by Gini Koch
“Got it.” Monty signed off.
“Traces?” Jack asked.
“Yes.” Martin was back to examining the body.
“Traces of what?” Jack wasn’t going to let this one go.
“Traces of Hell,” Martin said absently. His eyes narrowed. “But…interesting.” He motioned the other angels over. “Thoughts?”
The four angels went into a huddle. Angels have the strongest psychic abilities, so I knew they were talking in their minds only. Which was fine with me. I wasn’t nearly as interested in this as Jack was. For him it was all new. For me it was routine. Scary routine, but still, routine.
“Why wouldn’t Ken be able to spot what you did and Martin has?” Jack asked me quietly.
“He was reading their souls, looking for those who wouldn’t become minions and who’d be able to adapt to the undead lifestyle. Every one of the bodies, dead or alive, reeked at the scene. But our senses of smell were numbed from fighting Slimy, the Ancient Icky One. The problem I have with our living victims here in the hospital is that they still smell like they just came out of Slimy’s tummy, with some extra added stink that wasn’t there in the alley. They’ve been cleaned, worked on, given fluids, everything. They should smell of antiseptic, if nothing else. And they don’t.”
“No,” Martin agreed, coming out of the holy huddle. “They smell of the Prince. But….”
“But?” I hated it when one of the big guys did that whole drag it out thing. It always boded, and never well.
“But I don’t think the Prince is in them,” Martin said. “I’m not convinced he ever was.”
“So, no exorcism?” Not a disappointment. I wanted to go to bed and exorcisms tended to be long and showy, though supposedly Martin could do it fast if he had to. He just didn’t like to, and you didn’t argue with an angel in his position unless you really felt you had to. And I currently didn’t feel I’d be able to work up the energy necessary to get him to go for an Exorcism Lite.
Martin sighed. “No, we have to exorcise, just in case. But the odds are it’s a waste of time.”
“Why go to the trouble?” Jack asked. “I mean, what’s the point? You can’t be the only exorcist.”
“I’m not,” Martin agreed. “And while it would be a good guess that Victoria would call me in on this, I find it hard to come up with a reason for why.”
“Diversion.” Everyone looked at me. Interesting. I wasn’t used to angels looking surprised. “What? We had five trails that led on a wild ghoul chase that all ended at the same spot in the cemetery. We have six people who we have to exorcise, just in case. Potentially an entire cemetery to cleanse, just to be safe. And while we’re dealing with all of this, one person’s wandering free, dealing in his own way.”
“You think the Prince is in Tomio?” Jack asked.
“No idea. But he’s the one who sauntered out of here without a real problem.”
Martin gave a start. “I missed that before. That’s right, one was here.” He nodded to the three escort angels and they sauntered out of the room. “They’re looking for evidence.”
“Evidence of what?” Jack asked.
Martin opened his mouth, but I answered faster. “Proof that Tomio visited each of the other victims before he left the hospital. Evidence that he planted the Prince’s trace in them. Or proof that he didn’t.”
Martin closed his mouth and beamed at me. “You really are an excellent agent, Victoria. And, yes, that’s exactly what they’re looking for.”
“Black Angel One is watching Tomio,” Jack protested. “Wouldn’t they be able to, I don’t know, tell if he was really the Prince?”
A thought slunk up and nuzzled the back of my mind. “Yeah, but not if what Amanda honed in on wasn’t actually the real Tomio.”
Martin looked at me. “Oh dear.”
“Oh dear?” Jack looked back and forth between me and Martin. “Oh dear what?”
I figured I’d beat Martin to this one, too. “Oh dear, we have a doppelgänger on the loose.”
Chapter 18
We all looked at each other. Martin and I exchanged the “we’re so screwed” look. Jack just looked confused. “So, Tomio has a twin?”
Martin shook his head. “A doppelgänger isn’t a twin. It’s a facsimile.”
“Always evil,” I added. “They’re also called a fetch. As in, they fetch whatever their master wants, which is usually the soul of the person being duplicated.”
