Arms Dealers

by Erik Henry Vick

  The wailing moan rose in fervor, and the temperature dropped again. Leery threw a glance at Angie and nodded toward Dru. Angie shook her head at first, but when Leery nodded toward his partner again, Angie shrugged and began to back toward her.

  The low moaning sound grew to a banshee wail, though no strong gust of wind accompanied it. The temperature continued to plummet, and static electricity charged the air. Angie’s eyes opened wide and darted to something behind Leery. He whirled on the balls of his feet, his tail held straight out behind him.

  “Leery! Look out!” shouted Angie. Immediately, she began chanting words in the Verba Patiendi, calling dark powers to her side.

  Something the color of roasted coffee beans blurred toward him. It was the size of a Great Dane, and it rocketed forward, low to the ground—below the level of the passenger windows of the cars surrounding them. He couldn’t get a clear picture of what the thing was, only that it was wrong. Oriscoe inhaled through his nose, then sneezed and shook his head at the god-awful fetor coming off the charging thing. He squatted low on the roof of the cab and sprang at the beast, arms out, claws extended. The dark thing jerked left, then right, zigzagging in the narrow aisle between the vehicles, a solid, metallic thunk accompanying each radical change in direction.

  Pushing off the cars? What the hell is that thing? A growl rumbled in his throat as if in answer, and he could feel the raw, animalistic fury in his darker half at the oncoming beast’s wrongness.

  The creature came right at him, smelling wrong, looking wrong, moving wrong. It stank of burnt hair, spoiled meat, rotten produce, and coppery arterial blood. It made a noise as it rushed forward, a basso keen that set Leery’s teeth on edge.

  His skin tingled as another ward settled across him, but he didn’t take his eyes off the wrongness coming ever closer. A mere ten steps separated them, but he still couldn’t pick out visual details—as if it wore a cloak of velvet midnight shadows though it was only late afternoon.

  Leery sank into a crouch, lowering his center of gravity in case the thing sprang at him. The creature banged off the rear quarter panel of the car to Leery’s left and rocketed through the passenger-side window of the Yellow Cab to his right. The cabbie shrieked, but his cries didn’t last more than a heartbeat before they were cut off with a sickening butcher-block sound and the driver-side window shattered outward.

  Oriscoe howled a warning at Angie and dove across the yellow hood, his claws scoring the paint. The thing careened off a car in the opposing lane, then bee-lined it for the ALM. Scrambling for purchase, Leery inflicted more deep scratches in the cab’s hood, but by the look of the blood splatter, the cabbie was past minding.

  His wolf side was wrapped up in the chase, instinct trumping Leery’s reason. He dove to the macadam, sprinting on all fours—his best possible speed. He snarled and barked as he ran, then gave in to the instinct to howl, to call his brethren to the hunt.

  Three steps from Angie, the thing hurled itself up on its hind legs and slammed into her, wrapping its front limbs around her in a bear hug, then slamming her on her back, slashing at her with a pair of clawed hands that appeared from the black mist surrounding the thing. Her breath whoofed out of her, and she lost the spell she’d tried to cast. For a heartbeat, black magic swirled around them like a swarm of buzzing flies, then dissipated with a pop.

  Fifteen steps away, Dru climbed onto the hood of a parked car. A set of runes glowed in the air to either side of her—one glowing in a fierce electric blue, the other a burning salamander orange. She pointed at the creature on top of Angie and whispered a word. The word echoed up and down the street as though she’d screamed it into a public address system, and the sound of it made Leery’s skin creep and crawl.

  The orange ward brightened and kept brightening until Leery thought he might go blind from its brilliance. Then Dru hurled it at the thing crouching over Angie, and it streaked forward like a bolt of lightning. It crackled as it struck the creature, outlining it with incandescent orange. The spell flared one final time, then burst apart.

  But it took the creature’s cloak of shadows with it.

  The thing was covered in flat brown scales that looked like seed pods from a pinecone. It had six short limbs that ended in three clawed fingers, and a short nub of a tail. Small bumps on its skull defined its ears, and for eyes it had two large black orbs in front, and two smaller black orbs on either side of its head. Its mouth opened too wide for the size of its skull—more like the mouth of a crocodile than any dog. Viscous fluid dripped from its maw and sizzled where it touched the asphalt.

