Ink and Shadows

by Rhys Ford

  “Bitten is good. But what happened to the wraith?”

  “The creature was killed by a blade,” Frazier said. “Something very sharp. Clean cuts and precise. Someone who knew how to kill, and I’m guessing by the cuts, it was something bigger than a knife.”

  “Really?” Beckett ran his fingers along his lower lip, contemplating the puzzle before him. “Think our boy killed it?”

  “Doubtful,” Frazier said, digging a small notebook from his pocket. He found the scribbled notes he’d made while talking to the residents of the motel. “Kismet Andreas. He’s lived at the motel for a year or so, fairly quiet and sticks to himself. Mostly does drugs and paints, from what I can tell. He works part-time at a tattoo parlor one of the suppliers owns. That’s how he came into contact with the batch you released.”

  “Curious how we all are connected.” Beckett sipped at his lime water, swishing it around in his mouth. “Does he prostitute? He’d need to know how to handle someone threatening him if he works the streets. He could have been armed.”

  “The neighbor across of him says no, but then the boy probably doesn’t bring anyone home.” Frazier shrugged. “But he could do business somewhere else. Plenty of alleys around the area or even down by the park. But honestly, he doesn’t sound like someone disciplined enough to have that kind of skill. Whoever carved up your creature knew what he was doing.”

  “So probably not our druggie,” Beckett said. “There are others behind the Veil that could have helped him. One of the Sidhe perhaps. It could get complicated if he has someone to help him.”

  “Complicated I can handle, as long as I can see it.” Frazier handed his employer one of the folders he’d left on the table. “Here, I thought you might want to take a look at these. They were all over the boy’s room. The manager let me in after a bit of persuasion.”

  “Dear God.” Beckett nearly grinned at the photographs Frazier had taken of Kismet’s room. The man had carefully placed canvases against the wall, recording as many paintings as he could in each photo. “Our Mr. Andreas definitely has the Sight.”

  Horrors crawled through paint, stretched tight over the canvas and reaching out to the unaware. Wraiths curved around lampposts, snagging at the skulls of passersby. A picture of a homeless woman, filth and despair dominating her battered face, writhed with the tiniest of shadowy tadpoles, a few bulbous heads already buried under her dirt-splattered skin. Each photo grew grimmer with each pass, until the magus reached the bottom of the packet, his hands trembling with the images of darkfae and slender, lithesome forms of hidden Sidhe.

  “So he’s like you, predisposed to see things?” Frazier asked softly. “But probably unable to touch anything. Until now.”

  “Until now,” Beckett agreed, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. “God, these are beautiful.”

  “We’re assuming the drugs worked.” Frazier leaned forward, taking another sip of the bitters. “We just need to snag him and confirm it. Then we’ll be able to use the new mixture without worrying about any side effects.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for,” the magus murmured, tracing his fingers along one of the red lines of Kismet’s paintings. Looking up, he saw the calculation in Frazier’s eyes, a hunger lurking just below the surface. Beckett welcomed that hunger, hoping to exploit Frazier’s greed and manipulate it. “We’re so close.”

  “Here. I want you to take this now.” Beckett passed Frazier a packet of brown powder, minute flecks glistening amid the dull tan. “This should help you hold on to the boy if he’s passed fully through. Once you get him secured, come back here immediately. The effects of this will wear off in about four hours, so you’ll need to get him locked down before then.”

  “I’ll have him here by tonight.” Frazier stood, taking the packet from Beckett’s table. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Beckett waited until he was certain the man was gone, then smiled at the immortal standing by the counter. Charity had slid out of the Veil nearly as soon as the door closed behind Frazier’s back, greeting his sister’s lover with a wave.

  “I think he believes every word you say. You’ve gotten him to agree to take what you gave the boy without even a whisper of suspicion.” Charity walked out of the shadows, his bare feet barely leaving a trace on the carpet. “We’re on our way, then. My sister chose well in you.”

  “Thank you. I try,” Beckett replied.

  “I’m kind of worried that we lost the boy.”

