Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  Oh, great. “Not a problem.”

  “Does that satisfy you?” Stefan asked Lurine.

  She closed her compact with a snap. “Thank you, yes.”

  He looked at me. “You said a few issues.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at Detective Wilkes and Cody in case either of them wanted to take the lead, but the detective was clearly overwhelmed, and Cody gave me a go-ahead nod. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ve got a dead boy who was in this bar looking for Ray D two weeks before he died, and we’ve got eyewitnesses who saw two ghouls, one male and one female, dump the boy’s body in the river. Like it or not, your people are involved in this, Mr. Ludovic.” I held up my left hand, flashing Hel’s rune at him. “Last night I was summoned to Little Niflheim. To put it mildly, Hel is very concerned.”

  “I see.” His pupils contracted again, giving him a blind, inward-looking appearance. “I will look deeper into the matter. But I assure you, no one you spoke to the other day lied.” His nostrils flared, and his pupils expanded. “I would have known.”

  Lurine idly jiggled one stilettoed heel. “What about the bartender?”

  “Jerry? It’s possible,” Stefan admitted after a pause, a frown creasing his pale brow. “He’s a blank.”

  I felt ignorant. “What’s a blank?”

  “He has no sense of empathy.” Stefan was silent a moment. “Condemn us as you will; call us ghouls.” He spoke the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, and I remembered Hel calling it an unkind name. Briefly, I wondered what they called themselves, and wished I’d thought to ask her. “We are what we are, victims of our own passions. But we could not exist without being attuned to the emotions of others. This gift is not without its uses.” His unnerving gaze settled on me. “One such as you, a skilled and compassionate ghoul could assist. One could allow you to safely experience the emotions you fear, Daisy Johanssen.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. Sheesh, was it that obvious? I cleared my throat. “Yeah, um, this isn’t about me. Back to the blanks?”

  He shrugged. “Because they lack empathy, we cannot attune to them. So yes, in theory it is possible for Jerry to lie in my presence.”

  “He’s a sociopath.” Detective Wilkes had found his voice. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  Again with the arched eyebrow. “Is that the correct terminology? Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Can we subpoena the bartender and bring him in to testify under oath?” Cody asked Wilkes. “Maybe hook him up to the polygraph?”

  The detective shook his head. “Based on this? Hell, no. I read the file. He’s already given you a statement. You want me to go to a judge and claim he’s an uncooperative witness because some, some . . . ghoul . . . says he has no sense of empathy?” He shook his head again. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  Stefan Ludovic laid his hands flat on the desk. “Speak, Hel’s liaison. My services are at your disposal. What will you?”

  “Umm . . .” I glanced at Cody.

  “The victim was found with a matchbook from the Wheelhouse in his pocket, and there was a phone number written on it,” Cody said. “Unfortunately, it was illegible. But someone here gave it to him. We want to know who and we want to know why.” His voice dropped an octave, a hint of a growl in it, a reminder that he was a predator, too. “And we want to find Ray D and question him. Badly. Very badly. You claim to be in charge here. Is that too much to ask?”

  They had a brief staring contest and it was the ghoul who looked away, although I had the feeling it was more about maintaining self-control than any sense of intimidation. “I assure you, every effort will be made.”

  For now, it would have to do.

  Remembering Hel’s warning, I wondered what would happen if he failed.

  Eighteen

  Knowing what I did now, I couldn’t help but check out Jerry the bartender as we left the Wheelhouse.

  Bracing his hands on the bar, he fixed me with a long, flat stare. “You gonna blow up my kegs again, blondie? Or do you like what you see?”

  In fact, I most definitely didn’t like it, because what I saw was La Araña, the spider from my mom’s reading. An intricate tattooed web covered Jerry’s right shoulder and upper arm, the spider squatting amidst it.

  Oh, crap.

  “Yeah, um . . .” I made myself smile. “Sorry about that.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever.”

