by Rhys Ford
“I don’t know what happened to make him how he is,” Death said, his hands spread wide, palms raised. “Who he is isn’t as important as Pestilence’s life. War asked you to help, and you agreed. Can it be said that Shen On-Sang doesn’t keep her word when given?”
“No! You do not speak my name!” Her hiss rattled the cough lodged in her chest. “Never my true name. Not from your lips. I always keep my word when given. And I’ve given it.”
Muscles contracting with stress, the old woman fell into a fit, trying to dislodge the irritation in her lungs. Sienna-flecked spittle hit the cement surround of her door stoop, the wraithlings clinging to the porch finials craning to reach the moisture while avoiding Death’s advance. The eldest Horseman nearly touched the woman before she jerked clear of his outstretched hand, her crinkled eyes wide with terror.
“No! You will not touch me before it is my time to go!” Her voice rose with her fear, a siren call that lured the shadows even closer. Hands shaking, the woman pressed at her chest, trying to calm the rattle lodged deep in her lungs. “War, bring the boy in with you. I’ll look at him away from Death’s prying eyes.”
“I can walk, Auntie,” Mal grunted when Min’s arm came up around his waist, the small Horseman carrying his weight on her shoulder. Her stubborn face was set firm, daring Mal to refuse her help.
Smiling at the gesture, Mal bent over and whispered into her ear, “Thanks, Min.”
“I’ll stay out here with the boy,” Death whispered to Ari when the blond Horseman came up behind him, a wide palm on the small of Death’s back. The elderly woman hobbled into her shop, turning her back on the Four. “He doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to run. I know I’m certainly in no shape to chase him.”
“If he does run, just shout. I’ll chase him down for you,” Ari said. “Maybe even stab him to keep him in one place.”
Ari’s fingers curved over Death’s jaw, the ball of Ari’s thumb smoothing over the silvered line running down the other’s nose and cheek. Leaning in, he dared a tiny sip of Death’s mouth, laving at the corner where their lips met. The elder Horseman leaned into the affectionate touch, allowing himself the barest of comforts from Ari’s kiss. Pulling away before he lost himself in Death’s taste, Ari allowed himself a small smile, touching foreheads with the other as he turned.
“I’ll definitely yell for you,” Death agreed easily. “Go on. She will want to take care of Mal quickly and get us off of her doorstep. We’re bad for her business. Even the most obtuse of humans will avoid this alley while we’re here.”
“We’re always bad for anyone’s business,” Ari teased, stepping clear of the other Horseman. Glancing at the young man they’d fought to secure, Ari pointed at Kismet’s chest, stabbing at the air with a firm menace. “Stay put, little boy. If I have to find you, I swear on Death’s head that I will take a very long time tearing you apart.”
Crossing through the open threshold, Ari wrinkled his nose at the acrid scents inside the woman’s cramped shop. The old woman’s apothecary had too much of the Veil lying in its clusters of muddied potions and sawed-off animal paws dangling from low ceiling beams. The plump black pads of a monkey’s fingers brushed against Ari’s cheek, the feel too close to a corpse’s emaciated touch for the Horseman’s liking.
“Don’t start without me. I’ve waited a long time to carve Mal up like a goose,” Ari called out, finding no one in the main room. A heavy powdery odor worked into his nostrils, and he fought not to sneeze, wondering if anyone would notice if he blew his nose and left a trail of snot on the counter. Min yelled for him, a thin sound filtering through the debris that cluttered near a doorframe at the back of the shop. Stepping over boxes, clearing a wider path with his feet, Ari entered the woman’s living space behind the counter.
Mal lay back on a futon, its thick padding covered with a plastic tarp and towels. Bare to the waist, the young Horseman’s chest bore evidence of the reality caught beneath his skin. Long streaks of purpled red angrily pulsed along the ridges of his rib cage, the edge of one pectoral muscle blackened from poisoned blood running through his veins. A cicatrix scarred over the bullet hole, the rounded smooth scar nearly watery in appearance.
