Gameboard of the Gods aox-1

by Richelle Mead

  “Done,” said Francis firmly. “I’ll make it happen.” He held out his hand to Justin. With only a breath of hesitation, Justin shook the offered hand.

  Cornelia updated her file to reflect the new concessions and then had Justin sign the screen. Along with all the perks, there was a fair amount of legalese in the employment agreement that probably detailed imprisonment or a return to exile at their discretion. He signed anyway and had to fight to keep his hand from shaking.

  He was going home. How had this happened? How could a night that started with a garish Panamanian woman throwing wine on his shirt end with his returning to his homeland in glory?

  Don’t get carried away, said Horatio. You aren’t there yet.

  And don’t forget everything else that happened tonight, said Magnus, almost sounding offended.

  Justin lifted his eyes to Mae. No, he certainly hadn’t forgotten about that part.

  Although Cornelia wasn’t a fan of accommodating Justin or even taking him back, she seemed more at ease once the paperwork was in order. After all, she was now his boss again, which meant she could exert a little more control and feel entitled to her condescension. Francis was elated and appeared to be on the verge of starting the Justin March Fan Club.

  Mae remained the enigma here. She was still doing a good job of keeping her expression neutral, which wasn’t surprising from someone who’d gone through a castal upbringing and prætorian training. It was her body language that gave her away, especially when Cornelia jumped to the next order of business: revealing what the burning reason behind Justin’s return was. Mae leaned forward to look at the screen, anticipation crackling through her.

  She doesn’t know why she’s here, he thought. She doesn’t know why I’m here. It’s possible what happened earlier was a complete coincidence and not part of any larger machination. Maybe.

  “So. Now that all that unpleasantness is out of the way, you’re probably wondering why we’ve taken you back,” said Cornelia.

  “I figured you thought I’d learned my lesson,” he said cheerfully. Maybe he should’ve been a bit more humble, but his exuberance over this change of fortune was running strong.

  “No,” she said with no humor at all. “I don’t believe that for an instant. Which is part of the reasoning for this unorthodox decision.”

  Justin’s cockiness faded. All was not forgotten and forgiven.

  “Now,” continued Cornelia, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the patrician murders, which have been all over the news.” She paused and then gave a contrived laugh that was supposed to sound embarrassed. “But of course you wouldn’t be. I don’t imagine much Gemman news makes it to Panama, does it?”

  “Depends on if the homing pigeons are up and running,” he replied.

  Cornelia didn’t blink, but in his periphery, he saw a smile play at the edge of Mae’s lips. She caught it quickly, apparently remembering she was angry, and her business mask slipped back into place.

  “Bring up the patrician murder records,” Cornelia ordered the screen.

  The screen came to life, displaying a list of five bolded names. Under each one were four bulleted items: age, caste name, location of death, and date of death. Justin forgot all about Cornelia’s attitude and the strange circumstances of his homecoming. Seeing the list, this set of data, snapped him into a mode he hadn’t been in for a very long time. Immediately, his brain wanted to make sense of the information. There was always a pattern to the world, and even with no other background on this list, he immediately began summarizing it.

  Each person belonged to a different caste: Erinian, Lakota, Nordic, Welsh, and Nipponese. All of them were twenty-seven or twenty-eight and had been killed within the borders of their respective castal land grants. The murder dates extended over the last six months, with the most recent being a few days ago.

  “These have been highly publicized,” said Cornelia. “Despite the wide ethnic spread, the cases share some similarities, leading us to believe they were all committed by the same person. The age similarity, as well as the identical nature of their deaths.”

  “Which was…?”

  “Stabbed through the heart with a silver dagger. During a full moon. Quite brutal.” Cornelia almost, almost sounded like she actually had some emotion behind the words. “The prevailing theory is that it’s a plebeian with antipatrician sentiments.”

