Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  “I see.” Contrary to his words, Tim Wilkes continued to look blank. “Undines. Yes. Definitely . . . unusual.”

  Chief Bryant leaned back in his chair, which creaked. “You see why I’m asking for a measure of discretion?”

  “Yes.” The keen spark returned to the detective’s gaze. “I do.”

  “If you’re willing, I’d like you to work in conjunction with my people.” The chief gestured at Cody and me. “Officer Fairfax has done a fine job leading the investigation. And I suspect you’ll find Miss Johanssen’s connections in what we call the eldritch community to be invaluable.”

  Tim Wilkes scrutinized me. “How is it you come to be so well connected, Miss Johanssen?”

  My tail twitched with irritation and impatience. “That’s considered an impolite question in the community.”

  Cody coughed, hiding a chuckle.

  “You’re one of them.” It was a statement, not a question. At least the detective was shrewd.

  I sighed. “Yes, I’m one of them. I’m also the goddess Hel’s liaison between mortal and underworld authorities, and I assure you, she’s very interested in seeing the truth come to light.” I rubbed my left palm. “I’d show you my badge, but you wouldn’t be able to see it. Since you’re here, I assume the medical examiner has ruled Thad Vanderhei’s death a probable homicide.” I glanced at Chief Bryant. “Chief, I’m sorry I was late, but can I please, please know what was in the autopsy report?”

  He gave me a slow nod. “Your undines were right. The Vanderhei boy drowned, but not in the river.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Don’t know. But he drowned in salt water, not fresh.”

  My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

  Taking pity on me, Cody slid a copy of the autopsy report across the conference table. “Read it for yourself, Daise.”

  I glanced briefly at it and saw a lot of scientific jargon. Bottom line, there’s actually a physiological difference between the process of drowning in salt water and in freshwater. Also, they tested the fluid in his lungs for saline content. Definitely not river water. Scanning further, I saw other details noted.

  “Internal temperature suggests time of death may have been several hours before the discovery of the body,” Cody said helpfully. “Which corroborates your undines’ testimony.”

  “He had scratch marks on his back.” I looked up. “And they found scales under his fingernails?”

  He nodded.

  For a brief, sickening moment, I thought of Lurine. She wouldn’t do that, would she? I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. And if she would, why would she have helped me with the investigation?

  Reaching across the table, Detective Wilkes turned a page for me. “The ME’s office consulted with a biology professor at Western,” he said. “He identified them as fish scales, but he couldn’t pinpoint the species. On his recommendation, we’re sending them to an expert ichthyologist. Hopefully, that will help narrow down our search.” He tapped the page. “For now, we’re thinking fish tanks.”

  I let out my breath. “Fish tanks?”

  “Any other ideas?”

  “No,” I said honestly. Snake scales would have been bad; snake scales might have meant a lamia, or the lamia. As far as I knew, there was only one. I was just glad it wasn’t snake scales. “And I don’t see how this connects with the ghouls.”

  “Ghouls?” Again with the blank look.

  This time it was the chief who coughed. “We have a statement from an eyewitness—that is, a human eyewitness—confirming that two of the boys were seen at the Wheelhouse two weeks prior looking for a ghoul known as Ray D. The victim was found with a Wheelhouse matchbook in his pocket, and an illegible number on it. And if I understand correctly, Miss Johanssen’s undines tentatively identified two of the party in the boat as ghouls.”

  “Also, one of them attacked me last night,” I added. The chief shot me a dumbstruck look. “I’m not sure if it’s related.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Cody murmured. “I didn’t have time to report it.”

  Detective Wilkes scribbled in a leather-bound notebook. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself. “Got a bit of a learning curve here.” He glanced up at us. “I’ve never worked a case with a—what do you call it?—eldritch angle before. You’re going to have to bring me up to speed on a few things.”

  “Where do you want to start?” I asked.

  He tossed the question back to me. “Where do you want to start?”

  I patted my straw satchel, emboldened by the presence of dauda-dagr inside it. “I’d like to have a few words with the new head ghoul.”