Kay pressed at the edges of the wound, watching the skin slowly bounce back. Clucking at the Horseman, she leaned over to grab at her teacup, sloshing the pitch-oil brew over her fingers. Gulping the cup nearly dry, the woman swallowed hard, focusing on the Veiled gathered in her presence. Ari crossed over to the woman’s side, taking the cup from her shaking hands.
“Don’t drink too much of that, Auntie,” Ari warned her. “We need you at least able to see for this.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped back, her blackened teeth peeking up from her moistened lips. “I have to be able to see him clearly. The tea helps with that. Keeps all of the other things away. And don’t you tell me how to do this, pox on humanity that you are. I’ve been doing this sort of thing since….”
“If you were going to say since before I was born”—Ari cocked one eyebrow, a smug smile over his wide mouth—“then I’d have to argue that point. Just do what you have to do, old woman, and we’ll leave you be.”
“I get to keep anything I take out of him, right?”
Auntie Kay’s cunning eyes roamed over the injured Horseman’s body, Mal’s startled look toward Ari getting him nothing more than a reassuring grimace from Ari.
“Blood and the bullet,” Min replied. “And whatever reality you can find inside of him.”
“That will dissipate as soon as it finds a path outside of his body.” Auntie Kay spat in disgust, a wet splotch on the dirty floor. “It’s only solid inside of him. Won’t do me any good unless I carve it out with chunks of his meat and blood around it.”
“How about if we just stick to the blood and bullet?” Ari said. “I’m not going to let you go around digging for spare kidneys. The kid needs them to pee.”
“The kid happens to like peeing,” Mal remarked, still slightly unnerved at the woman’s eagerness to cut him open. A wave of pain rocketed through his lungs, leaving him gasping for air. Min’s hands clenched down on his bare shoulders, her fingers biting into his tanned skin. “Min, you’re hurting me as much as the bullet is. Let go a bit.”
“Did you take a long time killing the son of a bitch that shot Mal?” Ari asked Min.
“I didn’t do it.” She shook her head, chewing on her lower lip. To her eyes, it looked as if Mal was bleeding out, his life soaking through his clothes. “The boy did it. With a piece of cement or something.”
“No shit? The kid?” Ari whistled under his breath. “Well damn, sounds like the kid’s got some balls. So if Mal dies, we can just use him as our new Pestilence.”
“Go to hell, Ari.” Mal winced as the pain traveled through his abdomen.
“We should get started.” The old woman cleared her throat, swallowing a mouthful of drug-laden spit.
Ari made a face at the selection of knives and probing instruments Kay arranged on a low table near the futon, the edges shimmering dully in the scant glow tossed off by the exposed light bulbs dangling from the ceiling. “I have a small whetstone on me. I can sharpen those for you, Auntie.”
“Pain is good for him. It will cleanse the wound better.” Kay shrank beneath Ari’s piercing stare. “Fine, if his cut festers because the pain didn’t wash it clean, then it will be on your head.”
“Thanks, Ari,” Mal muttered, riding out another gut-wrenching wave of pain. “It’ll be ironic if I die of infection, right?”
“No, still pathetic,” Min snorted, brushing the hair from the younger man’s forehead.
The elder Horseman made short work of the dull-edged scalpels, the gritty stone wet with his spit to lubricate the sharpening. As the old woman finished her preparations, Ari set the knives back down on the cloth, then wiped the blades clean on Min’s shirt.
“There. Now all you need is for Death to kiss the boo-boo when this crazy old woman is done with you, and
all of us will have helped you get out of the mess you got yourself into.” Ari crouched down next to Mal’s head, the youngest Horseman’s face paling beneath the growing anguish working into his limbs. Reaching over, Ari grabbed Mal’s hand, crushing the younger Horseman’s fingers with his own. “Feel me here, Cooties. Death would be here too if she would let him.”
“He has to take care of Kismet.” Mal gritted his teeth, trying to shove aside the prickling needles creeping into his brain. Sweat darkened the hair at his temples, his glasses steaming from the heat of his skin. Panting between tight lips, Mal let a small, painful breath escape, hoping he could keep his wits about him.
