by Angela Henry
“I swear I’m telling you the truth,” said Granger, nervously licking his lips. “I don’t know anything about any zombie drug. All I did was buy a social security number from someone who said this Buchard guy really needed the money. I knew I’d never get into the agency with my record. Becoming a mage is all I’ve ever really wanted. You’ve got to believe me, Agent West!” His voice was ragged and he sounded close to tears. And quite frankly, thought Desi, eyeing him impassively, he had a lot to cry about.
“You’ve been lying to us for over a year,” said Desi wearily. “Give me one reason why I’m supposed to believe you now.”
“If I’m not here at work, I’m in training. You can check with my supervisor and all my instructors. I barely have time to sleep, let alone get involved in whatever it is you’re accusing me of. I know I shouldn’t have lied, but that’s all I’m guilty of.”
“Oh, I’d say identity theft is a lot more serious than simply lying, and according to your rap sheet, you’re capable of quite a bit more than lying.” Desi scanned the sheet of paper on the table in front of her and saw that Granger had done a stint in juvie for breaking and entering that turned into assault with a deadly weapon. He’d almost killed a man.
The Equinox Agency hardly required its agents to be squeaky-clean. However, lying on an application using a false identity wasn’t something they were going to overlook. At the very least, they’d wipe Granger’s memory and send him on his way. But if they determined that he was involved in any way with this new drug, Desi didn’t want to think about what they’d do to him. There were rumors that the EA had its own secret supermax prison that housed some of the supernatural world’s most dangerous criminals. Desi didn’t know if it were true and didn’t want to know. As far as she was concerned, that knowledge was above her pay grade.
“I already told you I didn’t steal that social security number. I bought it fair and square just to use on my agency application. Just so my background check would come back clean.”
“And it’s your word against the word of a man who’s probably so far gone we’ll probably never be able to get his side of the story. Can you even begin to understand how much trouble you’re in?”
He didn’t bother answering her. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and groaned. Desi watched him closely. He certainly didn’t have the smug arrogance that most of the people she’d interrogated had. His fear was genuine—that much she could tell. Truth be told, she’d developed a soft spot for the young man and had high hopes that he’d become an asset to the agency. And he looked so innocent, like an overgrown twelve-year-old with freckles and unruly blond hair badly in need of a cut. Now she felt like a fool. But it wasn’t the first time she’d been wrong about someone she’d trusted. And if Granger were innocent, he’d have to give her a hell of a lot more proof than he’d had thus far.
“Okay.” She messaged her temples. “Let’s just say I believe you. I don’t,” she added quickly when she saw the hope flicker in his eyes. “But let’s just say I did. How did you meet Victor Buchard?”
“I met him through a broker.”
“A broker? What the hell kind of broker?”
“An information broker. You know, someone who can get you whatever kind of information you need.”
“So you contacted this broker and told him you needed a clean social security number?”
“Yeah, and he played middleman. I never even actually met Vic Buchard in person. Like I told you, the broker said the guy was desperate for cash.”
“Any idea why he was so desperate?”
“He never told me and I never asked. I gave him five grand and it was a done deal. I never saw him again. I swear. You gotta believe me!”
“No,” said Desi, getting up from the table. “What I’ve got to do is get to the bottom of this mess. Here.” She slid a piece of paper and a pen across the table to him. “I want the name and contact info for this broker. And you’d better pray everything you told me checks out.” When he’d finished writing, she grabbed the pen and paper and headed toward the door. Her hand was on the doorknob when he stopped her.
“The only thing I lied about was my identity, Agent West. My dedication to my job and my training and my feelings for everyone here at the agency isn’t a lie.”
“I wish I could believe you.” She left the room without bothering to turn around. When Desi stepped outside the interrogation room, her heart sank when she found herself face-to-face with Rena Kale. Dealing with this woman was the last thing she needed on top of everything else.
“What is this I’m hearing about a drug made from zombified brain matter, Agent West? And why did I have to hear it thirdhand from a lab tech instead of you?”
Kale wore a red silk dress, indicating that she must have been out on the town. Her glossy black hair hung to her shoulders. Someone in Morel’s lab must have called her and told her about what they’d discovered, meaning Morel had a snitch on his staff and there would be hell to pay when he found out who it was. Desi wondered how many other EA staff members in other departments were feeding information directly to Rena Kale and what was in it for them.
“You’re the psychic. You tell me.” She knew she was way out of line and didn’t give a damn. She had more important matters to attend to and couldn’t waste time on a verbal pissing match with this arrogant bitch.
“Watch your step, West,” said Kale, her mouth a tight angry line. She took a step toward Desi and leaned down so close to her face that Desi could smell her cloying perfume, as well as the alcohol and stale cigarettes on her breath. “Or I see a demotion in your immediate future.”
“Is there a problem, agents?”
