by E. A. Copen
I sank down to sit on the first stair outside of Ed’s house. Look where that belief got you, Judah. Sent out to Paint Rock, to what was supposed to be the end of your career. Beaten up by your partner. Case after case lands on your desk with no end in sight. No help. You’re too busy to make a difference, they’ve seen to that.
If BSI was experimenting on humans, torturing people and drugging them to try and force some perceived next evolutionary stage, then what could I do about it?
I put my head in my hands. LeDuc had known. All those years ago, when he boasted that I needed him to help stop what was coming, what if that wasn’t a lie? What if I had killed our only chance of destroying and exposing a corrupt government? What if innocent people had died because of me?
The front door swung open and Sal’s footsteps stopped behind me. His lighter clicked and I listened to the small whoosh of flame, the sizzle and burn of tar, tobacco and paper as he lit another cigarette. “Ed said he was able to pull dates from those files. The first one was from about six months after LeDuc would have blown up Han’s lab, long before you ever got here, babe.”
I clenched my fists against my eyes. “That doesn’t absolve me of some of the responsibility. I’ve spent all this time working for them, Sal. More than a decade. I’ve been part of the problem.”
He grunted and sat down next to me on the step, the cigarette hanging loosely in his fingers. “You can’t blame yourself for wanting everyone to be as good as you think they are. World’s an ugly place. That’s hard to come go grips with. People like me, we signed up to see that firsthand. War is the worst mankind has to offer. Once you’ve seen that, you learn to recognize a battle when it’s coming. The air changes, feels charged, like right before a lightning strike. The world feels unusually calm. It’s all wrong because you know, you just know, something’s not right. It’s like the world doesn’t know, though. Like it doesn’t give one goddamn.”
Sal put the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, lifting his face to the sky. Dark shadows passed over his sharp features and he squinted at the moon as it broke through the clouds. “You walked into Paint Rock on the eve of a battle, babe. It’s going to be a while before the sun comes up, but when it does, and the smoke clears, nobody’s hands are going to be clean.”
I nodded.
Sal stood and offered me a hand. “But if you’re willing to work with a criminal and an outlaw, I think I might be able to help you on this case. Think you can ride?”
I shifted the shoulder of the broken arm, wincing. It’d be a pain, but I could hold onto his back with one arm. If he wanted to ride, though, that could mean only one thing. We were going to see the Kings. “If you keep it low speed, then probably.”
I put my good hand in his and he pulled me up. “Where are we going?”
“Chanter’s,” Sal said without missing a beat. “To meet a friend.”
~
I had been out to Chanter’s house only a handful of times since he passed away the previous November. The pack still held their monthly full-moon hunts out there, but I found it easier not to go most of the time. Going meant staying behind in the house with a dead man’s things and that was still unsettling to me. It was as if I could still feel his presence. Every clink of dishes, the scoot of a chair across the floor, the low murmur of the television, the faded odor of old cigarette smoke absorbed by the walls, it all reminded me of how he had sacrificed himself to save me and my son.
The house itself wasn’t much. It was a three-bedroom with low ceilings and narrow hallways. Outside, there was a shed and a small patio where the pack kept a grill chained to the porch so no one stole it.
But the most important thing about Chanter’s property was that there were no fences, no barriers, and no walls. I was reminded of that as we came down the long driveway. Blue hills rose in the distance into sharp edges layered one on another. Stubby bushes and trees marched across the landscape in an uneven parade of brown and green. An old, rusty metal pole marked the property boundary a long way off, but that was the only unnatural thing I could see on the horizon between Chanter’s house and the hills. The desert was his back yard.
His driveway, however, was full of motorcycles and a single truck that I’d come to recognize as Bran’s. He drove it sometimes, but kept his bike chained down in the back in case he needed it.
Sal parked behind them and waited for me to hop off before he did the same. He removed his goggles and hung them on the handlebar, running a hand over his hair to smooth it out from the ride.
“So, what are a bunch of Kings doing at Chanter’s place?” I tried to keep my voice down. Some of the Kings were werewolves and could probably still hear me. The ones that weren’t were all shifters of some kind. Who knew how good their hearing was?
“Remember, Chanter was an officer in the Kings. He was the vice president, Judah. The club probably spent as much time out here while he was alive as the pack did. Chanter wouldn’t begrudge us the use of the space, even if you do.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes, settling on a patch of grass in the backyard near the shed. A few months ago, Sal had shot two men there. They were members of the Vanguards of Humanity, and two of the three men who had gunned down Chanter. Even then, the kill hadn’t felt justified, but that was their code. A life for a life. I’d turned a blind eye to it because I’d been ordered to do so. Marcus and Istaqua both had made it clear doing anything else would be bad for my health. I wondered if I would have given them the same lenience if Sal and I hadn’t been sleeping together. The idea made me feel sick to my stomach. Was I really so different from the corrupt people I wanted so badly to stop?
Sal jogged to the porch where he stopped and gestured for me to follow. I sucked in a deep breath and did as he bid. He put his hand on the doorknob, but it opened before he could turn it.
