The throne room appeared, just as I'd left it, with the elderly crone still at the wheel.
"Happy?" I snarled, voice cracking from disuse. "I bet you got a good chuckle out of that. Were you watching? Seeing how long I'd take to snap? Sorry to disappoint."
She looked up from her wheel. Her gaze met mine, face expressionless.
"I can't believe you did that," I said. "This Nix is out there, killing people, and you left me there for two days!"
"It was two minutes, Eve."
"Bullshit! Days passed there."
"Yes. Nearly three. But here it was only minutes. The Nix sent our first seeker there, and it took us five years to find her. That's what I wanted you to see. That is what this Nix can do."
Five years in our time? That had to be lifetimes in that place. Alone, with nothing to see, hear, feel, smell...
The middle Fate appeared. "She went mad, Eve. We've done our best, but she's been back with us for over sixty years, and she's no saner than the day we found her."
"And the others?" I said slowly. "You said there were two others."
"The second one failed us. The third one the Nix cast into a different dimensional plane."
"Where?"
"We don't know."
My head shot up. "You haven't found him yet? Excuse me if the job suddenly doesn't sound so attractive, but--"
"We have safeguards in place now. We've figured out her tricks."
"So she can't toss me into an alternate dimension?"
"Not for long."
"Uh-huh."
The old Fate took over, eyes sparkling. "Job too tough for you, Eve?"
"Don't bother challenging me," I said. "I'll do this because I made a promise, and I always keep my promises. You've shown me the worst, so I'm forewarned and ready to start."
"Good, then the first thing we want you to do is--"
"The first thing you need to do is tell me how this Nix got out of her hell, and why she isn't going to do the same thing as soon as you toss her back in."
"She won't."
"Details?"
"I'm not about to explain our security arrangements to--"
The middle Fate interceded. "We initially put her in a place protected against dimensional travel and teleportation, but, after two centuries of trying, she managed to open a portal into the kind of dimension we never dreamed she'd use as an escape route. You've heard of animals that will gnaw off a limb to escape a trap? The Nix knowingly leapt into a dimension that made her hell look like paradise, and did so with only the faintest hope of ever leaving it."
"And that surprises you?" I shook my head. "Never mind. Just tell me that she won't have that choice to make the next time."
"She won't."
"Good. On to step one, then. I want--"
"We've already arranged a plan for you, Eve."
"Great, and if it's better than mine, let me know. Now, first, I want to talk to one of these 'seekers' you sent after her. Under the circumstances, it isn't tough to figure out which one I'll have to choose: the bounty hunter behind door number two, the guy you pink-slipped."
The child Fate took over. "Can't do it. Where he is, you can't go. And, believe me, you don't want to. You thought that last place was bad? Paradise compared to where he is."
"But you said the Nix didn't catch him. You fired him."
"Yep, we did. Fired him right down to--"
Her middle sister cut in. "You can't speak to him."
"Hold on. Is this the incentive program? If I fail, you send me someplace worse than the Nix would send me? No wonder you can't find any volunteers."
"We didn't punish--" She sighed and shook her head.
"The details aren't important."
"To you, maybe--"
"There is no punishment for failure," she said. "Even if you could talk to this man, he wouldn't tell you anything. You need to pick one of the others."
"The hopelessly insane one or the hopelessly misplaced one. Hmm, tough choice."
"It's unlikely you could find Zadkiel--"
"No kidding! If you guys have been searching--"
"So I'd recommend Janah. The ascended angel."
"Angel?"
"The first seeker. The one who went mad."
"Uh-huh."
"First, though, we have to prepare her. In the meantime, you can--"
"In the meantime, then, I want to talk to someone who worked with one of these seekers. A supervisor, a partner, anyone who might be able to give me some insight into how your hunters worked, because I strongly suspect Janah isn't going to be my most reliable source of intel."
"Your partner has experience with the Nix."
"Partner? What--?"
