by SM Reine
“But you believe me,” he said.
Her lips tightened. “I found the Union earpiece in your house.” Before he could respond, she moved outside. Boyd groaned and shifted beneath them. “Okay—come on, let’s hurry.”
McIntyre hurried to keep up with her as she jogged down the path between trailers. His motions were stiff and sluggish. “I wasn’t—”
“No more lies,” Elise said, keeping her voice low. She crouched behind the corner of a tent. McIntyre followed suit. The kopis who had passed earlier wandered turned the bend, and as soon as his back disappeared, they followed. “It’s insulting. I know what you and Leticia did. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“What, and let you give my pregnant wife over to the Union? I love her, Kavanagh. I would do anything for her.”
Elise swore under her breath. “You can’t think that I would turn your aspis over to the Union.”
“You’ve made it clear that you don’t think much of me, my wife, or our family. And you’ve got a sick sense of justice. You would give James to the Union if you thought he had done something worth it.”
Anger burned hot in her gut, but a light turned on in the tent beside them before she could argue. Voices murmured inside. Dawn was approaching, and the Union was starting to awaken.
One by one, lights turned on in the trailers and tents around them, and the distant noises of activity drifted over the compound. But their path was clear. She hurried away from the tent, and McIntyre followed closely.
She rounded the corner and came face-to-face with a line of kopides.
Each of them was armed with rifles, and each of them was aimed at Elise. Zettel stood in the back with his arms folded and a smug smile.
Elise scanned the guns, and she calculated.
She was fast, but not faster than a bullet. Certainly not faster than six bullets.
Slowly, she lifted her hands over her head.
“Tell me why the Warrens are empty this morning,” Zettel said.
Elise had just broken her friend out of custody, and he wanted to know where the demons were hiding? Interesting priorities. “Because the summit is over.”
“We’ve got another sixteen hours. There hasn’t been a single goddamn meeting.”
“Not that you’ve attended.”
Zettel’s eyes turned to slits. One of the armed kopides shifted uncomfortably, but he grew still at the commander’s hand on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything’s worked out, and it’s none of your business,” Elise said. “I’m taking McIntyre, and I’m leaving.”
“Hard to leave when you’ve got more holes in your chest than Swiss cheese.”
“Then shoot us,” McIntyre said.
Nobody moved.
“See, I don’t think you can,” he went on. “That’s not in the Union’s directive. We’re assets that HQ wants to control. I’ve got contact information for more than half of the current active kopides—that’s at least triple what you have.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. We don’t have authority to shoot most humans,” Zettel said. “But a murder suspect? His accomplice? We could shoot them. And you can see why trying to escape might make you look very guilty.”
Elise’s pulse hammered as scenarios whirled through her mind. The commander was closest—she could probably take him down before anyone fired, as long as she moved fast. But if she twitched, bullets would fly. Even if she didn’t get shot, McIntyre would drop.
A voice broke through the cool morning air.
“What are you doing?” Ramelan ambled over to study the situation. He was shadowed closely by Veronika, who looked about as interested in the armed men as she was in the dirt beneath her feet. She studied her fingernails. “This doesn’t look good.”
“We have it under control,” Zettel said stiffly.
“Oh?”
“We’re about to arrest both of them. Or shoot them. I haven’t decided.”
“Come now,” Ramelan said. “You know who she is. You know what she is. You can’t kill her. Have them drop their guns.” When Zettel didn’t speak, he lowered his voice, like he was soothing a rabid dog. “You have no evidence either of them killed the recruiter. There is no justice in this.”
“She did something,” Zettel said. “She drove off the infernal and ethereal delegations. I know she did it.”
Ramelan’s eyes met hers. There was understanding in them. “She did exactly what a greatest kopis is supposed to do.”
His words resonated through the encampment. One of the guns dropped, and then another, and another. Zettel didn’t try to stop them. Instead, he waved at the others, and they stood down.
“Are we finished?” Veronika asked with a sigh. “I have things to accomplish today.”
Ramelan shrugged. “That’s up to Gary.”
“HQ has given you ultimate authority,” Zettel said, like he was admitting something painful and unpleasant. “It’s your decision.”
“Excellent. Then we’ll be going. Elise?”
Ramelan walked them out of camp, and Zettel took one of the other kopis’s guns before following them. “You don’t need to do that,” Ramelan said.
“I’m not letting them out of my sight. Who knows who will show up dead next?” Zettel asked.
McIntyre teeth groaned as he gritted them. He wasn’t an angry guy—that was Elise’s job—but the Union had obviously earned his animosity. His entire body vibrated with angry tension. But he was too smart, too controlled, to lash out against Zettel.
They were just a few short feet from the perimeter. So close to freedom.
Elise barely breathed until they passed through the fencing, which hummed with electricity. Her shoulders relaxed as soon as they were on the other side.
She faced Zettel. He wasn’t following them.
“Let’s get out of here,” McIntyre said, but she didn’t immediately move.
“Wait—that kid. Benjamin Flynn.” Elise swallowed, and her throat felt like sandpaper. She didn’t ask favors well. “Let him go, Zettel.”
