by Jamie Wyman
“You missed our earlier appointment.”
The voice on the other end of that call sent ice through my blood. Low and dark as cinders, it met the air with a gravelly rumble. On the one hand, it was just sound, a peculiar pattern of vibrations unique to this person, but on a visceral level, the voice turned my stomach to water.
I shivered and shot a wide-eyed stare to Karma and Flynn. She blanched to the point that I thought her Technicolor hair would go white, as well. Flynn’s brow furrowed, and he leaned toward me, shoulders hunched in some reflexive pre-pounce posture.
The voice continued. “I hope you’re not thinking of backing out of our agreement. My associates and I would be upset. You know how they can get when they’re angry.”
With every word, the humanity seeped from the voice until the speaker sounded as if it were trying to growl around broken glass with vocal cords made of rusted piano wire. The sound, like nails on a chalkboard, caused my soul to rile up and attempt to escape my skin.
“Meet me tonight. Six o’clock. Same place.”
With a resonant click, the line went dead.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice small. Karma, so strong and potent, quaked with terror. As she came back to herself, her tone hardened. “What the hell was that?”
Flynn hurriedly conjured his own interface out of the ether. “Give me the number.” I did, and instantaneously, orange code flew over his screen as he traced the call. Seconds later he barked, “Public phone. Gas station at the corner of Owens Avenue and Lamb Boulevard.”
Owens and Lamb. I’d been on a tech job or two in that area before, but otherwise, I didn’t know much about the lay of the land. Those cross streets were north and east of the Strip, across town from my apartment, and practically hell and gone from the barren waste that was home to YmFy.
“That’s down the street from Muri and Nate’s place,” Karma said, brow furrowed.
“Lucky thing we were headed in that direction anyway,” I quipped.
Flynn’s interface winked out of existence. “I’ll drive.”
Chapter Six
“Butterflies and Hurricanes”
Karma gave Flynn somber, muted directions. She probably didn’t have to, Flynn’s skills being what they were, but bless him, he let her go through the motions and took this turn and that as if he wasn’t already jacked into a GPS.
Of course, if it were me in the passenger seat he’d give me that sarcastic pat on the head and call me cute for navigating. I just think it’s cute is all, he’d said. Dick. With a disgruntled growl I burrowed into myself in the backseat.
Karma guided us to a cramped, disheveled little neighborhood. Most of the old two-story jobs needed attention from one of those home-makeover shows. One or two could only benefit from the business end of a battering ram. Gutters sagged with muck and leaves. Bars flaked with rust covered the windows. Perhaps it was the morbid errand, or the fact that winter squatted on the horizon like a gargoyle, but the place looked bleak as hell with its gray grass and derelict buildings.
Nate and Muriel Harper rented one half of a duplex near the end of the block. The yellow house was in better shape than most around it, but only just. The chipped, sun-blistered shutters hung from disintegrating hinges, and a porch swing dangled uselessly from a single, rusty chain.
The metal security mesh rattled dully as Karma knocked. Within seconds the red front door flew open.
“Muri?”
What struck me first about him was the watercolor of his face. Eyes—a vibrant, arctic blue—peered out from above purple bags, the luggage of a sleepless night. His cheeks flushed pink like an exhausted child’s, and the tip of his nose matched his bloodshot stare, reddened as if he’d used an entire box of Kleenex. For a flash of an instant, I thought perhaps he already knew. Maybe we’d be spared this terrible burden. But instantly I knew that was a mistake. Hope glimmered in his those eyes, a tiny gleam fighting against a soul-crushing darkness. As I watched, that hope lost its battle and sank beneath a wave of fear and disappointment.
He searched us through the metal, his stare latching on to the one familiar face.
“Sorry, Karma,” he said, voice soft and raspy. Nate unlocked the bolt sluggishly and opened the door. “Come on in. Polly got here about five minutes ago. Said you wanted to talk to us about something.” His eyes worked up and down Flynn, then lingered over me with hesitant curiosity. “Who are your friends?” he asked.
