"Two. A 'cain two alleys up, and someone right across the street." He shrugged. "I made sure both of them saw me." His dark eyes were alive; he was enjoying himself. Not too much, I hope. I sighed, rubbing at my eyes with one shaking hand. I'd just fought off a hellhound.
A hellhound. Japhrimel had told me to run if I ever saw one; they had been used to hunt hedaira I n the time of the first A'nankhimel, the Fallen Lucifer had destroyed because one of them might possibly breed and spawn an Androgyne, a demon capable of reproducing.
Like Lucifer himself. Like Eve.
Now I had more of the story verified. Temples and priestesses, and the demons who traded a piece of their power and got something in return.
Japh bargained to get a demon's Power back-he's different now. And so am I, if I share some measure of that Power.
I shivered, and Abra handed me a screaming-orange pottery mug. She looked a lot more comfortable perched behind the counter in her habitual space. "Here. Tea." By far the most civil she'd ever been. "You and Spocarelli were tight, weren't you." It wasn't a question.
Lucas took up a position on the far side of the room, settling between a rack of slicboards and a wooden box holding different-sized pairs of combat boots. His yellow eyes slitted but I wasn't fooled, he didn't look tired at all. Despite the floppy blood-crusty rip in his shirt, he looked very alert indeed. We matched, both of us bloody and air-dried.
I was beginning to believe I was still alive. The mark on my shoulder remained curiously numb. Was Japhrimel tracking me?
I hope so. This is getting ridiculous. I nodded, blew across the top of the mug to cool the liquid. "Way tight. Someone pumped Eddie full of enough projectile lead to trade him in at the metalyard, they did the same to Gabe in her own backyard." I didn't mention Gabe's daughter. One thing at a time. My tone was flat, terribly ironic through the lump in my throat. "I promised Gabe I'd take out Eddie's killers. He was working on something, I guess."
"I know. I got a visit from a Shaman-Annette Cameron. Works at that clinic on Fortieth, a sedayeen commune attached to a Chill rehab." Abra's lip curled.
"There's no rehab for Clorman-13," I muttered habitually.
"Okay."
Abra didn't respond. Everyone knows how I feel about Chill. "Seems Eddie was working with the sedayeen out there. You might want to try it. Anyway, Annette was anxious to find you."
"Just like everyone else." I'm just the most popular girl around nowadays. Even demons want a piece of me.
"Yeah." Abra reached slowly beneath the counter and drew out a white envelope with a heavy, old-fashioned blob of wax sealing it. "And a Nichtvren came, with this. Said to give it to you."
I broke the seal without looking and tore out a piece of heavy hand-made linen paper that felt rich and perfumed against my fingertips. The dusty, deliciously wicked smell of Nichtvren clung to the paper.
It was a very brief note.
Miss Valentine, I have information for you. Come to the nest at your convenience; I'm not hard to find.
It was signed Selene. The consort of the Nichtvren Master of Saint City, the prime paranormal Power. Nikolai. One scary son of a bitch.
"Wonderful," I muttered. "The suckheads love me."
"If they love you, the 'cain must hate you. There's a contract going around, two hundred thou for your delivery, alive even if messed up, to a buyer on the East Side. Bounty hunters, werecain, and mercs are all jumping at the bait." Abra's jaw set, her caramel skin tight over her bones. "I don't have to tell you what it's costing me to keep quiet."
I tucked the note in a pocket, picked up my mug, and took a cautious sip. Vanilla-spiked tea, very sweet, oddly calming. "And here I thought we were friends." Bounty hunters? "If bounty hunters are after me, there must be a claim registered with the Hegemony 'net."
Abra shrugged. "Not necessarily, if they want to keep it quiet. There was also some spliced son of a bitch from Pico-PhizePharm, name of Massadie." Her gold earrings quivered as she shook her head. "Threw money at me and acted like he was going to pay me more if I dug up anything on you. Stupid. But what you should be worried about is the Mob. They've got some serious hard-on for you. If I didn't have such a good working relationship with the Tanner Family they might have tried to torch my shop."
Tanner Family? They must be new. "What about the Chery Family?" There was no love lost between me and the Mob, but if I could play one Family off against another I might be able to continue on my way unmolested.