  I opted to keep quiet about this discovery for the time being. I wasn’t sure how much stock Cody put in Mom’s reading, and I was definitely sure Detective Wilkes wouldn’t approve.

  It was a relief to escape from the dark confines of the Wheelhouse to the bright sun outdoors in the parking lot. The driver of the Town Car emerged to hover patiently beside it. Ignoring him for the moment, Lurine put her sunglasses back on. “Are you done playing with ghouls for the day, cupcake?”

  “For now, yeah. Thanks.” I paused. “Practically your goddaughter, huh?”

  “Well.” A mischievous smile curved her lips. “Why not? It worked, didn’t it?” Her smile vanished, and she lowered her sunglasses to give me a serious look. “He’s an old one, that Stefan, and dangerous, and you’re like catnip to these things, Daisy. I wanted to make sure he knows I consider you under my protection. Now he does.”

  “Do you know him from . . . before?” I asked.

  Lurine shook her head. “No. I’d remember. And believe me, so would he. He was just baiting me.”

  “Ah . . .” Detective Wilkes glanced at his notes. “You said he was old. How old are we talking?”

  “Aren’t you cute?” Lurine patted him on the cheek, not deigning to answer. “Baby girl, you call me next time, okay?”

  “Okay, okay!”

  She settled her sunglasses in place. “I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but it’s just that you don’t have any defenses against this kind of thing.”

  My hand went instinctively to my straw satchel, feeling the shape of dauda-dagr nestled inside it. “That’s not entirely true.”

  Lurine’s face paled beneath her sunglasses, and she drew in a sharp breath, her voice taking on that bronze-edged tone it had when she summoned the naiads, making the sunlight seem to shiver over the hot pavement of the parking lot. “Daisy Johanssen, tell me you’re not thinking of invoking your birthright!”

  “No!” I protested. “God, no! Of course not.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that, cupcake.” Behind the dark lenses, her gaze shifted to Cody, softening. “Of course you’re not defenseless,” she said. “With a big, strong, handsome police officer at your side. My apologies, Officer Fairfax. It was rude of me to imply otherwise.”

  He blushed. “Please call me Cody.”

  “Cody.” Lurine smiled at him. “I like the sound of it.” She pointed at me. “Call me.”

  “I will!”

  She glided back into the Town Car, and the driver closed the door after her. Cody and Detective Wilkes stared after it as it pulled away.

  “All right.” The detective gave himself a shake. “I think . . . I think I need to rethink this case and how we’re going to handle it.” He stared at his nice leather-bound notebook. “I’m at a bit of a loss here. I’m not sure how to even report on this. Mind if we go back to the station and conference?”

  “Not at all,” Cody said.

  Lifting his head, Detective Wilkes gazed at the highway in the direction the Town Car had gone. “That really was Lurine Hollister, wasn’t it? I’d heard the rumor that she lived in the area, but . . .” He glanced at me. “What the hell is she? For that matter, what are you? And what did she mean about invoking your birthright?”

  “Nothing germane to the case,” I said firmly. And yes, I was a bit pleased with myself for remembering the word germane and using it correctly in context. My old teacher Mr. Leary would have been proud. “Shall we go?”

  Back at the station, we sent out for sandwiches and conferenced, the
chief sitting in on our discussion. Away from Lurine oozing preternatural, predatory charisma all over the place, and the glittering eyes of ghouls, Detective Wilkes regained a measure of confidence.

  “You weren’t kidding about this one, Dave,” he said to the chief. “It’s a tricky son of a bitch.”

  Chief Bryant nodded. “Told you.”

  Detective Wilkes spread one hand over the open pages of his notebook. “Here’s what I’m thinking. For now . . .” He raised one finger for emphasis. “For now, I’d like to leave this eldritch angle under wraps and let your people handle the fieldwork on it.”

  “Sounds good.” The chief bit into a ham sandwich on marbled rye.