“Nate, this is my boyfriend Flynn,” Karma said. “This is his friend Cat.”
Nate Harper brightened a little, and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I’ve heard about you, Flynn.”
“Good things, I hope,” my friend said.
Harper nodded with a tacit grin and motioned us to follow him as he padded down the hall. He led us into a modest living room with secondhand furniture and cheap lights. Polly, statuesque and brunette, sat in a corner of the sofa with her long legs crossed. She wore a scoop neck black shirt with three-quarter sleeves, jeans, and a white silk scarf around her neck. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and the gold of her earrings cast yellow light over her olive skin. Her hands rested on a doe suede jacket draped over her thighs.
Karma sat on the loveseat and drew her feet up, her chin resting on her knees. She looked so small and potent there. Like a little stick of pink-haired dynamite. Flynn nested beside her, his arm falling around her shoulders.
Nate slid into a threadbare wingback chair. Beneath an unruly mop of platinum curls, his wide puppy eyes sagged with exhaustion. If I had to guess his age by those youthful features, I’d have placed him in his late teens. But I know better. Flynn looks close to my age—late twenties—but a gander at his tawny eyes will leave you thinking he’s older than Yoda. Similarly, Nate’s true age eluded me. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and let his hands drop into his lap. His knees bounced nervously.
I took a seat on the couch next to Polly. She had little interest in me and instead studied Flynn and Karma. The woman’s lip curled slightly, as if she’d caught whiff of something petulant. Now what was that about? If she disliked public displays of affection, she and I might get along nicely.
Loathing the awkward seating arrangement, and the situation in general, I finished surveying the room. An old television set with a rabbit-ears antenna collected dust in the corner. Paintings hung on every wall. Landscapes, mostly, of vast silvery oceans and cloudy mountaintops. Lovely works in a style so similar I assumed they’d all been created by the same hand.
“I was hoping you were Muri,” Nate said softly. “She didn’t show up at the shop last night and was gone when I got here. I haven’t heard from her.”
Karma nodded. “I have some news, Nate,” she said, her voice low and forced. “Well, she does.”
Ah, now Polly decided I was worthy of her attention. Eyes tracing up and down my form, her scrutiny needled over my skin. “Are you a cop?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’m Cat Sharp. I work for…well, I work for a friend of Muriel’s father.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”
He’d asked a question, and depending on my response to it, I might get some answers. If Muriel—and presumably Nate—were more than vanilla humans, if their father moved in Loki’s circles… Well, I had to take a chance that he would know my boss. But I didn’t want to just blurt it out. So, in response to Nate’s question, I rolled up the sleeve on my left arm to show my brand.
At the sight of the ice-blue rune tattooed on my skin, Nate’s demeanor shifted from nervous to agitated. His knees bounced faster, and he wrung his hands. Yup, he knew it.
Nate hung his head and closed his eyes. Speaking to the carpet, he asked, “Where’s my sister?”
In my head, I tried all the different ways I could deliver the news. More than once I opened my mouth, but the words stuck in my throat. Finally, I decided that the bare truth was the simplest.
“Muriel is dead.”
&nb
sp; Harper blinked at me, his cupid’s bow of a mouth forming a perfect circle. Though his body remained still as stone, I watched as the words ricocheted through his mind.
“What?” he asked, the word a timid croak.
“I’m sorry, Nate. Your sister has passed away.”
Though he tried to contain it, a storm of emotions swirled across his face. His eyes rained tears down those youthful cheeks, and his jaw trembled with the thunder of a scream he refused to release. Karma and Polly rushed to him, threw their arms around him. Together, they mourned their friend. Hands clutched at shoulders with viselike grips. Karma finally let loose the sobs she’d held in check back at Flynn’s.
I felt like an intruder. I looked over to Flynn, but his eyes were on the floor. Alone with my horrible task, I sat and waited. Loki’s mark on my arm pulled me down as if it were a boulder dragging me to the bottom of the sea.
