Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  “None required. It’s no secret we’re not on the best of terms.”

  “No, it’s not,” the detective agreed. A pensive beat passed before she spoke up again. Cato expected her to wonder about the source of their acrimony. Instead, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be all right?”

  “I wouldn’t go measuring her office for drapes just yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” Cato raised a hand between them, forestalling a professional objection. “Kidding,” he said in his best attempt at reassuring her. “Sorry—poor taste. As for Ann, she’ll be fine, I’m sure. She’s the toughest person I know.”

  Whatever else Detective Aziani might have expected him to say, it clearly wasn’t that. “Yes,” she agreed after a moment, “she is.” There was something unspoken in that statement, almost underscoring it. Pride, perhaps? “That said, I spoke with Chief Banner earlier today. She informed me of your renewed commitment to working together. I have every intention of honoring that commitment in her stead. Would you care to tour the scene, Spector Cato?”

  “I suppose I might as well, since I’m here and all,” he said, then accepted a pair of gloves and booties from a nearby officer. “Fair warning, though: I have no idea what happened here.”

  For only the second time since he’d made her acquaintance, the detective broke character. Wrinkling her nose and looking at him as if he’d asked where he might find someone capable of sewing a second head onto his shoulders, she said, “Seriously? How is that even possible?”

  “My partner and I have been chasing leads on the Stone case all day. I assume it has something to do with that.” After pausing for a moment to awkwardly balance on each foot as he stretched the booties over his shoes, Cato continued. “We were headed back to the office when we heard the call for backup. We were in the area, so we responded. Never even heard the original call. Someone probably tried to put one in, but, like I said, it’s been one of those days.”

  Detective Aziani composed herself once more. “Then I dare say you should brace yourself,” she informed him stolidly. “Because the day is far from over.”

  9

  Bruised ribs, contusions to the head, neck, back, and pelvis, to say nothing of an assortment of other troubling injuries over the years…”

  “So, you’re saying she’s going to be all right,” Hank prompted.

  “I should say so, yes.”

  “Sooner than later?”

  “More than likely.”

  “And she’ll still be able to do her job?”

  “Barring anything unexpected, yes.”

  “Good. You can go now.”

  “As you say, Spector. Good day to you.”

  Hank regretted sending the doctor off so abruptly. That was more Cato’s style than his. He was supposed to be the calm one, the circumspect one, the one who swept in after Cato had scorched the earth to smooth it over and make it arable again. He and Ann had no special history together, no partnership or dirty secret to share between themselves. He just admired her. He’d watched her from afar, learning as much as he possibly could from her example after Cato had invited him to be his partner. Hank thought himself a ridiculous choice, having been out of law enforcement for so long, but Cato had been adamant.

  “You were the best spotter I ever had,” Cato had told him at the time, “and experience isn’t an issue.”

  “I just don’t know if it’s for me.”

  “It probably isn’t. I’m not going to lie. We’ll have more crap days than not, more losses than wins, but, Hank—we can do something here. Something more than just pulling triggers or sighting through scopes.”

  Several beats had passed before the operator reminded them the charge was running low. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid—”

  “I’m in,” Hank said at the time. “When do I report?”

  He would never have guessed at the time that his duties would include a hospital vigil for a woman he considered a colleague, let alone a friend. Maybe not a close one, but a friend nonetheless.

  He’d just settled into the chair beside the bed when she said, weakly, “Guess I should have zigged instead of zagged, huh?”

  “Shit,” he said, nearly leaping to his feet again. “I didn’t think you were conscious.”

  “Yeah, it kinda sucks. Good meds, though.” She seemed to work her eyes, her pupils going a little wobbly before she fixed him with a drugged-up stare. “‘The hell are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have a case to run? The one your d-bag partner stole from me?”

  “Someone had to ride with you,” Hank said, reaching for her hand gently. “Need anything?”

  “Just an all-clear to get back on the street.” That said, she didn’t exactly shove his hand away.

