by Gwynn White
“I’m in,” Hank said at the time. “When do I report?”
He would never have guessed at the time that his duties would include a hospital vigil for a woman he considered a colleague, let alone a friend. Maybe not a close one, but a friend nonetheless.
He’d just settled into the chair beside the bed when she said, weakly, “Guess I should have zigged instead of zagged, huh?”
“Shit,” he said, nearly leaping to his feet again. “I didn’t think you were conscious.”
“Yeah, it kinda sucks. Good meds, though.” She seemed to work her eyes, her pupils going a little wobbly before she fixed him with a drugged-up stare. “‘The hell are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a case to run? The one your d-bag partner stole from me?”
“Someone had to ride with you,” Hank said, reaching for her hand gently. “Need anything?”
“Just an all-clear to get back on the street.” That said, she didn’t exactly shove his hand away.
Hank smirked. “Not happening. Settle in, Chief. You’re gonna be here for a while.”
Ann sighed and closed her eyes. “Fuck. Me.”
She seemed to have finally relaxed when the machines monitoring her vitals started going crazy, and she pushed up on her elbows. “My people! Were any of them hurt?”
“They’re fine, they’re fine,” Hank said quickly, reassuringly. “You need to lie back down, or you’re just going to jack yourself up worse. Your people wouldn’t want that, would they?”
Reluctantly, Ann settled back into the hospital bed. “You’re not lying to me, are you? Trying to keep me relaxed?”
“I would never. Cato and your people neutralized the threat before it got out of hand.”
“Ah, crap,” she said blearily. “Now I owe him. What’s he drinking these days?”
“Anything.”
“Cool. I’ll get him a bottle of it.”
The two of them shared a knowing laugh. Then she passed out.
The nurse on call dashed into the room to check Ann’s vitals. Hank tried to explain that Ann had been worried about her people, nothing more, but the nurse paid him no mind. Finally, she left, leaving the two of them alone again.
Not for long, though. Only a few minutes later, Mayor Zobbles himself made an appearance. He was flanked by two anonymous security types and a somewhat anxious senior staffer. Evidently he’d managed to squeeze a few minutes from his busy schedule to check in on his fallen officer, much to the sweating staffer’s dismay.
“Wait out here,” he said to his entourage. “Oh, Hank. Huh. Surprised to see you here.”
Hank stood at attention as he’d been trained to do all those years ago, nodding smartly as Dolan entered the room. “Mr. Mayor. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised to see you here, too.”
The mayor took one look at Ann, slumped unconscious in her bed, and raised a brow at Hank. “The city is going to shit on my watch, Hank. You really think I wouldn’t come to see my chief of detectives while she’s laid up like that?”
Hank lifted a brow, nodding slightly. “Fair point, sir. Apologies.”
“Come on, Hank,” Zobbles said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We served together. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’.”
“Well, you were my lieutenant back then, and you’re the mayor now, so, technically, I feel like I do.”
Zobbles waved off Hank’s concern with a flap of his hand. “Please. You saved my life once upon a time. We’re good, Hank.”
“All right, well, in that case, thank you, Dolan.”
“That’s better. So, how’s the chief?”
“Banged up a bit, but feisty as ever. I think the drugs finally got the better of her. Otherwise she’d be back out on the front lines kicking ass and taking names.”
Tipping his head to the side, Zobbles offered no disagreement as he regarded the unconscious woman. “Yup, that’d be our Ann.”
“As you say.”
Zobbles raised a brow, looking from Ann to Hank. “You’re fond of her?”
“Not in that way. She’s a role model. Her demeanor, her professional acumen—if you’re going to do a job, why not look to the best, right?”
“Well said.”
With a little gesture toward the window and the view of the city it offered, Hank wondered in a low tone, “So, what’s happening out on the street? Have there been more attacks? Any reprisals?”
“It’s a mess out there, but nothing that hasn’t been contained.”