He waved the gun. “You’re done making demands. Get out of my sight.”
“This isn’t a demand. Consider it a… strong suggestion,” she said. Zettel didn’t waver. “Is the Union keeping slaves?”
“He’s here by parental consent.”
“He’s miserable.”
“Miserable? Miserable? Do you want to know what misery is?” Zettel pointed at his own throat. “Before we collared him, his parents were desperate. Their son was going crazy. He averaged four microseizures an hour, and two grand mal a day. No treatment worked—nothing but Union technology and the best magic our witches have. If he wasn’t with us, he might be brain dead by now. Is that misery?”
“So you’re keeping him against his will as a humanitarian gesture.”
“No,” Zettel said. “We’re keeping him because we need his prophecies. Nobody else approaches his precision. The things he knows… your selfish, petty mind can’t comprehend it. But what’s good for us is good for him.” He raised the gun again to aim it straight for her. “And like I said. You’re not in any place to make demands.”
McIntyre stepped in front of the gun. He didn’t have to say a word.
Zettel’s finger slipped over the trigger.
Ramelan put a hand on Zettel’s arm, but he addressed Elise directly. “He’s right. The world needs to know what Flynn knows.”
What did he know? The question nagged at her. What truth had Michele Newcomb thought to be worth killing a stranger? What would drive good people to murder?
“Let’s go,” she told McIntyre.
Zettel didn’t drop the gun until they were out of sight. Ramelan stayed with them well into the desert. “Thanks,” McIntyre said once they were clear of the perimeter.
Ramelan inclined his head. “You’re welcome. I was only a few minutes from staging a release, myself.”
“You know each other?” Elise asked.
&nb
sp; McIntyre shrugged. “I know everyone.”
“Is it true, Elise?” Ramelan asked. “Is the summit over?” She nodded. “What’s the conclusion?”
“I’ve got everything under control.”
“Good.”
Ramelan stopped walking. Elise and McIntyre returned to Silver Wells together.
They reached town before the sun got too high, but she was still drenched in sweat by the end of their walk. He followed her to the motel.
She stopped him in the stairwell.
“I’m only going to say this once,” Elise said. “I believe what you and Leticia did was necessary. I would have stood with you against anything in defense of that. But you fucked me over. You fucked my boyfriend over. Next time you need help with something? Call a different number in your black book.”
She pounded up the stairs, leaving McIntyre alone at the bottom.
XIV
Elise watched from a nearby ridge as the Union prepared to leave. They did it slowly, one or two vehicles at a time—a large convoy would have been too conspicuous, especially passing through a city like Las Vegas. She absorbed as much information about their movements and possessions as she could. A lot of equipment was exposed as they tore down their tents, and even though she didn’t know what any of it was used for, she tried to memorize the shapes for later research.
It wouldn’t be the last time she saw them. She was certain of it. But next time they showed up, she would be ready.
They were gone before the sun broke over the horizon, leaving nothing behind but flattened dirt. She got up from the hill, dusted off her pants, and realized that she wasn’t alone.
Elise turned around slowly. There was a dark form silhouetted against the flaming orange sunrise. His feet were spread wide to distribute his weight, his hands were in a neutral position, and his center of balance was dropped low. Like he was about to explode into a flurry of motion.
Ramelan nodded with a look of admiration. It wasn’t sexual—it was purely professional. He had asked who was greatest. She promised they would fight. He was asking her to let him find out.
She nodded as she lifted her fists. Her hand was still broken, but it would have to be good enough.
They approached each other. He moved like a wildcat, with smooth motions that made every one of his well-cut muscles ripple. Ramelan was in his prime, and Elise could see the potential energy in every little movement.
She threw a punch, and he blocked it.
Both of them froze.
Did she let him block it, or was he faster than her? Would she have really hit him like that?
He kicked. She stepped out of the way.
Another strike, another dodge.
Gradually, they increased the pace of their blows. Dust kicked up beneath their feet. He swung, she ducked; he blocked her kick.
As they sped, the rhythm of flesh on flesh increased. They danced across the dry earth. Ramelan was fast—much faster than she was. And he had the advantage of weight, too. But she was smaller, and harder to reach, and she made sure to never stand where his blows landed.
He had obviously studied martial arts. Elise recognized the language of the forms. Some of those attacks were ones her father had used. He was probably a better fighter than she was.
But she had avoided dojos and black belts. Her skills were earned from years of killing—and Elise fought dirty.
She scuffed dirt in his face. He cried out.
By the time his vision cleared, she had darted around him and mounted his back.
Elise hooked her arm around his throat. He tried to duck his chin to keep her off of him, but it was too late. She tightened her muscles and held firm as he struggled to breathe.
He tried to unbalance her. Shake her off. It didn’t work; her hold was too good.
She rode him to the dirt without letting go. Ramelan choked and sputtered, weakening rapidly as she applied pressure to the major veins in his neck.
It took a long time, but he finally tapped her arm.
Elise released him.
