Frostbite (Modern Knights Book 1) Page 16
“What if you found me in possession of a trio of severed wolf heads?” I tried to sound sarcastic.
“Now that’s more like what I’ve been orbiting around. Whatever killed those people, you took it out: But where’s Valente fit? And why did you visit the Old Ways before they were killed? And when did the big, bad wolves learn to fire forty-five caliber bullets through a glass-packed silencer?” Salazar tapped the photo still in my hands. “That’s what they dug out of his shoulder.”
He sighed. “Mr. Fisher, I’ve made a career out of understanding the weird ones, but this mess is beyond me. Serial rapists, arsonists who get a sexual thrill from fire, men that are homicidally attracted to seven year old girls…I understand those cases. This…I suspect you’re the only man on the planet who knows what really happened in Oklahoma.”
“You might want to move.”
I did so, a casual step to the right, just as a plump bumblebee dive-bombed over my shoulder. It crashed into Agent Salazar’s stomach with an angry splat. My time with Veruca was paying off: I ducked for cover, before turning to look for the gunmen trying to kill me.
3
It wasn’t hard to spot them. I had expected nothing, maybe a distant rooftop with a glint of metal on the edge. A man in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie, standing in the bed of a pickup truck was not what I had envisioned. With both hands, he held out an enormous pistol, the silenced barrel making it easily as long as a T-ball bat. Three more shots. The sickening whack of one told me it, too, hit Agent Salazar.
If I were a war wizard, I would’ve blown him up. My fireballs were unfortunately non-existent. I scrambled across the parking lot, taking shelter behind a forest green SUV. This did not deter my assailant as much as I had hoped. His gun didn’t make a sound, but his bullets did as they screamed through the metal of the vehicle. Five shots hit in rapid succession. Two tore all the way through the vehicle, not far from my head. I needed a spell, or a bodyguard, more than ever. A distant cha-chunk suggested he was reloading.
I took a quick inventory: a fat wallet, a chaos pen knife, car keys, and a mace-spray-sized canister. I pulled the last item out, disabled the safety, and mumbled a luck spell over it. I dashed past the front end of the SUV and hurled my pocket flamethrower in the attacker’s general direction. It landed with a clink in the bed of the pickup, but didn’t ignite.
The man was reloading, but he wasn’t alone. The driver and a passenger were crawling out of the cab. I couldn’t see the driver well, but the passenger was pulling out an oversized gun of his own. I dove for cover, but didn’t quite make it. A mini-pothole caught my foot and brought me crashing down to the asphalt. The passenger’s first volley sailed overhead. The gunmen in the truck bed took a step to get a better angle. All the luck spells I’d ever thrown were finally catching up to me; karmic balance due on delivery.
My luck wasn’t out. The gunman’s step brought his foot down on the incendiary and the belch of flame enveloped both him and the passenger. Their screams were unpleasant.
The newly appeared wall of flame cut off the driver from view. I forced myself up off the ground and backpedaled into hiding behind the SUV. I drew my pen, but couldn’t quite decide what I wanted it to look like. The chaos blade responded to my indecision with a cross between a short-sword and a katana with a main-gauche style blade catch near the hilt: I went with it.
The driver miscalculated that I had continued running forward, out of the lot. He moved up to where I had fallen, his back toward me as he scanned that direction, gun raised. I lunged and thrust a brilliant yellow pointy end into his jacket. There was a crackle as the blade pierced his flesh and tiny blue-white electrical arcs raced over the cloth. No blood came out, only a hiss of gray smoke. The man twitched like he had just shoved a fork into a wall outlet.
For a second, I thought I had stabbed a robot assassin. When I pulled out the chaos blade, though, his scream was human enough. Maybe it meant I was a bad person, but what I did next came naturally enough: I stabbed him again. The blade had changed to a murky gray hue. No wound ever appeared; the man’s flesh turned to liquid as my swing advanced. By the time I checked my momentum, nothing was left of the assailant but a bubbling puddle and a few strips of cloth.
V had warned me about the “secondary” effects, but liquefying an enemy on contact seemed pretty damn primary to me.
4
Agent Salazar was down on the sidewalk, a pool of blood spreading out beneath him. I pulled out my grem-phone and dialed 911. The device sputtered, sparked, then fell to pieces in my hand. I cursed, but no sooner had the last modified toy car tire stopped rolling then I heard the sirens in the distance. Apparently, my deal with the Gremlin only covered three calls.
“Colin, we really need to go.”
My dark voice was right.
“I usually am.”
I stayed anyway. I had become associated with a lot of unpleasant things in recent weeks. I needed penance, even if only for psychological reasons. I grabbed Salazar’s hand and squeezed it. “Come on, buddy, hang in there. The cavalry’s on its way.”
I thought he was unconscious, but his eyes opened and looked at me. “Thank you.”