“Yeah, when this is all over, you’re going to be responsible for that little ferret. If you think I’m going to take care of his feeding and walking him when he needs to go, you’re as nuts as the old woman here.” Ari grinned at the short laugh he pulled from Mal’s grimace. “There, see? All better. We don’t even need this crazy woman to cut into you.”
“The crazy woman is ready.” Kay shuffled over and patted Mal’s bare chest. Switching back to her native tongue, she continued, “Can you understand me?”
“I don’t speak Chinese well,” Mal replied in the same language, his eyes glazing over. “Oh, wait… shit. Where is my head at? I guess… yes.”
“Ah, he’s so young and stupid. Why don’t any of you come over with some sort of sense of what you can do?” The elderly woman removed Mal’s glasses, then dropped the spectacles to Min’s waiting hands. “What have you been doing with this one? Letting him roam free like a water buffalo?”
“We’ve been a bit busy over these past couple of decades.” Ari shrugged off the woman’s criticisms. “And water buffaloes have more sense.”
“Hold him, please.” Auntie Kay picked up her first knife, the thin blade wicked and gleaming. “I don’t have anything that I can give you to sleep.”
“Oh, I can bet that won’t last long.” Mal’s breath shortened, his hands clenched tight around each of the other Horseman’s fingers. “I’m pretty certain I faint at the sight of my own blood.”
Ari’s free hand cradled the side of the younger man’s head, Mal’s damp pale hair wrapped around Ari’s long fingers. The warmth and strength of the older Horseman was a comforting reassurance of the bond the Four shared. Leaning over, Ari pressed a gentle kiss on Mal’s forehead, wishing Death was here to help them hold their youngest together.
“Don’t worry, brat,” Ari whispered. “We’re all here for you.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
RED AND blue lights flashed across Beckett’s face as he stepped out of the backseat of his town car, his driver closing the door behind his employer. Nodding for the man to wait by the vehicle, the magus approached the motel, noting the barriers of Do Not Pass tape around the covered form of a dead man. The black bag was left partially unzipped, and a pale strong hand flopped outside of the gap.
Pushing his way through a crowd of onlookers, Beckett strode to the crime scene.
He’d purposely chosen an expensively cut suit when he dressed for the excursion, wearing his wealth in fine fabrics and the black town car he had his driver take him in. When the police rang him to tell him of the man’s death, the magus sighed heavily, more disgusted at the failure to secure one addict than losing Frazier’s services. Once again, the motel was a flashpoint for disappointment.
A uniformed police officer pointed Beckett toward the detective in charge, a slightly built, potbellied man bent over a splash of blood on the building’s wall. The detective scribbled a few notes in the brown notebook he held tightly, flipping the pages back and forth as he referred to something he’d written previously. Another barrier of tape roped off one of the apartments, another swarm of serious-faced people standing in the open doorway, their mumbles lost in the noise of the evening.
“Detective Brown?” He schooled his face into a look of careful concern.
Beckett suppressed a smile at the ease the detective accepted the man’s offered hand, a brusque shake and then noises of condolences for the loss of a valuable employee. In Beckett’s mind, there would be no connection with the ruinous fallout of Frazier’s killing. When the detective first called him, he’d panicked that Frazier had killed the boy instead and the now dead man was looking for bail.
“Were there any another victims?” He worked on forcing more disquiet into his low tones, rolling the waves of distress under his words. “I would hate to think that someone else lost their life in this.”
“The manager of the motel.” Detective Brown scratched at the itch creeping across his cheek, his skin rippling with an irritation. “Was there any reason for Mr. Frazier to be down here? Did he make any mention of meeting someone down here?”
“No, none at all,” Beckett replied. It was hard not to stare past the man’s shoulder to the spot where Faith stood. She moved cautiously through the crowd, trying to avoid contact where she could. “I can’t imagine what Frazier was doing down here. It’s very far from where he lives, and I certainly didn’t send him out here on any of my business.”
