Something subtle altered in his expression. “He’s in love with another ghoul?”
“So it seems,” I said. “Does it matter?”
“It changes things.” Following my lead, Stefan stirred creamer into his coffee, frowning. “Two ghouls, as you call us, two of our kind cannot sustain each other. For both to attempt to feed on each other, it creates . . .” He gestured absently with his plastic stir stick. “I believe the term your modern science accords it is a closed feedback loop. Call it emotional cannibalism if you like. Ultimately, it is an unsustainable system.”
Okay, now we were getting somewhere. “So what’s the fix?” I asked him. “An outside source, right?”
“Yes.”
“Like killing a mortal boy?”
Stefan shook his head. “I told you before, Daisy. There is no sustenance to be gained from the dead. A pair of ghouls in love would require a sustainable source of emotion.”
“Like what? Some kind of hostage?”
“Possibly,” he admitted. “Have there been reports of missing persons in recent months?”
“No.” I blew out my breath. “Okay, how about Dr. Midnight’s Traveling Sideshow. Ever heard of it?”
His face was blank and innocent. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
I studied him. “Okay, here’s an easy one for you. I get the impression ghoul isn’t exactly a polite term. So what should I call you?”
It startled a faint smile from him. “Over the ages, there have been many names for our kind. Ghoul is among the less flattering, but it is the term that has endured. In truth, there are far too many of those among us deserving of the name. You may as well continue to use it.”
“What do you call yourself?” I pressed him.
Avoiding my gaze, Stefan pondered the depths of his coffee mug. His black hair was no longer bound in a clasp, and it swung forward to obscure his features with a perfection an anime illustrator would have envied. “Outcast,” he murmured. “I number myself among the Outcast.”
I was pretty sure he wasn’t talking about the biker gang. There were a lot of emotions behind the words, all of them intense, all of them held fast with steely discipline in that cool, still place inside him. I knew because I’d caught a glimpse of it, and my emotions were still resonating like a tuning fork. Which, frankly, unnerved me a little. I fought the urge to stroke a lock of hair back from his temple and focused on the issues at hand. “Stefan, who are you and where did you come from? Why are you here? I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but I’m trying to figure out what the hell brought you to Pemkowet.”
Stefan’s head came up, but there was a guarded look in his eyes. Yep, definitely overstepped my boundaries. “My story is a long one,” he said at length. “And I do not intend to tell you the whole of it yet. My trust must be earned, too, Daisy. For now, let it suffice to say that most recently, I lived a comfortable existence in a town in Poland.”
“There’s a functioning underworld in Poland?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.
It worked. He gave me a look of mild reproof. “Is that any stranger than Michigan? Yes. In Wieliczka, Poland. Many of the major elder deities fled Europe during times of upheaval, but there are lesser ones who remained. Peklenc is one such.”
“Never heard of him.”
He smiled wryly. “As I said, he is a lesser deity, forgotten even by many Slavic folk.”
I propped my chin on one hand. “So why did you leave?”
“To put it simply, I was bored,” Stefan said simply. “I sought a greater challenge. I sought meaning.”
“In Pemkowet?” I was skeptical.
“Your country is young and brash, unsophisticated. Nowhere more so than in its rural areas.” He shrugged. “Such ghouls as are made here are born of extreme faith rooted in considerable ignorance. Believing themselves betrayed by their faith, they embrace the role of the Outcast to the fullest extent, leading lives of lawlessness and pointless mayhem. The motorcycle club’s name is no coincidence. It may be that I can help change this and teach them that there are better ways to live. Perhaps I may even find a purpose to my existence in it. That is the challenge I embraced.”
“Yeah, but why Pemkowet?” I asked. “I mean . . . seriously?”
Stefan smiled again, this time with dimples. “I thought it best to start small. Does that answer your question?”
It did if I believed him. I found it a bit hard to believe that he was the ghoul—or Outcast—equivalent of a crusading do-gooder.
