Blood River (The Ruby Callaway Trilogy Book 3)

by D. N. Erikson

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “It’s been round the clock at MagiTekk. They’re roping everyone in, Ruby.”

  “Great.” I took out the blue vial and set it on the glass. Then I went about tidying up the small room. Not so much to impress him, but because I didn’t want to look him in the eye. There wasn’t much to do. At this point, I had a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, an old pair of sneakers, and whatever old lady clothes Aiko had given me.

  The shotgun lay propped up in the corner, like a prop from another life.

  Satisfied that the modest quarters were as well-ordered as possible, I smoothed out the red cushions and laid down.

  “It’s late, Roark.”

  “You can tell me what you have planned. I can help you.”

  “Just like helped me on the bridge,” I said, the words bitter and hot. “Twice.”

  “I just reacted. Read the situation.”

  “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is you know how that is.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Roark walked three steps over to the wall, leaning next to the shotgun. The room was cramped enough that his aftershave had overtaken everything. Seeped into the very fabric of the cushions. “Not any more.”

  “I need sleep.”

  “We’d lost that battle, Ruby.” Roark’s foot tapped a nervous rhythm against the wall. “But we didn’t have to lose the war.”

  “I could’ve just jumped. We could’ve jumped. Together.”

  “And where would that have left us? On the run, six bullets to our name, hiding in a hole?”

  “I’d have two less holes in my shoulder, for one,” I said, adjusting my weight to relieve the pinch in my shoulder. The still-healing wound thudded dully.

  “There was no time. One of their snipers had you pinned. Right here.” Roark tapped his heart, which made mine flutter. “You heard the last shot. Bigger gun than mine.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He didn’t react, keeping his expression cool and level.

  “They’d have killed you, and they’d have killed me.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “But now MagiTekk thinks you’re dead,” Roark said. “And they believe I’m loyal to the cause. That I was investigating you on my own, to make sure the Tributary was properly opened. Then dispatching you when you were no longer useful.”

  “Some of that sounds accurate,” I said.

  “This is how we take down MagiTekk,” Roark said. “The bridge was out. We could be dead. We could be fucked. But we still have a chance.”

  “Just get out of here.”

  “They’re diverting most of the river to my father’s estate. The bulk of the source will be sluiced into a chamber for storage beneath the MagiTekk headquarters.” That must’ve been to start R&D on the successor to the Ghosts. Roark pushed off the wall and walked to the door. “You know where I am when you want my help.”

  “What makes you think I’d want that?”

  “Because, deep down, your wisps would have told you to do the same thing.” Roark shook his head. “You think I wanted to shoot you, Ruby? You think I wasn’t torn up, worried that I missed?”

  “It’s like you said.” I finally rolled over and stared at him coldly. “I just don’t know any more.”

  Roark held my gaze, then pushed off the wall without a word. He left me with a sore shoulder and a new bundle of emotions to unpack before tomorrow’s big day.

  Maybe I should’ve taken his help.

  Maybe I should’ve trusted him.

  But no one ever said that forgiveness came easy. Or thanks.

  Since I had a sneaking suspicion he’d saved my life.

  33

  Well, I’d gone from high-priced call girl to sun-battered grandmother within the span of two weeks. But I’d always been Ruby, my name whispered in fear and awe. I could only really ever be Ruby.

  It’s good to know exactly who you were. Except when you couldn’t be that person any more. Had to remove that imprint from your bones. Then you were kind of stuck looking for alternatives.

  The sun beat down on the Midtown corner as I waited for Eden Marshall to arrive. Across the street, advertisements for a new competition in the Tributary played: two teams facing off in an exotic land in a series of physical challenges.

  I groaned, trying to get comfortable and shake off my nerves. The pantsuit bunched up around my waist and the thick wool blazer scratched at my skin. Eden had been all too eager to agree to the plan, even if it meant putting herself in danger. Revenge was alluring to everyone, even media darlings with new fragrance lines promising a worry-free existence in aromatic paradise.

