by Jayne Faith
“Let’s go.” I pointed to the exit.
Once outside, he started to veer toward the navy patrol cars.
I shook my head. “Our beat starts three blocks from here. We walk.” Then I stopped short, pretending I’d forgotten something. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
I jogged around the side of the building to an unmarked door in the alley. It was an emergency exit at the back of the supply room, and as usual it was propped open. Some of the clerks came out to smoke and often left the door ajar.
I took the Strike can from my belt, palming it against my thigh as I slipped inside. The demon trap disposal drums were at the back of the supply room. I darted around rows of shelves, avoiding the clerks, and reached a drum undetected.
My hand was on the drum’s release latch when an irritated voice made me jump clear off the floor. “Officer Grey!”
I squeezed my eyes closed, cursing silently, and slowly turned around to face Sergeant Devereux.
He folded his arms and looked at the canister in my hand for a long moment.
I opened my mouth and took a breath, trying to formulate my excuse, when he held up a palm.
“I don’t want to deal with the paperwork today, Grey.” He jerked his head toward the drum. “Just get rid of it. If I catch you in here again, your job will be in serious jeopardy.”
I jammed the can into the hatch and scurried away before he could change his mind.
I rejoined Stein outside.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yep, fine.” I stared straight ahead. I knew I’d been lucky that Devereux had let me escape, but at the same time I was pissed I’d missed my chance to grab another Strike level demon trap.
We crossed Washington, and I looked over at Stein. “Okay, it’s time for you to explain what you’re doing here. Spill.”
He chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the Stein family of mages?”
My mouth dropped open and my boots scuffed along the sidewalk as shock brought me to a halt.
“You’re one of those Steins?” I gaped at him.
He nodded. And he didn’t look happy about it.
Chapter 5
FAINT RED BLOTCHES formed on my new partner’s cheeks as I continued my dumbfounded gawping.
I closed my mouth with a click of my teeth and forced my feet back into motion.
“Okay. So. You’re one of the famous Steins.”
That explained the well-bred appearance. The Lexus. The not-from-around-here accent.
“Yep. I’m one of them.” He slid a sidelong look at me. “But I’m not really one of them.”
It finally clicked home. “Ohhh. You’re not a mage.”
I couldn’t help staring. He’d grown up in a family of mages. Magically, he was one of the most powerful people I’d ever met, but mages could out-magic Level IIIs in their sleep. Most of them were back East, and they were deeply secretive about their lives and their magic. If they chose, they had the ability to shield themselves so thoroughly that they could pass for normals. They could also alter their appearances—not just hair color and face shape like a standard obfuscation spell could do, but things like height and voice. No one outside of mage society knew exactly how many living mages there were in the world. It had always been rumored that they occupied high positions in government, and that many actors, models, tycoons, and other famous and powerful types were actually mages. After the Rip, mages had come into the public eye, as they’d aided the authorities in many different ways. In Patrol training, I’d learned that it was mage magic that made the demon traps and brimstone burners work.
With a shake of his head, Stein hooked his thumbs around the straps of his pack and hunched forward. “Nope. I’m not a mage.”
“Did they—” I dropped my voice to a stage whisper. “Did they disown you?”
Cracking a smile, he gave a short burst of that low, warm laugh again. “No. I just wanted some distance. You know, to go someplace where there aren’t any Steins.”
“Why here?”
His shoulders moved under the backpack straps in a little shrug. “It’s almost as far from New York as I could get without leaving the U.S. Plus, this is an interesting area, magically speaking. It’s a sort of conflux. All the ley lines, a huge concentration of people with magic aptitude for an area this size, the large population of vampires, all the shifter packs in the surrounding mountains. And then there’s the Boise Rip, of course. Second largest interdimensional tear in the world. There are other factors, too, that give this area a heightened magical vibe. You might not think of the ore and gemstone deposits, for example.”
His words were picking up speed, his enthusiasm obvious. Everything he said was true, but I sensed an underlying reason for his fascination.
A voice spoke via the walkie function on our phones, interrupting Stein’s mini-lecture. It was dispatch. Report of a minor demon in a residence two blocks away.
I touched my earpiece, stated our location, and told dispatch to show us responding.
We increased our pace to an easy jog and turned right at the next corner. Minor demons weren’t dangerous, in that they didn’t have enough hell-power to possess a human. But they did tend to scare folks, sometimes killed small pets, and could be a general nuisance. If they got pissed off, they could scratch a human to shreds. And more important, if small demons were allowed to flock, they could trigger spontaneous small rips that would let through the larger, much more dangerous arch-demons.
“This isn’t a bubble-up, is it?” Stein asked.
“Nah, Headquarters would have told us if Strike Team was responding, too. It’s not classified as a bubble unless there’s at least half a dozen minors or an arch-demon. This is more of a dimensional burp.”
Was it my imagination, or did he seem relieved? Again, I wondered why he’d wanted this job. And I hoped he was at least well suited enough to the work to have my back. He wasn’t Terrence, never would be. But Stein was all I had now.
