by RJ Blain
“As serious as this,” my aunt snarled, slamming a sheet of paper on top of my stack. I grimaced at the expense report detailing the more critical of my injuries when I’d gotten my leg carved open.
Anatoly reached around me and picked up the sheet, reading it while I lifted my hand and rubbed my brow. When he didn’t say a word, I sighed. “So it was a bad fight. It happens. That’s why the government covers mystic fees for couriers. We wouldn’t be able to afford to ride otherwise. Mystics aren’t cheap.”
“And good couriers are even harder to get than mystics,” Anatoly stated, setting the paper back on top of my pile. “What’s your success rating, Runs Against Wind?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose did nothing to prevent the headache growing behind my eyes. “I’m good at what I do.”
“How good, exactly?”
Gentry snorted and took a seat on his desk rather than in his chair like a civilized man. “I already pulled those records, Anatoly. She’s flawless. She’s never, not once in her career, failed an assignment, from her enrollment as an official courier five years ago to now. If I were to count the number of completed assignments over her term as a courier, she’d easily rank among the best couriers in the country. If you consider how many are in the west, where the roads are far more dangerous than here and train passage is far less frequent, I’d rank her in the top five without having to think about it.”
“I don’t think that’s relevant. First, if anyone was after me, why only notice me when I crossed the Mississippi? If they wanted me for the Starfall stone, which is the current theory, killing me does them no good. It doesn’t add up. We know exactly two things: I was attacked starting east of the Mississippi, and they wanted my horses. There’s no proof there’s any connection to the Hope Diamond’s theft and the interest in me, an innocent bystander who had the misfortune of being closest to a Starfall stone when it burst.”
“I have a theory about that,” the First Gentleman announced, shoving papers aside so he could sit on the table and rest his feet on a nearby chair. “I think they were wiping out the courier network near towns and cities not integrated to the wired network. While Charlotte is slowly being wired for phones and telecommunications, there aren’t a lot of cities with a sufficient blend of tech specialists and mystics to build a reliable system. Your route wasn’t part of the wired network. If the goal was to undermine the courier networks in that area, I’d say it was quite successful.”
While the knowledge I meant to share was common among couriers, we’d all sworn an oath to only discuss the information with authorized individuals; I counted Gentry, Anatoly, and the Presidential couple among them.
All things considered, the Secret Service didn’t make the cut. I twisted around and stared at the agents guarding the door.
“Step outside,” the President ordered.
All three sighed but obeyed.
The President turned to her brother. “This office is soundproofed, correct?”
“You know it is.”
“You obviously have something more private you wish to say, Runs Against Wind. Say it.”
I settled back in my seat and began the mindless task of organizing the records by month so I could then order them by day. “There’s only one flaw with that idea. The mystics in each city would be able to receive messages for emergency situations,” I countered. “That is what they’re there for. Every station has at least one employee who can receive telepathic messages on duty at all times.”
The President smiled, as though pleased with me for a reason I couldn’t understand. “You know that. I know that. Gentry probably knows, as he is incredibly frustrating and enjoys poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Most people, however, don’t. The Secret Service can request mystic messages be sent, but I don’t believe they realize it’s done through the courier network. When I or my husband send mystic messages, we do so in private, often using a courier to deliver a sealed message to be sent. The Secret Service sends mystic messages the same way; they call an on-staff courier, who picks up the sealed message to be transferred. They’re not a part of the sending process. Most believe it’s a contracted employee in the city or a government employee.”
“Why wouldn’t you say that in front of the detail?” Gentry asked.
“Oath.” I shrugged.
“What oath?”
At least the mystic-sworn binding agreed with my intentions and didn’t seal my lips on the subject. “The one where couriers aren’t allowed to inform unauthorized individuals about how the mystic system works. Don’t ask me how the binding works; I don’t know. We can’t speak of it if we have any reason to believe the person we’re discussing the matter with shouldn’t know. All official couriers know, but we’re bound so we can’t discuss it in front of people who shouldn’t know. I don’t feel the Secret Service should know, but I’m not exactly in a position to tell the President and her council they aren’t allowed to know.”
“I was wondering how you were going to get around that. That’s smart.” The President drummed her fingers on the table. “Riddle me this, Runs Against Wind. Why the route you took? Why try to disrupt couriers there?”
“Easiest way west by road. It doesn’t make sense to me. Why go west at all? The west has significantly less damage from Starfall than the east.” I kept organizing the papers without reading them; if I needed to later, I would. “If I wanted to draw attention to an area, that’s one way to do it. Couriers talk. I really doubt they managed to kill all the couriers taking that route.”
Gentry grunted. “They didn’t. You’re just the first we’ve encountered who survived to tell the tale. Plenty of couriers have ridden through there without being bothered at all. That said, bodies do tend to cause a stir, especially when they share the same occupation. So, why do it, then?”