Hank eyed Zobbles hard, boring deep into his psyche. It was like he was looking down the line of a scope all over again. “You’re not telling me everything. If you want us to do your bidding, that’s one thing, but don’t put blinders on us. We need to know what we’re facing.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then, what?”
“I’m considering instituting martial law.” Before Hank could even lodge an objection, Zobbles said, “Things are getting out of hand. We have to stop the bleeding somehow.”
“Worst damn idea you’ve ever had,” Ann said from her bed. Despite the slight slurring of her words, she was deadly serious in her assessment.
Zobbles pushed past Hank at the sound of Ann’s voice, going straight to her bedside. Hank wasn’t the type to accuse someone of posturing, but there was something about Zobbles’ presence his sudden awareness of her, that struck him as calculated, even cloying.
“Chief Banner,” the mayor said softly. “How are you feeling? I came as soon as I heard you’d been injured in the line of duty.”
Ann didn’t miss a beat. She looked him square in the eye and said, “Don’t. Do. Martial. Law.”
“Why not? We’re obviously under a coordinated attack.”
With some effort, she gathered her thoughts. “I understand that. But my people… need to be able to do their jobs. If you lock the city down… they can’t do that. Right now, the city is on our side. You declare martial law… you’re only punishing the people trying to live their lives. The people you want to vote for you in two weeks. They will make you pay.”
“What would you have me do? People are dying.”
“Nothing. My people are damn good. Nissa Aziani is damn good. Even your people… objectionable as their existence is… are damn good. Together, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“We?”
“Don’t you dare… count me out of this. I can still do my part, limited as I am.”
Zobbles nodded thoughtfully. Looking over his shoulder, he eyed Hank for a second opinion. “Care to weigh in on this, Spector Smiley?”
“One hundred percent in agreement with Ann. You might as well send up a white flag if you declare martial law.”
“All right. I can give you twenty-four hours,” Zobbles said as he stood, straightening his jacket. “After that, unless you have a major break in at least one of the cases, all bets are off. We have to control this thing one way or another, or there might not be anyone left to vote in two weeks.”
“Agreed,” Hank and Ann said simultaneously, and the two of them shared a small grin—though one was admittedly a bit more medicated than the other.
“All right, then. Get well soon, Chief. We need you back ASAP.”
“Maybe we could get some sort of liaison over here, Mr. Mayor?” Hank suggested. “Someone who could relay Ann’s thoughts and actions to her people in the field?”
Zobbles nodded, working his chin thoughtfully. “That’s definitely doable. Good thinking, Hank.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With that, Zobbles made his exit.
He was barely out of the room before Ann raised a narcotic brow. “I don’t know what to make of you, Hank Smiley.”
“How do you mean?” Hank wondered.
“You seem to be a genuinely good guy who got wrapped up in the orbit of a total dickwad. How does that happen?”
With a soft sigh, Hank seated himself across from her. “Ryen Cato is a force of nature. He just—he sweeps into your life, he picks y
ou up, and then he moves on. I’m not sure he knows how to do anything else. Right now, I’m just riding the wave, you know? He wanted me for a partner and, well, here I am.”
Ann frowned. “Didn’t you two serve together? What was that like?”
“I spotted for him back in the day. I tell you, you want to talk about someone who never hesitated to pull the trigger…”
Ann nodded. Then her eyelids got a little fluttery. “Ugh, I’m starting to feel woozy again.”
“Rest up, Chief. I’ll check in on you soon.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
10
It’s called a solar flare,” Cato said, examining the device. “Creates a chemical reaction that produces a massive surge of light. We saw a lot of them during the Nothnocti Wars. Mostly, they were used to clear strigoi warrens, catch ’em while they were hibernating, but, obviously, they work on gargoyles, too.”
“Fascinating.” Like Cato’s, Detective Aziani’s demeanor was detached, entirely clinical. “And brutally efficient.”