  Hank smirked. “Not happening. Settle in, Chief. You’re gonna be here for a while.”

  Ann sighed and closed her eyes. “Fuck. Me.”

  She seemed to have finally relaxed when the machines monitoring her vitals started going crazy, and she pushed up on her elbows. “My people! Were any of them hurt?”

  “They’re fine, they’re fine,” Hank said quickly, reassuringly. “You need to lie back down, or you’re just going to jack yourself up worse. Your people wouldn’t want that, would they?”

  Reluctantly, Ann settled back into the hospital bed. “You’re not lying to me, are you? Trying to keep me relaxed?”

  “I would never. Cato and your people neutralized the threat before it got out of hand.”

  “Ah, crap,” she said blearily. “Now I owe him. What’s he drinking these days?”

  “Anything.”

  “Cool. I’ll get him a bottle of it.”

  The two of them shared a knowing laugh. Then she passed out.

  The nurse on call dashed into the room to check Ann’s vitals. Hank tried to explain that Ann had been worried about her people, nothing more, but the nurse paid him no mind. Finally, she left, leaving the two of them alone again.

  Not for long, though. Only a few minutes later, Mayor Zobbles himself made an appearance. He was flanked by two anonymous security types and a somewhat anxious senior staffer. Evidently he’d managed to squeeze a few minutes from his busy schedule to check in on his fallen officer, much to the sweating staffer’s dismay.

  “Wait out here,” he said to his entourage. “Oh, Hank. Huh. Surprised to see you here.”

  Hank stood at attention as he’d been trained to do all those years ago, nodding smartly as Dolan entered the room. “Mr. Mayor. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised to see you here, too.”

  The mayor took one look at Ann, slumped unconscious in her bed, and raised a brow at Hank. “The city is going to shit on my watch, Hank. You really think I wouldn’t come to see my chief of detectives while she’s laid up like that?”

  Hank lifted a brow, nodding slightly. “Fair point, sir. Apologies.”

  “Come on, Hank,” Zobbles said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We served together. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’.”

  “Well, you were my lieutenant back then, and you’re the mayor now, so, technically, I feel like I do.”

  Zobbles waved off Hank’s concern with a flap of his hand. “Please. You saved my life once upon a time. We’re good, Hank.”

  “All right, well, in that case, thank you, Dolan.”

  “That’s better. So, how’s the chief?”

  “Banged up a bit, but feisty as ever. I think the drugs finally got the better of her. Otherwise she’d be back out on the front lines kicking ass and taking names.”

  Tipping his head to the side, Zobbles offered no disagreement as he regarded the unconscious woman. “Yup, that’d be our Ann.”

  “As you say.”

  Zobbles raised a brow, looking from Ann to Hank. “You’re fond of her?”

  “Not in that way. She’s a role model. Her demeanor, her professional acumen—if you’re going to do a job, why not look to the best, right?”

  “Well said.”

  With a little gesture toward the window and
the view of the city it offered, Hank wondered in a low tone, “So, what’s happening out on the street? Have there been more attacks? Any reprisals?”

  “It’s a mess out there, but nothing that hasn’t been contained.”

  Hank eyed Zobbles hard, boring deep into his psyche. It was like he was looking down the line of a scope all over again. “You’re not telling me everything. If you want us to do your bidding, that’s one thing, but don’t put blinders on us. We need to know what we’re facing.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then, what?”

  “I’m considering instituting martial law.” Before Hank could even lodge an objection, Zobbles said, “Things are getting out of hand. We have to stop the bleeding somehow.”

  “Worst damn idea you’ve ever had,” Ann said from her bed. Despite the slight slurring of her words, she was deadly serious in her assessment.

  Zobbles pushed past Hank at the sound of Ann’s voice, going straight to her bedside. Hank wasn’t the type to accuse someone of posturing, but there was something about Zobbles’ presence his sudden awareness of her, that struck him as calculated, even cloying.

