by C. E. Murphy
Morrison gave me a hard look that ended in an over-blown sigh. “You’re a pain in the ass, Walker.”
I’m almost certain that in no way should that have made an idiotic grin bloom across my face. I snapped a jaunty salute, said, “Yes, sir,” with genuine cheer, and strutted off to face the next demon on my list.
CHAPTER 22
The next demon didn’t go over so well.
Thor was bigger than me, which I knew on an intellectual level. I also appreciated it on a sort of frothy-girl-likes-big-guy level which, prior to Thor—well, really prior to Mark Bragg, but never mind that—I’d never really considered, and which now kind of made me cringe with girl cooties if I thought too much about it. I mean, I knew other guys who were taller than me; Billy and Gary both were, for example, but I was still accustomed to being one of the tallest people in any given room. Taller than me got its own quirky mental box in my mind, and not many people fit in it.
It turned out that when Thor got his temper up, he didn’t so much fit into it himself. He more popped out of it, à la the Incredible Hulk, albeit without the green and with a considerably better vocabulary. At least, it’d been better while I explained Suzy’s premonition. After that it reduced to “No way are you—you are not going out there to—” interspersed with my “Yeah, I am, Edward. Edward, yes, I am—”
We were on round three, and the entire motor-pool crew had gathered around to watch. Even my old boss, Nick, who hadn’t looked at me comfortably since things went wonky in January, was sitting on the hood of Rodridgez’s patrol car—the axle was probably out of alignment again—watching us like we were the last match at Wimbledon. I felt strongly that someone should be selling popcorn and hot dogs.
“Look,” I finally hissed. Don’t tell me you can’t hiss a word without an S. There’s not a better name for that particular pitch, full of emotion and sharper than a whisper, but much too quiet to be a full voice. Besides, I had plenty of esses in the words that followed. “I appreciate you don’t want me doing something dangerous, but this is my job. You don’t get to tell me I can’t do it.”
“I—” He finally noticed our audience, and didn’t quite catch my arm to haul me away from the gawkers. Just as well, too, because if he had I’d have been obliged to hit him. Instead, he clenched his fists and jerked his head toward the stairs, where we could continue our discussion with a modicum of privacy. Someone’d finally replaced the fluorescent light in the stairwell, so there was no longer a patch of semidarkness to hide in, but at least the crew couldn’t see us without coming around the foot of the stairs, which I thought might be a little too obvious, even for them.
Once we were half hidden, some of Thor’s puffed-upedness ran out of him in a sigh. “What am I supposed to do, Joanie? I want to protect you.”
“You can’t.” Man. I hadn’t known so many emotions could fit into two small words. Regret, sorrow, resignation, and maybe most of all, implacability. “Thor—Edward—you can’t protect me. God knows people’ve helped me out, and I’ve needed it. I’ll no doubt need it again. But you can’t actually protect me. When we’re talking about the kind of thing I’ve been dealing with, there’s literally nobody else who can do what I have to do. I might not get out of this thing alive tonight, but I’ve got a better shot at surviving than anyone else.”
His hands turned into fists. “I can’t accept that. I can’t just let you go off—”
My heart tightened up as much as his hands had. “You have to. I need you to trust me. Trust that I’ll be okay.”
“I can’t. I have to be able to do something, Joanie. I have to be able to help. I can’t just stand back and wait to pick up the pieces. I can’t be—”
“The soldier’s partner? The one she comes home to?” I closed my eyes and tried to breathe around an ache so big it overflowed my chest. “Then this isn’t going to work. Because I signed up to be a soldier, and I need a partner. Not a protector.”
“Holliday’s your partner. How the hell do I fit in to that?”
“Billy’s my partner on the job. He’s got the skill set to deal with at least some of what I deal with. I’m not talking about on the job, Edward. I’m talking about the rest of my life. I need somebody who trusts me to do my job and come home.”
A bitter, crackling edge came into Thor’s voice: “Would this conversation be different if you were talking to the captain?”