“Yeah. They were reclassified as mass destruct level five after the war. Part of the reconciliation effort.” He passed the device, now bagged as evidence, back to the tech standing behind them. The man scurried off with the bag, leaving Cato and Ann’s understudy to survey the scope of the destruction littering the sanctuary’s floor. It really was barbaric, seeing it like this. This went beyond a simple act of reprisal. This was the result of pure, unadulterated hatred.
“Well, this is just fantastic,” he said. Turning away from the main field of rubble, he mopped his face and forehead with a handkerchief. Gods, but it was hot inside within the heavy stone walls of the temple, the air still laden with evaporated sweat and residual smoke.
“Your sarcasm notwithstanding, I concur. This is bad.” Aziani cast a hopeless glance around the sanctuary for a moment, the look of someone grasping at straws. “Do you suppose there is any chance that the timing of these events is purely coincidental?”
“Not a one.”
“Damn.”
They were only beginning to consider how totally screwed they were when a sudden commotion at the front of the sanctuary caught their attention. Turning to find its source, Detective Aziani locked eyes with one of the young officers she had left outside to guard the scene. He was inside now, a look of alarm pulling at his youthful face as he scurried toward her.
“Ma’am?” he said. “There’s a convoy rolling up with diplomatic plates. I think they’re from Silverbreak Keep.”
“Damn,” Aziani said again, harder.
She had been hoping for more time, Cato knew, if only to properly secure the bodies, or evidence, or whatever all the bits of broken stone at their feet would technically be classified as. So much for small favors.
Aziani rallied, squaring her shoulders, ready to command her people to action. “Well, here we go again. Everyone, prepare to form up and defend the integrity of the scene.”
“Actually, Detective, if I may?”
“Of course, Spector.”
“I say, let him in.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean that as an order. Your scene, your call. All I’m saying is, it’s Gragos Cairn. You can bar him from the scene, but he’ll just go over your head. Eventually, he’ll get the mayor on the line and give him an earful, and then the mayor will tear you a new one for pissing off the head of the Gjunta.” Cato looked around at the scene, shrugging. “Besides, they are his people. It’s not like the remains are going to tell us anything we don’t already know. Plus, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to go about identifying them. I’m guessing your people don’t either, so why not let them help?”
Detective Aziani eyed him skeptically. Finally, she said, “Belay my previous order. We will allow Kovar Cairn to inspect the scene.” She turned to Cato as her people resumed their work. Her voice was pitched low, a whisper meant only for him. “Know that if this goes south, I will not hesitate to mention that it was done at your suggestion.”
“Fair enough.”
They met Cairn together, Cato hoping that his presence would help to mollify the governor. He could hardly have been more wrong.
“Kovar Cairn,” Aziani began, “on behalf of the Police and Welfare Division, allow me to—”
“My daughter,” Cairn said, his voice booming as he stormed into the sanctuary. “Where is my daughter? Sinnestra? Sinnestra!”
Oh, no, Cato thought. Please, no.
The normally reserved governor of the Gargoyle Gjunta was a force unto himself, not to be denied. Cato and Aziani had no choice but to clear a path or be bowled over. Aziani was about to lift her voice in protest when Cato laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.
Cairn searched the rubble frantically. Then he froze abruptly, becoming as still as the statues his people had been made into. Slowly, he lowered a shaking hand to retrieve a smoothly contoured piece of stone. He held it before his face, stroking his fingers along its curved edge.
A cheek, Cato realized. He was holding her cheek, a small groove indicating the curve of her lips.
All at once, Cairn threw his head back and howled, a terrifying wail composed of equal parts pain and rage. Such was the power of his grief that the building actually shook to its foundations. Little skeins of dust shook loose from the ceiling and rained down upon them. The PWD personnel looked on awkwardly, unsure if they were about to be subjected to another bout of unchecked gargoyle rage. Cairn was rooted to the spot, however, his shoulders rolling up and down, his breath coming in great, furious waves.