  A yowie. I’ll be damned, Leery thought right before he smashed into it at top speed, bowling the thing head over heels in a mass of snapping jaws and shredding talons. His momentum carried them into the front bumper of an SUV, knocking the vehicle catty-corner into the cab next to it.

  Dru shouted a single word of power, and electric blue light surrounded Oriscoe. Strength surged through him, his muscles swelling with it, and his senses exploded as time seemed to slow.

  The thing beneath him tilted its head to the side and snapped its powerful jaws. Leery jerked his head up and away, then drove forward, his own jaws open wide, his arms and legs pinning the thing against the SUV. He snapped his jaws shut around the thing’s neck and locked them closed, growling and snarling the whole time. The six-legged creature thrashed, scouring Leery’s side and belly with its claws, a strange mewling sound rumbling in its chest. Leery tightened his bite, bearing down with all the strength he could muster.

  Foul black blood gushed into his mouth, bringing with it the taste of charred meat, mold, and flint. The creature became frantic, slashing at Oriscoe’s flesh and jerking itself to and fro. Wherever it slashed him, the wounds burned and stung. Poisoned claws, he thought. Neat trick.

  Leery snapped his head side to side, wrenching the creature’s head left and right. His vision glowed in the same shade of blue as Dru’s spell, but it grew a shade less luminous with each expenditure of energy.

  He wrenched the creature over and pinned it to the ground, digging his claws into the macadam for added leverage. The thing’s struggles grew weaker and weaker as more and more black blood sprayed into Leery’s mouth and dribbled from his jaws.

  “Leery!” shouted Dru. “Angie’s hurt!”

  Leery growled at the thing dying under him, gave it a savage shake, and then let it go. It lay there in a heap, the twitching of one clawed foot growing more and more feeble as the thing’s flesh slid and changed, its bulk and size melting away, leaving a bark-skinned, long-legged, spindly-armed creature with a hooked nose lying in the street. He sneezed to clear the vittra’s foul blood from his mouth and its scent from his nose, then whirled and ran back to where Angie had fallen. Her eyes and lips were pressed shut in an angry rictus of pain and suffering, and her coat was rent down the left side. Blood slipped from the tear to pool beneath her.

  “Protect us! I have to work fast to stop the poison.”

  Leery whined and licked Angie’s hand, then leaped to the roof of the compact car next to him. He spun in a circle, gaze darting to everything that moved, his taloned feet screeching against the metal roof, his warning snarl echoing into the coming evening. Armed men pelted toward them from the building that housed Angie’s office, Sam McCoy trailing in their wake. Other than that, no one moved under his baleful glare.

  Below, Dru painted rune set after rune set in the air, endowed them with power, and cast them on Angie. Leery turned his gaze to McCoy, locked eyes with him, and howled, urging him to hurry.

  16

  Leery buttoned up one of Sam McCoy’s spare shirts, then tucked it into a pair of Sam’s jeans. Sam sat behind his desk, chair turned so he could stare out the window. “They’ll fix her right up, Sam. Don’t worry.”

  Sam shook his head and spoke without turning. “That was too close, Leery. A zombie horde and unseelie hit team? If you two hadn’t given her a ride home, she’d have died in the street.”

  �
��But we did give her a ride, and she didn’t die, Sam.”

  He whirled around in his chair, then, eyes blazing. “You know who’s behind this.”

  “Mama Rose Marie.”

  “Damn right. She wants us to know she can get to any of us. That she can run things from inside our dungeon just as well as she could from outside.”

  “Then let’s drop her down a well and brick it over. See how well she can run things from there. I’m not scared of the Zombie mafia, and neither is Angie. She kicked ass down there.”

  “Of course she did. But I want to know how Rose Marie Van Dee is getting orders out to her crew.”

  “Visitors? Phone calls?”

  “She’s been held incommunicado since her arrest.”

  Leery pursed his lips. “Maybe she gave the orders earlier.”

  “Maybe,” said Sam in a distracted voice. “But maybe someone else is carrying her orders out.”

  “A guard?”