On the other hand, he was taking steps to crack down on the ghoulish drug trade, so that was something. And he did appear to be doing his best to assist us. And there was that whole moment-of-emotional-intimacy thing.
On the other other hand, the entire reason the chief had wanted me at Thad Vanderhei’s funeral was to spy out any eldritch presence there. As he’d said, attending a funeral was the sort of thing a ghoul would do, especially if he was the perp. And surprise, surprise, who did I find in attendance? I had only Stefan’s word to explain his presence there, not to mention his assertion that he’d learned nothing. And for all I knew that sense of intimacy I’d experienced was just another predator’s weapon, like a vampire’s hypnosis.
“You speak pretty flawless English for a Polish ghoul,” I said. “And you ride a mean Harley.”
He looked amused. “There are motorcycles in Poland, Daisy, and I spent time paying my dues among the Outcasts’ club before I earned my colors. And over the course of centuries, it is not uncommon to master many tongues.” One eyebrow arched. “As, no doubt, your protective friend Miss Hollister could attest.”
Out of the blue, that gave me an idea. “That glamour-casting pendant of yours. How does it work?”
Stefan looked surprised. “You must hold the image you wish to project in your mind to invoke it.” He touched the crystal lightly. “It cannot fully conceal the truth, merely blur it. I cannot change my likeness entirely, but it allows me to pass as mortal beneath mundane scrutiny at need. Why?”
I eyed the smoky quartz. “Would it work outside of Hel’s domain?”
“For a time,” he said. “No longer than a day or so. Then its magic would begin to fade, as with anything. As below, so above. May I ask again, why?”
“I’d like to borrow it,” I said.
Stefan’s face turned unreadable. “You ask more than you know. I told you it was a gift from a dear friend. It is not the sort of thing to be loaned on a whim.”
“I’m not asking on a whim.” Okay, that was kind of a lie, but I thought it was a pretty good whim. “If you want me to trust you, trust me.”
He hesitated, then nodded at my straw satchel on the booth beside me. “Then give me a token of your trust in trade. Tell me what item hidden in your bag sends a shiver of ice the length of my spine.”
I hesitated, too, but Hel hadn’t said anything about keeping it a secret. “A dagger.”
“What manner of dagger?”
I looked squarely at Stefan. “One capable of killing the undead.”
Even beneath the glamour, he paled. “I see. That explains why I sense its presence.” He inclined his head. “Hel places considerable trust in her young liaison.”
“Desperate times,” I said for the second time. “Desperate measures. Do we have a deal?”
“We do.”
Twenty-five
First of all, I called to check in with the chief. I reported on what I had and hadn’t learned today, and then I told him I planned to do a little undercover sleuthing at Triton House that evening.
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “I didn’t mean for you to fly solo on this, Daisy.”
“I won’t be.”
“I can’t spare Fairfax,” he said. “We’re too shorthanded and the town’s restless. I can’t take him off patrol tonight.”
“I didn’t mean Cody. It’s, um, a member of the community.”
I cradled the phone against my ear, peeling the lid off a bowl of ramen. “Look, you said to make the Masters of the Universe a priority. And like you said, I can pass for a college student.”
“Not without backup,” he said.
I flashed on the image of Lurine in the river, her splendid coils thrashing the water as she summoned the naiads in a bronze-edged voice. “Oh, I’ll have backup, sir. Trust me? I saw what happened at the funeral. We need to move on this.”
Chief Bryant grunted and ended the call.
I took it as a yes.
While my ramen noodles cooked in the microwave, I called Lurine. “So, how bored are you?”
“On a scale of one to ten?” she asked. “Oh, maybe a seven. What’s up, cupcake?”
I fished out my bowl of noodles and stirred them, then stuck them back in the microwave. “Want to help me play Nancy Drew at a frat house? I need backup, and I could really use the skills of a good actress.”