“But why would the Prince need to fetch Tomio’s soul?” Jack asked. “I mean, the guy’s a drug dealer. If there’s anyone who’s probably already sold his soul to the first bidder, it’d be him.”
“Maybe,” Martin said mildly. “But men can do much evil before they lose their souls. Many do evil in Yahweh’s name, or the name of another god. And yet, they still remain on our side of the great battle.”
I let this one run in my mind. “So, let’s say Tomio was like everyone else in that alley -- either a cop or a petty criminal. I mean, it’s not like someone dealing in an Old Downtown alley is exactly livin’ the dream.”
Jack nodded. “Too true. I ran his file while you were in the hospital -- typical dealer. Rap sheet longer than your tail but nothing anyone outside of the Vice Squad would be interested in.”
“You’re adapting to this so well.” I tried to keep the sarcasm at bay, but didn’t succeed if Jack’s grin was an indication. “Okay, so let’s assume he still had his soul. Why would he be the one picked?”
“Perhaps his was the strongest soul,” Martin offered.
“Maybe he was the easiest mark,” Jack countered.
I thought about this. Not like a cop, not like an Enforcer. Not even like an undead. I thought about it like a woman. Slimy or the Prince or whatever had made this decision had specific types to pick from -- cops, hookers, bums, junkies, and one dealer. None of these would automatically be considered a pure soul.
“In my experience,” I said slowly, “strength of soul is something you can never judge from outward appearances.”
Martin nodded, reached out, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I could see that Jack noted this, but happily he didn’t ask about it. “Yes, Victoria, you’re correct. What are you thinking?”
It was a polite thing angels did -- they could read your mind if they were close enough to you physically, but they didn’t unless they felt they had to, for your protection or the protection of others. So, even though he could just take a look-see, Martin didn’t. If you wanted to meet the epitome of self-control, you wanted to meet an angel. Yet another reason everyone loved them.
“Well, I’m thinking that we can’t bet either way that Tomio was either the strongest or the weakest soul. In fact, I’d guess he wasn’t better or worse than at least half of the victims. So the question is, why him, over anyone else?”
“He was healthier?” Martin didn’t sound like he thought this was a good guess.
“Better wardrobe?” Jack didn’t sound like he was trying.
I thought about the types of people in the alley. It was a good bet they knew each other. The cops probably knew them, they were street cops working that section of town on the Night Beat. They knew all their denizens. So, why Anthony Tomio as the doppelgänger of choice, over anyone else?
“What does Tomio have that none of the others have?” I asked.
“More money?” Jack shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like any dealer doesn’t probably make more than the police.”
“And poor hookers don’t exactly meet the better johns.” I thought about Sexy Cindy’s comment -- that she’d get to go to school where the rich johns lived. It was a safe bet neither she nor Freddy had ever been there before. A good bet no one in that alley had ever been uptown, other than the junkies, possibly, before they went into full addiction.
I thought about what I’d seen of Tomio. He was mixed race, normal looking, one of those people who could blend in easily as long as he was wearing the right clothes. Unlike the others, he di
dn’t look like anything much good or bad. He looked average.
It clicked. “He was two things the others weren’t.”
“And that would be?” Jack sounded impatient. He wasn’t normally impatient. I took a close look. He looked as tired as I felt. I forgave the snap.
“He’s the one who was the most normal, so the most likely to be able to go anywhere and blend in, and he’s also the one who has the biggest network of people he knows or know of him.”
“How is a drug dealer normal? And what would his network of drug addicts matter? Couldn’t evil find them without a problem?”
Martin nodded slowly. “That makes sense, Victoria.”
I could tell Jack wasn’t convinced, angelic approval or no. “Cops radiate authority, no matter how they’re dressed or where they are. Hookers radiate whatever it is hookers radiate, and the cheaper ones pretty much stand out the moment they leave the crap parts of town. Bums and junkies, same thing, and people see them and radiate away from them. In fact, people tend to try to get away from all four types unless they’re a john looking for a quickie, and that doesn’t make up the majority of the population.”
