She stood up and walked toward the edge of the boat, almost ready to step out and go after them… Then what? You’re a reporter not an action hero.
She resorted to doing what she always did when she worried—like she had done the entire night she waited for a husband who would never come home again—she paced. The boat wasn’t large enough for her to pace far, but she managed.
After fifteen minutes she’d worked up the courage to go after them, damn the consequences. Just as she stepped off the boat, five, no, six silent figures stepped out of the underbrush. Only five were walking.
Their resident super, Sandy, was half-naked and covered in soot , but he also carried a woman in his arms, the remains of a red scarf hung around her neck. Most of the front of her body was burned beyond recognition.
“Oh Madi, what did you do?”
♦♦♦
“I trust we understand each other now?” Sara asked from beside me. Everything hurt so much I wanted to cry, but I had no eyelids to do so. Instead I just moaned. Krisan was with me, dabbing my face with a wet cloth, her own tears rolling down her face.
“No,” I said to Spice. She sat on the side of the boat letting one hand trail through the water, completely ignoring Krisan.
“I’m the only reason you’re still alive. I’m keeping your heart beating and the blood flowing through your veins. I can keep you in this state forever if I want,” she said, her hand snapping out of the water and pointing at me. The darkness on her face wasn’t my Spice—not even close.
Then it clicked. I wasn’t crazy. Joseph had left me a message and he had tried to warn me, to tell me on a hundred little occasions. He wasn’t the Wraith, this thing was, whatever it was. It was where the powers came from, and it needed something. But what?
Death? No… killing. The act of killing powers it.
Why does it need me, then?
Madi you do it because you have a long, long list of people who need killing. Joseph stopped, and so instead of feeding on his killing the Wraith fed on him.
“Listen, Spice,” I said through cracked lips. I badly needed a drink.
“Spice? Madi, it’s me, Krisan, can you hear me?”
“I’m not talking to you. One sec. Listen, Spice, I’ll make you a deal—”
“No. No deals. Joseph said the same thing but he grew tired of all the death. He lacked commitment,” she said.
If she could control me then she would, but she can’t. She’s a passenger.
“I have a lot of people that need killing. I can either do it my way, or I can strap on fifty pounds of C4, find the largest group of ISO around, and blow us all to hell. How’s that for commitment?” I asked.
“Madisun, you’re talking nonsense. Try to be quiet. We’re almost back in town and we can get you to a hospital,” Krisan said.
Spice’s eyes went wide and she examined me… really looked into my soul. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s my way or the graveyard—your choice,” I said. But she was already gone.
♦♦♦
When I opened my eyes again I was curled up in the arms of the blond soldier who I had saved. He held me tight like a protective coat as he lay me down in the van. Strength returned to me along with awareness. Burned skin shed, bones mended, and I felt a rush as all the death and destruction I had wrought flooded through me. In the time it took me to sit-up, I was fully healed. Embarrassingly not as dressed as before the explosion, but my army jacket survived enough to cover me.
“Thank you… I have to go,” I said, even as the knowledge that these people knew who I was and that I should deal with them flooded through me. There was no going back as long as they lived. Stop it. I don’t know what influence you have over me, but we kill who I say we kill, and no one else.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “You saved me—saved all of us today. We owe you our thanks,” he said.
I shrugged. “You’re not one of the bad guys.”
“Madi?” Krisan said from behind as she climbed into the truck. I turned to her and glared. Of course she was here. I really did like the reporter, and I was grateful for her help in Detroit, but here…
Sliding past the invulnerable soldier, I dropped out of the van and looked around for my car. We were parked in the same town and I really needed to go before they asked too many questions.
A tall, square-jawed soldier of about forty came around the side of the van right behind Krisan.
“Madi, wait, these men are friends. They can help you,” Krisan said.
Now that I was out of the vehicle I could see all five men, including the sniper who had saved my life. I nodded to him. “Good shot,” I said.
“Clever idea,” he replied.
“Madi? I’m Master Sergeant Bill Farrel, US ARMY Criminal Investigations, Special Operations. I think we’re after the same thing,” Bill said.
“Oh, we are?” I asked raising an eyebrow. “They murdered your family and killed your little sister right in front of you while stabbing you through the heart?” I asked. I wanted to stay calm, but my emotions were getting the better of me. I didn’t want help, didn’t need help, and I certainly didn’t want Federal Agents who were susceptible to ISO-1’s corruption knowing anything about me.
Master Sergeant Farrel shook his head. “No ma’am, and for what it’s worth, I’m awful sorry about that,” he said with a whisper. The rest of his team took their hats off and bowed their heads in a show of respect. I had to admit, that wasn’t quite what I expected. A lifetime of movies and TV shows had led me very astray about military men. Maybe I could…
That poor agent in New York wanted to do the right thing too, and they shot him through the heart for it.
“I appreciate that Sergeant, and thank you,” I said to the young man with the blond hair.
“Sandy,” he said touching his chest.
“Rico,” the dark-haired Hispanic man said.
“Zim,” the other nodded. He was taller than the rest, incredibly fit, with an angular face.