Bran’s huge form blocked our entry. He raised an eyebrow at me, then looked at Sal and said, “What has happened? Why is she here?”
“Because she needs to be,” Sal answered firmly. “It’s time to bring her in.”
Bran’s expression hardened as he scrutinized me. “Are you sure?”
Sal answered with a firm, singular nod of his head.
Bran opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Istaqua is not going to be happy.”
“Istaqua can kiss my—” Sal broke off whatever it was he was about to say when he saw Istaqua sitting in the blue corduroy armchair in the center of the living room. Chanter’s armchair.
I studied Sal’s face carefully, trying to gauge how he felt seeing Istaqua claim the chair. It had always been empty every time I had come over. Not even Sal dared to sit in Chanter’s chair.
Istaqua’s fingers gripped the arm rests. “Don’t stop on my account. By all means, bring a cop in here and insult me to impress her. Or were you planning on making that a proper proposition, brother?”
Sal let out a low growl. “I’m not here to fight with you, not today.”
“Good.” Istaqua pushed himself out of the chair and strode forward several paces, focusing on me. “Because if she’s here, we have bigger problems.”
“If you’re tempted to distrust me just because I work for BSI, don’t.” I pushed past Sal to stand in front of Istaqua. “They might sign my paychecks, but I owe them no loyalty, especially after what I’ve just seen. If they’re involved in that…” I trailed off and shook my head. How was I going to continue to work for them if it turned out they were involved?
Istaqua laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “It’s not me you have to convince.” His hand trailed down to my back as he turned and ushered me down the hall to Chanter’s spare bedroom. “If you seek the truth, it comes at a price. Be sure you’re willing to pay the toll.”
I hesitated, then drew in another deep breath, nodding. “Show me.”
Istaqua ushered me down the hall and paused in front of the door to the spare bedroom. He said nothing before he opened it.
The room was almost exactly as I r
emembered it. Wire shelves lined one wall laden with books and artifacts, some of which I could never hope to identify. The headboard of a twin-sized bed butted against the outer wall of the house under a squat window with a blue curtain.
Lying on that bed was the beaten, battered, and burned body of Gideon Reed.
Chapter Nineteen
I stiffened at the sight of him and took a step back, expecting him to sit up and charge at me. Every time I’d seen Reed over the last few days, he’d attacked me. There was nowhere further back to go, since Istaqua blocked my path.
Reed’s eyes opened and he lifted his head. “Judah? Is that—” He broke off whatever he was about to say to clutch at his side and wince.
I wanted to go to his side, to check him over and make sure his wounds weren’t fatal, but I also didn’t want to die. “Are you yourself or are you going to attack me?”
A dark chuckle escaped his lips. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get up out of this bed right now. I think you’re safe.”
“What are you doing here?” I turned to Istaqua looking for an explanation but found no answers there, so I turned back to Reed. “And what the hell’s been going on the last few days?”
Reed closed his eyes and drew in a shallow, wheezing breath, the breath of a dying man. My feet carried me forward of their own accord until his eyes snapped back open again. “Mind the circle.”
I paused and looked down. A line of ash arced over the floor right in front of my feet. It traveled to the wall on either side of the bed, circling underneath to encompass the bed.
In magick, circles create small areas of power, or small areas where a person on the inside is cut off from the energy on the outside. In short, it’s a metaphysical barrier that can either exponentially increase power on the inside, or cut the inside off from any power on the outside. It all depended on how it was crafted. This was a simple circle without any advanced runes, carvings, or symbols. A circle didn’t need all of those to be powerful. Sometimes, simple is best. A circle made of ash could mean anything, depending on what the ash was made of. One thing was for sure; breaking that circle would be bad.
I stepped over the circle, careful not to disturb it, and knelt next to the bed. “I saw the files on your laptop. Please, Reed, I need some answers. How did all this happen? Hell, how are you even still alive? Why does BSI want you?”
“Always so many questions.” Reed smiled. “But I do owe you an explanation, don’t I?” He was quiet a moment before he took another wheezing breath. “To really answer that, I suppose I should start at the beginning with the Sicarii.”
I shifted my weight, getting comfortable. “Ed says they were dissidents in Ancient Rome protesting the Roman occupation of Judea.”
“That was only a small group of a much larger machine. Our history goes back further, much further.” Reed closed his eyes again and said, “Since the beginning of time, the Sicarii have influenced the balance of power all over the world. From the fall of Rome to the collapse of the Soviet Union to the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East, the Sicarii have been involved in all of it in one form or another. Whenever and wherever the Sicarii form a presence, bad things happen. The balance of power shifts. The world changes.”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I understand. Who are they? What are they?”
“We’ve had many names over the years. To some, we were gods. We were the heroes of myth, the immortal men who both guided and shielded the world, molding and bending progress to our will. True immortals.”