  “No.” Sam leaned forward and grabbed a pad of legal paper and began writing. “I’ll get the warrants signed, but I want you to get set up on these phone numbers. Twenty-four-hour monitoring and recording, Leery. Trap and trace. The whole works.”

  “I love it when you get out the big guns. Who do these numbers belong to?”

  Sam tore the sheet of the pad and held it out. “Paul Leibman.”

  Leery whistled and reached for the papers.

  17

  Angie groaned and readjusted her position in the hospital bed. “Help me get dressed.”

  “Lie back,” said Dru in a firm voice. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “But with Dee Terry and Jack Barnett missing, Sam needs—”

  “Sam will get along without you for a day or so.” Nogan turned cool eyes on McCoy and cocked her head to the side. “And if the Zombie mafia abducted them, Terry and Barnett are probably already spread all over New Jersey.”

  “Detective Nogan is right, Angie. You rest. I’ve got everything under control. I’ve got a call in to the Covenancy Marshals. We’ll get it sorted out.”

  “Van Dee doesn’t get to win, Sam! Not like this! I’m getting out of here, and I’m—”

  “No.” Dru put her palm on Angie’s shoulder and pushed her back down. She bent close and whispered in Angie’s ear. “I heard you invoke my mother back there. She would never forgive me if I allowed you to go and you got hurt.”

  Angie’s eyes were wide as Nogan drew back.

  “I take it that’s settled, now?” asked Sam.

  “It is,” said Dru. “Isn’t it, Angie?”

  Angie could only nod.

  19

  At nine the next morning, Sam sat alone at the prosecutor’s table. Fury still pounded in his veins with every beat of his heart, and truth be told, he’d kept the fire stoked. He turned and glanced at the doors leading to the hall. Leery was late.

  Thoridn entered from the back of the courtroom, carrying his halberd, grim-faced. Though his gaze sailed past, Sam thought the bailiff knew what the plan for the morning was. He doubted Grimhildr Gyuki kept much from him. The dvergr glanced at the clock, then turned his gaze on Sam, one thick eyebrow lifted.

  Leery entered from the hall and stood behind Sam at the bar. When Sam looked back, Oriscoe flashed a victorious smile. Sam turned back to Thoridn and nodded.

  “All rise! Order, order! I call this court to order, the Just and Honorable Grimhildr Gyuki presiding.”

  Grimhildr swept in from her chamber doors, her black silk robe fluttering behind her like the wings of a Valkyrie. Her pale blue eyes shimmered with fury as she climbed to the bench, snatched up her gavel, and banged it on the sound block. She slumped into her seat and threw a searing glance at the defense table. “It is my understanding that an officer of my court was assaulted—nay, that murder was attempted on one of my officers this evening past.”

  Sam got to his feet. “That is correct, Your Honor. It was sheer providence that Detectives Oriscoe and Nogan were close enough to assist. Otherwise, I fear Ms. Carmichael would have been killed.”

  “Is it so?” Gyuki asked in a voice that sang of frigid, ice-filled plains scoured by strong arctic winds. Her eyes never left the defense table. “Imagine that. I have a case involving the Zombie mafia, the Unseelie Court, and a smattering of trolls from the land of my birth, and one of the court’s officers is attacked by a zombie horde and two unseelie assassins.” She threw a glance at Thoridn. “I wonder how that could have happened, Thoridn.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace. But at least the trolls had enough sense to stay out of it. They wouldn’t risk your wrath.”

  “Indeed. Mr. Leibman? Any guesses how it happened?”

  “No, Your Honor, and I resent—”

  “Mr. McCoy? Can you enlighten us?”

  “I can, Judge Gyuki, though it pains me to do so.”

  “Indeed?” She arched one delicate eyebrow at him.

  “Yes, Your Honor. I’ve known Paul Leibman these many years, and I’d have never guessed he could stoop so low.”

  “What is this?” asked Leibman. “I’ll not be accused—”

  “We have audio, Paul,” said Sam in a quiet voice, but one that shook with fury. “So we know all about the follow-up attempt you ordered. That hospital is crawling with Claws and Warders, and raids were executed on your soldiers this morning. We have them all.”