  “So would I,” Cody said in a flat tone.

  Detective Wilkes brushed his finger over his neat mustache, thinking. “All right, I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour to study the case file and make a few calls to my team. I’d like to get them started running background checks on everyone involved and looking into local pet stores or aquarium maintenance services.” He pointed at me. “I’d like to see your full report on the, um, undines’ testimony. I understand it isn’t written yet?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  “Not to mention this ghoul attack.” The chief glowered. “Daisy, if this is getting dangerous—”

  “It’s not the kind of attack you can report, sir,” I said. “Not to mundane authorities. It was a violation of Hel’s rules. Unless you can charge a man with attempting to feed on the emotions of the unwilling?”

  He sighed.

  Tim Wilkes looked slightly pale. “So that’s what ghouls do?”

  “That’s what ghouls do,” Cody confirmed.

  “Not usually.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to defend them, except maybe for the memory of Stefan Ludovic’s ice-blue eyes. Tragic figures, Hel had called them. In Stefan’s case, I could almost believe it. Or maybe I just wanted to. The others, not so much. “Usually, they feed on the willing.”

  “Who are willing because they’re miserable, and want to have their emotions drained,” Cody countered. “A vicious cycle most ghouls are only too happy to perpetuate.”

  “None of which even remotely begins to explain how and why a twenty-one-year-old boy apparently drowned in salt water a thousand miles from the nearest ocean,” Chief Bryant interjected in a hard voice. He tossed a copy of today’s Appeldoorn Guardian on the conference table. The headline screamed,

  PEMKOWET CHIEF OF POLICE

  CONTINUES TO STONEWALL

  Should Legislative Action Be Considered?

  “I suggest you get to work before the shitstorm intensifies.”

  Briefly, I entertained an unwelcome vision of Garm the bread-loving hellhound lying shot and bleeding on the dunes, Yggdrasil II hewn down with a thundering crash by an army of chain saws, and Little Niflheim excavated with backhoes. “Duly noted, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Seventeen

  A little more than an hour later, Cody, Detective Wilkes, and I set out to pay a visit to Stefan Ludovic at the Wheelhouse, having first confirmed with a phone call that the head ghoul was on the premises and willing to receive us.

  There were at least a dozen motorcycles in the parking lot, which seemed a bit excessive for not quite noon on a Wednesday. I wondered whether Stefan had called for backup. He didn’t strike me as the nervous type, but he didn’t strike me as the type to shy away from a show of force, either.

  There was also a shiny black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows sitting in the lot, its engine idling. I wondered what the hell that was all about.

  I didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as we exited the car, a driver in a suit and tie got out of the Lincoln and opened the door for his passenger. A pair of long, shapely legs in stiletto heels emerged with the elegance of considerable practice, followed by the rest of a familiar figure.

  “Hey, baby girl!” Lurine greeted me. She wore oversize sunglasses and a formfitting dress with a bold, graphic print. “Long time no see.”

  “Is th
at . . . ?” Cody sounded stunned.

  Lurine lowered her sunglasses enough to peer over them, looking him up and down. “Oh, my, you are a fine-looking specimen.”

  Detective Wilkes’s voice was faint and incredulous. “Are you, um, Lurine Hollister, ma’am?”

  She winked at him. “Guilty as charged.”

  I sighed. “Lurine, what are you doing here?”

  “Let’s just say that I had a feeling you’d turn up here today.” Lurine slung an affectionate arm over my shoulders. “Your mom’s worried about you, cupcake. And I promised to look after you a long time ago.”

  “You know Lurine Hollister?” Cody turned his stunned expression in my direction.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Ever since my little cupcake here was hardly more than a baby.” Lurine planted a smacking kiss on my temple. “Right, Daise?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is she . . .” The detective lowered his voice. “One of your kind?”

  Lurine gave him a mild glance. “And what kind do you suppose that might be, cutie-pie?”

  He flushed. “I’ve no idea, ma’am.”