Abra made a short snorting noise of disapproval. "Chery's been eradicated, along with every other major player. Tanner's the only game in town."
When did that happen? Gods, I'm out of touch. "Great."
"For their profit margins, yeah. Not so good for the rest of us."
I nodded. "Thank you, Abra. Now give me the real dirt."
The ensuing silence was so long I set the mug down and let my eyes meet hers. Her long dusky finger lay alongside her long, slim nose. Her hair was glossy and her cheeks slightly pink. Abra looked plump, well-fed. Business must have been good lately.
"I hate to say it, Danny, but what are you going to pay me?" Her eyes were dark and velvety, fixed on mine, and I saw a sparkle deep inside them. The sparkle off bloody bits of metal as a survivor picked through the battlefield, dispatching the wounded and picking pockets.
Picking pockets? Like Gabe's pockets, soaked with blood and holding a holostill of a toddler with merry eyes?
I don't even remember moving. The next thing I knew, I had Abra against the wall behind her counter, my left hand around her throat and her feet dangling as she tore at my fingers with her slim brown hands. She gagged, my aura turned hard and hot, and I heard Leander swear. Lucas blurted something shapeless that ended with, "-get it, she's fuckin' crazy, back off!"
I squeezed. Abra's dark eyes bugged, she made a thick strangled noise. The cuff on my left wrist rang softly, and so did my sword.
I was past caring.
"You listen to me," I said, very softly. I sound like Japhrimel. A horrible nasty laugh rose inside of me, was squashed, and died away. "I like you, Abra. Any other hunt I'd pay you anything your little heart desired. But not now." My tone didn't reach above an even whisper, a Necromance's usual voice. The wall shivered behind her, plasglass display cases and windows creaking and groaning as the mark on my shoulder lit with a fierce, pleasant pain. I felt as if I stood in the center of a humming vortex of magick, as if a Major Work had been triggered and was gathering itself to leap through time and space to work my Will, undeniable and absolute. "I don't care who's after me. I don't care who would pay you how much for jackshit. This is personal. Whoever killed Gabe and Eddie is going down. You get in my way and I will go right over you. Clear?"
I eased up a little, and she hissed, her eyes lighting with inhuman fire.
"Clear?" I didn't shake her, but it was close. So close. I trembled with the urge, fire spilling through me from the mark on my shoulder. I'd actually drawn on it, pulled magickal force from the scar.
How the hell-I didn't know I could do that! But it made sense. I was Japhrimel's link to the human world, and the scar was the link between us. There was Power there for the taking-and I wasn't as wary as I should be about using it.
Any tool to get the job done, Danny.
"Clear," she rasped. Her eyelids flickered, and she'd gone chalky under her dusky skin. I dropped her. I'd never been behind the counter before, and was vaguely surprised to see that the floor here was just like the rest of the store-mellow dusty hardwood. Nothing special except a few weapons and shelves of paper-wrapped oddments waiting for different people. It was a little disappointing.
Abra rubbed her throat and darted me a venomous glance. "'That wasn't necessary," she rasped.
I felt suddenly sick under the bald edge of rage. I'd been held against a wall and throttled, I knew what it felt like. Why had I done it to Abra, of all people?
The vision of Gabe, lying broken and dead, rose in front of me again. That's why. Be
cause you were too late to save her, you slept in. Maybe because of Japhrimel, maybe not. It doesn't matter. Now the only thing left is revenge.
If I was going to go for revenge, I might as well go all the way. Which brought up an interesting question: would I be able to stop when I killed whoever had slaughtered Eddie and Gabe? I might as well declare open war on Japhrimel for going after Eve-and pursue revenge on Lucifer himself for the mess he'd made of my life.
I realized with a kind of horror that I had no real problem with that. It was only a question of how. Access to whatever Power I could draw through the scar was in the asset column, but my own chill rational consideration of ways and means frightened me. When did I get so cold? Something's very wrong with me.
"Let's take it from the top." My voice sounded just the same-flat, whispering, and sharp as a razor drawn over numb skin. The Gauntlet chilled, sending a wave of cold up my arm, pushed back by the heat of the scar. "In great detail, Abra."
Oh, gods above. I don't sound like Japhrimel. I sound like Lucas.
