Slowly, Mr. Black said, “I’m not sure. He never completed that task, so it’s plausible that something affected him along the way.” Marley kept her gaze fixed on his face, waiting for him to answer her first question.
He adjusted his tie. “His task was straightforward: we wanted him to discover the identity of the power behind the incident in Ostend, Belgium last year.”
“The incident?”
“I’m sure you heard about it,” said Mr. Black with a touch of weariness. “While a consortium of angels plotted to murder the children you protect, our attention was diverted away. Horribly so. Senyaza had a retreat in Ostend, Belgium. One of the kaiju—one of the shattered, nameless ones—got inside the perimeter and murdered thirty-eight of our people and many of our support staff.”
“Including your son,” said Miriam flatly.
“Yes,” said Mr. Black, his face impassive. “Including my son, and one of the Senyaza board of directors, and many other valuable and beloved members of our community.”
“So many,” Marley whispered. Too late, she remembered Simon saying something about this, and wished she hadn’t asked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know any details.”
“It isn’t something we speak of easily.” Silence fell. Corbin’s father turned the page in his magazine, while the two women and Mr. Black both regarded Marley. Miriam Hadara’s eyes blazed with a fury that Marley now realized wasn’t directed at her, while Elizabeth’s gaze was as emotionless as her father’s.
She could hardly imagine what Mr. Black had briefly related. Senyaza was a strong supernatural power, and individual nephil magic could be devastating. It seemed impossible that one kaiju could do that much damage.
“You wanted Corbin to find out the identity of the kaiju?”
“No. Elizabeth dispatched him in the end. But he was newly reborn, hardly rational. He was nothing more than a murder weapon. Somebody found him, took advantage of his namelessness to influence him to despise our kind over the humans they normally prefer. Somebody guided him to guns and through our security. We need to know who that was.” Mr. Black’s facade of emotionlessness cracked. ”We needed to know who that was six months ago.”
“What happens once you do?” Marley asked, twisting her hands together.
“What do you think?” hissed Miriam, the screen flickering.
Mr. Black clasped his fingers together, and then cracked his knuckles. “We find a way to make sure he, she, or it will never be reborn. Perhaps Ms. Lennox will be involved.” He studied Marley. “You understand that the safety of our entire organization depends on this. Some delay can perhaps be accepted, but we must be implacable. Otherwise… otherwise the bad times will return.”
Marley tried to catch the thread of her thoughts against the headache and the fever and the horror. “I’m sorry, I’m having trouble thinking right now. Can I have a glass of water?”
Corbin’s father closed his magazine and rose to his feet, fetching her a tumbler of water from a small bar in the far corner. When he handed it to her, she peeked up at him, trying to see more of Corbin in his features. But instead of the man she’d known a year ago, she was reminded of the harsh, angry figure she’d spoken with earlier that day.
Corbin. “So you sent Corbin out as a supernatural detective to investigate which celestial interfered with the kaiju, so you could punish them. Right?”
Mr. Black nodded once.
“Okay.” She thought for a moment, and then said, “This is just the first thing that occurs to me, but are you guys certain it was arranged by a celestial? I mean, maybe Corbin did find out who set it up and that’s why he’s angry at Senyaza?”
Miriam gasped and Elizabeth’s face paled. When Mr. Black’s mouth tightened, Marley realized she might have made a mistake. Yet it seemed obvious to her.
The silence stretched out as Marley fumbled for an appropriate follow-up. Perhaps she ought to have brought it up more tactfully.
Or not at all. Self-preservation and a broad consumption of fiction certainly suggested ‘not at all.’
But the idea had surfaced so immediately in her mind that she’d blurted it out. It was the headache. It made it hard to make good decisions.
The dry voice on the phone answered her, after what might have been a laugh or a cough. “Yes, Miss Claviger, we’re certain. Even without the other evidence we’ve uncovered, the timing of the attack gives much away. Our children and siblings were slaughtered as a distraction so that Senyaza would be too wounded to notice the celestials trying to sacrifice your charges and break the Hush.” The voice was calm but distorted, as if coming from a long way away across a bad signal.
