage positively glowed.

  I wished I could bask in her comfort all day. It was like being wrapped in those fluffy cloud robes in my favorite spa. Another reference to my art after all these years was unexpectedly draining.

  Sage was ready to escort us to a conference room.

  Corbin interceded, "Just a moment, Ms. Sage."

  "But of course." Sage stepped aside discreetly, busying herself at a sideboard just outside our hearing.

  Corbin pulled me aside. "Look, thanks for being my wingman, and for the ‘in’ at the lobby. Quick thinking with the card.” She smiled at me, but her normally aqua eyes were gray with worry. “I know how you'd rather avoid unnecessary attention from them"—by them, she meant the Remnant Gods—“So, if you'd rather stay here, catch up on your agency stuff, I wouldn’t mind."

  My heart was heavy, my chest tight and strained. But, I felt it again. That pull. Corbin needed me, and I wasn't going to just sit out here reading magazines just because I was a little uncomfortable. "Detective, what kind of a Wingman would I be if I left you now?" My words came out more clipped than I'd intended, so I worked to soften them. "Besides, things are just getting interesting. I'll just check up on the office after and make sure Megan hasn't rescheduled my blind date." I managed a tight smile.

  The already gray clouds in her eyes flashed black for a moment before lightening. "Fair enough. After this, let's get some Thai, all right?"

  I nodded. We rejoined the waiting Sage, who never once showed a hint of impatience or eavesdropping.

  She showed us to another waiting area and disappeared behind a door. Corbin paced out the length of the room as if she were in her interview room. I took a seat, the buttery leather warm and inviting. The guard had followed us in, standing just inside the door. At least he hadn't been sneaking communications, though I could feel the weight of his gaze.

  I ignored him.

  Glossy magazines fanned out just so on an end table. I picked one up with a headline that screamed "MOAR BEES!" I flipped to the lead article, making a mental note to buy more raw honey and donate more money to honey bee conservation efforts.

  I leafed through three of the five magazines, when the conference room door opened again. I put the magazine down, and walked in Corbin's wake. Sage offered to bring coffee, which I gladly accepted. We took a seat at the conference table, looking at the opaque glass. Pity, it would have made for incredible views. Corbin drummed her fingers on the table. She didn't like to be kept waiting for anything let alone an appointment.

  The door at the opposite end of the conference room opened, and Sage brought in a tray of coffee. I was so pleasantly surprised by how she had arrived at a completely different location than where I’d expected her to pop out—with coffee no less—that I hadn't noticed the shadow that loomed behind her. Only Corbin's sharp intake of breath clued me in.

  Deimos had followed in behind her, dressed in broad strokes of black and gray. Charcoal suit, matching vest, white shirt, black tie.

  He was a full head taller than Corbin, who was just shy of six feet tall. His gaze met mine immediately and held. "Ms. Tallinn, it's a pleasure to see you again so soon."

  That voice. It tickled down my body like a gentle caress. It made my mouth dry instantly. Made my stomach clench and places lower on my body tighten.

  Automatically, I replied, "It's a pleasure to see you, too, Mr. Deimos," and extended my hand to him. Then I flushed deeply, suddenly self-conscious of what I was doing. I always responded to, never initiated, simple niceties like a handshake. Was famous for it, or rather, infamous for it.

  Deimos didn't miss a beat. He enclosed my hand in his, his fingertips grazed my wrist, sending sparks sizzling over my skin. I felt its absence when he let go to address Corbin.

  "So, Mr. Deimos," Corbin started. "Owen Sanderson's wife seemed to think that you knew him more than just as a client-dealer relationship. Do you have an idea why she would think that?"

  "I'm not in the habit of surmising the minds of those around me. I judge based on actions, not words, and definitely not thoughts." He smiled at me. "It is unfortunate that I didn't get to know more about this Sanderson. It sounded like a waste of a life."

  "Anything about these cards?" Corbin showed him the black card that had belonged to Owen. "Your clients seemed to have these in common, too."

  "Yes. Think of them as a key. One way direction."

  "If it’s one-way, why are all the roads leading here then?" Corbin countered.

  "You're not unfamiliar with the Remnant God tribes, then? Their politics?"

  I shivered involuntarily. I didn't need a reminder about how bloody their politics could be.

  There was that feeling then that came from Deimos. A look that wasn’t quite a touch. Something that said, ‘You're safe here’.

  I had an odd feeling that he meant that for me.

  "This is a wayfarer station. An easy cross roads. All roads seem to lead here, because all roads start here."

  "So, this is like Penn station?"

  He smiled. "I would prefer to think of it as Grand Central Station.”

  I cocked my head at that since we were nowhere near there. But I guess he preferred the architecture. I sure did.

  “So, if this place is a terminal, then think of the keycards as a ticket to get you to your destination."

  "I see. Any way we can figure out where these go?"

  "Yes." And he didn't elaborate.

  There was another standoff. A clashing of wills between what I now realized were equally-matched stubborn people.

  Corbin didn’t blink or look away, but she did end the silent struggle. "I'm assuming that those destinations are confidential, then."

  I wondered whether or not those cards were meant for places or people? I asked aloud, though not expecting an answer. "Would the
re be different cards for people if they want to go to different destinations? Like a trip to Hawaii versus a ticket to the Greens?"

  He answered my musing anyway. "No, it’s more that each card is attuned to the person, and that person can travel where they need based on the currency on the card."

  I brightened, amused at the fact that it sounded like a credit card and teleportation device at once. "So, it's not like a mode of transportation, but the means?"

  He see-sawed his head as if to weigh out the analogy. "That is one way to look at it for sure."

  "But you couldn't disclose the destinations, then?" Corbin asked.

  "I only deal in the exchanging of keys. Shifting of power to someone, as if borrowing currency, temporarily for use of travel. I have no control, really, to know what the business or purpose of the travel would be. It would be…unwise…to reveal the activities of my clients."

  "Even if it is to solve a murder for one of those clients?"

  "The laws of men do not apply in this situation."

  And there it was. He said the magic words that ended all lines of communication. It was like a Human's request for a lawyer during questioning. No more information, no more communication about the matter would be disclosed.

  I could feel Corbin’s frustration boiling over, a surge of wildfire and smoke. "I see." Corbin rapped her fingers. "Well, I guess there's nothing more to be said here.”

  "I regret to have been a waste of your time, Detective."

  "It wasn’t a waste from my perspective," said Corbin, flicking a look at me. "We'll get out of your hair." She stood up and headed toward the door, and I instinctively got up to follow.

  "You're not both leaving? So soon?"

  I turned back to face him. He had directed the question at me. "I'd hoped we'd have more time to talk." Alone hung unspoken in the air, though I picked it up loud and clear from him.

  For the first time, my conversational banter completely dried up, along with my mouth and throat. All rational thought seemed to have frozen dead still inside me as well. "Oh, uhm, we have a...thing. To do. With stuff. And people."

  I heard my clumsy words from outside my body, like my mouth was falling down the stairs and I had no way of stopping it from spilling out nonsense words. I felt Corbin's horrified yet fascinated stare drill into me at my incoherent babble.