"You'll meet him when you speak to Janah. It may take a day or two to prepare her, so we'd suggest you rest--"
"Then I need a necromancer." Before she could argue, I hurried on. "If I'm tracking a spirit who can enter the living, then I need access to the living world--something you ladies have been denying me since I got here."
"For very good reason--"
"So I don't contact Savannah. Fine. But now I need that access."
The Fate nodded. "You do, and we recognize that. We've already arranged--"
"I want Jaime Vegas."
"I see," the Fate said slowly. "And that choice would have nothing to do with the fact that she is acquainted with your daughter, and now serves on the supernatural council with Paige?"
"It has everything to do with that. Jaime knows Paige, who can vouch for me. Try finding another necro, outside the black market, who'll want to work with Eve Levine. Of course, I could just go to the black market, call up one of my old friends..."
"Which you know we wouldn't allow." She paused, lips pursing, then shook her head. "Don't think we fail to see this for what it is, Eve--a not terribly discreet attempt to pursue your favorite--your only--pastime here. But I will allow it, for the duration of this quest, and on the understanding that you will devote your time with Jaime to that quest, and not ask her to break necromantic law by contacting Savannah for you."
I sifted through her words for a loophole. I didn't see it right off, but I'd find one eventually. Before I could ask where to find Jaime, the Fate lifted her hands, and transported me away.
5
I OPENED MY EYES AND FOUND MYSELF STARING INTO the uber-bright glare of the sun. Blinded, I stumbled, and landed on my ass. A roar of laughter boomed from all sides, and I jumped up so fast my vision jolted back into focus. In front of me was a packed auditorium.
"Well, that's what happens when you deal with the dead," said a woman's voice. "Some of them just aren't too bright."
I turned a glare on the speaker, but saw only the back of a redhead sitting at center stage. As she continued talking, I realized I was on a television set. The redhead and another woman sat in a pair of comfy armchairs in a set designed to look like someone's living room.
I walked onto the stage, but every gaze stayed riveted to the two women. Wherever I was, I was still a ghost. I peered over for a closer look at the host, and mentally groaned. I'd seen her show once, when I'd been bedridden with morning sickness, too queasy to change the channel. I forgot the exact topic, but it had been the kind of "every life has meaning" psycho-crap gobbled up by people whose existence proved the credo wrong. The uplifting message did make me feel better, though. Uplifted my stomach right into the toilet, and after that, I'd felt much better.
I circled closer to the stage. I had a good idea who the redhead was, and another step confirmed it. She was a few years older than me, but didn't look it. Long legs, bee-stung lips, and green eyes made Jaime Vegas the kind of woman for whom the phrase "sultry redhead" was invented. She packaged that sex appeal with her mediocre necromancy talents, and sold it to the grief-stricken. Some might call it a reprehensible way to make a living. I called it survival.
"But seriously," Jaime said, as the latest round of laughter died down. "What I do can be lots of fun, and I love that si
de of it, but what I love more is what it brings to other people's lives: the closure, the peace."
The talk show host nodded. "And that's really what spiritualism is all about, isn't it? Healing the spirit. Not the spirits of the dead, but those of the living."
Oh, God, someone pass the barf bag. The audience only beamed and echoed a chorus of yeses and Amens, like an army of zombies before a Vodoun priestess.
"Is it just me?" I said. "Or is that seriously creepy?"
Jaime jumped like a scalded cat. As she twisted, she saw me and her face went white. I'd say she looked as if she'd seen a ghost, but for a necromancer, that's pretty much a daily occurrence. You'd think she'd have grown used to it by now.
"Nice gig," I said. "Is it almost over? I need to talk to you."
"Jaime?" the host said, leaning forward. "What is it? Do you see something?"
"Seems you have a resident ghost," Jaime said. "Normally I need to open myself up to see them, but sometimes they shove their way right through. Impatient as children." A razor-sharp glare my way. "Rude children."
"Rude? You're a necro. I sure as hell don't expect you to jump every time a ghost--"
"Can you see him?" the host whispered.
