I opened my eyes and nodded. Casey didn’t move away, but stood up, keeping his arms draped over me. I clung to one of them like a child. I almost felt like if I let go of it, the shaking ground would swallow me whole. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, we are.”
Dagan nodded. “We are in the Netherworld now,” he said. “Much closer to Dulcie, wherever she is. If you’d permit me, I can,” and he casually reached for my throat.
Casey left my side and grabbed Dagan by the front of his shirt, the lines of silvery-blue glyphs steaming along his arms and around his eyes. Dagan’s magic strained against his own skin, resisting the magnetic pull of an angry Siphon. I took an involuntary step back.
“Don’t. Touch. Her,” Casey warned. His voice was different, deeper, and echoing itself. Dagan looked over Casey’s shoulder at me and gave me what he might have been considered a demure smile.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with an affected air. His aura was close to visible, pulsating in yellow around his bones. Fear shown tautly around his eyes, as well as his teeth. He stepped away from Casey and fussed with his collar. Casey stepped back slowly.
Dagan sighed. “I can pinpoint exactly where she is,” he said wearily. “I am well past the point of lechery.” He omitted “for now” at the end of his sentence, and it seemed like that was all Casey wanted to hear.
“It’s okay,” I said, laying a hand on Casey’s glowing, bulging shoulder … Focus, Sam. “If he tries something—”
Dagan’s smile twitched. “May I?”
I imagined this would be a lot less pleasant in the Netherworld—but we lacked any backup plans. I pulled back my hair, squeezed my eyes shut, and let him touch the burns.
Then I promptly blacked out.
###
When I opened my eyes, I saw Casey hovering over me. He was holding me and asking me if I were okay. I blinked and sat up. Dagan was standing about three paces away from me, looking strangely bashful. I supposed he was trying not to appear threatening, so nobody would suspect he made me pass out deliberately. He eyed Casey when he finally noticed I was awake. Maybe he was afraid to look at me, in case I chose to make good on my promise to castrate him.
Casey twitched. Like he could tell Dagan was looking at him expectantly so he deliberately avoided looking back at him. I couldn’t have been out for long, but I got the sense they’d been like that for quite a while.
“I’m okay,” I said, sitting up slowly. Nothing hurt, and my head was fine. The scars on my throat pulsed and sang, the residual magic lingering in the tissue, and bright as a beacon. “I should have warned you. Everything’s worse in the Netherworld.” Worse in this case meant fire, brimstone, and the foreboding sense that a very powerful something wanted you dead—in contrast to the vague stinging I felt when Dagan touched me Earthside.
I strongly hoped that I didn’t make a face when the pain hit me since Dagan would have loved that.
“I’m fine,” I said when Casey gave me a dubious look. “Really. Come on, help me up.”
Casey stood first, giving me his hand. “Do you know where Dulcie is?” he asked me.
I nodded. Most otherworldly creatures with magic find that it doesn’t apply in the Netherworld—fairies trade their dust for wings, and witches get sparkly skin and an almost painful sensitivity to magic. Demons, however, are technically from somewhere else. Darker, more dangerous, and more vacuous. Less inherently “magical,” so they only kept whatever tricks they had up their sleeves. Lucky for Dagan.
But because we were in the Netherworld, where the atmosphere is three parts breathable oxygen to four parts raw, ethereal energy, everything was stronger—Dagan’s tracking magic as well as my sensitivity to it. I got a pixel-perfect view of the mansion Dulcie was currently in, and a foolproof map of how to get there without running into anything especially unpleasant. Like those gigantic, flying monsters with a propensity for eating tourists.
“Big mansion north of here,” I said. “Ten miles outside Splendor.”
“Ten miles?” Kent asked. “That’s … that’s it?”
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug. I thought it was weird, too—and never expected the Darkness to be camped out so close to home. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence?”
A coincidence that he lived within driving distance of the fairy he was so obsessed with? And her ANC? Hers had been the first one to get blown up. Somehow, all the coincidences ceased to seem so accidental anymore …
Dagan raised his eyebrows. “You believe in coincidences, Madam White?”