Chapter 16
The tea had turned to cold swill, but I finished it anyway and dropped the last of my bankroll on Abra's counter. She could tell me precious little, just that a biotech company was somehow tied up in Eddie's work, perhaps bankrolling it; someone wanted me dead; the Mob wanted me brought in; the Nichtvren wanted to see me, and the werecain-who knew what they wanted? Revenge, maybe, I'd killed a couple 'cain awhile ago during the hunt for Mirovitch. They have long memories.
Or maybe it was something else.
In any case, I owed her, both for the information and for losing my temper.
She looked at me, rubbing her throat. "Put that away." She was still hoarse. "I don't work for you, Danny."
"I know you don't." The apology stuck in my throat. I'm sorry, Abra. I shouldn't have done that. I didn't touch the money, just left it there. Backed up two steps, my eyes not leaving hers.
She shrugged, the thin gold hoops shivering against her cheeks. "What are you going to do?"
I never thought I'd live to see Abracadabra ask me that with her eyes wide like a frightened child's. I looked away, toward the privacy-tinted windows. Out there in the streets were Mob freelancers and assassins, corpclones and bounty hunters-not to mention werecain and Nichtvren-all waiting for a piece of me. Lucky me, dropping into the middle of a turf war and not even realizing it.
"First I'm going to go out your back door," I said tonelessly. "Then I'm going to start digging. I want you to put the word out, Abra. Tell everyone who comes to you that whoever hit Gabe and Eddie should put their estate in order. 'Cause when I get finished with them, even another Necromance isn't going to be able to bring them back." I paused. It wasn't for effect, but Abra's eyes widened.
"Danny… be careful." She folded her arms. "Although you're never careful, that's how you ended up smelling like a demon."
That reminded me. "You know of any Magi willing to let go of trade secrets for a price, Abra?"
"No." The gold hoops shivered as she shook her dark head, looking puzzled. "Closemouth bastards. Why?"
The mark on my left shoulder pulsed slightly, responding to the thought of Japhrimel. The almost-constant pulses of Power had settled into a rhythm, one I welcomed despite the way they made my skin crawl. I drew on this mark, I could do it again. Will that tell Japhrimel where I am? "Ineed to get some more answers about demons. And Fallen. And hedaira."
Her jaw dropped. "You mean you-"
If one more person said You mean you don't know? I was going to scream. I knew enough, I just had to figure out how to make it work for me.
I headed for the stairs behind the Employees Only door.
"I'm going out the back. Spread the word, Abra. Whoever hit Gabe and Eddie is dead, they just don't know it yet." Lucas fell into step behind me.
"Valentine?" Leander sounded uncertain.
He's human, and he could have died back there facing down a hellhound. I'm too dangerous to hang out with, even for combat-trained psions. This is going to get real interesting really quickly.
"Go home, Leander. Forget all about this." I ducked through the door, my boots moving soundlessly. "We're even."
"Valentine-Valentine! Dante!"
But I shut the door and threw the deadbolt, sure Abra would have a key and just as sure she wouldn't give it to him right away. She was never one to give anything, and Leander couldn't effectively threaten her. If he decided to go out the front door she'd delay him for a few minutes, long enough for Lucas and me to vanish.
Lucas matched me step for step. We made it up the stairs, he pushed in front of me and led me up the ladder to the attic in the top hall; we pulled it up after ourselves, hinges squeaking. "Which one we gonna do first?" he finally asked as I fitted the attic hatch back into its seating. He fiddled with the trapdoor leading to the roof.
"The werecain. He's the bigger mystery. We'll get him roped up and then you can chat with our other set of eyes. Meet me tomorrow at the corner of Trivisidiro and Fourth, at dusk. Have I thanked you lately, Lucas?"
"No need, your boyfriend fuckin' paid me." Now he sounded irritated. I shrugged, though he probably couldn't see it in the darkness of Abra's stuffy, dusty attic. Her house shields vibrated uneasily, then pulled back a little so we could slip out the back door. I wondered again just what she was, and felt shame rise behind my breastbone. Had I really half-strangled her against the wall?
Just like Lucifer. Just like a demon.
The thought spilled cold down my back. When you hunt monsters, you have to be a monster-but not too much of one.