Cato and Aziani exchanged glances. He finally relented after several seconds of their holding each other’s stare. “I’ve got this,” he whispered.
“Thank you.”
She wasn’t the only one who was relieved. The PWD personnel eyed him with visible appreciation. Cato was careful to make eye contact with each of them, doing his best to communicate with a glance that, while he thought the situation was under control, by no means should they take that as an invitation let their guard down. The looks he received in kind told him they understood. Whatever happened, they had his back.
Coming to a stop behind the hunched governor, Cato stood at a loss for how to engage the creature in his hour of grief. He considered placing his hand on Cairn’s shoulder, but wondered if the gesture conveyed the same sense of sympathy in gargoyle culture.
Finally, not wanting to upset the situation further, he said simply, “I’m sorry, Kovar. I take it that’s her?”
Cairn’s voice was raw with despair as he spoke, a far cry from his usual commanding baritone. “Yes. My Sinnestra.”
“With all due respect, sir, how can you be sure? There’s no—” he said, struggling for an appropriate word before adding, somewhat hesitantly, “There’s no definition.”
“You are without heirs, correct, Spector?”
The question caught Cato by surprise. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
“Then, you cannot understand. A father knows his daughter’s face.” A wet, gravelly sound escaped his throat like the churning of quarried earth, the closest his kind came to weeping. “I told her not to come,” he said, his voice ragged as he fought for control. “I thought we had come to an understanding.”
Cato was not a comforter, by trade or design. Empathy had never been one of his strong suits, and he didn’t intend to start cultivating a sense for it now. At the moment, he was more concerned with keeping the city from tearing itself apart than comforting a grieving father. Still, if one might help lead to the other…
Finally, he spoke. “My condolences, Kovar Cairn. She was one of a kind.”
“Truly, she was.” With a heavy, almost unburdening sigh, Cairn took to his feet once more. “As were all the others who lost their lives today.”
Cato had to admit to being pleasantly surprised, if only privately. The explosion of grief and rage he had prepared himself for was barely a fizzle. Hel
l, the governor’s reaction was downright… contained. Precisely the opposite of what he would expect from a now-daughterless father.
Not that Cato (or anyone else who was observing) was about to complain.
“You do not understand my behavior,” Cairn said, somehow intuiting Cato’s very thoughts on the matter. “You do not believe it in keeping with the loss I have suffered.”
“Like you said, I don’t have any heirs. That said, no, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Neither do you carry the fates of your people upon your back. I am not the only one of my kind who has had loved ones taken from them today. Still, it is I who must lead them through this period of crisis.”
The nobility of the sentiment was not lost on Cato. Cairn was choosing the rest of his kind over his own flesh and blood, the greater good over the one life he should have sworn to protect above all others. But, alas, true leaders did not have the luxury of such personal distinctions.
“I have to say, I’m grateful to hear you say that, Kovar. It’s going to make working together a lot easier.” Cato gestured for Detective Aziani to join him. “This is Detective Nissa Aziani, Chief Banner’s top deputy. She’s the lead on this scene.”
Aziani strode forward, picking her way carefully through the field of broken bodies and debris. “Kovar Cairn,” she said. “Let me first say that it is my—”
“Her deputy?” Cairn said incredulously. Worse, he directed that incredulousness not toward Detective Aziani herself, but Cato.
“Top deputy,” Aziani reiterated. “Now, as I was saying—”
“I do not believe this. There is a campaign of terror being waged against my people, one your departments seem incapable of putting a stop to, and I am presented with a deputy?”
“I don’t know if it rises quite to the level of a ‘campaign’ yet,” Cato said, mindful that they were starting to draw the attention of other PWD personnel.
“Over twenty-five of my people have been slain in targeted acts of terror,” Cairn snarled. “What else would you call it?”
“And fifteen of ours were gutted in a strigoi blood blank this morning, along with the strig attendants.”