  “Obviously,” said Justin. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and never taking his eyes off the screen. A rush of pleasure ran through him at finally having something substantial to use his brainpower on. “A plebeian with remarkable access, since they all happened on land grants.” The castes kept the borders of their lands closed. Federal officials could enter at any time, of course, and other patricians had limited visiting rights. Average plebeians were only allowed entry if they had special permission, such as a friend’s sponsorship or something business related.

  Cornelia gave a nondescript grunt that could have been either impressed or disappointed. “What also makes them remarkable is that they all took place within homes or offices that showed no sign of entry, ones that were even locked from the inside.”

  “Then they were invited in. Or are just cleverer than you think.” Justin spun through the possibilities. “You’re probably looking for a delivery person, a plebeian who’d have reason to visit all of those castes. Someone strong enough to wield a dagger like that. Probably male.”

  “Yes,” said Cornelia. “Police have also come to the same conclusions.”

  Justin finally looked back at her. “Then what exactly does this have to do with me? This is a police matter, and apparently they’ve already figured out what I have—probably not as quickly as me, but still.”

  “What this has to do with you,” said Cornelia, ignoring his self-compliment, “is that forensics has shown the weapon used was made of an antiquated silver mix and had a nonmanufactured blade—an unusual choice that could have many ritualistic and spiritual associations. As could the fact that all of the murders happened during full moons.”

  “And that’s why we’re involved. You think some religious group is responsible.” It wouldn’t be the first time religions had been tied to crimes, forcing servitors to work with local law enforcement. “This is still the kind of work any servitor could do.”

  Wait for it, said Magnus.

  Francis, grinning from ear to ear, finally couldn’t take it anymore. “There’s one more piece of evidence! Something uniquely suited to you and your expertise. No one else is capable.”

  Cornelia frowned at the outburst. “Most of the victims had security cameras inside and out. All of those were cut, so we have no footage of the crimes—with one exception. This last victim, the Erinian, had a secret camera that wasn’t wired into the rest of her security. It seems she didn’t trust her cleaning staff. She thought they were stealing her jewelry.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about this,” said Mae, speaking up for the first time.

  “It’s been kept out of the news,” exclaimed Francis. “It’s too incredible.”

  “Show us the Madigan footage,” Cornelia told the screen.

  A video immediately started. The camera appeared to be mounted into a corner of the ceiling and looked down into a sumptuous bedroom. The dark windows indicated it was nighttime. A red-haired woman stepped into frame and paused to examine herself in a dresser mirror. After a few moments, she took off her shoes and began unfastening her earrings, silver hoops of Celtic knot work. She had just moved on to a similarly stylized bird necklace when a black shadow flashed across the screen, coming from the right. The entire thing took only a few seconds. As the shadow entered, it had no form. It simply looked like a nebulous cloud of smoke, save that no smoke could move that fast. When that dark mass reached the woman, it suddenly took on a human shape. There was the brief motion of an arm pulling back and thrusting toward the woman’s chest. Her mouth opened, and before she even hit the ground, the figure had darted
out of frame.

  Justin was on his feet. “What was that?”

  “That,” said Cornelia, “is exactly what we need you to find out.”

  “Show it again,” he demanded.

  Cornelia played it once more at normal speed and then again slowed down.

  “Again,” said Justin. By then, he’d walked right up to the screen. When he requested a fifth viewing, Cornelia refused.

  “No matter how many times you watch it, it’s not going to change.”

  “It’s a trick,” he said. “It’s been manipulated.”

  “We’ve had our best people examine it,” explained Francis, seeming to love this. “There’s no sign of any modification. The type of camera used would make it difficult to hide it anyway.”

  “Then they obviously weren’t your best.” Justin finally returned to his seat. “Give me a copy of this. I’ve got a guy—or will have him, when I’m back—who’ll find out what happened to it in five minutes.”

  “You may have it examined however you like,” said Cornelia crisply. “And I can assure you, I’d like nothing better than to resolve this fraud.”