  She patted his arm with her free hand. “That’s probably for the best, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve seen all your movies,” Cody blurted. “You were great in Revulsion Asylum, and Return to Revulsion Asylum.”

  Lurine smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”

  Cody blushed, too. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

  Oh, gah!

  “I can’t believe your taste in movies,” I said to Cody. “That’s what you watch? Seriously?” Realizing what I’d said, I grimaced and checked myself. “So sorry, Lurine. No offense intended.”

  She squeezed my shoulders. “None taken, cupcake. Shall we go inside?”

  “You don’t have to do this,” I said to her. “In fact, you really shouldn’t do this.”

  Releasing me, Lurine rummaged in her purse and withdrew a neatly folded handkerchief, which she used to blot the crimson lipstick imprint she’d left on my brow. “Oh, don’t argue with me.” Surveying her handiwork, she gave my temple a final swipe and stowed her handkerchief. “I’ve been bored lately. This will be fun.”

  “Ma’am.” Detective Wilkes cleared his throat. “Ah . . . Ms. Hollister. This is highly irregular.”

  She gave him another wink. “That’s what makes it fun.”

  I think the detective would have tried to stop her if he dared, but he didn’t. Lurine sauntered toward the door of the Wheelhouse, and the rest of us fell obediently in line behind her.

  “I can’t believe you know Lurine Hollister!” Cody whispered to me. I punched him unobtrusively in the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Nothing.”

  This time, there was no clatter of cue sticks and pool balls to go silent when we entered the bar. It was already silent.

  But it got . . . more silent.

  I counted seven or eight rough-looking ghouls with pale skin, glittering eyes, and doting women near them. To my relief, Al the Walrus wasn’t among them; to my covert disappointment, neither was Stefan Ludovic. There were another four or five mortal men, also members of the Outcasts, wearing their colors with sullen pride. The same skinny human bartender with the muttonchops was on duty, wearing a sleeveless black concert T-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his wiry arms.

  Since we’d called ahead, they had been expecting us.

  They hadn’t expected Lurine.

  See, here’s the thing. Like I said, members of the eldritch community always recognize one another as kin of a sort. Sometimes it’s obvious; sometimes it’s not. If there’s a glamour, we can see through it. Even if there isn’t, as is the case with half-breeds like me or shape-shifters like Cody, there’s a palpable sense of otherness.

  On the other hand, recognizing someone as other doesn’t necessarily translate into knowing exactly what that other is. But if it hadn’t been evident enough last night, today I realized Lurine was in a category by herself.

  Predators recognize one another, too. And the ghouls in the bar that day may not have known exactly what Lurine was, but they sure as hell recognized her as something bigger and badder and older than themselves.

  “Hello, boys.” She took off her sunglasses. “So nice of you to see us. Is the boss in the house?”

  Frozen, no one replied.

  I nodded toward the back of the bar. “He’s probably lurking in the shadows. He likes to make an entrance.”

  “He’s a show-off,” Cody agreed.

  Lurine pursed her carmine lips. “So predictable.”

  From the shadows came a low chuckle.

  “I’m really not in control of this investigation, am I?” Detective Wilkes mused to himself. He blinked. “Did I say that out loud?”

  Unexpectedly, the muttonchopped bartender banged an empty glass on the service bar. “Hey, Stefan!” he hollered. “Your fucking cops are fucking here again! Are you gonna talk to them or not?”

  Raising her eyebrows a fraction, Lurine turned her gaze on the bartender.

  He returned it impassively, mopping the bar with a dingy-looking rag. “What are you lookin’ at, Goldilocks?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her tone was thoughtful.

  Stefan Ludovic chose that moment to make his entrance, coming forward from the shadows with loose-limbed grace. He paused briefly at the sight of Lurine, and then circled her, his head slightly cocked, his longish black hair brushing the collar of his leather vest. His ice-blue eyes were curious, their pupils waxing and waning. She remained where she was, looking sublimely unconcerned.

  Definitely some kind of predator face-off. Or a mating ritual. Possibly both.

  Detective Wilkes consulted his notes. “Um . . . Mr. Ludovic?”