She stood back as he gasped for air. Her clothes were covered in dust, her hand was aching, and she thought he might have cracked a rib. Ramelan had hit her much more than she had hit him. But she was the one standing, and he was the one on the ground.
Ramelan gave a choking laugh. “You did that to the last one, too. I read the book. I should have been ready for it.”
“My fight against the last greatest kopis is in a book?”
“In detail. It’s a matter of public record—anyone in Dis can read about it.” He sat up and dusted off his slacks. He seemed perfectly comfortable on the ground.
“What else do they say about me?”
“Very little.” He grinned. There was no anger or jealousy in him. “So you are the greatest. Still. After all these years.”
Of course she was. Elise didn’t think there was a kopis on the planet who could beat her. But it wasn’t a fair fight—she was Godslayer, she was legend, and the other kopides were only men. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want the title back. I have enough titles.” He laughed and reached up a hand. She helped him to his feet. “You’re good, Ramelan. You deserve to be the greatest, and everything that comes with that.”
“You’re very kind, Elise.”
“And you’re the only one who thinks that.”
They walked back to Silver Wells together, enjoying the cool air of early morning in companionable silence. Elise realized about halfway back that they weren’t alone—they were shadowed by a figure on a distant hill, so far away that she was nothing but a black speck against brown. Ramelan would never truly be alone. Not with his nightmare bodyguard.
“Veronika will take me back to Dis after this,” he said, noticing the same thing Elise did. “The greatest kopis has responsibilities, and I’m beginning to think you were smart for avoiding them. I doubt we’ll see each other again.”
She chewed questions over in her mind, and settled on asking, “How are my parents? What have they been doing?”
“A lot. Isaac is a prominent and well-regarded figure throughout the city. Your mother handles humans in the great palace, and ensures visitors are comfortable and safe. It’s no small feat in Hell. You should be proud of them. They do God’s work in a godless land.”
“What will you tell them about me?”
He paused mid-step. Folded his arms. Considered the question.
“Nothing,” Ramelan said. “I didn’t see you here. Did I?”
She held out her left hand, and they shook.
“Thank you.”
They parted ways with no goodbyes.
XV
Anthony waited in the hotel room for Elise to return. When someone knocked at the door not long after sunrise, he was surprised to see McIntyre on the other side—mostly naked. “Can I borrow clothes?” the kopis asked. He had the decency to look embarrassed.
“What are you doing here? Elise said she got rid of you.”
“I don’t have any way to get home.”
Reluctantly, Anthony let him inside. “Let me grab my spare jeans. I just finished packing.”
He was thinner than McIntyre, so the clothes didn’t fit well, but it was better than letting him wander around in his boxers. Anthony let him use his electric razor, too. After a short shower, he almost looked human again.
“I want you guys to come to the hospital with me,” McIntyre said, helping Anthony repack his toiletries.
“Why?”
“Leticia will want to see you.”
“Yeah, but do you think Elise is going to want to see her?” Anthony asked.
“Not a fucking chance. She’ll be pissed I’m even here with you right now. But she’ll get over it.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, I hope she’ll get over it. Otherwise, I won’t have a ride back to Vegas.”
Anthony frowned. “You’ve known Elise for a while. Right?”
“A few year
s, yeah.”
“What’s her problem?”
McIntyre snorted. “You want that alphabetized?”
Before Anthony could respond, the door opened. Elise’s clothes were dusty and scuffed. She scowled at McIntyre, but didn’t seem surprised to see him with Anthony. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’m sick of this town.”
It was a quiet, uncomfortable drive back to Vegas.
Leticia was no longer in labor and delivery when they arrived at the hospital. It took Anthony almost fifteen minutes to talk Elise into going inside.
The nurse at the front desk checked McIntyre’s identification when he asked where his wife had gone, and then smiled. “They’re in the recovery room.”
McIntyre’s fists clenched on top of the counter. “Is she okay?”
“She’s just fine. They both are.”
The nurse gave them the room number, and they went upstairs to find Leticia.
Anthony had only been in hospitals for something bad before. His last visit had been to say goodbye to Betty’s body, and even though North Vista Hospital was nothing like St. Mary’s in Reno, going up the elevator brought a new swell of grief crashing over him.
He drew in a shuddering breath. Elise shot a look at him. Her expression was blank, as always, but he was certain she was judging him.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened.
Leticia was in the room at the end of the hall. McIntyre made sure they all sanitized their hands before going inside.
The curtains were closed to block out the brutal Las Vegas sun. Leticia’s face was puffy and red in the fluorescent lights. Her faded pink hair stuck to her greasy forehead. Dark bags shadowed her eyes. She didn’t look like a killer—she looked like she was half-dead. But she smiled to see McIntyre, and when he sank to the bed at her side, his look said that he thought she was beautiful. His attention was fleeting—once he saw the bundle of blankets in his wife’s arms, he only had eyes for the baby.
It was a private moment, and Anthony didn’t know them nearly well enough to be there. Of course, Elise did know them well enough, and she still had the frightened appearance of an animal who wanted to flee. She hadn’t even stepped through the doorway.