  I brushed the wrinkles out of the slacks, then thought better of it. I was supposed to look unattractive. Sweat crept from beneath the graying mountain of hair. I tried to ignore it as I waited.

  The immaculate limousine pulled up to the curb, and the back window rolled down. In a conspiratorial whisper, Eden said, “Ruby?”

  I leaned over and said, “Is it that obvious?”

  “I didn’t know someone so pretty could look this ugly.” I took that as a compliment. She opened the door and slid along the leather seat to let me in. With measured steps, I climbed inside, feeling the cumulative effects of my recent decisions.

  If this plan went off well, I’d be taking a long vacation.

  Once I was safely seated, the limousine roared off. The backseat smelled like whiskey and cigars, the interior trimmed in an elegant mahogany.

  Eden wore a striking but simple blue dress, her diamond earrings glittering. I sensed a disturbance in her aura. This adventure was bringing up old memories. Unpleasant ones of time spent alone inside the records building.

  She pushed a manicured hand through her blond tresses and said, “It’s really incredible work.”

  I caught sight of myself in a small mirror and had to agree. It wasn’t the aging that made me ugly, but how Aiko had painstakingly accomplished it. There are people who become more beautiful with time, the lightness of wisdom and experience radiating through their skin.

  Each artificial line in my face, each mark, looked like it had risen from the depths—had an origin story in skullduggery and evil. It was like this media assistant’s treacherous soul was broadcast on her face for the world to see.

  I turned away and stared out the tinted window as the limo left Midtown behind.

  “You’ve been busy,” I said, watching one of her billboards speed past. This one had her in a sundress, lying somewhat suggestively on the beach. Offering consumers a little slice of Paradise.

  “It keeps my mind off things.” Eden looked almost embarrassed. The fragrance line, the media attention—it seemed trivial after what she’d been through. The ordeal that she could tell no one about.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding in agreement. “It does do that.”

  “Can you promise me one thing, Ruby?”

  I’d been making a lot of promises lately. Ones that would come due shortly. “Depends.”

  “You kill Malcolm. No matter what.” Eden’s eyes burned with intense fervor, all those years of pain flooding through the carefully cultivated demeanor. “That’s why we’re here today.”

  “I’m on board with that plan.”

  “Even if it means letting me die.”

  I averted my gaze and said, “Eden.”

  “Promise.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “If Malcolm survives, then my brother’s death was for nothing. All of it…” She reached for the whiskey, the tumbler clinking sharply against the carafe. I watched her pour the glass half full. She choked it all down, making a bitter face.

  “Cheers.” I removed the vial of blue liquid from the pantsuit and tipped it into my mouth. I immediately puckered, since it was more sour than the strongest lemon.

  After washing the taste out with water, I assessed the change. The wisps faded into faint disarray, then into nothingness. Aiko’s little potion had worked.
My aura was suppressed. My powers were gone.

  And I was on my own.

  “Sense anything?” I asked.

  “You feel human to me,” Eden said. “Do we have a deal?”

  She wasn’t going to let it go, so I said, “I promise.”

  “Good.” Eden put the empty tumbler down and blinked. “How do I look?”

  “Stunning,” I said. “But not my type.”

  “You really need to forgive Colton.”

  “Is Alice telling everyone?” I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll decide his fate when I’m good and ready.”

  “Don’t wait too long,” Eden said. “Your life can vanish before your eyes.”

  “So I hear.”

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” I asked, watching as the crowds along the sidewalk began to thicken. We were approaching the MagiTekk district, ready to be taken by helicopter to Malcolm Roark’s desert mansion. In the corner of the window, I saw the glint of the solidified rift.

  It made my skin crawl.

  It was time to seek my truth and put a bullet in Malcolm Roark’s head.

  “Stare death in the face and not even blink.”

  “The same way anyone does anything.” The crowd reached a thrumming crescendo as the limo slowed to a halt. “Belief.”