The ache in my chest burst, sending phantom pain through my whole body. My hands curled against emotional misery turned physical, and my calves cramped from trying to stay steady when all I wanted to do was curl up. “It was different when I talked to Morrison, Thor. He didn’t tell me not to go.” I was a big girl, and big girls weren’t supposed to cry, but my throat was tight and my eyes hot as I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Thor didn’t say anything else. He just stood there and looked at me, and after a minute I turned and ran from the garage.
A Joanne who really had her shit together would’ve breezed back into Homicide all calm, cool and collected, ready for action. Me, I bounced off the half-open door on my way through it, and kept my gaze locked on the floor, like that would keep everybody from noticing my face was red and puffy and blotched with tears. It obviously didn’t: a cone of silence rippled around me as I made my way toward my desk. I grabbed a tissue, tried to blow my nose discreetly, and instead sounded like a beacon for every Canadian goose on the planet.
It also signaled everybody around me to suddenly get very busy, and the noise level suddenly shot back up where it belonged. Only Billy and Suzy were left looking at me worriedly, and neither of them seemed in the slightest bit convinced when I said, “It’s nothing. Forget it. Billy, you think Chan’s ghost might still be around?”
“Not if he’s lucky. Why?”
I could see him not asking what’d brought on my crying jag. I was more grateful than I could say. “Because he’s our only witness as to what happened to the cauldron and Redding, and I want to see if there’s anything else he can remember. I don’t know where else to start. Can you call Sonata and have her meet you at the museum to try a séance?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, which was still swollen with tears. “I mean, can mediums actually call spirits who’ve crossed over back again to talk? I know you can’t, but—”
“Sonny’s stronger than I am,” Billy said without rancor. “She might be able to. I’ll call and find out, but what do you mean, meet me? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go get Gary and my drum. If Sonny can call Jason back as far as the Dead Zone, I ought to be able to talk to him there.”
“What about me?” Suzanne’s voice said she knew exactly what the answer was, but I gave her props for asking.
“You’re staying here. It’s not that I don’t think you’d be helpful, Suzy, because you probably would be. But you’re fourteen, and this is a kidnapping and murder case, and there are zombies out there.”
“I’m old enou—”
“Yes. You are. You’re old enough to take care of yourself. But you’re also my responsibility right now, okay? You put yourself in my hands by coming up here. Let me try to keep you safe, Suzy. Please. I don’t know what happens if I’m trying to watch out for you, as well as myself.” I wondered if that argument would have gone over well with Thor. It didn’t go over all that well with Suzanne, but her shoulders slumped in agreement anyway. I said, “Thank you,” and meant it. “Call me if you get any more future flashes, okay?” I wrote down both Billy’s and my cell numbers, and Suzy folded the paper into her hand.
“Be careful, Detective Walker.”
“I will be.” I gave her another quick hug and grabbed my belongings as I headed for the door. Billy fell into step behind me, catching my elbow at the door and pulling a bulletproof vest off the wall. “Zombies don’t use guns, Billy. They chew you to death. Have you heard from Patrick? Did the holy-water brigade do any good?”
“Put it on anyway.” Billy sealed a vest in place across his own broad
chest. I struggled into mine on the way down the stairs while he dialed Patrick, though the sigh he let out at the end of the conversation didn’t fill me with confidence. “It worked in a lot of places, but not everywhere. Sonata’s out with a lot of the other talent in the city, trying to keep things calm. I’ll call her from the car.”
“Talent.” I scraped a little snort of laughter. “Is that what we call ourselves? All the witches and mediums and shamans?”
“Oh my,” Billy said a bit compulsively. “And, yeah, it is. Joanie.” He touched my shoulder as we hit the parking lot, and I turned back to him with a frown. “What happened with Morrison?”
For a few seconds the question just didn’t make sense. Then understanding flooded me, and color burned my face. “Nothing. Nothing. Morrison and I are fine. It’s Thor. I—we—we just broke up.”