Smiling flirtatiously at her lover, Faith winked before sliding out from behind the detective, pushing the darkness around her into a trace of lacy black shadows. The minute grains of the drug mixture in Beckett’s system filtered her into a misty echoed image. He had trouble focusing on where she truly was, a halo of her face appearing and disappearing as she moved about.
“What capacity did you employ Mr. Frazier in?” The detective returned to his notes. “Did he normally carry a weapon on him?”
“Yes.” Beckett brushed at a speck on his trousers, touching the fractured shapes of his lover’s fingers where her hand rested on his hip. “He… is… was my bodyguard and a friend. Really, Frazier and my secretary keep me on a tight leash. I’m very rarely late for anything.”
“We need to find out more,” the immortal whispered in Beckett’s ear. “I’ll push to influence him. You’ll just need to ask the right questions. Go slowly. Make it appear as if you are interested, and he’ll be more than willing to be helpful.”
It was so incredibly easy. The whisper of power Faith wove over the human helped pull information from the detective. In a few minutes, the magus learned the manager had been shot, possibly by Frazier’s weapon, and that there was a bullet left unaccounted for, possibly taken with the body of another victim whose blood was splattered over the parking lot’s asphalt and cement sidewalk.
Thanking the detective, Beckett agreed to wait on the side of the scene, insisting that the police officer inform him of anything else he might find in the next half hour or so. Flipping open his cell phone would hide his conversation with the Veiled hovering next to him, Beckett covertly sneaking looks at her face as it floated in and out of his sight.
“So we’ve lost the boy again.” Anger filled him, nearly burning away any reason he might have left. Every step forward he made in securing the addict seemed thwarted, and the bird he’d created was gone. “We can’t risk having anything else happen here at this godforsaken dump. The last thing I need is for them to find the boy stoned out of his mind and haul him off to jail.”
“I don’t think that will happen.” She stared out at the parking lot at one of the police officers who’d glanced in Beckett’s direction. The man rubbed at his eyes, his attention returning to where she stood and not on the man standing near her. “We need to move away from here. The Veil is still too thin. It’s shifting around me, and people might begin to notice.”
He hurried toward the car, allowing the woman to slide in first. Ordering his driver to wait for the police detective to return with any information, Beckett closed the door behind himself, the tinted windows keeping out prying eyes. She pushed out from the shadows and leaned into Beckett’s kiss, her mouth passionate against his forcefulness.
“I hate having stolen moments with you. Not being able to touch you is making me die inside,” Beckett whispered against her neck, feeling her skin slip away un
der his touch. “I can’t wait until we find that boy and see if the drug worked like it was supposed to. I can’t take much more of this.”
“I hate this too.” The woman pouted, her brow creased with worry at his distress. “But concentrate on what we have to do. The blood out there smells immortal. I wonder if the Veil was so far gone that Frazier actually shot an immortal. Or do you think he shot the boy before he fully crossed over?”
“I hope not.” Beckett sat back against the leather seats, chewing on the edge of his fingernail. “The cops are going to take blood samples from the area. If they run it for any narcotics, they’ll find the heroin if it was the boy that was shot.”
“He’d have to find medical assistance, yes?” She leaned forward, rubbing at Beckett’s leg with a brush of her fingers. “Perhaps that’s something that you can trace down? If he has to go to a hospital or clinic, won’t they have to report the bullet wound to the police? Isn’t that how this works?”
“Yes,” Beckett agreed, his mind scattered with the possibilities. “That’s definitely something that I can follow up on.”
The addict was the answer to their prayers, human turned immortal. He’d spent countless hours trying to perfect the rituals over ground herbs and scorched bones. It had been an accidental trapping of a brownie crossing over one of his tapped ley lines that led to Beckett’s greatest discovery, the existence of immortals and other creatures that drew their power from the shadows embedded in the between space of his world. He owed everything to that chance discovery. It led him to his Faith, and now a means to spend a life with her.
“Let me finish up here.” Beckett spotted his driver heading back across the parking lot, pushing past the crowd to the car.
“You go on.” She pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, worming her will into his soul. “I’ll just complicate matters. Besides, I don’t know how long I can stay on your side of the Veil. It’s too erratic.”