  “Frazier will find him. Nothing motivates like greed.”

  Charity turned, leaning his back against a pane of glass. “So the boy killed your wraith? That seems a bit unlikely.”

  “I think someone else helped kill the creature.” A frown crinkled Beckett’s forehead. “I’m worried that whoever killed the wraith will try to prevent Frazier from grabbing the boy.”

  “I don’t like someone sniffing around the boy. We’re just so close.” Tapping his fingers on the window, Charity made a face. “It worries me too. He shouldn’t have any allies. Humans and immortals don’t mingle. And none of the Veiled would have the strength to fight off a wraith. They’d sooner avoid that kind of trouble.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might have stepped in?” Beckett asked.

  “I can’t imagine one of the Sidhe Courts helping a human,” Charity said. “The same can be said of the darkfae. No one just walked by and helped the boy out of the kindness of his heart. Darkfae don’t do anything unless profit or family glory is involved.”

  “Someone helped him.” Beckett drained the water in the bottle. “Something that exists in the shadows.”

  “The Horsemen are in this area.” Charity fretted, thinking of Death and his crew. “But they aren’t known to get involved in human matters. Their hands are dirty enough as it is. I can’t see them lifting a finger to help a single human.”

  “Would it be possible to ask anyone about them? Poke around and see if they’re interested in the boy?”

  “It would look suspicious. They’re not something brought up in casual conversation.” Charity shrugged at his sister’s lover. “None of us have anything to do with them. Ari wouldn’t think twice about someone asking after them. If word even got to him, it would just stroke his ego, but Death, he would hone in on me.”

  “I thought you were immune to Death.”

  “No one is immune to Death.” Charity mulled over the scar-faced immortal interfering with the young man they needed. “He’s more of a hunter than Ari is. I don’t want Death’s notice. If I start asking after the Horsemen, there would be more questions than answers.”

  “There’s got to be someone who pays attention to what they’re doing. Maybe not an immortal but one of the other Veiled?” Beckett asked.

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve already told you too much about the others. Speaking about them sends ripples. That’s one of the ways we know we are needed. I have to be careful.” He canted his head to one side, feeling the summons of a calling. The man felt at the edges of the request, worrying at the threads reaching out to him. He would have to respond to this one. It was too big to ignore. “I have to leave.”

  “I’ll try to get this resolved,” Beckett promised. “You can’t live your life being dragged from place to place. I don’t want that for Faith. She deserves more.”

  Charity’s bitterness rode high in his throat, burning and sour. “None of us have lives. There is no privacy, no days when I can say I am not responding to a call. Humans are always mewling and whining about their existence, not realizing that on this muddy spit of a world, they have everything right at their fingertips. I would give anything to just say no, I’m not going to go, but none of us have that luxury.”

  “This will bring me over.” Beckett held his hand out to the immortal. His eyes burned with fervor. “And then we’ll know for sure that it will help you.”

  “Do what you can, and no matter what, remember we’re doing this for her.” The immortal faded, drawn along t
he line of his call. “I don’t care about me, but she deserves to be free of this prison.”

  “WAS MAL awake?” Death’s husky voice greeted Ari as he entered the living area. Min was nowhere to be seen, probably counting boxes of cereal in the pantry off the laundry room.

  “We woke him.” Ari watched the long-legged Horseman fixing himself a cup of tea. “Mal said he’ll be up once he gets showered and dressed. Poor kid was sleeping hard.”

  Death didn’t respond, swirling the tea ball around in the hot water. His thoughts were half on the boy who fled the Horsemen’s home and also on the blond hovering close. Waiting for the water to darken, Death tensed when Ari drew near. The other man’s strong hands rested on Death’s hips, Ari’s touch intimate. Pressed up against the counter, Death considered shoving Ari back, sending him away, but the delicious tingle of their bodies barely brushing against one another comforted him, as well as startled the kernel of secrets Death kept deep inside of himself.

  “Leave off,” Death said, nearly whispering. Ari smiled at the wavering in Death’s words. Ari’s hands slowed but remained on Death’s hips.