“Love to,” Lurine said promptly and regretfully. “But, honey—”
“I know,” I said to her. “Outside of certain werewolves on the down-low, college students are probably your biggest audience.” Picking up the chain of Stefan’s pendant, I let it dangle from my hand as I regarded it, the cloudy facets glistening dully. “What if I could guarantee you wouldn’t be recognized?”
There was a brief pause. “I’m listening.”
I told her my plan.
“Okay, cupcake. It sounds like fun.” Her voice was filled with light, playful menace. “Shall I send the car for you?”
I smiled. “Lurine, we can’t take a car and driver. I’ll drive. I’ll pick you up in half an hour, okay?”
She sighed. “I hate Method acting.”
Half an hour later, I pulled up to Lurine’s gated drive. I’d exchanged my pumps for strappy sandals, my linen skirt for a denim mini, and shed my demure little cardigan. After announcing myself, I was buzzed through the gates.
As usual, Lurine looked fabulous. She had poured herself into a clingy black spandex dress that hit her at midthigh. When I arrived, she was checking her flawless makeup in an immense lighted mirror at her vanity table.
“Hey, baby girl,” she greeted me. “Let’s see this magic necklace.”
I handed her Stefan’s pendant. “He said you have to hold the image you want to project in your mind to invoke it.”
Lurine glanced in the mirror and pursed her lips. “This is the image I want to project.”
“I just need you to dial it down a few notches,” I said. “Just for tonight.”
“I know, I know.” She examined the smoky quartz. “Interesting. I don’t recognize the signature.”
“It has a signature?”
“All magic has a signature. Okay, let’s give this a try.” Lurine lowered the chain around her neck, the pendant nestling in her cleavage.
The shift was subtle and instantaneous. As Stefan had indicated, it didn’t change her likeness entirely, but Lurine looked . . . different. She looked like she could have been her own younger sister: not quite as gorgeous, not quite as glamorous. A little less intimidating, a little more approachable.
She made a face in the mirror. “Well, it works.”
I smiled. “You look perfect.”
“Come on.” She grabbed her clutch purse. “Let’s go meet some frat boys.”
I drove north toward Appeldoorn. There was a brief frisson as we passed out of range of Hel’s domain: a sense of loss, like a little of the brightness had gone out of the world. I stole a quick glance at Lurine to confirm that the pendant’s charm was still working. It seemed to be holding just fine.
Lurine sniffed disdainfully and wriggled in the passenger seat. “Ah, back into the mundane world.”
“It can’t bother you that much,” I said. “You spent years in it.”
She shrugged. “I’m an immortal monster, cupcake. It would take more than a few years for me to run the risk of fading away without an underworld beneath me.”
“You’re not a monster,” I said automatically.
“Actually, I am,” she said in a pragmatic tone. “As surely as you’re a demon’s daughter. That’s one of the reasons I’m so fond of your mother, Daisy. When I saw how determined she was to love her hot-tempered little hell-spawn . . .” Affection filled her voice. “Gods, you were a handful!”
“So I’ve heard.”
“An adorable handful, if it helps.” Lurine reached over to tousle my hair with the careless lack of respect for personal boundaries that was part of her charm. “Even in the middle of a temper tantrum, you were a cute little brat. But I’m serious, Daisy. Your mother reminded me that there are people in the world with enough heart and courage to love even a monster.” She gave a lock of my hair a sharp tweak, her voice sounding a different note. “For that alone, I’d do anything in my power for either of you.”
Batting her hand away, I stole another glance at her to see whether she was kidding me. She wasn’t. “You are serious.”
She smiled at my incredulous expression. “What can I say, baby girl? I’m proud of you. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re doing your best, and it isn’t easy.” She waved one hand in the general direction of Appeldoorn. “And the rest of the world isn’t going to make it any easier.”
I thought about the headlines, the protestors, the righteous amens at the funeral. “That’s for sure.”