  “Any ordinary human leads, my team will run down,” the detective continued. “We’ll run a background check on that bartender. . . . What was his name?” Lifting his hand, he squinted at his notes. “Jerry Dunham. And there’s the name the vic’s younger brother gave us, too. Matthew Mollenkamp, the Triton alum from Van Buren College. That whole secret-society-within-a-society, Masters-of-the-Universe business. I don’t see any follow-up here. You looked into it yet?”

  Cody shook his head. “No time.”

  “Make time.”

  The chief chewed and swallowed a bite of ham sandwich, taking a swig of water and clearing his throat. “Speaking of time, how much time are we talking about, Tim?”

  “Not a lot.” Detective Wilkes gave him a bleak look. “Four, five days. A week at best. I can’t keep it under wraps forever.”

  “Gonna get ugly if it blows up.”

  “I know.” The detective sounded sympathetic. “At some point, we’re going to have to bring those boys back in for questioning.”

  Chief Bryant grimaced. “When?”

  “Give it another day or two. Let’s see what more we can dig up.” Detective Wilkes took another peek at his notes. “No leads at all on the whereabouts of this Ray D? Not even a last name to go on?”

  “It’s hard enough tracking down a human member of the Outcasts,” Cody said. “Or any biker. Most of them go by nicknames or aliases. It’s ten times harder when it’s a ghoul. The majority of them are at least a hundred years old. Any official ID they had is ancient history. And you know what motorcycle clubs are like.”

  The detective nodded. “There’s a pretty fierce code of loyalty at work. Was this Ray D involved in the meth lab we busted back in April?”

  “Yeah, but no one would finger him.” Cody turned his hands palms-up. “Never been able to bag a ghoul. Humans won’t flip on them.”

  “Maybe they would if they didn’t know what they were doing.” For the first time in hours, the shrewd light was back in the detective’s eyes. He tapped his notebook. “Let me make some inquiries down at county, see what I can shake loose.”

  “The ME released the vic’s body today,” the chief observed. “Funeral’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Thought it might be good politics for me to attend it. Be interesting to see who else is there.”

  “You think Ray D might show?” Detective Wilkes asked.

  Chief Bryant shrugged. “It’s the kind of thing a ghoul would do, especially if he’s the perp.” His heavy gaze slid over to me. “Daisy, I thought you might come with me. See if there’s anything hinky. Any eldritch presence.”

  “It’s not likely,” I said. “Not outside Hel’s sphere of influence. The funeral’s in Appeldoorn, right?”

  “South side,” he said. “Along Big Pine Bay. Cuypers and Sons. It’s on the outermost limits, but it’s in range.”

  I sighed. “I’ll go. But I didn’t, um, exactly make a good impression on the family.” I picked up the copy of the Appeldoorn Guardian still sitting on the table. “And we’re not exactly their favorite people.”

  “That makes it more important than ever to keep up appearances,” the chief said. “Pay our respects.”

  “And intrude on their grief,” I said morosely.

  He wasn’t cutting me any slack on this one. “No one ever said this job was easy.”

  “Right.” Tim Wilkes closed his notebook and stood. “All right, I’ve got enough to get started on here. I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, keep me in the loop.”

  “Will do,” Chief Bryant promised.

  Once the detective had gone, Cody rose, too. “Chief, if it’s all right with you, I’ve got a couple more possible leads to run down. Known associates of Ray D that I didn’t get to yesterday. Probably no point, but . . .” He shrugged. “No stone left unturned, right? Daisy, I think it’s best if you lie low until we get word from Ludovic that Al’s off the streets. Stay here, maybe catch up on some filing.”

  “Wait.” The chief raised one meaty hand. “Back up a minute. Al?”

  At his insistence, we filled him in on the attack of Al the ravening ghoul and its aftermath. I left out the part where Cody got a little furry and toothy in the process, and Cody tactfully avoided mentioning Lurine’s presence. It warmed my heart a little to see him honoring the unspoken eldritch code, which in turn made me think of Jen with a guilty pang. I checked my phone surreptitiously.

  Nope, no messages.