“Felix,” the sniper added. He didn’t move a muscle more than he needed too. The Wraith practically drooled in my mind. Now that I knew what she was, sort of, I could feel her more—distinguish her thoughts and desires from mine. Felix was a killer, like me. I could tell and so could she.
“Listen, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you saving my life, but you have no idea what you’re up against. There isn’t anyone they can’t corrupt; no government official they can’t blackmail, no law enforcement agency they can’t infiltrate. My only weapon is that they have no idea who I am, or even what I am. As long they’re afraid of me I can bring them down. The second they know who I am… that all ends.”
“You’re the Wraith,” Rico said. Was that awe in his voice?”
I nodded tightly. “Not the first one, but yes.”
He looked to the other men in the unit, meeting their eyes for a second. “She’s the real deal Bill,” he finally said.
“You think I need you to tell me that? I watched her operate, Rico…” he turned to me and smiled. “You would have made a helluva soldier, ma’am. If we can support you in any way, or if you find our missing C4, please let us know. I assume you can contact Ms. Swahili if you need to?” he asked.
A glance at her told me I could.
“Great. She can get a hold of me. Listen, all I care about, and all I’m authorized to bring in, is the missing C4. I came here looking for ten pounds of the stuff only to find out there’s a whole lot more to this than meets the eye.”
“You’re short about seventeen thousand nine-hundred and ninety— strike that—nine-hundred and eighty-four pounds. I used some to blow the money up.”
“I figured that’s what did it. Nice job. The Coast Guard is moving in right now, seizing everything that’s left. Listen,” he said looking away for a second.
For a heartbeat they were all looking the other way. The overcast sky wasn’t bright to begin with and when a shadow moved across
the sun I acted, shadow-stepping behind a dumpster a hundred feet away. I froze in place, waiting to see if they saw me. Focusing on my hearing I listened to them.
“Where the hell did she just go?” Sergeant Farrel asked.
“She does that,” Krisan replied.
“She didn’t move,” Felix said. “I would have heard her move. She just vanished.”
Confident they couldn’t see me, I moved out. Trotting around the closed restaurant they had parked in front of, I knew where I was in a few minutes and made my way the half mile to where I’d parked the Hellcat. It was exactly as I left it. I popped the trunk, sat down semi-inside the spacious cargo area and quickly changed my clothes, putting all the old things in the plastic bag I had for this purpose. Before I tucked the jacket away, I pulled out the cash. Thankfully it had survived my impromptu fuel-air-bomb. Everything I had on me, minus the cash, went into the bag and the bag into the dumpster. No one was ever going to find it.
Next, I wanted a shower. And I needed to go shopping. I only knew one man who had the answers for me, and it was long past time we had a sit-down.
Chapter 21
Henry Williams closed the door behind him, activating the magnetic lock and checking to see if the security system had gone off since he left the house that morning. The “All-Secure” light flashed.
That little bit of normalcy comforted him. ISO—The Outfit, or Syndicate, or whatever they were calling themselves these days—were losing their minds. As if Henry had any control over the Army! Federal Agents could pretty much do as they pleased.
He tossed his leather bag with the files from the Imago case on his chair before going to his fridge.
I need a beer. Maybe more.
The lights responded to his motion in the kitchen, flickering to life as he opened the fridge. He was puzzled that the six-pack of Abita Amber, a famous local brew, was down to three. He’d just bought it last night and he was sure he hadn’t opened any.
Then the lights flickered out and the house plunged into darkness.
His mind raced as a thousand possibilities ran through him then settled on the most likely one; an ISO assassin was here to kill him. ISO was supposed to provide a certain level of protection for him, but not against themselves. Oddly, he heard the sound of a bottle cap popping and he knew there was someone right behind him. Slowly, carefully, he raised his hands up to shoulder level and turned around, shuffling his feet like a kid at a school dance.
Henry had never really felt fear in his life. Other than the one mistake he was caught making, caught, and he suspected set up, by ISO-1 so they could make him do their bidding. Even last year when they shared their plans to execute the DA and his family, he hadn’t felt fear. More like a modicum of loyalty. Not that he liked Madi, but Alex was a mentor of his. He’d taken him in when the wench Madisun left him for her precious modeling career.
But now… standing in the pitch-black, staring down a pair of glowing blue eyes— it was all he could do not to pee himself.
“W—wh—what do you want?” he finally managed to ask. Anger flared up in him, not at his attacker, but at himself for his helplessness.
As the seconds ticked by and those glowing eyes looked at him, sweat began to trickle down his spine and his heart thudded in his ears. Facing his imminent death, or so he thought, Henry felt no remorse for the people he helped kill—only a sense of righteous indignation over the injustice of someone killing him before he’d made his fortune and lived the life of decadence he so badly craved. It just wasn’t fair.
The mysterious figure surged closer, pressing him up against the fridge while the cold steel of a blade trapped his throat.
“You’re going to answer some questions for me.”