  “My soldiers, Sam? I’m a magister. I think you are confusing me with my clients.”

  “Enough!” yelled Grimhildr. Thoridn stepped forward, knuckles white on the haft of his halberd. “I’ll not have you continue to lie with impunity, Leibman. Arrest him, Detective Oriscoe.”

  “My pleasure, Your Honor.” Leery swept through the swinging gates of the bar and grabbed Leibman’s arms, wrenching them behind him, and cuffing his wrists. “Paul Leibman, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and to Ward yourself from psychic interrogation. Anything you say, or think during unwarded conversation, can be used against you in a magister's court. You have the right to representation by a magister of your choosing. If you cannot afford a magister, one will be provided at no cost to you. Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them?”

  Leibman stood stunned, mouth opening and closing, but making no sound.

  “Counselor, that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say,” said Leery. He turned his gaze to Judge Gyuki. “With your permission, Your Honor?”

  “Get him out of my courtroom, detective.”

  “With pleasure, Judge.” Holding Leibman right above the magister’s elbow, he tugged him from behind the defense table and led him through the door to the holding cells.

  Rose Marie Van Dee stood and cocked her head to the side. “This means a mistrial, right?” A small grin tugged at her lips.

  Grimhildr narrowed her eyelids and compressed her lips into a tight, white line. “No, Ms. Van Dee, I don’t think so. Instead, I’ll have the Supernatural Defenders office assign someone to your case. The Court stands adjourned until next Monday. That will give your magister time to prepare.”

  “But what about me? Do you mean to tell me I’m to spend my days stuck in that filthy pit again? I’ll not have it, Gyuki!”

  Thoridn snapped his halberd up and down twice, the butt of the ancient weapon thundering on the hardwood floors. “Judge Gyuki!” he bellowed.

  Rose Marie Van Dee spared him a single glance filled with fire and brimstone, then turned her attention back to Grimhildr. “This isn’t fair! My magister committed those crimes on his own! I had nothing to do with it!”

  Grimhildr chuckled. “Oh, I doubt that, truykr.” She picked up her gavel and rapped it twice on the sound block. “Thoridn, dear, please secure the prisoner.”

  Wearing a savage grin, the dvergr advanced toward Rose Marie Van Dee, shifting his halberd diagonally across his body. She backed away from him, and he herded her toward the door to the holding cells.

  Gyuki looked to the prosecution table and nodded at Sa
m. “See to it this mess goes away, Mr. McCoy.”

  “I will, Your Honor. I think Leibman, at least, will want to deal. Once he does, the troll or Shuten-doji or both will follow. We’ll get Rose Marie Van Dee through their testimony.”

  Chapter 4

  The Verdict

  1

  Paul Leibman sat slumped in the hardbacked wooden chair. His gaze roamed the floor at his feet, never straying more than a foot in any direction. The guards had taken his tie, belt, and shoelaces. His hair stood in disarray, as if he’d pulled at it, yanked tufts out.

  “Why, Paul?” asked Sam in a quiet voice. “Why did you throw it all away?”

  Leibman’s head twitched, but his gaze didn’t lift from the floor. He sucked in a long, unsteady breath and let it whistle out his nose. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his face in his hands. “I… I love her, Sam.”

  Sam shook his head.

  “She’s not what you think, Sam. She’s lovely. Gentle and kind.”

  “No, she isn’t, Paul. She’s the head of a murderous bunch of savages and orders death and mayhem the way the rest of us might order lunch.”

  Leibman lifted his face and stared at McCoy. “That’s true, but that’s not all she is. She’s also gentle and kind to her friends. To her lovers.”

  “Is that how she turned you, Paul? Sex?”

  Leibman shook his head, his expression one of infinite weariness. “No, she doesn’t know how I feel about her. She never made a single advance.”

  Sam lifted his hands and let them drop back to his side. “Then what, Paul? Your love is unrequited, yet for that, you threw away your entire life?”

  Leibman swept a hand over his eyes, then up to smooth his wild hair. “You must think me a fool.”

  “I’ll admit the thought has crossed my mind.” Sam pulled out a chair and sat next to Leibman. “There’s a way you can make this… Well, nothing can make this right, but there’s a way you can begin making amends.”