Both women turned to see the EA’s director and chief, Remy Sonnier. Sonnier was six feet six inches and an imposing figure, even dressed down as he was now in jeans and a button-down shirt. He used to be a linebacker for the Saints until a blown-out knee ended his career after one season. He was also a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, New Orleans’ famous voodoo priestess, and had known about the nonhuman world all of his life. Sonnier left a promising career with the FBI to join the Equinox Agency twenty years ago after a werewolf killed his partner. There were rumors that early in her career, Kale and Sonnier had been lovers. Desi wasn’t sure she believed it, mainly because she thought Sonnier had much better taste and judgment. As for Kale, she’d probably hump an ogre if she thought it would give her career a leg up.
“Chief?” said Kale, her face flushing contritely. She quickly straightened and took a step back from Desi. “Agent West was just giving me a briefing on . . .”
“Morel has already briefed me on the situation, Agent Kale,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her from saying anymore. He turned his attention to Desi. “And on top of all that, I understand we have an imposter at the agency?”
Desi quickly filled him in, and his face remained impassive the entire time, making her unsure of how he truly felt. But if she had to guess, she knew he was probably furious that such a breach had occurred on his watch. Sonnier ran a tight ship, and anyone who couldn’t pull their weight didn’t last very long.
“Any idea if he’s connected to this so-called zombie drug?” asked Sonnier.
“That’s what I was on my way to find out when Agent Kale stopped me, sir.” Desi cut Kale a look.
“Then I’m glad I caught you before you left. I’ve got something else I need for you to take care of.”
“Sir, what about me?” asked Kale, looking from Desi to the chief. “No need to load down Agent West when I’m here. What is it you need me to do?” Kale sounded like a first grader trying to impress the teacher. Damned brownnoser.
“Agent Kale, why don’t you spend some time with our imposter and try to get a read on him? I’d love to know what your impressions are.” We all knew it was busywork. But to her credit, Kale didn’t argue. She merely nodded and headed into the interrogation room without a word.
“What do you need, chief?” asked Desi.
“Once I found out from Morel what was going on, I made calls to our contacts at all the local precincts and asked them to keep an eye out for anything strange. I got a call almost immediately about a suspect found in the Garden District mansion of a bigwig named Alastair Duquesne, with two savaged bodies, blood all over his clothes, and these.” Sonnier handed Desi a square, sterling pillbox with the initials AED monogrammed in fancy block lettering on the lid.
Desi took the pillbox and opened it. Inside, she found a half dozen bright red gel caps. She held one up to the dim florescent hall lighting and could see something pulse inside.
“Where’s this guy now?”
“In a holding cell waiting to be questioned.”
“How’d you manage that? Hadn’t he been charged with murder?” Desi knew the EA had secret agreements with most of the law enforcement agencies in the country when it came to weird shit they couldn’t understand and didn’t want to deal with. But getting a suspected murderer released from custody was a feat she hadn’t realized even the EA was capable of.
“No need for you to worry about that, West,” which was a polite way of saying, none of her damned business. “Just get down to the holding cell and get this guy’s story. We need to know just what the hell we’re really dealing with. And I want a full report first thing in the morning before you do anything else. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” Desi watched her boss walk away and realized she was in for a very long night.
NINE
I woke with a monster headache and a nasty taste in my mouth. I sat up and the room tilted, making me sit back down hard. Once my dizziness subsided, I finally looked around and realized I was in a narrow, windowless jail cell with concrete walls. I was sitting on a hard, thin mattress on a metal bed with springs that creaked when I moved and stank like a million pairs of sweaty feet. Whoever had thrown me in this stink hole had also relieved me of my clothes, leaving me in my boxers and socks. I spied a blue jumpsuit hanging from a hook on the wall almost identical to the green one I’d taken off mere hours ago and a pair of white slip-on tennis shoes sitting on the only chair, which had been bolted to the floor, just like the bed. Where in the hell was I? Feeling cold and exposed, I quickly put on the jumpsuit and shoes. A quick peek out the small window of the door to my cell revealed a grim-faced, uniformed guard with a puffy lip—indicating he must have been the one I’d coldcocked—and flat, dead eyes, standing guard in a brightly lit hallway.
“Hey, buddy, mind telling me where I am?” The guard just stared unblinking and didn’t say a word. “Okay, how about telling me where my clothes are?” The guard still didn’t make a sound. Just kept staring straight ahead, like he was in a trance. “Can’t say I blame you. I guess your mouth hurts, huh? It wasn’t personal. I just hate getting felt up without my permission. Bet it was good for you, though, wasn’t it?” This time the guard gave my cell door a savage kick, causing me to jump back.
I baited him some more, hoping maybe he’d unlock my cell and come after me so I could maybe get the keys that were dangling from the hoop on his belt. No such luck. He went back to his statue act and ignored me completely. So I stretched out on the bed, stared at the ceiling, counted the cobwebs in the corners, and tried to figure out my next move. I wondered if I’d get a phone call, and if I did, who could I call? Minx was still in Spain and wasn’t due back until Sunday. If she even bothered coming home right away. Once she stayed away after a shoot for an entire month because she was in heat and holed up in a luxury resort in Maui with a surfer. The only other people I knew in New Orleans were clients; and the few other people I might be able to call, like Father Sims, I wouldn’t dare involve in the mess I’d gotten myself into. Any other time, keeping my circle small and tight was a good thing. It kept me safe. And I always knew who I could trust. But I’d just found out the hard way that it also had its drawbacks, like now, for instance.