“Right. Okay. I’ll keep that in mind,” said Marley, and then added, “Sorry.”
Mr. Black sighed. “We’re not asking you to discover who was behind the attack, Marley. That’s Corbin’s task. We just want you to find him and convince him to speak with us again. Will you do that?”
“I’ve got no idea where to look,” Marley confessed. “If he finds me again, I can mention you’re concerned—“
“Again?” said Elizabeth sharply.
Marley froze. Had she said again?
Elizabeth went on, her dark eyes suddenly intense. “We suspected he’d contacted you but you’ve actually seen him? How is he?”
“Um,” said Marley. Her head stabbed again and an unexpected storm of emotions rose suddenly, so swift and strong she could only be swept along. She was afraid of answering. She disliked these people, all of them. She’d been biased toward liking Elizabeth before, but they were annoying, all of them: Miriam Hedera with her burning eyes and her obsession with Quade’s killer, Elizabeth Black-Adair and her endless calm, Aedrian Adair and his detached anger at Corbin, and Mr. Black, oh, Mr. Black most of all for—
Wait, thought Marley, struggling to the surface again. Who’s Quade?
“Who’s Quade?” she asked aloud.
“Corbin’s uncle,” said Elizabeth. “My brother.” Her husband looked at Marley as if she’d said something both unexpected and familiar.
“Her lover?” Marley asked dizzily, gesturing at the screen.
“Yes,” spat Miriam. “My lover. Dead now, his brains blown out by an angel-ridden monster and I would kill them all if I could.”
“Ah,” said the voice on the phone. “A fond dream. Perhaps one day we’ll be able to make it reality, but for now we must simply settle for punishing the murderer.”
Mr. Black shifted position as if his suit didn’t quite fit. “What happened when you met Corbin, Marley?”
Marley struggled to answer him, but it was like her brain was caught in tar. She couldn’t get past how much she didn’t like Mr. Black. She’d thought he was okay in the past: hard-working, extremely competent, kind of intimidating and brusque—but likable despite all that. She’d always thought he liked her, too.
But something was wrong. Maybe it was with her. But maybe it was with them. She was supposed to trust her feelings, right?
“How do you know he’s feeling antagonistic toward Senyaza if he won’t talk to anybody?”
“Certain clues that are none of your business, young lady,” said the phone voice. “Mr. Black, please trigger Protocol 6.”
Mr. Black frowned and glanced at a tablet on his desk, tapping a few times. Then he glanced up.
“You’re very talented, Marley. We’re sure you can find him, and we’re sure once you do, he’ll be willing to listen to you. Please convey our welcome to him,” he said. “And now—”
The office door opened and Branwyn stood there. “It’s time for Marley to go home,” she announced. “She’s too sick to commit to any kind of job right now. I’ll make sure she calls you later.”
“Oh, thank God,” said Marley. Whatever paranoia had come with her fever, it didn’t involve Branwyn. Her friend seemed like a white knight as she waded deeper and deeper into a treacherous swamp.
She stood and promptly fell over. Branwyn wasn’t fast enough to catch her,
and nobody else tried, even though Mr. Black was standing quite close to her. That hurt more than the stinging in her palms. But Branwyn helped her to her feet and made sure she had her purse, while glaring at the elder nephilim.
“Very well,” said Mr. Black. “Take her away, Miss Lennox. Let her rest at home for a while. I very much hope you feel better soon, Marley.”
They went out the door, down the hall, into the elevator, and across a sky bridge to Marley’s car. Only once they were within did Branwyn say, “I knew I had to get you out of there as soon as you asked them outright if they were the ones who’d arranged the massacre in Belgium.”
Marley frowned. All she could remember was how much she’d disliked them. And “Did I ask them that?”
“Yes,” said Branwyn dryly. “You did. I was worried I wouldn’t get there before something bad happened. How do you feel?”