"Her. It's a woman." Jaime paused for effect. "A witch."
A murmured gasp from the audience.
"Not a real witch, of course," Jaime said, her voice taking the soft singsong tone of a storyteller. "Though she thought she was. Thought she was all-powerful, but she wasn't."
"Excuse me?"
"She lived by violence, and died by it. And now she's a tormented, lonely spirit, caught between the worlds, looking for redemption."
I snorted.
"And if she's not"--Jaime aimed another glare my way--"she should be, because she has a lot to atone for."
I rolled my eyes and walked off the stage.
In the wings, I prepared a second plan of attack. When Jaime stepped off the stage ten minutes later, I fell into step beside her.
"Okay, now that you have that off your chest, let's talk. Obviously you know who I am."
She kept walking.
"You want a formal introduction?" I said. "Fine. I'm Eve Levine, ghost. You're Jaime Vegas, necromancer. Now, what I need is--"
She had veered around a corner before I noticed. I had to backtrack and jog to catch up.
"I know you can hear me," I said. "And see me. So let's cut the crap and--"
She turned into an open dressing room and slammed the door.
I followed. "Maybe I can walk through doors, but that doesn't give you any right to slam them on me. It's still rude."
"Rude?" she said, spinning on me so fast I took an involuntary step back. "Rude? You just--the most important spot of my career, the chance of a lifetime and you--"
Her hand flew to her mouth. She dove into the bathroom and leaned over the toilet, gagging.
"If it makes you feel any better, she has the same effect on me."
Jaime wheeled, eyes flashing. She pulled herself to her full height...at least five inches below my six feet. Very intimidating.
"Find yourself another necro, Eve. One who's stupid enough to let you speak to Savannah. And my advice? When you find one, at least make some effort to follow proper protocol. That shit you pulled out there may have worked in life, but it doesn't work now."
There was a proper protocol? Damn.
Jaime stalked past me into the dressing room. When I followed, I found her rooting through an oversize makeup bag. She took out a bowl and a few pouches of herbs.
"A banishing mixture?" I said. "Look, Jaime, I know you don't do a lot of real necromancy, so I'll let you in on a little secret. That mixture only works on human ghosts. For it to work on a supernatural, you have to be a damned good necromancer and, no offense, but--"
Someone jostled me from behind. A physical jostle that, considering I was in the living world, should have been impossible...which meant that whoever hit me had to be another ghost.
"Watch where you're going there, sweetheart."
I looked over my shoulder to see a guy about a half foot shorter than me, dressed in spats and a straw hat, with a machine gun slung over one shoulder. He grinned, tipped his hat, and slid past.
I was on a sidewalk, across from a soot-crusted brick building with boarded-up windows and a sheet of paper plastered on the door. I sharpened my vision to read the paper on the door across the road. A notice of closure, in accordance with the Prohibition Act of 1920.
Ghost-world Chicago. Like most major cities in the afterlife, the landscape of Chicago was frozen in its heyday, and many of the residents, like the portly gangster, played along with the period. But if I was here, that meant Jaime really had banished me. Damn.
There were ways to avoid banishing. A few months before, Kristof had needed a necro's help, and went to one who owed him major favors. Guy made the mistake of thinking Kristof's death canceled out those IOUs, then made the even bigger mistake of trying to banish Kristof when he came to collect. Kris had done something that rendered the necro's banishing powers impotent for the next few months, a reminder that you didn't screw with a Nast--even a dead one.
So all I had to do was track down Kristof and ask for his help. Sounds easy enough...except for the part about asking Kristof for help. Oh, he'd give it to me--without a moment's hesitation and with no expectation of anything in return. That was the problem. When I took something, I always gave something back--no favors owed, no debt remaining. While I counted Kris as a friend--the best I had in the ghost world--I hated asking him for anything. I'd taken enough from him already.
Better to try again on my own.
Jaime's dressing room was empty.
"Damn," I muttered.