  “You and I both know that you don’t want me to leave off.” Resting his chin on Death’s shoulder, Ari inhaled the spicy green tea cologne Death preferred. The soft cotton of his chambray shirt pillowed under a scar on Ari’s chin, nearly as sensuous as the tickle of black hair along his cheek. “I don’t know why you push me away when I know you want nothing more than to hold me closer.”

  “We can’t,” Death murmured, closing his eyes. He allowed himself the moment, just that single touch of Ari on him. His mind screamed a mute defiance, his body rebelliously luxuriating in the skimming of Ari’s hands over his stomach, resting there before dropping back down to his waist. “We have things we have to do. This complicates everything.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Ari whispered into the shell of Death’s ear. “I think it would simplify things. I’m not sure what you’re afraid of more. What you think I’ll do to you or what you think you’ll do to me. I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”

  “You might.” Twisting away from the other Horseman, Death reached for the sugar, hands shaking with the effort. “We don’t know. I can’t.”

  “No, we don’t know anything. We never know anything,” Ari responded. “I’m willing to take any chance I can get. I’ve always been the risk taker. Sometimes I wish you would just say to hell with it and for once take a chance. What do you have to lose?”

  Death tilted his head back, saved from answering as Min strolled into the main part of the penthouse. Looking from one to the other, she sighed, fixing a baleful glare at the blond Horseman. “What the hell have you done now? Wasn’t he pissed off enough?”

  “I’m not mad,” Death insisted, waving off Min’s protests. “Ari and I were discussing a few things.”

  “I know how he discusses things,” Min retorted. “Everything’s all hands and tongue.”

  “How about if we just go back to worrying about Mal’s little pet? Sad to say, that’s a safe topic.” Ari’s smile was cold, icy with fury. Pushing past Min, he strode over to Mal’s rooms, shouting at the Horseman to hurry up.

  “Are you okay?” Min asked quietly, drawing near to Death’s side.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, the words sounding hollow in his ears. “Really, we’re both fine. It’s just something that we need to work out between us.”

  “You’ve had eons,” Min reminded him offhandedly, running her fingers through her hair, spiking the ends up more. “If you two haven’t worked it out by now, you’re never going to work it out.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Death insisted. “I just frustrate him a bit.”

  “Well, try not to do that much.” Min looked worried, a furrow across her brow. “Last time you frustrated him more than that, we had World War II. I’m busy enough as it is. I don’t need any more work, thank you both very much.”

  “Promise.” Death’s angelic face creased with a smile. The silver line across the bridge of his nose caught the light, kissing a white streak over his cheek. “It won’t get to that.”

  “Better not.” Min wagged her finger at the eldest Horseman. “You all ran me ragged, and it just made me grumpy. Grumpy leaves lines. Makes wrinkles. I’m too pretty to get wrinkles.”

  Ari returned, wordlessly helping himself to a cup of coffee, brushing against Death’s leg while reaching for a spoon. Their eyes met, and Ari’s gaze softened, his mouth forming a curse against the power Death had over him.

  The dark-haired Horseman gave him a soft smile before heading into the living area with his tea. Ari poured another mug of coffee, adding sugar, then a hefty dollop of cream before handing the steaming cup to Mal. Mal gratefully accepted the creamy coffee, deeply inhaling the steam and letting the aroma creep into his tiredness, chasing it away.

  “What do we know about this boy?” Death waited for Mal to sit down. Ari straddled the arm of the couch near Death. Min slid down into an armchair, swinging her leg up and tucking it beneath her.

  “Other than the fact that he’s a thief?” Min snorted.

  “And the same scrawny size as our Famine?” Ari grinned as Min bared her teeth at him.

  “I know his name is Kismet Andreas. And that he uses drugs.” Mal struggled to remember more, something other than the pout of the artist’s lower lip and the cinnamon heat of his eyes. “Heroin, I think he said. I thought his arms were damaged by the wraith, but later I realized that they were needle marks.”