“No, but after all this, the universe owes me a damn favor,” I said, sighing.
“And you know how to get there?” Casey asked.
I nodded. “But we’re gonna need a car.”
“On it,” said Judy, pushing herself onto her feet. She’d been sitting in the dirt next to Kent, drawing circles and dicks with her finger. Kent was having a devil of a good time sweeping them away, while cackling under his breath. “Be right back.”
“Don’t break anything, sweetheart,” Marcus said, adding, “or anyone.”
Judy flipped him off over her shoulder as she walked away. “Fuck you, Marcus.”
“I chide because I care,” he called after her.
I turned to Casey—red-skinned and smoky from the blast. “How’s Christina?” I asked.
“Fine,” he said, gesturing to where she sat in the dirt behind him. She was chatting idly with the now conscious drow. “Shaken up, obviously, but she’s still in one piece.”
Which is more than we can say for everybody at the ANC, I thought. It popped into my head from nowhere, a big, ugly thought drank by a half-empty bottle of pessimism. Somebody might have made it out alive. Christina obviously had. Maybe, hopefully, she wasn’t the only one.
Or maybe she was, and that’s why she was unaccompanied. Alone and shaky, she was trying to have a normal conversation with Silas, who, as far as I could tell, was happy to oblige her. He leaned forward, smiling softly, and nodding and laughing sometimes, even when what she said wasn’t funny. They both had rusty iron in their eyes, indicating that they had seen too much in a very short time.
“Do we know why Silas was in the generator building?” I asked. I wondered if the building had an official name, or if everyone referred to it as “that place with the generator.”
Casey crossed his arms, shaking his head. “I haven’t talked to him yet.”
“Should we?” I didn’t want to make Silas uncomfortable by asking him what he’d been doing there. He’d spent the better part of five minutes under the influence of an incredibly powerful relic, and no matter who you are or what you’re made to do, it’s never a comfortable experience. Depending on the severity of the spell, it can be downright violating.
“Probably,” Casey said, sounding just as reluctant as I felt. “He said my mom was in Brokenview. I think he knew the shapeshifter was there and came to warn us. Which …” he whistled softly, “is bad. He didn’t have any reason to be monitoring us, or the generator room. And Silas isn’t the type to stumble onto things like this; he’s always very deliberate.”
“So we should talk to him,” I said.
“Yes. We should.”
We both nodded. But neither of us moved toward Silas. Even though it was necessary, the timing just seemed wrong. Questioning someone was something you did after your morning cup of coffee, when they were waiting for you in the interrogation room, and you had plenty of time to get to the nitty-gritty. It didn’t seem like something you did when the world was blowing up around you and you were next in line.
We stood there in dusty-red silence. A slight wind was blowing, and the sound of the distant crackle of flames while every now and then, a loud rumble indicated another building falling away. Christina and Silas, bloody, burnt, and tired, were whispering to each other. Kent was giggling to himself, while singing under his breath and bouncing on his heels.
“Do you think we’re gonna die down here?” I asked Casey as I looked up at hi
m, shelving the task of questioning Silas for the time being. There were bigger fires to tend to.
Casey blinked at me. The question caught me off guard too. It was a stupid thing to ask—either we would, or we wouldn’t, regardless of what any of us thought. There was really no use in discussing it.
He looked at me for a moment, studying my face. Thinking. Then his features relaxed and he said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Hopefully, not.”
I nodded slowly, exhaling, and puffing out my cheeks. “Yeah. Hopefully, not.”
He wrapped his arm around me and squeezed. “We are going to be okay. I can feel it.”
The only thing I could say was, “Siphons aren’t precognitive.”
Casey laughed. “Says who?”
“Me?”
He laughed again, and I laughed too. Hades only knew why.
“We might die saving the world,” he said softly. “And we might not. But we’re going to do everything in our power to make sure everybody comes through this.”