Gideon Reed didn’t look like an immortal. He bled like any other man. He slept and ate and lived just as any other human would. Then again, I’d seen a wendigo rip out one of his organs and Reed seemed no worse for wear afterward. He’d gotten up from injuries that would have killed normal men, but that didn’t make him immortal.
“You have doubts.”
I met Reed’s eyes and sighed. “I might be a BSI officer who’s seen some weird things over the years, but asking me to believe in immortal beings is a stretch. Especially considering right now. You look like you’re on death’s door.”
Reed spread his lip into a smile-like grimace. “Immortal is a poor word. It’s a failure of language. We can die. Cut off our heads, force us to lose enough blood quickly enough and we are as mortal as the next man. But we do not age or decay. We heal faster, move faster, become stronger. Most of us live among humans undetected for twenty, thirty years before we disappear and get new identities from the Sicarii. A select few are chosen each generation to be a part of the ruling council. That’s the group that decides the fate of the world.”
He shifted one hand to his chest and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “During the Revelation, I served along with Hector and several others. We guided the creation of BSI. I did my best to put safeguards in place to prevent what’s happening now. It was never supposed to be like this. Everything changed. They saw it as their opportunity to control the other supernaturals, the one wildcard that we had never been able to fully influence. They just wanted more power.” His hand formed a fist. “When I saw the others weren’t going to listen, I left. I chose to disappear. I ran like a coward instead of fighting for what I knew was right.”
I reached out and gripped Reed’s hand. “Is Doctor Han one of these… immortals too?”
He shook his head. “No, he’s something else. But he knows about us. Of that I’m sure. Judah—” He squeezed my hand. “—something is wrong. The ruling group of Sicarii have been in power too long, longer than they should be. Hector shouldn’t be here. When I found out he was, I went to confront him.
“He lured me into the compound where I learned he was manufacturing rem from plants brought from the fae. This rem became a key ingredient in research being conducted by Han, who had a blank check from the government, at the Sicarii’s urging, to synthesize a formula that would give normal humans supernatural powers. BSI has been testing this for years, Judah. Their goal is to develop agents for the field who are capable of unprecedented destruction. Disposable super-soldiers, humans able to stand against legions of werewolves, vampires, fae, and magick practitioners.”
“Holy hell,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “What the hell do they need an army of anti-supernatural soldiers for?”
Reed met my eyes, his gaze level. “You know what for, Judah.”
“Extermination.”
I turned my head to regard Istaqua standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.
He took a step into the room. “Why do you think they’ve corralled so many of us into the reservation? There’s talks of opening more and making residency mandatory. Once every supernatural has been herded into a reservation, how much do you think it will take for them to turn their guns on us?”
“People won’t let that happen,” I said, shaking my head. “There are too many agents inside BSI who are practitioners like me that would stand against it.”
“Agents that are to be replaced with the super-soldiers they are developing.” Reed hissed and clutched his side. “The research has to be shut down. Han, Hector, all of them must be stopped. Those videos, they were sent to me from another source. They were supposed to be delivered to Marcus Kelley as proof of Han’s involvement. You must get them to him.”
That explained a lot, but not everything. I still needed answers.
“None of that explains why you’ve been attacking everyone and why you’re suddenly back to your old self inside this circle.” I gestured to the circle of ash.
“It’s Hector’s doing. He is gifted with psychomancy. He cast a powerful spell over me, Judah. I’ve got no control over my actions if I leave this circle. If not for the Kings apprehending me and bringing me here, I would be back in the hands of BSI, spirited away to be executed.” He winced again. “Of course, that came at a price. They had to severely injure me to get me here and, well, inside this circle, I don’t seem to be healing at my normal rate.”
The pieces were coming together. Hector must have sp
elled Reed to get him out of the way. Reed would be the one person who could put everything together and bring in Marcus to shut everything down. If Han was fired from Fitz, he’d lose access to all his research and, as a controlling investor, Marcus could shut down the whole project. The Sicarii would be set back a long way. They’d be dealt a huge blow, but not defeated. It might buy us time to shut them down completely, though.
Am I crazy? If what Reed is saying is true, these Sicarii are immortal. They’ve been around for thousands of years and have more knowledge, strength, and power than I can ever hope to have. I’m just one federal agent living in a small town. What can I do against that?
I looked back at Istaqua. The Kings must have felt the same at one time, but they didn’t just stand by and do nothing. That’s why they were moving people out of BSI reach, to safety. They didn’t have to save the world; they just had to save one person at a time.
That’s all I have to do, take down one of them at a time.
I turned back to Reed. “If we shut down the rem production, will it make any difference at all?”
Reed thought a moment and then nodded. “But you need to get those videos to Marcus, too. Hector probably isn’t the only one producing rem, but shutting him and his operation down will make it harder for Han to get it, especially once he’s removed from the Fitz team.”
I stood and moved to go, but Reed grabbed my arm, forcing me to turn back.
“Hector is smart,” Reed said. “His followers are likely all addicted to the rem. He’s used it and his psychomancy to bring them all under his control. They’ll defend him and the facility with their lives.”