Henry thought maybe it was a woman, but no human could have a voice like that, let alone a human woman. Her voice echoed around the room, coming from a hundred different directions. A chill ran down his spine.
When he didn’t answer, the blade pressed harder and he peed himself.
Suddenly she stepped back and the blade was gone, leaving him cold and standing in a puddle.
“Don’t move, not an inch,” she said. “Where does ISO-1 keep their armory?”
He was frozen in fear. Frozen. He wanted to tell her to go to hell, like a hero in a movie. He wished he responded that way. However, Henry had never truly experienced anything difficult in his life. Now, faced with physical harm, even death, he wanted nothing more than to say whatever he needed to say to live.
But his mouth was frozen shut.
She didn’t wait long. When he didn’t answer the knife was back. Henry couldn’t take those eyes peering into his soul one second longer.
“I don’t know,” he finally managed to drag out of himself.
“That’s not the answer I wanted. I hope you don’t mind typing one handed?”
His eyes flew open as she grabbed his wrist in her unbelievably strong hands and slammed his hand down on the cutting board, pressing the blade against the top of his wrist. He tried to pull away but he was either weak from fear or simply not strong enough—she didn’t so much as budge.
“Wait,” he shouted. “Just wait.”
“You have five seconds to tell me something useful.”
His mind raced, self-preservation warring with his common sense. Maybe he could spin this in his favor. He started talking and couldn’t stop.
“ISO uses me to go after their competition. Right now, we’re making a case against Israel Imago. He’s a suspected importer of weapons from the middle east to sell on the black market. He would have something you could buy, I’m sure.”
The blade she held slashed his forearm in a shallow cut that bled profusely. He screamed even though it wasn’t exactly dangerous. Henry dropped to the floor, clutching his wounded arm, shame and humiliation washing over him along with the pain. When he managed to open his eyes, the lights were on, the fridge beeped at him to close the door, and three empty bottles of beer were sitting neatly side-by-side on the kitchen island.
Chapter 22
I drove away from Henry’s house with a smile. I truly hated that man, but the idea of killing him didn’t sit well with me. Maybe it would eventually. Maybe. As easily as all of this death came to me, it was still a bit distasteful to contemplate killing someone I had been intimate with. Even if it was a lifetime ago.
It does feel like forever, like someone else's life, not mine.
I was tired. My eyes drooped as I drove toward home. It was Friday night; I had gone full throttle since Wednesday, and even with my Wraith fueled powers I needed sleep and food. But there was something else I needed to do first.
I pressed the button on the dash to activate my phone, then called Krisan’s number. I hoped she hadn’t changed it since she left Detroit.
“Madi?” her voice came through the car speakers. To say I was surprised she knew it was me would be an understatement. I bit back the urge to ask her how and just went right to my question.
“Can you find out where my family is buried?” I asked.
There was a moment of silence on her end. The connection was so quiet I briefly wondered if she had hung up.
“I know where they are. It was the first thing I did after I arrived. Can I text the address to this number?”
“Yes. And thank you.”
“Madi, listen, I need to talk to you. Just you and me,” she said.
I thought about it for a long second. I was still kind of mad at her for going on the radio and endangering us, and for dragging the Army team in. At the end of the day, though, she was my only real ally. I wanted to do this… crusade… on my own. I wanted to avenge my family and all the families who had suffered under the thumb of the unrighteous… but I was so tired.
“Meet me at the graveyard. It should be secure, assuming no one knows who I really am?” It was more of a rhetorical question, but also a reminder to her that my secret was important.
“I haven’t told anyone. I’ll see you in 20
.”
I hung up the phone. A few seconds later the address came in.
>>>>Dumas Family Tomb. St. Louis #1, West Side, Row 7<<<<
The ten minutes it took me to drive there passed in a blur. I’d lived in this city half my life and for the first time in a long time, I drove the speed limit. Stopping longer than normal, driving out of my way to avoid traffic. Despite my desperate need to rest, I went as slow as humanly possible—until I was inevitably at my family’s final destination.
I parked the car and sat in silence for a few minutes. Friday nights in the city were always loud and boisterous, even in a cemetery, but for just a few minutes it was like the world respected my need for privacy.
Since the moment I woke up in the hospital I had put all my emotions—all my feelings about what had happened—in a box labeled “DO NOT OPEN, EVER.” I was afraid. Afraid that once I opened the box I would lose whatever it was that drove me to seek justice, vengeance, on their behalf.
I took a few deep breaths and opened the car door, stepping out into the warm night. I was here, it was real. I needed to say goodbye to them. I needed to know, in my heart, they were gone. Maybe I could put my grief off forever, but unless I saw their graves, their deaths would always be… fake… to me.
I wandered through the cemetery, more ambling than searching, heading for the west side. Tombs dating back to the seventeen hundreds were alongside crypts built in the last few years. It was a stark contradiction.
“You’re not the first person to lose someone,” Sara said from my side. I knew, intellectually, that she wasn’t Sara. But I didn’t care. She sounded like her, acted like her (for the most part), and even smelled like her.
“I know. At the same time, other people’s pain doesn’t make mine easier.”
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