  “If it’s a fraud,” said Francis, eyes still shining.

  Mae’s face was full of confusion as she turned to him. “What else would it be?”

  Cornelia carried on as though Mae hadn’t spoken. “While you have the video analyzed as you see fit, you will have the freedom and resources to investigate the murders and hopefully uncover whatever group is responsible for this.”

  “And,” added Francis, a meaningful gleam in his eye, “your expertise in particular may be what breaks this case.”

  And that was when Justin knew. He knew why they wanted him back, and he also knew that Cornelia and Francis had very, very different views on both the case and his involvement. Francis was the one who thought Justin truly had something to offer. Someone at Francis’s level would’ve been allowed to read that last, dangerous report, and something in it had struck him. Word had probably gotten to him as well of the unofficial reports, the things whispered at high levels that Justin had refused to commit to writing, the things that had gotten him sent here.

  They know what you’ve seen, said Magnus.

  I bet you never thought things would pan out like this, mused Horatio.

  No, Justin certainly hadn’t. It also occurred to him that they weren’t explicitly spelling out what part of his “expertise” was of use here. They weren’t enlightening Mae about the secrets he’d unwillingly become enmeshed in, which again made him curious about why she was here.

  “How much will you need to know about my methods?” he asked carefully. He already knew who to talk to and that it was a conversation that should be had off the record.

  Cornelia and Francis exchanged looks in a rare moment of solidarity. “We need this taken care of as soon as possible,” she said. “It’s drawing too much attention, too much panic. And if word gets out that there’s a murderous cult behind this, everything our country was founded on will be on the line.”

  “So,” said Justin, reading the subtext, “the results are more important than the methods.”

  Their silence on the matter answered for them, and Cornelia shifted the topic to logistics, telling him what to expect when they returned to Vancouver. Justin only half listened. Vancouver. I’m going to Vancouver! He would’ve been ecstatic over the RUNA’s humblest town, let alone its dazzling capital.

  “You’re probably not in any significant danger from investigating the cold cases.” Justin couldn’t be certain, but Cornelia almost sounded disappointed about that. “But one can never predict what some of these zealots will do. Since they may be, uh, uncooperative, we feel you should have more security than usual.”

  “After that group tried to set me on fire, I don’t really have a problem with enhanced security,” he told her. “Add as many people as you want.”

  Cornelia shook her head. “I’m sure Prætorian Koskinen will be more than sufficient by herself.”

  “What?” asked Justin and Mae in unison.

  “Didn’t General Gan explain the nature of this mission?” asked Cornelia, sounding legitimately puzzled.

  “No,” said Mae, visibly trying to bury her shock again. “He simply told me to accompany you here.”

  “For which we are very grateful, my dear.” Francis smiled at her as if she were a favorite granddaughter. “And now you’ll be Dr. March’s bodyguard as he travels and completes this assignment.”

  “A bodyguard,” said Mae flatly. “I’m going to be a bodyguard.”

  Boring work for a Valkyrie, said Magnus. If you want her in bed again, piss off someone dangerous so that she has something interesting to do.

  “It may also be useful to have a patrician around,” added Francis. “It might get you a friendly reception if you go to the land grants. You know how they are—no offense.”

  “None taken,” Mae murmured. She still looked stunned, and it seemed legitimate to Justin, reducing the odds that she was here to kill him. “Do you know how long I’ll be assigned to him?”

  Cornelia looked irritated that this meeting was still going on, now that the essentials were covered. “We need this solved in a little less than four weeks.”

  “Why four weeks?” asked Mae.

  “The next full moon,” said Justin. His high came crashing to the ground.

  “He’s so smart,” said Francis, grinning.

  Cornelia rolled her eyes. “Yes. Brilliant.”

  “And what happens if I don’t solve it in four weeks?” Justin asked quietly.