“Who was your training officer?” I asked.
“Robertson, out at the Meridian facility. Real militant, by-the-book hard ass.”
I nodded, remembering Robertson.
Stein seemed in good condition, at least, catching his breath as quickly as I did when we reached the address dispatch gave us. The Victorian-style house was one of the last remaining residences in the immediate area. Most of the houses had been turned into businesses, or torn down completely to make room for office buildings.
I went up the half-dozen steps and knocked firmly on the door. “Demon Patrol responding to a call!” I bellowed.
I flipped off the strap over my stun gun.
When a woman with a salt-and-pepper bob opened the door, I pulled my badge from my belt and held it up. The charm, a relatively simple one, alternately displayed my headshot and my name and badge number, slowly switching back and forth between the two screens so she could get a good look. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Officer Grey, and this is Officer Stein. Can you show us where the demon is?”
One of her hands fluttered around her face in agitation. She opened the door wider to let us in but gave us a narrow-eyed look. She wore a flowered housecoat and terrycloth slippers. “At first I thought it was squirrels. They keep getting in under the eaves, and then they make nests up there. I had to bring in an exterminator last year.”
I nodded but cut to the chase. “How do we get to your attic, ma’am?”
She led us down the hallway away from the front entrance and then stopped and pointed at a closed door. “The stairs are there.”
She kept well away from us, as if afraid we’d brush up against her. Normals often reacted to us with suspicion even as they were relieved that we were there to take care of their problem. It was typical for normals to fear and shun people with magical aptitude, though they knew they needed us.
I reached for the knob. “Keep the door shut while we’re up there,” I said. “Wait here for us to come back down.
Is there a light?”
She nodded and flipped the switch on the wall next to the attic door.
When I opened the door, a musty scent of stale air and old, forgotten stuff greeted me. I drew my stun gun with my right hand and my flashlight with my left. I sensed the presence of demonic energy as a faint, heated prickle under my skin. Stein followed me up the steep, narrow staircase. A naked light bulb glared above us.
At the top of the stairs, I made room for Stein.
“See it?” I asked, swinging my flashlight and gun around.
There were stacks of sagging boxes, a few rickety high-back chairs, a big trunk with leather straps—the usual attic stuff.
“There.”
I looked to where Stein was pointing. Sure enough, a demon about the size of a large crow perched on the crossbar of an empty clothing rack. Its head was narrow and sleek, its eyes illuminated and beady. Most minor demons looked like the deformed offspring of a pterodactyl and a bat, and this one was no exception.
“I’ll cover you,” I said, raising my gun arm. “Pull the top off one of your traps and set it on the floor under the demon and then get out of the way.”
Keeping my eyes and flashlight trained on the creature, I heard the soft snap of a brimstone burner opening, and caught a whiff of a scent reminiscent of a struck match.
Stein moved toward the rack but stopped about eight feet away and bent at the waist to set the disc on the floor.
“No, that’s too far away to—”
I started to tell him the trap needed to be closer to pull the demon in but forgot my words as a halo of magic formed around Stein.
The tingling across my face and bare arms was like the brush of wind, but nothing stirred. It wasn’t the shift of air that caused the sensation, but the movement of magic.
Stein raised the index finger of his right hand and a stream of green earth magic shot out. He moved it in a clockwise circle, and the magic made a ring that quickly spread to form a sphere, capturing the creature. The demon freaked out and tried to take flight but just banged into the walls of the energetic enclosure Stein had created.
He lowered his arm, directing the sphere down to the disc with his finger until it hovered right above the trap, and then flicked his hand. The green bubble dissipated and the trap activated. I turned my face away to protect my eyes from the flash. There was a sizzle and then a smell of sulphur and cooked meat.
Okay, so maybe I’d underestimated his suitability for Demon Patrol detail.
When I opened my eyes, Stein was squatting down to retrieve the disc. The charred remains of the demon stuck to the disc in a tarry residue. He slapped the lid on it, stood, and turned to me.
“Was that cheating?” he asked, perfectly deadpan.
Half-laughing, half-coughing as the smoke from the trapping process billowed around me, I shook my head. “Whatever gets the job done.”
Stein’s little trick was beyond my abilities, and he didn’t even break a sweat. A low Level III would have at least needed a pause to catch their breath after that sort of energetic expenditure. A Level II would have required a chair and a couple of minutes to recover.
I checked in to report the demon contained, and Stein and I went back downstairs where the homeowner was waiting.
“All taken care of, ma’am,” I said.
“Oh my goodness, thank you!” She clasped her hands over her large bosom. In her relief, she seemed to be warming up to the thought of having crafters in her home. “They can make such a mess, and I have a neighbor who was scratched up something awful last year when a trio of demons appeared in her pantry.”
“You’re welcome.” I headed for the front door, where I turned and gave her a little wave. “Have a nice day.”
It was best not to get too chatty, especially with the retired folks who called in, or you could get stuck in their house for an hour as they tried to show you a bazillion pictures of their grandchildren. Demon Patrol officers were graded partly on how much time we spent on each call. More time wasn’t better.