The next hour was a blur of names and faces. For all the officers, agents, paramedics, and special investigators I met, I don’t really remember any of them. Unlike in my vagabond days, they all seemed to believe I was one of the good guys. They respected that I had stayed with the downed agent until help arrived…but they also respected my employer once his name came up. I answered their questions (sans any reference to magic or pocket flamethrowers), but they seemed more interested in running forensics on the scorched truck, two bodies, and the strange acidic slime puddle in the middle of the parking lot than in talking to me.
“Fisher.” I recognized that voice immediately.
Her eyes were chestnut brown this time, not the lake water blue I’d seen in the Oklahoma interrogation room. A quick glimpse at her aura revealed no supernatural skin-riders. “Agent Devereaux.”
She stood beside me and watched the technicians at work. “I told him coming to see you was a bad idea. I’ll admit this wasn’t exactly what I was worried about, but I knew it was a bad idea. Everything involving you is a bad idea.”
I nodded, uncertain of what to say. I didn’t know Rick Salazar well, but I had intuitively liked him. It didn’t help that I had no idea what she did or didn’t remember of our past conversation.
We stood there in silence. At last, she gave up and asked the question I’d been dreading for the last hour. “Were they trying to kill you or him?”
I went with my gut. “Me, I think.”
“Yeah, me too.” Her reply surprised me. “It’ll be a tough sell. Most of the locals are already committed to calling it an attempted cop killing. Hard to blame them. I wouldn’t want to investigate anything involving Valente International, either.”
I didn’t feel like talking. Agent Devereaux eventually continued. “Do you have it taken care of? Will Valente make sure the people responsible pay?”
I nodded. “If he doesn’t, I will.”
More silence followed before I asked, “What about Salazar? Is he going to make it?”
“Early reports, the docs think he has a chance. He caught both shots in the belly, well away from heart and spine. Still...”
“Still.” I glanced around the crowded parking lot. “You want to go for a walk? My car’s trapped inside the crime scene tape.”
I could tell she wanted to remind me I was a suspected serial killer, but instead she nodded. “What’s on your mind?”
I waited till we were comfortably away from the buzz of the crowd before answering. “I want to know what Salazar was looking for. I feel a little responsible for what happened to him.”
“I was hoping you’d tell me. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the team. Something about Oklahoma was gnawing at him…maybe in spite of, or more likely because of, the orders from on high to file t
he deaths under unsolved and move along.”
“The Old Ways massacre and the animal-like bite marks. He showed me a few pictures, but that’s as far as we got before the attack.” That was what I started to say, before I dodged a silenced bullet via intuition, but that was way too weird, even for me to accept. How had I known it was coming? And why didn’t I instinctively try to pull Salazar out of the way too?
“Yeah, that was the odd one. Three gunshot victims, fifty-seven heartless, frozen bodies. Our guy profiles as a lone killer, but there’s no way one person did all that. It was almost like one of those religious cult suicides. But why that MO?” I could feel her eyes digging into me, as if the answers were written just beneath my skin.
“No, no, NO.”
“Too late, I’ve made up my mind. It’s penance and I’m doing it.”
“Doesn’t that have to be assigned by a priest or something?”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened my mouth. “Look, he seemed to think I knew what happened. I don’t, at least not all of it, but if you send me his files on it, I’ll see if I can’t fill in the gaps. I think I can name the killer to you, maybe even prove it to your satisfaction, but I doubt it will be anything you can type up in a report.”
She looked stunned. “Are you offering to turn state’s evidence against Lucien Valente?”
“Not exactly. Just get me Salazar’s file and I’ll see what I can do.” I was being a Good Samaritan, but I was also curious as to what exactly had happened at the Old Ways commune after Veruca and I had left. Thinking back on all the very young and very old living there, I could see how they would be easy pickings for an angry wendigo. But...
“Why so many? Why didn’t they run?”
“Exactly.”
5
The dinner with the Unseelie ambassador that evening went a lot smoother than anticipated. I suspected that sending a less-than-brilliant troll as diplomat might have been an indirect commentary about the quality of Valente’s previous personal wizards, but I didn’t let that get in the way of having a good time. Of all my hospitality offerings, he took to the Kahlua with the greatest enthusiasm.
After the Eye of Winter, the troll was almost mundane by comparison. If you squinted just right, he looked human…if NFL defensive linemen counted as human. His skin looked professionally tanned, every ravenesque hair was gelled in place, and his hunter green suit was perfectly tailored to his massive frame. His physical form was easily three inches taller than mine, but over it all hung the shadow of his true self. The troll’s essence was so strong that no attempt to disguise him as human could ever be wholly successful. Still, I appreciated the attempt at camouflage—his size was unnerving even without his true form.
He spoke in between massive gulps of coffee liquor. “I tell you, wiz. You sure know how to throw dinner. Though...” He leaned closer. “You don’t know much about negotiating. Number one rule: let the troll have what he wants.”
It came out more like nee-goat-shheat, which was a comfort to me. Despite his massive size, he was sloshed drunk, one step removed from stuporville.
“Remind me why that’s a good thing? I don’t want to be the one to bounce this guy after last call.”
The laws of hospitality forbade physical violence during this meeting for about fifteen different reasons. No, if he was really drunk, it meant I didn’t have to worry about him tricking me.