I nodded, sighed, and stood up a little straighter. “Yeah. Okay. Come on. We should talk to Silas—and get that whole thing out of the way so we can find out what he knows and if it will help us.” I was probably just putting off the inevitable—our confrontation with the Darkness—but Casey didn’t call me on it.
“Right,” said Casey, giving me another squeeze before letting go. I took a step forward, trying to think of the most considerate way to talk to Silas about his possession …
Casey grabbed my arm, spinning me back towards him, and slammed his lips into mine. Harder than he meant to, like he had to get it done before he lost his nerve—but a second later, it became softer and much slower. The restrained urgency of somebody on the cusp of a very dangerous adventure, and the possibility of not returning in one piece. Casey dared not miss the chance to kiss me, not because he waited too long, or hesitated, or found himself dying.
He’d already kissed me before. Little pecks on the head and cheek, comforting little nothings. This, however, was different. This was intended to be different. He asked me a question before I lost the chance to answer him and make sure this was what we both thought it could be.
I lifted my hands to his head, running them through his hair, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He pressed himself against me, his tongue snaking in and out of my mouth, his lips opening and closing around mine, without parting for more than a fraction of a second. Heat wove itself through me in a wave, building quietly at first, before fanning into a raging inferno. A rush of blood warmed my face, my shoulders, my stomach … everywhere.
Absolutely everywhere, I was on fire.
Then he pulled back. Too soon, way too soon. We were both breathing hard by then. Breathing hard and staring, that’s all. Not sure what to say, or needing to say anything. We just kept staring each other in the eye, flicking back and forth, searching. And finding all kinds of things.
We smiled at each other, refusing to blink, in case we missed something. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kent scowling when he handed Judy a bill. Judy, smirking, took the money without looking back at him. She was staring at us with her arms crossed, and looking smug.
“Um. I think Kent just lost a bet,” I whispered.
“Good,” Casey said, and he kissed me again—a light peck this time, and much too short, but sweet. It sent a bright flash through me, so strong it was almost painful.
“Okay,” he said softly. Our noses were almost touching, and our foreheads pressed together. “Now we can talk to Silas.”
“Yeah,” I said, flustered. “Um, yes. Silas.”
For another second, we didn’t move. Then Casey sighed, straightened up, and started walking. It took me a minute to remind my legs how to walk again.
“Casey,” said Silas. Silas looked up, but he didn’t stand. Christina narrowed her eyes at Casey—she could tell what he was, one of the many benefits of being fae. And she didn’t like what she saw. She looked at me curiously, wondering what I was doing cavorting with a creature designed (in theory) to kill us if we ever got out of hand.
I gathered myself together and said, “Hi, Christina. This is Casey James. He’s here to help.”
Christina looked between the two of us, her eyebrows hiking themselves up to her hairline.
“Honest,” I said. Christina screwed her mouth to one side, but said nothing.
“Um …” I swallowed. Where’s Quillan, I wanted to ask. Presumably, he was in the ANC with her. She’d taken him officially off Dulcie’s hands once Melchior was dead. He was registered as an informant, but he functioned as a partner, a mini Regulator without the badge, although he was working to get it back. He should have been with her.
But Christina was always good at reading people. She patiently sought all the microscopic words hiding in the folds of people’s worst expressions. “Quillan’s gone,” she said. “Not dead or anything, just … I don’t know where he is. In the city, I guess, we both saw the dryad die at the same time, so he probably ran …” She sniffed and shook her head. “I’m sure he’s fine.” She closed her eyes as if she were repeating the mantra to herself to make it so.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure. He’s pretty resourceful.”
She smiled at me, attractive as ever and glowing. Somewhere behind me, Dagan began panting, moaning, and purring.
“What’s the matter with him?” Kent asked, staring at Dagan—who was doing his best to contain himself but, predictably, failing.
“Fairies are …” I swallowed my thought. Another quirky side effect of being a fairy in the Netherworld. Dulcie often described the phenomenon as sexual crack. It was an absurd moment to be prudish, but somehow, I couldn’t get myself to say that with Casey standing so close. “Particularly … intoxicating … when in the Netherworld. Side effect of … something or other,” I said at last, gesturing to Dagan. “Ignore him.”