Realization dawned on Jack’s face. “But people search a dealer out. And if you don’t know he’s a dealer or a criminal, if he’s just walking down the street, he looks like a regular guy, no one to avoid.”
“And dealers don’t always work just one part of town. For all we know, last night was just Tomio’s day to do his Old Downtown route. And dealers have a large network of people they deal through and with, let alone meet. After all, you can’t sell the drugs unless you have a buyer, and the more buyers the better.”
“Tomio’s file indicated he wasn’t a user,” Jack added.
“So, not as close to the Prince.” Martin looked thoughtful. “That also makes sense.”
“How so?”
“If, as you suggested, this is all being done to distract us and allow Mister Tomio’s doppelgänger free run in Prosaic City and Necropolis both, choosing a vessel none of us would have had our eyes on makes sense.”
“True that.” I thought some more. “There were five trails, six victims who are supposed to recover, and three bums, two hookers, and two junkies who didn’t make it and also didn’t make the leap over to the undead world.”
“That’s eighteen,” Martin said. He sounded worried. Because he was a wise being.
Jack looked at Martin’s expression then back to me. “Am I guessing right? You both think there are eighteen doppelgängers out there, wandering around?”
I nodded as I activated my wrist-com. “Count?”
“Agent Wolfe. We’re not using standard procedure why?”
“Because you know who it is and I don’t have time for my call letters. I need two things. First, an All Being Alert -- we have, potentially, nineteen Anthony Tomio’s wandering around, and all of them need to be apprehended with extreme prejudice and more care.”
The Count sighed. “May I run this by H.P. and Edgar before I panic the entire community?”
Martin leaned in. “I’m sorry, Vladimir, but no.”
“Ah, Martin, didn’t realize you were still with Agent Wolfe. Your will and all that. What was the other issue, Agent Wolfe?”
“I need H.P. and the newest recruits assigned to me as soon as possible. I’d like to keep Edgar along as well.”
“May I ask why?”
“H.P. and Edgar because of what we’re dealing with. Freddy and Sexy Cindy because they were in the alley, in Slimy’s stomach, and around for the entire ordeal, and yet they were clean enough to be changed. Either Ken’s lost it, which I doubt, or the two strongest souls in that alley are now on our side. I want them with me so I can use them to spot the Prince or his minions or whatever it is that’s wandering around my cities right now.”
“Not to sound argumentative, but why do you think they’ll be able to help?”
I sighed. I hated having to give this answer, but it was the truth. “I just feel that they will be.”
“Ah, fine. Never let us argue with werewolf instincts or feminine intuition. I’d like to suggest you and Detective Wagner get some sleep first, however.”
“No argument. Have them ready to go at dusk. Call if you need us sooner.”
I switched off the wrist-com to see Jack gaping at me. “You want the bum and the hooker? Sorry, the new zombie and succubus? And you also think we have time to nap?”
“Just because all Hell’s trying to break loose doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself.”
“Words to live by,” Jack muttered.
“Well, let’s hope.”
Chapter 19
We waited until Martin’s angelic escorts returned and confirmed that, sure enough, Tomio had wandered in to see how the others were doing. He’d been allowed to, without much fuss. Martin called in some additional angels for support and Jack and I left them to do their exorcisms.
“Can’t be standard operating procedure for the hospital to let Tomio go in to visit every room,” Jack said as we headed back to the car.
“Be happy he only visited the six who were involved. But, yeah, I’m sure he used influence.”
“I’m betting you don’t mean that word the way I’d think.”
“Right. Influence in this sense would be like, oh, similar to what Ken used on you to keep you from realizing what was going on at the start of all this excitement. Only, the Prince and his minions use it differently. It’s just a nudge, usually.”
“A nudge to do what?”
“To do what they want.”
“Didn’t Ken make me do what he wanted?”