It was around seven o’clock when we parked on the campus of Van Buren College, the warm summer air promising another long, balmy evening gliding ever so slowly into the soft lavender twilight. Actually, it was a lot like the night Thad Vanderhei had died. Right around this time, I’d been headed down to the gazebo to meet Jen and listen to Los Gatos del Sol, fighting an unexpected surge of jealousy at seeing Cody Fairfax flirt with my best friend, warning an irascible milkweed fairy against stealing a changeling child.
God, that seemed like a long time ago.
But counting backward in my mind, I realized it was less than a week ago. It felt like so much had happened, so much had changed.
And if we didn’t catch a break soon, there would be a lot more change coming, none of it good.
On the sidewalk, Lurine waited patiently for me. “Ready?”
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
She winked at me. “Showtime, cupcake.”
Triton House wasn’t actually located on the Van Raalte campus, which was charming and stately on a modest scale, with lots of red brick buildings designed to emulate the town’s old Dutch architecture. The fraternity house, a gift of some wealthy fraternal alumnus, was a few blocks away, all the better to avoid being under the aegis of the college’s public safety department. But since it was part of my cover story that I was considering transferring to Van Buren, I thought it best to park on campus and walk the few blocks.
The house itself sat on a tree-lined street. It was a big, rambling place that had probably once housed multiple generations of a family, now identified by the stylized Triton symbol proudly displayed beneath the eaves. There were a few guys on the front porch drinking beer from plastic cups, and through the screen door, I could see a handful more inside. The mood seemed pretty somber, which, under the circumstances, was to be expected.
“Sorry, ladies,” one of the beer drinkers said as Lurine and I approached the porch. “Private party tonight.”
“No offense,” another added, sounding genuinely regretful. “We’re holding a wake.”
I shaded my eyes with one hand. “For Thad Vanderhei?”
The second beer drinker leaned over the porch railing. “You knew Thad?”
“Yeah.” For all the effort I put into avoiding lying, doing it came surprisingly easily. “We were in youth group together before my family moved. Thad and I stayed in touch. I’m here visiting because I was thinking of transferring. We were supposed to meet up.” I smiled sadly. “He said he really wanted to introduce me to you guys.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Looking stricken, h
e beckoned. “Come on up. I’m Dale.”
I hesitated.
“We don’t want to intrude,” Lurine said apologetically. “And I’m sorry; I didn’t know Thad.” She laid one hand on my shoulder. “I’m just here to chaperone.”
“No, no!” Dale insisted. “Come on; you’ve absolutely got to have a drink with us.”
Within a minute’s time, we were on the porch, plastic cups of tepid beer pressed into our hands.
I introduced myself as Lisa Trask and Lurine as my older sister, Sara. The Tritons asked a few cursory questions about my acquaintance with Thad, but they had other things on their minds.
“You know this is some seriously fucked-up shit you’ve walked into, right?” Dale asked me.
I shook my head. “I only found out yesterday. I called his home number when Thad wasn’t answering my texts.”
He stared into the distance. “Shit.”
I took a sip of beer. “I just can’t believe it.”
“No shit.” His mood darkened visibly. “Everything about this is pretty fucking hard to believe.”
For a fleeting moment, I wished I’d asked Stefan to come with me instead of Lurine. It would have been useful to have someone who could read emotions. But then, I still wasn’t sure I could trust him, or how well his gift would function outside of Hel’s domain, without the presence of an underworld to sustain it. As the eldritch saying goes, as below, so above.
“I thought it was an accident,” Lurine said in a voice so soft and tentative, I couldn’t believe it was coming out of her mouth.
Dale glanced at her. “You don’t think there’s one hell of a cover-up going on down there?”
She gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry; I don’t know anything about it.”
That opened the floodgates. The three Tritons on the porch gave vent to a confused mishmash of conspiracy theories about Thad’s death, fueled by grief, anger, and beer, compounded by reports of Thad’s restless ghost protesting the chief’s presence at his memorial service.
Lurine and I listened wide-eyed, prompting them until I was reasonably sure none of these three knew anything.
Dark Currents: Agent of Hel Page 18