  34

  Eden and I were shuttled quickly through the crowd by MagiTekk security. The public’s love affair with her hadn’t ended during her seven year hiatus. If anything, her absence had made her even more famous. Women young and old alike shrieked around us, straining for a glimpse as we rushed to the waiting helicopter.

  Even as Malcolm Roark threatened to end the world, it was good to know some things didn’t change. People would never have their priorities straight, for one. They all stood before a gaping rift, where the restorative ocean was almost stripped bare by a series of pumps.

  But all they cared about was Eden.

  The helicopter quickly charted a course for Malcolm’s spread outside the city, some twenty miles away. Easier than driving, since the land route would have us trekking through the Mud Belt. The higher-ups must’ve thought Eden Marshall wouldn’t appreciate a trip through the slums.

  I reviewed the plan in my mind as the chopper bore down on Malcolm’s estate. Get the three of us alone. Present the contract for a series of commercials and branding campaigns starring Eden. And then, with his attention diverted, stab him in the neck with the hidden blade.

  Justice, considering he had indirectly killed his own son by helping Solomon Marshall return from the Underworld.

  After that, we’d be on our own.

  A few minutes later, the chopper set into a gentle descent. Eden and I shared a knowing glance as we touched down. The pilot—this was one of the few machines apparently not guided by robots—cut the engine.

  I watched, spine crawling, as Malcolm Roark emerged from his mansion. He fastened the top button on his trim suit as he walked. I noticed, just behind him, the television crew ready to film this historic event.

  His home was more of a compound, with the rift in the backyard pumping water into a moat—a chasm, rather—that ringed the massive property. Around the estate lay nothing but barren, sunburnt desert. But within that ring sat a veritable desert oasis. Grass as soft as the Tributary, the smell of vibrant life drifting through the hot air.

  This was the first I’d seen of Malcolm in person for two weeks. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I watched his stiff shoulders move through the elysian meadow. I couldn’t read his aura, due to the potion’s blocking effects, but his demeanor was different. More powerful.

  It could be the new CEO job. But if I was a betting woman, I’d have laid my money on the water. Malcolm was sampling the source’s wares.

  My muscles tensed as he approached, ready to pounce. But now wasn’t the proper time. I’d fired my shotgun at him at the abandoned construction site, but the shells had simply dropped to the ground. A head-on assault would be rebuffed by whatever biosynthetic upgrades he had enjoyed.

  The element of surprise was key.

  Malcolm didn’t smile as he greeted us. “Miss Marshall. Ever the picture of beauty.”

  “You’re looking trim yourself, Mr. Roark.” Eden shook his hand and gave an elegant curtsy. Statecraft and media optics. Not quite my bag. Malcolm didn’t give me a second glance—nor did the television crew.

  “Malcolm. Please.” The elder Roark gestured toward his sprawling four-story estate. Its marble exterior was trimmed in classical influences. In terms of visual splendor, it could give the Tributary’s city on the hill a run for its money.

  For all intents and purposes, this was fast becoming the new city on the hill, after all.

  I trailed behind the media throng, hoping it would soon disperse. But the crowd of reporters and cameras only seemed to thicken, enveloping Malcolm and Eden as they walked through the glittering structure. The elder Roark had accumulated quite an art collection, funded by his cushy position at MagiTekk.

  The two of them traded small talk regarding favorite artists; Eden was partial to Rembrandt, Malcolm to Van Gogh’s latter period—when the madness came through his work. The people at home were surely lapping this trivia up, even as multiple Realms stood on the edge of destruction.

  I wanted to leap the battery of cameras and jam the knife into his skull, but it was hopeless. In addition to the media coverage, I spotted at least half a dozen plainclothes Peacemakers hovering at the fringes of the crowd. And there were a few other trying to blend in as media personnel with notepads and microphones. Their movements suggested they were Ghosts.

  I scanned the faces in the crowd, my heart sinking as I recognized one.