“Aha. Got it.” Kent continued to stare at Dagan, unabashedly fascinated.
“How you feeling, man?” Casey asked, turning to Silas. He extended his hand and Silas shook it.
Silas looked grim. “Been better. Rowena, good to see you, though.”
Rowena nodded to him silently, grinning. “You too.”
“What were you doing in LA?” said Casey. “You’re stationed in DC now, right?”
“I am. I mean I was.” Silas ran a hand over his face, visibly exhausted. “Case, we got a problem.”
Just what you don’t want to hear.
“What kind of problem?” Casey asked.
“Your mom,” said Silas.
Kent chuckled. Judy glared at him and raised her hand, threatening to hit him. He flinched and laughed more quietly.
“Right. You said she was in Brokenview?” Casey pressed.
Silas nodded. “She sent me a message,” he said, ignoring Kent, or perhaps he didn’t hear him. “Said she was working the Brokenview ANC site. She wanted …” He winced and took a deep breath. “She wanted me to send down an empath. Hana somebody. See if she could confirm something.”
“Confirm what?”
“That the explosion was deliberate. That it came from the inside.”
“Oh, shit,” said Casey, and he looked at me. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but this had to look really bad for the ANC. If it appeared to anyone that we sabotaged ourselves …
Not a fun thought.
“So Mom was in Brokenview—” Casey started.
“And something else was with you guys in the gen room,” Silas said. “Probably trying to prevent government brass from going someplace they shouldn’t. Like, you know, the Netherworld. Easier to keep people from using your equipment if you look like the person in charge.”
“A shapeshifter,” said Rowena.
“Yeah,” said Silas. “But not just that. I tried calling in Hana myself. Went down to her office. She wasn’t there.”
“So?” said Casey. “There’s got to be a dozen other places she could have gone to.”
“Sh
e wasn’t the only one gone,” Silas said. “Half the building was empty. More than a dozen offices, totally unmanned. And it looked like they left in a big hurry.”
“They? Meaning …?” Rowena asked.
“Meaning senators and congressmen and all of their personal staff.”
“And nobody left a memo?” Rowena said.
Silas shook his head. “Nothing. I thought it was a government shutdown, but the budget thing’s been over for a week, and the other half of the building still had people inside it.” He sighed. “Some of them told coworkers they were taking an extended holiday, but none of them would say where they went.”
We blinked and sat on that for a moment, thinking. Half of Rowena’s face fell—the other side, the ivory mask with its ocean-black eye, was gleaming, and lit from within by a sharp, green light. If anyone else could see it, no one said anything.
“And you were in LA,” said Casey. “Because you found out the shapeshifter was there.”
“Yeah. You radioed in to say where you were heading, but by then, your mom had already left for Brokenview and gone radio-silent. She was worried somebody would be listening in, which I thought was crazy, her line was secure, but when I went to Rickson about changing the keys, I got shot down. Hard.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean Rickson wouldn’t take my call. And there were some schmucks I’d never seen before standing outside his door, telling people the boss could not be disturbed. Nobody else would take my call either, which was weird, and all I was trying to do was make sure a replacement primary technician was stationed at the portal. The key to that thing is enormous and it’s not something everybody in the agency gets to carry around. That generator changing hands is, like, a huge deal.”
“Shit,” said Casey, grimacing like he suddenly understood. “Rickson wouldn’t take your call. And Mom thought she was being spied on.”
“Yeah,” said Silas. “That’s what I was thinking too.”
“Um … what?” I asked, not following.
“Rickson is one of two other people that has a legitimate backup key for emergencies,” Silas said. “And the only person besides Margaret that can give somebody else permission to run the show. Margaret didn’t think she was safe on a division-only phone line, and she kept saying she was being followed. She’s anything but paranoid.” Silas almost laughed. “It means the agency’s gone bad. Real bad. Totally lost control, and somebody upstairs isn’t letting anybody out in the field. Our best bet is to lie low, and wait it out.”
Pride and Poltergeists Page 23