  “Chief Banner,” the mayor said softly. “How are you feeling? I came as soon as I heard you’d been injured in the line of duty.”

  Ann didn’t miss a beat. She looked him square in the eye and said, “Don’t. Do. Martial. Law.”

  “Why not? We’re obviously under a coordinated attack.”

  With some effort, she gathered her thoughts. “I understand that. But my people… need to be able to do their jobs. If you lock the city down… they can’t do that. Right now, the city is on our side. You declare martial law… you’re only punishing the people trying to live their lives. The people you want to vote for you in two weeks. They will make you pay.”

  “What would you have me do? People are dying.”

  “Nothing. My people are damn good. Nissa Aziani is damn good. Even your people… objectionable as their existence is… are damn good. Together, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “We?”

  “Don’t you dare… count me out of this. I can still do my part, limited as I am.”

  Zobbles nodded thoughtfully. Looking over his shoulder, he eyed Hank for a second opinion. “Care to weigh in on this, Spector Smiley?”

  “One hundred percent in agreement with Ann. You might as well send up a white flag if you declare martial law.”

  “All right. I can give you twenty-four hours,” Zobbles said as he stood, straightening his jacket. “After that, unless you have a major break in at least one of the cases, all bets are off. We have to control this thing one way or another, or there might not be anyone left to vote in two weeks.”

  “Agreed,” Hank and Ann said simultaneously, and the two of them shared a small grin—though one was admittedly a bit more medicated than the other.

  “All right, then. Get well soon, Chief. We need you back ASAP.”

  “Maybe we could get some sort of liaison over here, Mr. Mayor?” Hank suggested. “Someone who could relay Ann’s thoughts and actions to her people in the field?”

  Zobbles nodded, working his chin thoughtfully. “That’s definitely doable. Good thinking, Hank.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  With that, Zobbles made his exit.

  He was barely out of the room before Ann raised a narcotic brow. “I don’t know what to make of you, Hank Smiley.”

  “How do you mean?” Hank wondered.

  “You seem to be a genuinely good guy who got wrapped up in the orbit of a total dickwad. How does that happen?”

  With a soft sigh, Hank seated himself across from her. “Ryen Cato is a force of nature. He just—he sweeps into your life, he picks you up, and then he moves on. I’m not sure he knows how to do anything else. Right now, I’m just riding the wave, you know? He wanted me for a partner and, well, here I am.”

  Ann frowned. “Didn’t you two serve together? What was that like?”

  “I spotted for him back in the day. I tell you, you want to talk about someone who never hesitated to pull the trigger…”

  Ann nodded. Then her eyelids got a little fluttery. “Ugh, I’m starting to feel woozy again.”

  “Rest up, Chief. I’ll check in on you soon.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.”

  10

  It’s called a solar flare,” Cato said, examining the device. “Creates a chemical reaction that produces a massive surge of light. We saw a lot of them during the Nothnocti Wars. Mostly, they were used to clear strigoi warrens, catch ’em while they were hibernating, but, obviously, they work on gargoyles, too.”

  “Fascinating.” Like Cato’s, Detective Aziani’s demeanor was detached, entirely clinical. “And brutally efficient.”

  “Yeah. They were reclassified as mass destruct level five after the war. Part of the reconciliation effort.” He passed the device, now bagged as evidence, back to the tech standing behind them. The man scurried off with the bag, leaving Cato and Ann’s understudy to survey the scope of the destruction littering the sanctuary’s floor. It really was barbaric, seeing it like this. This went beyond a simple act of reprisal. This was the result of pure, unadulterated hatred.

  “Well, this is just fantastic,” he said. Turning away from the main field of rubble, he mopped his face and forehead with a handkerchief. Gods, but it was hot inside within the heavy stone walls of the temple, the air still laden with evaporated sweat and residual smoke.

  “Your sarcasm notwithstanding, I concur. This is bad.” Aziani cast a hopeless glance around the sanctuary for a moment, the look of someone grasping at straws. “Do you suppose there is any chance that the timing of these events is purely coincidental?”