There were ways to track a necro, but I hadn't bothered to learn them. We were in Chicago, in late March. If she'd left the building, she'd have taken her coat, which was gone, as was her purse. But the suitcase with her outfit for the show was still here. I remembered her bout of dry heaves earlier, and guessed she'd gone onstage with an empty stomach. Now she'd likely slipped out for chow.
I considered dropping in on Savannah, giving Jaime time to eat and return. It'd only been a few hours since my last check-in, but a lot can happen to a teenage girl in a few hours. And yet...well, I had Jaime in my sights, and I hated to veer off track, even for Savannah. I'd almost certainly have time for a check-in after dealing with Jaime, as I waited for the Fates to prepare Janah. Better to stay on the trail for now.
I found Jaime a few doors down, sitting at a cafe window, pushing salad around her plate.
"Doesn't look very appetizing to me, either," I said.
This time she didn't jump, just turned and glared.
"You know what I don't get?" I said, taking the seat across from her. "How they can serve weeds like dandelion greens and expect people to pay triple what they would for regular lettuce."
"Leave me alone," she said, without moving her lips.
"I just want to talk to you."
"And this seems like a good place to do it?" she whispered. "Do you know what I'm doing right now? I'm talking to myself."
Her gaze cut to the table beside her, where an elderly woman stared, brow furrowed, at the poor woman carrying on a conversation with an empty chair.
"Damn. That is a problem."
"Which is why you aren't supposed to contact me in public," she said, again trying to talk without moving her lips.
"You want to go outside?"
"I'm eating."
"Doesn't look like it."
Another glare. She forked a few weeds into her mouth.
"Tell you what, then," I said. "You eat, I'll talk."
She opened her mouth to snap something back, then stopped and rubbed a hand over her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, and when she pulled her hand away, there was an exhaustion in her face that no makeup could hide.
"Go ahead," she murmured.
She listened, without comment, to an edited version of my
story. Then she stifled a snort of laughter.
"Eve Levine, on a mission from God. I really must be wearing my stupid face today."
"Trust me, if I were making this up, I'd have come up with something more believable. Remember a couple of years ago when Paige and Lucas ended up in the ghost world? Ever wonder how they got back? I cut a deal. Paige was there. Call her up and ask. She's not supposed to talk about it, but she'll confirm it."
"Oh, don't worry, I will make that call. As soon as I'm near a phone."
"Good. Please do that."
Some of her unease evaporated, but there was still a healthy dose of caution behind her shuttered gaze. Nothing new for me. I'd spent my life trying to build a reputation as a fair dealer, but when you've also built a rep in the black arts, no one ever gives a shit about how fair you are. Blast a person's eyes from their sockets, and you can be sure that story will blow through the grapevine faster than an energy bolt, but somehow, the part about the "victim" siccing a demon on you gets lost in the transmission.
I opened my mouth to say more, when something across the cafe caught my attention. I'm not easily distracted, but this was a sight to divert even the most focused mind. A man, in his early thirties, weaving between tables, with his head in his hands--literally, his severed head in his hands. Gore trickled from his neck stump, congealing on the collar of his dress shirt. Intestine poked through a small hole in his shirt. All around him people continued to eat and talk and laugh. Which could only mean one thing.
"Ghost at ten o'clock," I murmured to Jaime. "And it's a ripe one."
She turned and gave a tiny groan, then sank into her chair.
"Not a first-time visitor, I'm guessing," I said.
The man strode up to the table. His gaze cut to me.
"What are you looking at, spook?" he snarled.
"Exactly what you want me to be looking at," I said.
"Kill the theatricals. The necro is not impressed, and neither am I."
"Oh, does the horror of my death offend you? Well, excuse me. Next time, I'll make sure I die all neat and tidy." He slammed his head onto Jaime's salad plate. "There. Better?"
Jaime's cheeks paled. I swung my gaze up to glare at the ghost...only his eyes weren't there, which made the move slightly less effective. I glowered down at him.
"She's not talking to you until you put your head back on," I said.
"Fuck y--"
"Put your goddamned head back on now."