“My head hurts again,” Marley confessed. “And my hands are tingling. I ache…” She trailed off, leaning her head back against the seat. “I knew things earlier that nobody had mentioned.”
“Your magic?” inquired Branwyn. She pulled out of the parking garage and then blew out her breath in exasperation and stopped at the curb.
Simon was standing beside the car, his hands in his pockets. Branwyn rolled down the window. “What’ve you got for us?”
He looked through the window at Marley, who couldn’t summon the energy to do anything more than glare at him for slowing her return home.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s sick,” said Branwyn patiently. “You could have called if that’s all you wanted to ask.”
“Odd. Finn’s magic usually fixes everything,” said Simon, watching Marley for another moment. When Branwyn made an annoyed growling sound under her breath, he said, “Oh, right. A couple of things. I’m pretty sure Corbin’s in trouble. They’ve got him on video at a fire at one of our secure storage places a week ago. Only a fragment, because someone erased the video as it filmed, which…” he shook his head, his eyes wide. “Neat trick, since it was digital.”
Branwyn asked, “Did he start the fire?”
Simon tapped his fingers together. “Good question. Upstairs thinks so. It was a nasty fire and the normal fire suppressant systems failed. They lost stuff.” He hesitated. “I’m worried about the kid. I don’t want to hear anything bad about him.” He gave them a meaningful look that Marley was totally unable to interpret at the moment.
“All right,” said Branwyn calmly. “What was your second thing?”
Simon rocked back on his heels. “Ah, well. Remember that monster who was bothering you last year?”
Even distracted by her headache and fever, Marley noticed the stillness that came over Branwyn.
“I wouldn’t forget,” she said.
“Well… you know how when I slit his throat I warned you it wasn’t permanent? That it was just his vessel we got rid of? That he’d be back and he’d remember you?” A miserable expression on his face, he added, “There was just no time, no space for a spirit tether. Would have at least wiped his memory, and it would have taken him longer to come back…”
Branwyn exhaled, long and slow. “I’d expect him to hate you a lot more than me. I only enchanted the weapon; you’re the one who used it.”
Simon waved his hand. He was holding his knife, absently, as if he hadn’t realized he’d drawn it. “Oh, well, I’m used to the bastards hating me and really, no big loss if they get to me.”
“Has he been bothering you?”
Simon went to scratch his chin, looked at the knife in surprise, and tucked it away again. “He left me a message but I couldn’t be that worried about it. More worried about you, anyhow.”
“Don’t be,” said Branwyn firmly. “I’m not. But there’s somebody else Sev—that monster definitely hates. I’ll have to warn him.”
Simon crossed his arms. “You do what you need to. I’ve got to get back inside and check on Finn.”
“No, wait,” croaked Marley. “Do you know if they tethered the monster in Belgium before killing him?”
Simon shook his head. “No. They didn’t. No time.” He turned and walked away.
Branwyn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then she resumed navigating the car into traffic. “I guess we’ll be hearing about the Belgium monster again, too. It makes me wonder what they meant when they mentioned finding a way to stop a celestial from reincarnating.”
“They’ve done it before,” Marley said, because she knew it. Then she shook her head. “See? How do I know that? I don’t know that. Except I do.”
Branwyn gave her a sideways look at a stoplight. “So. These sudden bursts of knowledge. Your magic?”
“I don’t know! Not magic I’ve experienced before. Maybe it’s this headache. Maybe it’s the nephil version of a migraine. I don’t just see auras, I see bloody auras. And I know secrets. Although are they even true? Maybe I’m delusional.” She remembered Branwyn’s bloody aura, and thought of the monster she’d helped Simon kill. Blood seemed all too likely there.
“What sort of other things did you know?”
Marley tried to remember through the pounding in her head. “Stuff about the people in the room. No, I have to be delusional. I was so angry at them, Branwyn.”
“I can’t blame you for that,” said Branwyn clinically. “That seems perfectly normal to me. They keep so many secrets. They have floors at the bottom of the elevator shaft that even Titanone has trouble seeing inside. I thought maybe they’d hid Rhianna’s device there. But nothing’s been moved in or out of the bottom floors for months.”