“Yes, but it took more effort than influence.” I tried to think about how to explain it. “It’s like…you’re the nurse on the floor. A patient comes out of his room. He’s recovered, he’s nice and friendly, he seems genuinely concerned about these other patients. He wants to see them to reassure himself they’re going to be okay, give them the old encouraging words, and so on. The nurse knows she isn’t supposed to let him. Influence shoves just a little bit, so the nurse says, sure, okay, go ahead, what can it hurt? In her mind, she never felt the influence and she’s made the decision herself.”
“Okay.” Jack was quiet while we got in and he started the car up. “But, couldn’t vampires do that, too? I mean, isn’t that really what Ken did with me?”
“Well, let’s think about that. We were in the middle of a danger situation. Would a gentle nudge have worked? How much shoving would someone have had to do in order to convince you that you didn’t want to get involved?”
“Where are we headed? And, yeah, okay, a lot. So influence is used when it can be more, what, subtle?”
“Yeah, that’s a good word for it.” I thought about it. Well, no time like the present. “Um, your place or mine?”
Jack grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.” He shrugged. “Where will you feel the most comfortable?”
I thanked the Gods and Monsters for the seatbelt. He made me want to roll and whine without even trying. I really hoped this wasn’t going to end disastrously. “Well, my place has the convenience of an easy slide in and out of Necropolis.”
“Let’s go there, then. By the way, Ken warned me about sliding, but it wasn’t hard at all. But I can’t see Necropolis now, even though I’ve been trying to.”
“Be thankful. It’s hard to see both at once. I tend to focus on wherever I’m really supposed to be at any given time, it’s easier.”
“But if you wanted to, you could see Necropolis now?”
“Yeah.” I knew what request was coming.
“Where are we, in Necropolis?”
Happily, by now we were near my apartment. “We’re in Enforcement Housing. Dammit!” I slammed my eyes shut.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We just drove through a phalanx of beings. But not really.”
“Huh? There’s no one here.”
“In Prosaic City, it’s still e
arly morning and only the trash guys are out, yes. In Necropolis, the Day Shifters are coming on duty. There are tons of beings out and about.”
“Did we hurt anyone?” He sounded tense. I could understand -- it was hard to comprehend.
“No. Two different planes of existence, intersecting here. On our side of things, we choose to see the human side as, oh, holographic images, I guess. Almost as moving background. Undeads are used to living in more than one plane. The unborn -- those born as an undead of some kind -- they have no learning curve. They see all the planes their species can with ease and without issue. Those of us who become undead, well, it’s a little harder, but you adjust fast.”
“What about humans?” He pulled into my underground parking garage. Conveniently, we had visitor parking underground, too. I lived in a good building, one of the perks of an Enforcement job.
“It’s very hard for humans. Makes most of them go crazy.”
Jack was quiet as he found a parking place. “Artists, human artists. Do they see the other planes?”
And yet another reason I panted after this guy -- he was smart and intuitive. “Yes, most of them. Some don’t realize it, some think they dream it, some know, and that knowledge puts them over the edge.”
“All artists?”
“Most. All the creative types, yeah. Their gift and their curse, I suppose.”
“Why don’t the undeads help them?”
We got out and headed up into my building. Because we were talking about it, my ability to focus on one plane or the other wasn’t functioning well. Fortunately for me, I’d been purposely housed in this location because it was one of the few areas where Prosaic City’s layout coincided with Necropolis’. High-rise apartment in Prosaic City on top of and next to high-rise Necropolis Enforcement Housing. I wasn’t the only undercover agent, and all of us housed here.
I was on the top floor of the Prosaic City building. As we rode the elevator -- and I watched a group of banshees and succubae flying up the side of the other building on their ways home -- I answered Jack’s question. “It’s cruel to let someone sit in a sort of madness, yes. At least, in a way. But it’s crueler to take away their gift, the thing that sparks their creativity. It’s like killing them but leaving them alive, and not in the undead way of being alive.”