“But he’s dumb as a box of…yeah, that would be pretty embarrassing.”
“Sir Kerath, I appreciate the free advice, but my instructions were unequivocal: I cannot sell that tract of land to the court.” I paused to pour a quarter-inch in my glass, before emptying the rest of the bottle in Kerath’s. “But...”
“But what?” The troll’s voice could have been heard on the other side of my massive laboratory residence. Next to him, it was deafening.
I did my best to politely ignore the ringing in my ears and settled back into my chair. “No, no. I should not have said anything.”
“Tell me. Kerath commands it.”
I’m guessing that’s what he said. Whatever the fae usually drank, I don’t think it was processed via modern distillation technology. “I shouldn’t…but since you wish it, Sir Kerath, I will. Perhaps if I knew what your people needed the land for, I could present a suitable counteroffer.”
Kerath shook his head, like a large dog trying to shed water. “What little…I mean, what wiz say?”
“What do the Unseelie intend to do with the land?”
“Oh,” he said, sitting up in his chair. “Need it for crossing over.”
I nodded sagaciously. Despite spending much of my free time with Veruca, I had not been idle in my weeks with Valente International. The land in question was a barren strip of tundra in Northern Canada. From the Valente standpoint, the problem was underground: there was a significant natural gas deposit. Mystically, a pair of ley lines intersected there, above ground, and I had suspected they had something to do with the Unseelie’s interest. Crossing over was a new term to me, but by the context I assumed they meant they could use it to move things from the fairy world to here and vice versa. I translated that into a guess. “Bringing in or shipping out?”
“Out. Spot not very good for in. But be right for out in a couple of weeks.” He suddenly stopped and slapped himself on the forehead. “Me not supposed to tell you that.”
I shook my head slowly. “I won’t mention it, Sir Kerath. How long will it be usable?”
The troll paused uncertain. He drained his glass, then spoke. “Two weeks. New moon to full moon.”
“What if Valente offered to loan the area to the court for those two weeks?”
Kerath mulled it over, his lubricated gears grinding very slowly now. “How much?”
For the land outright, he had brought five hundred thousand dollars, but Kerath had hinted that other barter might be available. The money to be gained here was irrelevant. Lucien had money; he wanted power and influence. “Nothing is to be taken from the land or under the land. Possession transfers to the Unseelie Court from the start of the new moon until the last night of the corresponding full moon. Assuming these conditions, Valente International will satisfy itself with fifteen days obedient service, from a named Unseelie of our choosing, on the days of our choosing, as specified in the ancient covenants regarding bonds of service. You get our land for fifteen days…we get one of the fae for fifteen days.”
That shook him. He leaned back and appeared to instantly sober. “I should be more careful, wizard. You are not as mentally deficient as Valente’s reputation would suggest.” Kerath paused. “Perhaps we should start our negotiations again, sans theatrics.”
Now it was my turn to look shocked.
6
It was well past midnight before Kerath and I hammered out a lease acceptable to both sides. Once we each accepted the other wasn’t as dumb as he looked, we found each other’s company far more enjoyable. Kerath had been chosen as ambassador because he had attended law school at Ohio State. The only part true to stereotype was that it had been paid for by football scholarship. As it turned out, he could suppress most of his fae aura when he wanted to.
“The rental agreement will not thrill the court, I’m afraid,” Kerath confessed. “They had hoped to realize a financial gain, while simultaneously gaining access to the site for the crossing over.
“But the deal is fair,” I insisted, as I walked him to the door.
“That it is, Wizard Fisher,” he acknowledged. “But if my queen wanted fair deals, she wouldn’t have sent me to law school.”
I started to open the front door, then stopped. “My predecessors…they really would have sold that land for a measly half-mill? You’re not that scary looking.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Kerath laughed. “They might not have sold it. But they would have neglected the part about not taking anything on, or under, the land in the rental agreement. And they would have asked for cash, not favors or service.”
Kerath blushed. “The ladies like it…and I usually keep the top down.”
“I think you’d have to.”
He shrugged. “Size only matters if you let it.” Kerath did a double-take over my shoulder. “Did you tell anyone about our meeting?”
“Only those in the company relevant to the topic. Why?”
He grunted. “Five hundred yards behind you. Government issued vehicle. Her eyes are drilling holes into both of us.”
I glanced behind me, but couldn’t make out anything beyond the vague shade of a sedan. “How can you tell?”
“Don’t let the handsome exterior fool you. I’m still a troll; night time is our time.”
I desperately wanted to play casual, which is always the easiest way to feel awkward and tense. “A spy?”
“Could be. The Seelie are bound to be interested.” Kerath scratched his chin for a moment, before walking past me. “Only one way to find out.”
Matching step for step with a purposefully moving troll was impossible. He closed on the car in a matter of seconds. The dome light clicked on as the driver’s door opened. Whoever was inside had decided they didn’t want to be sitting down when Kerath arrived. For the second time in twenty-four hours, my hand was unconsciously groping about for the handle of my chaos blade.