  She fixed him with a cold gaze. “Well. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”

  Justin attempted a smile, but all he could think was that said bridge would probably be on fire, with him stuck in the middle and alligators circling below.

  Mae’s obvious disappointment at this turn of events irritated Justin. She certainly hadn’t seemed that miserable around him in bed. “I’m sure it won’t be that unbearable, prætorian. I’m really not that bad once you get underneath everything.”

  Her eyes looked more blue than green in this lighting, and he saw a flash of anger in them. It reminded him of the passion he’d seen earlier. I wish she wasn’t so hot, he thought wistfully.

  You have to help her, said Magnus. She has gods swarming around her and no way to stop them.

  No, Justin said. Don’t bring up gods anymore. This isn’t the time. Not when we’re on the verge of getting my life back.

  It’s always the time, said Magnus. Besides, what do you think you’re going to be dealing with when you return?

  Mae said nothing to Justin’s comment and directed her attention to the others as she stood up. “Do you need anything else from me tonight?”

  “No, no,” said Francis, stifling a yawn. “You’ve done more than enough, my dear. Get some sleep. We’re leaving early.” He paused and laughed. “Ah, you don’t sleep, do you? Well then, do whatever you want. You’re young. Maybe you can find some dashing, exotic fling.”

  Mae didn’t even blink. “I’ll just stay in my room, sir. There’s no one worth my time in this place.”

  She turned with military precision, but her air was all castal, displaying an attitude that refused to acknowledge those people—or rather, the one person—she considered beneath her. As Justin watched her go, he barely heard Francis dismissing him as well and telling him to go fetch his “provincial girl.”

  A haughty, lethal bodyguard. An assignment involving shadowy phantoms. This homecoming was starting to accrue a hefty price tag.

  You still want to pay it? asked Horatio.

  Absolutely.

  CHAPTER 6

  GENIUS, CON ARTIST

  Tessa wasn’t asleep when someone pounded on the front door.

  She wasn’t supposed to be awake. Her mother would kill her if she found out, but Tessa couldn’t help herself. Her father had acquired a reader from the Eastern Alliance and given it to her this mor
ning. She knew it was old technology for them. Everything that trickled into Panama was. But to her, it was a miracle: a small, lightweight device that contained hundreds of books. Some were old, some were current. Most were written in Mandarin, which she couldn’t read. There were still enough from the RUNA to keep her busy, and she could read English as well as she could Spanish. Her father had made sure of that.

  The reader became irrelevant when she heard the noise, however. She froze where she sat, tense and wide-eyed. It had been years since gangs regularly raided the houses of their rivals, and her father wasn’t even involved in anything that would attract attention or retaliation. Still, the drills her parents had made her and her sisters practice over and over were still fresh in her mind. Go to the tunnel, bring nothing. All it would take was one shout from the bodyguards, and Tessa would be out of her room in a flash.

  But no shouts came. Whoever was there banged on the door again, and several moments later, she could hear loud voices engaged in some sort of argument. No shouts of alarm. No stomping of feet. No gunfire.

  Tessa waited a little bit longer, but when the noise didn’t stop, her curiosity got the better of her. It was a problem she often had. Slipping out of bed, she found her robe and tied it tightly over her floor-length nightgown. Out of habit, she nearly pulled up her hair but then decided to leave it down to save time. She moved quietly and slowly as she left the room, still cautious of any possible threat, and prayed the old wooden floor wouldn’t creak. The closer she came to the staircase leading down, the more she relaxed. She recognized the voices. There would be no raid tonight.

  She made it downstairs and paused just outside the doorway to the foyer, keeping out of sight but still managing a good view. Her mother stood there in a similar robe, arms crossed, but she’d taken the time to pull up her hair. Marta Cruz would never be seen with her hair down, not even in the middle of the night. Tessa’s father stood nearby, and his clothing suggested he hadn’t even gone to bed yet. Two of the family’s bodyguards were also on hand, looking more confused than concerned.