  Colton Roark. Eden or Alice must’ve tipped him off about the plan. In the past two weeks, he’d gone deeper, trying to earn his father’s elusive trust. I recalled that the Ghosts had tried to recruit him before, even telling him that there was a spot waiting for him. Now, it seemed, he’d seized upon that opportunity.

  Roark hung in the corner of the massive living room, behind a 15th century Venetian sofa. His gaze passed right by me. I held my breath. But he gave no indication that he noticed my presence.

  I wasn’t worried about him outing me.

  I was worried about him doing something stupid to protect me.

  The little merry media tour wound its way through the backyard, where Eden fawned over the rift to the Tributary and pretended to eat up Malcolm’s bullshit promises that the energy within would trickle down to the populace. Afterward, we traveled up an exterior staircase, onto a balcony.

  Here, Malcolm lit a cigar, with Eden declining in favor of a cocktail.

  They laughed and made small talk on the red-tiled balcony. The media shot from below, some from above, everyone enjoying the spectacle. Maybe people needed it to distract themselves from the obvious truths: that no one was coming to help them. In this new world, they were on their own.

  Because this man had plotted and planned for years. Played the long game and then seized an opportunity. Now, he was rapidly solidifying his empire. Building it upon their broken backs. It wasn’t about supernatural or human any more.

  Everyone was going to lose when MagiTekk reigned supreme.

  Eden suddenly let out a mild exclamation. Her glass slipped off the balcony, shattering on the marble walkway below. A buzz stirred through the crowd. I rushed forward like an elderly matron. This wasn’t part of the plan.

  Eden, her complexion pale, leaned up against the iron railing.

  Adopting a stern and gravelly tone, I said, “Miss Marshall has had enough sight-seeing for the day, I believe.”

  “Perhaps it’s something else,” Malcolm said. “More sinister.”

  “The only drink Miss Marshall has consumed is yours, so you’d have to be the poisoner.”

  A surprised gasp went through the media. Not quite the light fare they’d been expecting. Malcolm Roark maintained an unruffled expression.

  “It was a jok
e. Surely you’ve heard one of those before.”

  I turned to face him. Hopefully, the pockmarks and wards would hide the intense hatred. I gauged the distance between us. No more than three or four feet. The blade could be at his throat, blood dribbling across the red tile before he could react.

  But then the pincers would close upon us. Maybe I could evade them, but the Ghosts would certainly capture Eden. And despite my false promise, I wouldn’t leave her here to die.

  “Let’s do the contract signing and get Miss Marshall some water,” I said, draping Eden’s arm over my good shoulder. She leaned against me heavily, her eyes shut. Maybe the extra drink had gotten to her. But Malcolm’s words echoed in my mind. As I helped her toward the balcony door, the throng of cameras moved in like a swarm of vultures. “She can recover alone.”

  Malcolm held the door open. Then the three of us were inside, finally away from the media’s prying eyes.

  Taking lead through the wide hallways, Malcolm said, “My office is on the fourth floor.”

  “That’s a little far, don’t you think?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ruby. It depends on how resilient your friend is to a little poison.”

  The mention of my name made my blood go cold. “H-how?”

  “You know, I think the Crusaders were on to something,” Malcolm said. “Crazy, yes. But becoming gods? Immortality? Well, it wasn’t something I’d originally considered. But I got a taste during my trips to the Underworld.”

  “So it’s true,” I said. “You brought Marshall back.”

  “Arranged it, yes.”

  I followed him silently up to the third floor, trying not to show him I was straining. Malcolm took the stairs two at a time. Eden and I were decidedly slower. Finally, I settled on carrying her. Not an optimal use of my remaining energy, but it wouldn’t do for her to die, either.

  “And you?” I asked.

  “What about me, Ruby?”

  “What are you now?”

  “Part Shade. A little dash of MagiTekk’s modifications, like the Ghosts.” Malcolm adjusted his silver hair slightly as we walked toward the next flight of steps. “But nothing extraordinary.”