Dismay made Billy’s face long. “Oh. Oh, crap. I’m sorry, Joanne. I thought things were going pretty well for you two. What happened?”
I looked down at myself. I was wearing a bulletproof vest and a gun, and a still-glowing sword at my hip. I could see hints of light from my necklace and bracelet, and if I thought about it I could feel the weight of my esoteric shield on my left arm. The Sight washed on, making all of those things much clearer, and I lifted my gaze again to meet Billy’s, knowing full well my eyes had gone gold and spooky. “What do you think happened?”
“Yeah,” he said after a long minute. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Sorry.”
“Yeah.” I pulled the rapier from my hip and tossed it into Petite’s backseat. “So am I.”
My apartment was only a five-minute drive from the precinct building. I ran up the stairs, noticing that the vest’s extra weight didn’t slow me down. It would have, not that long ago. I’d become studly sometime in the last year. I grabbed my drum and thudded back down five stories while phoning Gary. “You said you didn’t want to miss out on any more fun stuff. Does fighting off hordes of undead sound like fun?”
“Lady, you got a weird idea of fun.” Gary sounded thrilled. “Where’re we meeting?”
“That depends on where you are.”
“Home, but I can get into the city fast.” Gary lived in a three-bedroom ranch-style house on the edge of Bellevue. It’d been paid off thirty years ago and recently renovated. I figured if he sold the place he’d be a millionaire.
“I’m in Petite. It’ll be faster for me to come get you.” That wasn’t precisely true, but I no longer had Doherty on my tail and I had a serious urge to bury my sorrows in speed. The one danger in driving like a bat out of hell—aside from the inherent danger of driving like a bat out of hell, that is—was that Petite was a very recognizable car. There weren’t that many liquid purple classic Mustangs out there, and only one of them had a license plate reading PETITE. Still, I’d yet to meet the cop car I couldn’t outrun, and I might even get away with claiming police business if I did get caught. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. If you’ve got a shotgun, bring it along.”
“Fifteen? Since when do you have a transporter bea—”
I hung up and made it to Gary’s house in eleven and a half minutes. He was waiting outside the front door, a sawed-off shotgun over one shoulder and an expression of disapproving delight marring his features. I didn’t bother killing the engine, letting Petite grumble as Gary slid the gun into the backseat with my sword, then crawled in the passenger side to say, “What kept you?”
“The bridge slowed me down.” At least there hadn’t been any zombies on it, just ordinary traffic. I filled him in on the day as I sped back into Seattle proper, ending with, “So I want you to drum me under for the séance. If we can get anything from Chan, then we go monster hunting.”
“What if we don’t?” It was possible I was driving too fast. Classic Mustangs didn’t have oh-shit handles, but Gary kept reaching for one. “And you think I drive by using the Force?”
“At least I look where I’m going.” We spun out coming into the museum parking lot, though if it hadn’t been empty I wouldn’t have indulged. Look, driving fast cars was the next best thing to sex, and I’d just written off any hope of a sex life for the foreseeable future. I wanted my thrills where I could take them.
Gary let go a bellow that sounded one part terrified and two parts excited, then fell back in his seat, clutching his heart. “I had a heart attack four months ago, you crazy dame!”
I called up a handful of healing magic and thumped my hand over his, against his chest. It fluttered and sank in, and I smiled. “Yeah, and the doctor said you’ve now got the heart of a twenty-five-year-old. You can handle a joyride or two, Muldoon.”
“You’re dangerous, lady.”
“You have no idea.” I got out of the car not knowing why I’d said that, but it made me feel strong and confident, which, right then, I was glad of. Gary collected his gun and my drum. I put the rapier back on and looked up to find him frowning at me.
“The dye’s smearing, Jo. Didja get it wet?” He tested the drum’s surface just like I had two nights ago, and found it as taut and smooth as it had ever been.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. I think it’s…” All my confidence drained away. “I dunno. I always thought that was a wolf, but now I’m wondering if it’s a coyote and it’s been ruined because he’s gone.”