  Stefan ignored him. “Have we met before?” he asked Lurine. “Perhaps in Prague . . . some time ago? Or somewhere else?”

  Lurine smiled at him. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweetie.”

  His nostrils flared, and he said something in a foreign language.

  She replied in kind.

  And then he said something in another foreign language; or at least that was what it sounded like to me. Lurine answered him in that one, too.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” My impatience got the better of me. “We’ve got a few issues to discuss. Can we talk, please?”

  Stefan inclined his head. “Step into my office.”

  His office was surprisingly luxurious and well-appointed, a back room in the bar with lots of dark wood paneling and leather-upholstered furniture. Nice recessed track lighting, too.

  Stefan took a seat behind the desk, indicating a pair of chairs in front of it. “Ladies, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

  Lurine sat, crossing her legs. After an uncertain glance at Cody and the detective, I took the other seat. “First off, one of your ghouls attacked me last night,” I said. “I came home to find him waiting in the stairwell of my apartment. He tried to . . . um, feed on me.”

  His pupils contracted to pinpoints. “I’m very sorry to hear it,” he said in a clipped tone. “That is unacceptable. Can you identify him?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Al. The big guy with the mustache.”

  “Ah.” A complicated expression crossed Stefan’s face. “When you were here before, he tasted you, did he not?”

  “Um . . . yeah.” Ick.

  He nodded. “As a result of your, shall we say, mixed heritage, your emotions are unusually powerful, Miss Johanssen. For one of our kind . . .” His pupils expanded in a rush, giving me an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Possibly lower, too. It was creepy-gross on Al the Walrus, but creepy-hot on Stefan. Yeah, fine, call me shallow. “For one of our kind, I fear it is rather like a strong drug.”

  “I thought the nectar of chemically induced emotions was poisonous,” Cody observed in his most laconic voice.

  Stefan raised one eyebrow. Of course he was one of those guys who made it look effortless. “You have a good me
mory, Officer. But there is nothing artificial about Miss Johanssen’s emotions.” His pupils did that wane-and-wax thing again. “Indeed, I suspect they are a singularly pure nectar. And having tasted it, Al is ravening.”

  “Ravening?” I echoed.

  He inclined his head. “Like an addict craving a fix, only more dangerous. It is a condition to which the undisciplined among us are vulnerable. Usually it is triggered by exposure to extreme emotion, and causes the afflicted to seek to provoke further extremity in . . . unfortunate ways.”

  “Like murder?” Cody asked bluntly.

  “No.” Stefan turned his ice-blue gaze on him. “There is no sustenance to be gained from the dead. Only the living.”

  My skin felt cold and prickly.

  He looked back at me. “But that is not the case here. Your ordinary emotions are provocation enough. At any rate, do not be concerned. I will attend to the matter.”

  “Mind if I ask how?” I said.

  Apparently, he did. “You have my word. I will attend to it.”

  Cody shook his head. “Not good enough. I want details.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, Stefan Ludovic looked irritated. There’s a whole hierarchal thing that goes on in parts of the eldritch community, and he didn’t like being challenged. “This isn’t a matter that concerns mundane—”

  Lurine interrupted him. “Oh, now, a little detail or two couldn’t hurt, could it?” She took a compact out of her purse and checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Daisy’s practically my goddaughter.” She gave him a winsome smile. “I’d take it as a personal favor, Mr. Ludovic.”

  It was a face-saving measure, and it worked. “Oh, indeed?” He eased. “I didn’t catch your name, Miss . . . ?”

  “Hollister,” she said. “Lurine Hollister.”

  “Is that the name you were born with?” Stefan asked. Not a fan of B-grade horror movies or tabloid gossip, it seemed.

  “Is yours?” she countered.

  He laughed. “Actually, yes. Very well. I’ll have Al picked up this afternoon and confined under guard until the ravening passes. He’s only had a couple of brief tastes. It shouldn’t take more than ten days. You’ll want to avoid accidental contact with him afterward,” he added to me. “It could retrigger him.”