Minutes passed in sniffles, choking sobs, and apologies.
Throats cleared.
I looked up.
Karma was nestled in Flynn’s embrace, her face buried in his shoulder. He stroked her pink hair and shushed her quietly, lips brushing over her forehead. Polly sat on the floor beside Nate’s chair, her hand a constant presence on his arm. Nate dragged his fingers through his mop of curls and brought his hands to his lips, folded as if in prayer.
“What happened?” he asked. His voice was small but roiling with dark intent.
I wrestled with myself over the answer to his question. “She was murdered. Sometime last night,” I added.
“That’s why she never came home,” he muttered. “I knew something was wrong. She is never late to anything. I should’ve gone looking for her the minute she didn’t show up. I should’ve done more than call.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Polly said softly.
“Why not? She’s my twin, shouldn’t I feel it when…” His voice trailed off. Angrily, he bit off his next words, and for a time he thumbed the pattern of the upholstery. Finally he asked, “How?”
“She was …” I looked over at Karma. She gave me a nod. I drew in a shaky breath and committed to the words. “She was crucified.”
“Crucified?” He chewed on his trembling lip and fidgeted, his hands bereft of purpose.
Polly laced her fingers through his.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
Nate’s voice broke over the knot of grief in his throat. He coughed and that led to barking sobs. As he moaned and shook, Nate curled into himself for comfort.
Machines and computers? Those I understand, and I know what to do when something is wrong. With people, though? I know exactly Jack and Shit when it comes to handling a broken person. There’s no user manual or schematic for the human heart.
Nate sagged with exhaustion. “What does he want?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Your boss,” he said, flicking a hand toward me. “Loki. What does he want?”
I pushed my copper hair out of my face and surreptitiously wiped my eyes dry. “He wants me to find the killer.”
Nate nodded in reluctant agreement. “No police, then, I take it?”
“No. Can you tell me why that might be?”
His head shook left and right, dragging in comparison to the resumed bouncing of his knee. I could see the resemblance now, between Nate and Muriel. They shared the same oval face, soft features, and deep eyes. Everything I’d found about Muriel indicated she was a dour, austere creature. Her brother, though, radiated a crackling vitality. Innocence and wonder seemed to bubble from him like a fresh spring.
Nate whimpered, his eyes darting for something to hold on to. “Muri’s really dead?”
“Yes,” I said.
He stood, shuffled to the boarded-up fireplace and traced delicate lines on the mantle. With lonely eyes, he gazed up to a large portrait hanging there. It seemed the painter had hoped to capture a being comprised solely of sunlight and radiance. The man in the portrait stared into the ether, his proud chin held high. Silver and pale yellow described the nimbus of his hair. Oily black and ice-blue pigments imbued his gaze with a directness, a ferocity of spirit so real I felt his authority. Hints of a strong jaw, the lines of his cheeks, however, lacked definition as if obscured by a strong gale. Was he flying? Or was the world spinning so violently around him?
Nate’s fingers gently stroked the paint.
“It’s lovely,” I said.
Still staring at the canvas, he answered, “Muri painted it.”
I took in the landscapes and other pieces around the room. Like the portrait, those cloudy seascapes and mountain vistas glowed with starlight and ethereal beauty.
“Did she paint the others, too?”
“Yeah. She’s only happy when she’s got a brush in her hand. Says she feels like she’s home for a minute.”
He drifted into the painting for a time, eyes dancing over the brushstrokes.
“Nate,” I said gently. I didn’t want to be a bitch and pry on his grieving, but I also had a job to do. “Nate, I need you to help me. As I said, Loki has charged me with finding those responsible for Muriel’s death.”
Nate shuffled to his wingback chair, his steps loose and eyes unfocused. As he sat back down, his limbs flopped over the arms of the chair and hung there like wet rags.