  Chief Bryant agreed with Cody that I should lie low. “No point in taking unnecessary risks,” he said pragmatically, lumbering to his feet and heading for the conference room door. “And Patty could use a hand in the front office. With everything going on, she’s backed up.”

  I sighed again.

  Daisy Johanssen, part-time file clerk. Last week I wouldn’t have minded a bit. Now it felt like a bit of a letdown.

  Cody grinned at me, his gold-flecked topaz eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s for your own good, Pixy Stix. Don’t worry; it’s only temporary.”

  “Hang on.” I caught him before he left, remembering Jerry the bartender’s tattoo. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

  He listened, looking skeptical. “It doesn’t prove anything, Daise.”

  “It fits the reading,” I said. “So did the bottle. That’s the one solid piece of evidence we have that the kids were lying.”

  It was Cody’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, it does. But we can’t bring him in for questioning on the basis of your mom’s reading a deck of lotería cards any more than we can a ghoul’s say-so. Understand?”

  “I guess.”

  “Have you looked into other possible interpretations?” he asked.

  “I meant to,” I admitted. “No time.”

  “I know.” Cody lowered his voice. “As long as we’re being honest, you didn’t mean me, did you? In the parking lot?” he added when I looked at him with confusion. “When you said you weren’t entirely without defenses?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” From his mild tone, he took no offense. “What, then?”

  Opening my satchel, I showed him the gleaming, rune-etched length of dauda-dagr, its keen edges already fraying the satin lining. “Hel gave me a weapon last night,” I said. “Its name means ‘death day.’ It can kill the undead. She thought I should have it.”

  Cody sucked in his breath, phosphorescent green flashing behind his eyes. “Because you’ll need it?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He stared at it. “Daisy, do you have the first idea how to handle an edged weapon?”

  My tail twitched with indignation. “I have a general idea. After all, it’s pointy, right?”

  He exhaled hard. “Okay. Later this evening, we’re going to have a little lesson.” His tone turned firm. “No arguments, all right?”

  “All right,” I agreed.

  Nineteen

  I spent the afternoon catching up on a backlog of filing, skimming the reports for any telltale signs of eldritch involvement. As far as I could tell, all was quiet on that front. The community was lying low.

  A little after three o’clock, there was a commotion on the block outside the station, a flurry of excited shrieks and gasps.

  “What the hell’s going on out there?” the chief called from his office.
r />   Patty and I exchanged a glance. “I’ll go take a look,” I volunteered, jumping at the chance to take a break from filing.

  The source of the commotion turned out to be none other than the head ghoul himself. Stefan and two other members of the Outcasts had parked their motorcycles halfway down the block, and were approaching the station on foot.

  That was why the tourists were shrieking. I couldn’t blame them. There was no mistaking the trio for human. It was a bona fide eldritch sighting. In broad daylight, the underlying ghoul pallor was more pronounced, and an otherworldly aura that even an untrained mundane could recognize surrounded them.

  Especially Stefan. And I realized, watching him walk down the sidewalk like a victorious warrior returning from battle, that I didn’t respond differently to him just because he was gorgeous.

  He was different. Lurine had said he was old. Maybe it was age that had slowly altered him, turning the dull and creepy carbon of a ghoul like Al the Walrus into something hard-edged and glittering, like a scary diamond.

  Okay, a bit of a mixed metaphor, but you get the idea.

  At any rate, the tourists continued to point and exclaim and take photos. Courtesy of the misapprehensions of popular culture, I heard the word vampire thrown around with delight. Vampires in daylight? Trust me, it does not happen.

  Ignoring the tourists, Stefan halted in front of the station to greet me, inclining his head. “Miss Johanssen.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that his chest rose and fell as he took a slow, patient breath. Unlike vampires, for example, Stefan lived and breathed. For a being whose entire existence was predicated on some kind of complicated spiritual loophole, he seemed very physically present. Very much there, very much alive. There was actual blood beating in his veins. And I could not help but be very, very aware of it. So aware it made my skin tingle.