“Divert attention from the real goal? Someone wants to make a quick profit on expensive horses? Crime ring? Setting up a relay chain somewhere else and needed good animals? They can’t ride for shit and keep killing their horses?” I lifted my hands, both in frustration and surrender. “I don’t know. Why would someone do that?”
“They’re involved in the courier network and knew you were on a long-term contract escorting a very expensive animal across the country?” Anatoly suggested.
“And the top prize for crazy conspiracy theory goes to the tiger,” I muttered. “Why would anyone in their right mind do that?”
“They’re not in their right mind, that’s why.”
I opened my mouth, blinked, and stared at the tiger. “I will admit that hadn’t occurred to me.”
“You’re assuming the individual responsible is sane and of sound mind. This is someone who has to be very smart to pull off the theft, but crazy enough to actually follow through with it, especially if they’re aware of the stone’s capabilities.”
“Desperation doesn’t make someone insane,” I countered.
“At the potential cost of how many lives?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “By that logic, the government is insane. Don’t they actively look for people who can make that stone burst, and when it starts pulsing, they put it on display so people can touch it hoping for such a result? To, as far as I understand, replenish magic in the area when it bursts—which means we’re all insane for even thinking it’s a good idea to live anywhere near it’s proposed blast radius.”
“I’d protest, except I can’t, not really,” the President admitted with a helpless shrug. “So, do we pursue this as though the courier incidents are connected? Thanks to Runs Against Wind’s morning exertion, we have a list of viable suspects for the theft, including members of the Secret Service and National Archive staff. If I bring in a mystic capable of truth reading, we could have the identity of the thief exposed in short order.”
Gentry and Anatoly stilled, their gazes locked on the President. While the two men stared, I continued organizing the papers into piles, reaching across the table to grab sheets litterin
g the table in front of the First Gentleman. The silence continued, and the tension grew until I considered trying to cut through the air with my sword.
I thumped a stack of papers representing a month of my professional life onto the table. “I think they’re having problems coming to terms with the theft being an inside job, Madam President.”
“No one said it was an inside job,” she rebuked, her tone sharper than my sword’s honed blade.
“Members of the Secret Service and National Archive staff make it, exclusively, an inside job. Is it even possible to break into the place without anyone noticing, especially with telepathic guards near the only easy way in or out?”
“No one mentioned telepathic guards.”
I grabbed another stack of unsorted papers, slapping sheets into their appropriate pile. “Anyone who has ever visited the National Archive and possesses half a functioning brain knows the front guards watching over the Declaration of Independence are telepathic.”
“So you’ve been to the National Archive before your visit this morning?”
“Yes.” I chose against elaborating despite everyone staring at me in expectant silence. If the President, Gentry, and Anatoly talked with Todd and pieced things together, they’d know the date of my last visit—especially Gentry, who had issued the bounty on my living, unharmed head.
I wondered if I could use the bounty to my advantage; if I gave Gentry a list of names who had inflicted some injury upon me over the years, would he be required to pursue every last one of them?
“That’s very frustrating, Runs Against Wind. Since you don’t seem inclined to give us any details on your prior visit, let me ask you this: how familiar with the layout of the National Archive would one have to be to discover your method of traveling between the various floors?”
I saw no way to reply without laying some implication of guilt at my target’s feet, but since my hire asked the question, I’d answer—I wouldn’t name names, but I doubted I’d have to. Everyone in the room was smart, especially Gentry.
A person didn’t rise to become the leader of a highly successful guild without intellect and street smarts.
I evened a stack of reports to buy myself a little time, set it aside, and replied, “Anyone in maintenance would know, and anyone in charge of making sure nothing goes wrong in the National Archive should know. If they don’t, they aren’t very good at their jobs.”
“Do you think you could do better?” she challenged.
At the rate the President was fluctuating between hot and cold in her tone and bearing, I was at high risk of whiplash. A wise woman would have shut her mouth and said nothing, but I bristled under her criticism and snarled, “If I wanted that job, I would do that job. Instead, I ride horses and deliver mail. I’m so sorry your Secret Service couldn’t catch me when I decided to poke around and see what I could see. Anyone in the National Archive could access the same documents I used to find the ducts.”
“So anyone in the library at the time could be guilty.”
“If they’re literate and can read a blueprint, sure.”
“What’s involved in reading a blueprint?”
I gaped at the President. “You don’t know?”
“I’m a politician, not a miracle worker!”
“Architect,” I corrected.
“It amounts to the same thing. What’s involved in reading a blueprint?”
I opened and closed my mouth, shifting my gaze to the First Gentleman, who held his hands up in the air and smirked. “Don’t look at me, Runs Against Wind. I can’t read blueprints, either. They look like really fancy chaotic lines with tiny notations requiring a magnifying glass to read. I know what a door looks like, and I can generally figure out what space is meant for a room. The rest of it is gibberish—complicated gibberish.”
“I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“You’re welcome is a good start. It means you’re smart. So, who taught you to read blueprints?”