Back on the sidewalk, I looked over at Stein with new curiosity.
“So. Even though you’re the most powerful Level III I’ve ever seen, you’re the black sheep of the family, huh?”
He gave me a wry smile, but his eyes were guarded. “In the Stein family, anything less than a mage doesn’t really count.”
Mages had magic abilities that were literally off the charts. They had their own social and political structures, though they worked with mainstream government and had their fingers in various sectors of industry. Even before the Rip and magic became known to the world of normals, mages had always kept to themselves within the magic community. They were a breed apart—a club with an exclusive membership. And there was only one requirement to get in. If you didn’t have mage-level ability, you were an outsider.
I tried to imagine a young Damien Stein at home with parents and siblings who were all mages. Surrounded by people who could freeze him with a look. Compel him with a wave of a hand. It was no wonder he’d fled a couple thousand miles to escape them.
“Your family helped to contain the original Rip,” I said, my voice lifting a little in question.
It wasn’t an actual question—everyone knew the Steins had played a key role in rallying the mage community to respond to the New York Rip. The death toll would have been much higher if the mages hadn’t stepped in. I didn’t need Stein to confirm the fact, really, I was just interested in his family’s lore.
He nodded. “It was right before I was born, so obviously I have no memory of it, but yeah.”
That made him around twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Another member of Generation Post-Rip.
I aimed us back toward the center of my beat—our beat, my grudging mind corrected—toward Capitol Boulevard.
My head was doing its offbeat throb, and the shadows seemed to be stirring. Reminders that I’d yet to manage a truly good night’s sleep since I’d died.
I stifled a yawn with the back of my hand. “There’s a coffee place a block from the capitol building, let’s head there before another call comes in.”
Before Stein could answer, my phone jangled. I pulled it off its shoulder mount.
My insides gave a little twist when I looked at the screen. It was Roxanne calling. Maybe it was good news. Maybe the statue cracked open and her brother popped out, whole and unharmed. And unpossessed.
Yeah, it probably wasn’t good news.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Officer Grey, they’re taking Nathan!” Roxanne’s voice was shrill with panic.
“Who’s trying to take him?” I stopped walking, considering whether I should try to book it on foot to Crystal Ball Lane, or run to my place and take my truck.
“Men. Big men! They’re going to put the statue on a wheelie thing and take him away. They said it’s their property and they have the right to claim him.”
“Okay, try to stall them,” I said, talking fast. “I’ll be there in a flash.”
I took off, running toward home.
Stein caught up with me. “What’s going on?”
“I need to help a friend. It’s an emergency.”
“Is this part of the job?”
“No.”
His footfalls faltered a little, and then he sped up to draw even with me again. “We’re not supposed to leave our beat without notifying our sergeant first.”
I glanced over at him. “You don’t have to come.”
On the force, leaving your partner was a cardinal sin. But Stein was new, and I was obviously going to break the rules. I wouldn’t have held it against him if he didn’t stick with me. Besides, with my luck, I’d probably get caught and end up in deep shit. Stein didn’t need to get mixed up in my tainted reputation with Devereux.
We were almost to my block. I lifted the flap on one of my pockets, awkwardly digging for my keys as I ran.
I skidded to a stop at my truck, threw open the driver’s side door, got in, and jamm
ed the key in the ignition. The passenger door slammed, and I looked over to see Stein with his mouth open, panting, as he shoved his pack down next to his legs and reached for the seat belt.
I pulled away from the curb with a faint whine of rubber on asphalt.
Chapter 6
WE REACHED Roxanne’s building in four minutes flat. There was a white truck double-parked there with its hazard lights on, one of the long movers with a ramp that extended out the back. Unremarkable except for the logo. My hands convulsively clenched into fists, and my head whipped in a double-take when I spotted it—a navy letter G enclosed in a circle, like a copyright symbol but with a G instead of a C.
Gregori Industries.
Shit.
Gregori was a global dark horse in industry, a company that pushed the boundaries of genetic engineering, technology, and magic. It’d been around since long before the Rip, but it wasn’t until after the catastrophe that the corporation’s magical enterprises were exposed to the general public. Many blamed Gregori Industries for the Rip, though the courts hadn’t managed to pin responsibility on the company or its owners. The Gregori logo always made me clench up inside, but this wasn’t the moment to entertain my personal issues.
I pounded up the stairs with Stein right behind me.
The door to Roxanne’s apartment was open.
Inside, three beefy goons dressed in navy onesie janitor-type uniforms were wrestling the statue through the window. An oversized hand truck and a tangle of bungee cords and straps waited near the sofa.
When Roxanne spotted me, her red eyes welled up. With a hoarse cry she rushed to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the men. “Tell them they can’t take Nathan!”
“Hey! You’re in a private residence, and that’s private property,” I bellowed, anger fueling the force behind my words. All three goons paused their grunting efforts and looked around at me. I planted my feet and hooked my thumbs over the top of my service belt. “Get out now, or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful entry, attempted burglary, and whatever the hell else I can come up with.”