“Aw, c’mon, Jo, that sounds…” I could see him struggling between a couple choices of words: silly was one, and like magic was the other. Both were true. It sounded silly and it sounded like magic. Gary shrugged his bushy gray eyebrows. “Guess that could be it, then.”
“Yeah.” We sat down together on the museum’s front steps and I nerved myself up to take a look at the city with the Sight. I didn’t think I could see holy water sprinkling down and washing the cauldron’s black goo out of the air, but at least I should be able to see where the stuff had been washed away.
And in most places, it had been. There was a hint of light where the cemeteries were, residual water in the air, maybe. The clouds overhead were breaking up and moonlight lent more strength to the bright patches. I just didn’t know if it was enough. Most graveyards closed their gates at sunset, so hopefully any undead who had risen were stuck behind iron, but it wasn’t something I wanted to bet the farm on. I needed to find the cauldron and destroy it. I couldn’t think of anything else—short of me going around and stabbing every dead man walking in Seattle—that would tear their unlife away from them. I’d do it if I had to, but breaking the source of their magic would be more efficient. “You know what I still don’t get?”
“Legions of faithful fallin’ at your feet?” Gary gave me a bright grin when I dredged up a glower for him. I’d never seen a man his age with such nice white teeth. They had to be false, but I couldn’t imagine how to ask that politely.
“That either,” I admitted, “but I was thinking about the cauldron. That thing is death on wheels, and I don’t get why it hasn’t done this everywhere it’s been. Or, rather—” I flapped a hand “—I don’t get why whoever warded it so it wouldn’t do this hasn’t just come and fixed the wards.”
“I like how you say that. Warded it. Like it’s normal.” The funny thing was, I thought Gary actually did like how I said it. I think he considered it a good sign that I was talking about warding and magic spells like they were part of my everyday life. After all, they were.
I turned my gaze back on the city, looking for any trails the cauldron might have left now that its murk was largely drowned. There was nothing: the pools of black mist had gathered together, dissolving any trail even before the blessed water’d fallen on them. “I wonder if that kind of thing is in my repertoire. I can shield myself. I can even shield other people, at least for a while. I wonder if I can make a shield against a death cauldron leaking all over a city.”
“Reckon you’ll get a chance to find out.” Headlights swung into the parking lot as Gary spoke. We both got to our feet, waving a greeting to Billy, then Sonata, as they got out of Billy’s patrol car.
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Billy muttered, “I don’t even want to know how fast you drove to get here before us. Sandburg’s on his way with the keys.”
“Gary picks locks just fine. Maybe he can let us in.”
“I can pick a lock, doll, not break into a state-of-the-art security system. Gary Muldoon.” The last was to Sonata, and was accompanied by a roguish smile that I considered pretty high on the irresistible scale.
Sonata apparently thought so, too. Dimples appeared and she let Gary linger over her hand as she murmured, “Sonata Smith,” in reply. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”
I grinned at my feet. Gary’s Saturday-night date had competition. Once in a while, things went right in the world. I took my smile from them to the road, feeling it fade as minutes ticked by. It was after eight, and while being at the museum instead of at a home with a swimming pool boded well for my long-term survival, I thought our window for finding and breaking the cauldron was shrinking. The deepest part of the night wasn’t all that far away, and it seemed likely that whoever had the cauldron would be calling up its full magic right around midnight. I wanted to find it before that happened.
Sandburg finally pulled in to the parking lot. His aura, still pale, twitched with concern as he got out of his car, but there were no sparks of off-colored resentment dancing from him. Evidently he understood that sometimes people close to a murder case got hauled off for questioning. Me, I wasn’t sure I’d be all that understanding.
In fact, thinking that way made me try to deepen my perception of his aura. I had no idea what a compulsion spell might look like, but logic dictated it had to leave some kind of mark, if it was there.
A glimmer of greenery, pale as anything else I’d seen off Sandburg, washed up around me: just a hint of his garden; of the state of his soul. I held on to it, hardly daring to breathe as I searched for a hint of something wrong within him.