“No one.”
The First Gentleman laughed. “Maybe she’s the one who should be President, babe.”
I covered my face with my hands and prayed for the nightmare to end. If there were any gods or spirits or anything at all listening, they ignored my plea. “Please, no.”
The President sighed. “Now that we’ve established some of us are from the shallow end of the gene pool, can we get back to serious work? How can we limit the number of suspects?”
If the President meant to establish my intellect, her ploy impressed me. Otherwise, I had no idea what the woman was up to, although her behavior confirmed I was related to several insane individuals. “Well, if you’re concerned with the courier attacks being related, make two lists—one list for those who would have close interaction with the courier network, and the other for those who would be able to read blueprints or know about the ducts. The people in both lists would be your most likely suspects, assuming they’re related.”
The First Gentleman grabbed my wrist and tugged on my arm so he could kiss the back of my hand. “Yep, we’re from the shallow end of the gene pool, babe. You’re divine. If I didn’t already have a beautiful and charming wife, I’d ask you to marry me.”
Shuddering, I yanked free, turned to Anatoly, and wiped my hand off on his shirt. “No, thank you.”
“That’s gross,” the tiger muttered, staring down at his shirt. “What did I do to deserve rabbit germs?”
“You’re in my personal space.” The tiger shifted his chair a few inches away, and I smiled about getting the upper hand, even though it was over something so insignificant. “You know how they did it. You know where they would have had to be to do it. Isn’t it an investigative detail now? Who should be looking into this?”
No one answered me, and I frowned at the silence.
Finally, Gentry sighed. “Technically, the FBI. However, they’re in the process of moving their main offices from Richmond to here, and they’re understaffed as a result.”
“That’s a hell of an opportunity for anyone who knows,” I muttered.
“No one knows ex—” The First Gentleman’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, and so many curses poured out I gaped, and I wasn’t the only one. He headed for the door. “Excuse me. I think I need to look over some footage at the National Archive and confirm the staffing list for those who were on duty.”
“Take Runs Against Wind with you,” the President suggested. “Please verify if anyone can access those blueprints without having to make a special request. It’ll give you an excuse to be at the National Archive at least.”
Anatoly rose to his feet.
“Stay, Anatoly. I have other matters to discuss with you.”
I left before anyone changed their mind. For some reason, an outing with a blood-thirsty rabbit seemed a hell of a lot safer than being stuck in a room with two grizzlies and an angry tiger.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Traveling with the First Gentleman involved a lot of fanfare, unnecessary delays, and a detail of six men who considered me a threat along with the Charlotte residents passing use on the street.
At least I got to ride a horse, although the mare and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, especially our traveling speed. She wanted to meander. I wanted to get to the National Archive as quickly as possible so I wouldn’t have to put up with the extra Secret Service agents breathing down my neck.
Randal kept close, and I caught him glaring at his fellow agents whenever their disapproving gazes fell on me.
After causing him so much trouble in the morning, I decided to pay him back. It took a harder nudge than I liked to coax my mare alongside the First Gentleman. “I think your detail is jealous Agent Randal has such an intelligent, beautiful principal. They should be grateful, really. Apparently, doing exactly what I want doesn’t fit well with their responsibilities.”
“You’re worse than my wife, and I don’t find myself saying that often.”
The entire detail grimaced as one,
including Randal.
“Is this mare one of the Secret Service spares?”
“Yes, she is. She’s been in the service for almost ten years now. I’ve had to ride her a few times.”
I regarded the mare, a classic blood bay, with a wrinkled nose and disapproving huff. “She’s due to retire.”
“Why would you say that? She’s a nice horse. Don’t say mean things about Daffodil.” The First Gentleman pointed at me. “Impertinent Indian Princess. That’s what you are. You’re an impertinent Indian Princess.”
“I’m not Native American, sir.”
“They accept you among them, so it counts. I tried to talk Steph into changing your identifier to Indian Princess, but she said if she can’t change it to Warrior Woman, I can’t have my way, either. Apparently, her detail politely asked her to keep it as Stiletto to maintain internal consistency.”
“Small favors,” I muttered.
“Isn’t my life grand? If you think this is bad, you should have seen us coming here. It’s like we go out of our way to announce our presence. I should get a sign. It could look like a target. Supposedly, it does the people good to see us out and about and mingling. It makes us real people rather than figureheads working behind the curtain, especially in cities lacking electricity and television. That’s one thing I miss about Richmond: television. I’ve been informed I should be grateful we’re being wired for telephones next week.”
I turned to Randal. “I’m pretty sure they’re just jealous you have a reasonable principal.”
“I knew I should have slipped into quiet retirement instead of allowing them to talk me into one final detail,” he mumbled, soft enough I could choose to ignore him if I wanted.
Instead, I chuckled. “That would have been kinder to your blood pressure. I know. Swap places with someone. I’ll elevate their blood pressure.”
“A repeat performance or something new?”