I took out the small flip phone. “Everything I know about your sister is in this phone. And it’s not much at all. So I need you. What kind of person was she? Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt her? You knew her best, so you are the one I need to talk to. If you can answer my questions, I can reverse engineer this mess and figure out who did it. And Loki will take care of the rest.”
For just a moment, I saw something akin to contempt in the way his lip pulled up and his brows knitted together. As his mood darkened it seemed that his surroundings reflected the change. Storm clouds rolled over his features; lightning flashed in those sky-blue eyes. The white of his T-shirt glowed bright against the black pall of his mood.
I leaned back. My whole being rang with warning.
Polly laid a hand over his. “Put it away,” she said.
Her touch dampened the energy flowing into him. Nate had been drawing power. Inwardly, I cheered. An actual clue! So, Nate could manipulate magic of a sort. That solidified that he and his sister were more than human. But this revelation just left more questions.
Nate closed his eyes, swallowed hard and drew in deep, practiced breaths. The shadows lifted, and Nate sat as he had before, swathed in grief and natural light. “What can I tell you?” he asked through his teeth.
“Why is it so important that the mortal authorities stay out of this? Why can’t your sister’s body be found?”
Nate mulled this over. His thumb dragged along a rip in the upholstery as he considered his answer. “He has as many friends as he does enemies, our dad. Does he even know his only daughter is dead?”
I nodded. “He asked Loki to look into things.”
“I’m sure he did,” Nate sneered. His knee started bouncing again in that nervous rhythm. “You don’t know, do you? About our family?”
I shook my head. “I’m in the dark.”
“You need to stay there,” he said.
“It would really help if I knew.”
“Look, this is one thing I can’t tell you. Okay? I’ve spent my whole life trying to hide it, and even now I can’t break that habit.”
“Hiding won’t help me find your sister’s killer.”
“How do I know you didn’t do it?” Nate snapped. Again, the air around him darkened. His eyes and hair shone with ephemeral light.
“She didn’t,” Flynn protested.
Karma shook her head in silent warning.
“What are you? What was she?” I pressed, annoyed.
Polly’s eyes flashed at me. “What are you, Cat?” she asked, the t at the end of my name exploding with anger.
“Pissed off and looking for the sick fuck that nailed your friend to a wh
eel lift, you bitch.”
She shot up from where she knelt at Nate’s side, a veritable Amazon compared to my miniscule height. “You are nothing but a human! Oh, sure you’ve yoked yourself with some immortal flotsam, but you’re still just a human playing dress-up.”
Before I could think to rein it in, white light coursed through my veins, illuminating my skin with the power I’d drawn in. Unfocused, pooling beneath the surface and feeding on my anger, the energy rang in the air, an audible hum of high tension.
“Enough!” Karma said.
I whipped my head around to face her. Karma stood, feet planted firmly on the wooden floor, her pink hair now streaked with black. Violet light arced between her fingertips, and her eyes burned with fury. “Both of you sit down and put that shit away,” she said. Her sugary voice sounded downright menacing. “This will not help Muriel.”
“Nothing can,” Nate spat.
“Nate,” Karma snapped, “Cat is here to help us, and we should help her do exactly that.” Pride and vindication swelled beneath my breastbone. For the first time since we walked into this decrepit house I didn’t feel alone. “Cat,” she breathed wearily, “let this go. Please.”
“Why?” I growled.
“It’s not something you need to know.”
“Is that your decision to make?”
“I appreciate your position, but it’s not just about you, all right? Nate and Muri have been through shit you can’t imagine, and now my friend here is having a very bad day. Kindly back off, okay?”
Shame and anger sizzled on my cheeks. I looked down to my hands and nodded. “Fine.”
“Good,” Karma said, relief painting her voice. “Why don’t we take a few minutes to calm down? Stretch. Get something to drink. Then we can come back in here and talk about the past few days, try to figure out who would do this to Muriel. All right?”
Polly glared at me, her jaw set like granite. “For Muriel.”
Without another word, Polly stalked off into the murky halls of the house.