  “Well, now that message from beyond makes more sense. Kismet. And he really is a druggie. I was just guessing.” Ari sipped at his coffee, ruminating over the information. “I’m surprised he didn’t take the cash to get more drugs. An opportunist but not disrespectful to the people who helped him out. Got to admire that in a street kid.”

  “The drug use makes sense.” Death nodded. “I think he was seeing the Veil before whatever happened to him to force him through to the other side, to our side. I found slips of drawings in the pocket of his jeans. It looked like he sketched wraiths and other Veiled.”

  “What makes you say that?” Min cocked her head, swinging her foot back and forth. “You think he’s one of us?”

  “The blood on his shirt smells like ours,” Death said. “But from what Mal says, Kismet knows who he is. He’s been human all this time, and now he’s an immortal.”

  “So no calling?” Min whistled under her breath. “An immortal human. Guess they were right about us bringing on the Apocalypse.”

  “That wraith had him full around the throat. I thought when it happened it was because the thing was that strong. Like one of the old wraiths from Eire,” Ari replied. “That monster just didn’t fall out of the shadows without someone yanking its chain.”

  “Kismet probably broke the Veil open, but that wouldn’t have called a wraith,” Death remarked, stroking the scar across his face. He leaned forward, a pale stretch of skin showing along his back as his shirt rode up. “Did he call up the wraith? Could this boy have gained that kind of knowledge?”

  “Shi, from what I saw of the kid, I’d be surprised if he could get his own shadow to follow him.” Ari shook his head. “The kid barely had enough strength to scream in pain.”

  “What about the wraith that jumped us in the garage?” Mal asked. “That thing was plenty strong. Did that fall out of the Veil too?”

  “That thing was old. It ate its way up the food chain.” Ari shot the blond a dirty look. Giving Death a cocky grin, he dismissed it outright. “Nothing really to worry about. I took care of it.”

  “You didn’t say anything about an attack in the garage.” Death looked up at Ari. Shifting uncomfortably, Ari waved him off, clearing his throat when the black-eyed Horseman prodded him with an index finger to the small of his back.

  “It attacked us.” Ari shrugged. “I figured it was because we just walked into its hunting. You know how some of them are. I think it strayed out of its normal hunting
grounds and figured it could feed on us.”

  “They aren’t that bold. Think it’s connected to the boy?” Death said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Some of them are pretty cocky. Especially if it finds itself someplace without a lot of emotion to feed on. After a while they get desperate. Anything behind the Veil becomes food,” Ari replied. “It was hungry and went after Mal. I took care of it.”

  “It tossed me into one of the columns.” Mal nodded, sipping at his coffee. “I was surprised it could do that much damage to your car, but then that wraith today took a hydrant apart. And that was much smaller than a car.”

  “How much damage?” Death tilted his head, staring up at Ari’s innocent-seeming face. “You let it damage my car and attack Mal? Is it still drivable, or is it dead like my horse?”

  “Told you.” Ari pointed at Mal. “Shoot his horse once and that’s it. Everything is blamed on you for the rest of eternity. That horse would have been long dead by now, Death, with or without the arrow in it.”

  “It’s not that bad. The car, I mean. You won’t be able to drive it because the fender’s dented down over the wheel, but it can be fixed,” Mal protested, slapping away Ari’s hand. “And it wasn’t his fault. The wraith attacked me out of nowhere. Ari got it off of me before I got seriously hurt.”

  “Uh-huh.” Death pursed his mouth. “Anything else you left out, Ari?”

  “Can we get back to the kid and forget about the car for a bit?” Min asked. “You can scream at Ari later.”

  “Yes, let’s yell at Ari later.” Ari reached over, playfully slapping at Mal’s head. “The kid will probably head back to the place we found him. I’m guessing he lives there.”

  “If he’s using drugs, he’ll need something soon. He might have more stashed there. Or we can hope he has more there. I don’t want to spend hours hunting for him on the streets,” Death said. “I also want to know what brought him over. That’s not happened for centuries. I wonder if someone in the Courts pulled him over and he got loose somehow.”