Marley squirmed in her seat, and thought about tilting it back so she could go to sleep in the car. Distantly she said, “No reason to think that if they stole the divinity circuit, they put it in Titan One. They have buildings all over the world,” and wondered where such sensible words had come from. She pressed her forehead against the window, wishing she could suck the air-conditioned coolness into her skull. “But I don’t think Mr. Black was lying to you. I don’t think they knew what the government was doing.”
“Divinity circuit? Where’d that come from? More mysterious knowledge?”
“I don’t know,” Marley said irritably. “Let’s stop talking so I can work on keeping my head from exploding.”
Like a good friend, an ideal friend, Branwyn didn’t even speak her acquiescence. She just stopped talking. Marley sighed and concentrated on the pain, trying to separate it from herself. It was a shadow over her mind, whispering in the back of her head. Her hands throbbed and burned in time with the rhythm of the speech. After a while, she fell into a half-sleep, and the murmuring became senseless dreams of her reflection muttering at her, smiling at her with a huge, unfamiliar smile.
Chapter Seven
Branwyn
Branwyn took Marley home. Neath hissed as they came through the door, and made a complete nuisance of herself twining around legs and meowing frantically as Branwyn put Marley to bed. Then the cat hopped on the bed, curled up next to Marley, and gave Branwyn an accusing look. Branwyn sat on at the foot of the bed and watched her friend as she drowsed in and out of consciousness.
Normally, Branwyn was prosaic about illness. With six younger siblings, she’d seen more than her fair share of childhood fevers and colds. People got sick. Usually, they recovered. But a year ago, Penny had been taken down by a mysterious, sudden-onset illness, too. That had been supernatural in origin, and if Branwyn hadn’t been so tenacious, Penny would have died.
This was too similar. Branwyn was worried. It couldn’t be the same thing—nephilim metaphysiology precluded Marley’s soul getting burned away by an angel, since she didn’t have a soul to begin with. But there were clearly a whole host of illnesses related to the supernatural that Branwyn had no experience with and thus no ability to evaluate.
But the Senyaza elders presumably did. They’d seen Marley’s illness and they hadn’t recommended taking her to their private hospital or anythi
ng. She’d probably be fine.
Branwyn was uncomfortable with worry. It made her feel helpless and angry. Instead she made dinner, which Marley slept through. Then she did some research she had waiting for one of her future projects, made plans for her investigation the next day, and went to bed.
The next morning, Branwyn heard Marley stumbling first to the bathroom and then out to the kitchen, and emerged to see her making her way back to bed with a big bottle of water and some toast. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Marley said. “Everything is terrible. I’m going back to bed.”
“Hmm.” Branwyn looked Marley over critically. She was flushed and her hair was standing on end. Her hands were red, and she didn’t seem too steady on her feet, either. No real improvement, then. “Today you get the babysitter.”
Marley gave her a dark look and went back into her room again. Watching thoughtfully, Branwyn picked up her phone.
“Come over,” she commanded, as soon as Penny answered the phone. “Marley is sick. I need to run some important errands and I don’t want to leave her alone.”
Penny said only, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Branwyn gathered the notes she’d put together on the Extraworlder Conference, along with a few other things. When Penny arrived, she was ready to go.
“What is it?” Penny sat her purse on the table and went to look in Marley’s bedroom.
“A fever, everything that goes with it,” said Branwyn, standing. “Do a better job than I did and don’t let her get stolen by faeries.”
Penny made a face. “I can manage that, at least. Uh, do you expect anybody else to show up? Because I may not be as useful against them.”
Branwyn shrugged. “Lock the door.” Then she saw Penny’s stricken expression and added, “No, I don’t. I think it’s just a badly timed fever. But I’m not always right. I wasn’t right with you. I’ll be back in a few hours and if she’s not any better, I’ll take her over to Senyaza’s hospital myself. Because it’s badly timed.”
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