  “Not a one.”

  “Damn.”

  They were only beginning to consider how totally screwed they were when a sudden commotion at the front of the sanctuary caught their attention. Turning to find its source, Detective Aziani locked eyes with one of the young officers she had left outside to guard the scene. He was inside now, a look of alarm pulling at his youthful face as he scurried toward her.

  “Ma’am?” he said. “There’s a convoy rolling up with diplomatic plates. I think they’re from Silverbreak Keep.”

  “Damn,” Aziani said again, harder.

  She had been hoping for more time, Cato knew, if only to properly secure the bodies, or evidence, or whatever all the bits of broken stone at their feet would technically be classified as. So much for small favors.

  Aziani rallied, squaring her shoulders, ready to command her people to action. “Well, here we go again. Everyone, prepare to form up and defend the integrity of the scene.”

  “Actually, Detective, if I may?”

  “Of course, Spector.”

  “I say, let him in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t mean that as an order. Your scene, your call. All I’m saying is, it’s Gragos Cairn. You can bar him from the scene, but he’ll just go over your head. Eventually, he’ll get the mayor on the line and give him an earful, and then the mayor will tear you a new one for pissing off the head of the Gjunta.” Cato looked around at the scene, shrugging. “Besides, they are his people. It’s not like the remains are going to tell us anything we don’t already know. Plus, I wouldn’t even begin to know how to go about identifying them. I’m guessing your people don’t either, so why not let them help?”

  Detective Aziani eyed him skeptically. Finally, she said, “Belay my previous order. We will allow Kovar Cairn to inspect the scene.” She turned to Cato as her people resumed their work. Her voice was pitched low, a whisper meant only for him. “Know that if this goes south, I will not hesitate to mention that it was done at your suggestion.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They met Cairn together, Cato hoping that his presence would help to mollify the governor. He could hardly have been more wrong.

  “Kovar Cairn,” Azia
ni began, “on behalf of the Police and Welfare Division, allow me to—”

  “My daughter,” Cairn said, his voice booming as he stormed into the sanctuary. “Where is my daughter? Sinnestra? Sinnestra!”

  Oh, no, Cato thought. Please, no.

  The normally reserved governor of the Gargoyle Gjunta was a force unto himself, not to be denied. Cato and Aziani had no choice but to clear a path or be bowled over. Aziani was about to lift her voice in protest when Cato laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

  Cairn searched the rubble frantically. Then he froze abruptly, becoming as still as the statues his people had been made into. Slowly, he lowered a shaking hand to retrieve a smoothly contoured piece of stone. He held it before his face, stroking his fingers along its curved edge.

  A cheek, Cato realized. He was holding her cheek, a small groove indicating the curve of her lips.

  All at once, Cairn threw his head back and howled, a terrifying wail composed of equal parts pain and rage. Such was the power of his grief that the building actually shook to its foundations. Little skeins of dust shook loose from the ceiling and rained down upon them. The PWD personnel looked on awkwardly, unsure if they were about to be subjected to another bout of unchecked gargoyle rage. Cairn was rooted to the spot, however, his shoulders rolling up and down, his breath coming in great, furious waves.

  Cato and Aziani exchanged glances. He finally relented after several seconds of their holding each other’s stare. “I’ve got this,” he whispered.

  “Thank you.”

  She wasn’t the only one who was relieved. The PWD personnel eyed him with visible appreciation. Cato was careful to make eye contact with each of them, doing his best to communicate with a glance that, while he thought the situation was under control, by no means should they take that as an invitation let their guard down. The looks he received in kind told him they understood. Whatever happened, they had his back.

  Coming to a stop behind the hunched governor, Cato stood at a loss for how to engage the creature in his hour of grief. He considered placing his hand on Cairn’s shoulder, but wondered if the gesture conveyed the same sense of sympathy in gargoyle culture.