Twenty minutes later, I heard a key being turned in my cell-door lock and pulled myself up on my elbows. I expected to see the stone-faced guard. Instead, it was the lovely Desiree West silhouetted in the doorway of my cell. And she didn’t look happy. Just looking at her made my heart feel like it was being squeezed by a vise. But then I thought about what Leticia Moody had told me. She said that in saving Ava Duval, I’d somehow changed something and now Ava was no longer the woman I once knew and loved. She’d also told me it wasn’t my fault. I’d been set up. I still didn’t know if I believed her. But one thing was for sure. Ava Duval was gone forever. But that still didn’t solve the mystery of just who Desiree West was.
“It seems we meet again, Mr. Knight.” She walked over and sat down in the chair and fixed me with an unreadable look.
“So it would seem. I can understand if you missed me, but you could have just called.”
“Let’s not play games. You’re in a shitload of trouble, but since you don’t look as stupid as you’re acting, I’m guessing you know that already.”
“What I know is that in the last six hours, I’ve managed to become a suspect in two murders and landed myself in two different jails. So, yeah, I know I’m fucked. But what I don’t know is who the hell you really are, ’cause I know you’re not with the New Orleans Police Department, and why you’re covering up the murder of Anton DePreist.”
“So, you’re finally admitting you knew Anton DePreist?”
“Look, lady or agent or whatever you’re calling yourself, I’m more than happy to help you out, but what’s in it for me? Because I got to tell you, this is no way to treat someone whose help you need. And believe me, I’ve got info you’re going to want.”
“You’re hardly in a position to be making demands, Mr. Knight. But I might be willing to consider making a deal with you if you can tell me what you know about these.” She pulled the monogram pillbox that I’d swiped from Duquesne’s house out of her blazer pocket and opened it. The red gel caps inside practically glowed in the dim lighting of the cell.
That’s what this was all about. Whoever West worked for knew about NeCro, which meant they also knew what it was made of and that if it was distributed to the masses, it would be unstoppable. No wonder they’d covered up DePreist’s murder. They couldn’t let that kind of information hit the news. And if they were capable of working protection spells, what else were they capable of? I needed to watch my step. Who knew what they’d do to me once they got what they wanted from me? Would they make me disappear without a trace, like DePreist’s remains? Maybe it was because she had Ava’s face, but I really wanted to trust her. But that face had gotten me into enough trouble already. Life-changing trouble. The kind of trouble you don’t easily recover from.
“I’m not saying a word until you guarantee me I won’t be rearrested and charged with murder by the New Orleans Police Department when I walk out of here. And don’t tell me you don’t have the power to do that when you managed to get me sprung in the first place.” She looked at me like I was crazy, and maybe I was; then she laughed.
“And who says you’re walking out of here? No one even knows you’re here. We can hold you forever.”
“Yeah, you could. But you and I both know a lot of people will die if what’s in that pillbox gets out. So stop playing coy. It doesn’t suit you, and you’re wasting my time and yours.”
She gave me a hard, angry stare that told me she wasn’t used to being spoken to that way, especially by a suspected murderer. Well, there was a first time for everything.
“Fine,” she said in exasperation. She snapped the lid of the pillbox shut and shoved it back in her pocket. “You have my word that if you help us, you will not be rearrested and charged with murder.”
Good,” I said, sitting up. “And I’ll tell you everything I know but not here. You could promise me the moon, sweetheart, and still screw me over once you get what you want. If you want what I’ve got, then you’re going to have to put a ring on it.”
“What?” She stood up, looking confused and annoyed.
“It
means, I want out of this shithole first, or I’m not telling you jack.”
“Not possible.”
“Then I guess you can just sit there and listen to me fart and watch me scratch my balls.” I laid back and put my hands behind my head. After a few minutes, I heard her sigh heavily.
“Fine.” She headed toward the cell door. “But this might take a little time.”
“Hey. I got all the time in the world. But you don’t. So don’t keep me waiting too long.”
She tossed me a pissy look, then pounded on the door for the guard to let her out. Once she’d gone, I worried that I’d blown it. And suddenly the cell seemed that much smaller. Forty-five minutes passed before she finally came back carrying a large brown paper bag.
“What’s that?” I nodded toward the bag in her hand.
“Just shut up and put it on,” she said, tossing me the bag.
I opened it and pulled out a pair of jeans, a sleeveless, gray hoodie, and a grass-stained pair of white Nikes. All of the clothes reeked of cigarette smoke and something else foul I couldn’t place.
“What the hell?”
“It’s hardly an Armani suit, but it’s the best I could do. The clothes you were wearing when you were brought in are in evidence. I hope these fit.”
“Do I even want to know whose clothes these used to be?”
“No. You don’t. And for someone who was so hot to get out of here, you sure like to run your mouth.”
I quickly pulled on the jeans and hoodie. They were a size smaller than I usually wore and probably made me look like an aging boy bander, but they fit. The shoes were another matter. Way too tight. After I convinced her that I’d be no use to her if my feet were hurting, she reluctantly left and came back fifteen minutes later with a pair of black Timberland boots that fit perfectly.