Bounty hunting taught me as much.
How close to the edge of monster was I? "What did Japhrimel pay you, Lucas?"
"Enough that I'm going to see this through." Cold air sparkled through the trapdoor as he eased it open. "You comin', Valentine?"
I shoved my sword into the loop on my rig. "You better believe it."
We dropped on the werecain two alleys away. Literally dropped, I went over the edge of the roof soundlessly and landed cat-light, my main knives reversed along my forearms. Lucas actually landed on the 'cain, destroying the advantage of surprise, but the eight-foot-tall bundle of muscle and fur was so busy with him it gave me time to streak up through piles of stinking human refuse.
I willed myself to ignore the thunderous odor as I slashed at the 'cain's hamstrings. The alley was too narrow for swordwork and I didn't want to make the noise of plas or projectile guns. Flesh gave like water under my blade and my rings ran with golden sparks. The 'cain would have howled, but I leapt and dragged it back, my slim arm over its throat, strangling its protest. Hot copper stink of blood, the blade of my left-hand knife singing against my forearm, my right-hand blade pricking just under the 'cain's floating ribs on the left. I could work the knife in here and go for a kidney, if my knowledge of werecain anatomy was sound. It was in full huntform, and not that different from a human if you knew where to jab.
The amber rectangle on my right-hand second-finger ring sparked as I yanked on Power, deftly snapping invisible weights tight around the werecain's wrists and ankles. It would cost me-but better to be safe than sorry where an eight-foot bundle of lethal muscle and claw is concerned.
Besides, all the Power I would ever need sang through the demon mark on my shoulder. I didn't precisely want to use it-gods alone knew what the price would be-but if it came down to it, any tool at hand was all right by me. I'd deal with consequences later.
If there was a later.
In short order, Lucas had the 'cain trussed-up with a length of discarded plasilica fiberoptic grubbed up from the floor of the trash-strewn alley. I'd almost suspect you've done this before, Lucas, the lunatic voice of hilarity in the middle of an impossible situation caroled through my brain.
The Deathless vanished into the shadows at the alley's entrance, going to take care of the other pair of eyes. I promptly put both problems out of my mind.
I kept my arm across the cain's throat
as it pitched and struggled, trying to throw me off. The advantage of almost-demon strength was a thin one-I was breathing hard by the time I got him wrestled to the ground, my knees braced against cold wet concrete that smelled like… well, garbage.
Mercifully, my nose shut off. Something about 'cain scent, it overloads nasal receptors in everyone other than swanhild and another werecain after a while. Given how most of them reek, it's a goddamn blessing. "Cooperate with me," I snarled in his ear, "or I'll use psi on you. I mean I t."
The eight-foot hulk writhed one last time under me and went still. Harsh breathing echoed in my ears, I heard a low growl and choked up on its throat again.
Werecain don't like psions. As a species, they're generally vulnerable to psychic attack. Nichtvren and preParanormal-Species-Act Magi used that vulnerability against them too many times. The big advantage werecain had was their longer lifespan-when human psions get old and weak 'cain can struggle free of psychic enslavement and make life difficult. They are also-mostly-pack animals. A pack of werecain can even take on solitary Master Nichtvren and give them a hard time. Enough 'cain in a pack spells bad luck even for a preternaturally powerful suckhead.
"Your choice." Fur rasped against my shirt and my chin. "Either you play nice or I'll clean the inside of your head out like a transport toilet flush. Just try me."
The 'cain snarled, struggled… and subsided.
I eased up a little on its throat. "Who you looking for, huh? Who you waiting for out here?"
"Necromance," he growled. Definitely male. I could have told by the genital ruff, but the light wasn't good enough to be staring at a werecain's crotch. Never mind that I could use demon sight, right now I was too busy making sure Wolf Boy didn't heave me off and snap his bonds, or shift shape and slither free. They tend to be pretty big as humans, six-four to six-eight; shifting to a smaller human form would let him get his hands out of the bonds. I was only an inch or so taller than I had been while human, topping out at five-six, I needed leverage to deal with him no matter which form he was in. A 'cain in human form can still shift a hand into claws and strike before you realize what's up. "Long dark hair, pretty tan. Smell like a goddamn bakery in heat. You."
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