“As you like.” He stepped away, dismissing me. “Leave it to me. I suggest you rest.”
The scar in the hollow of my left shoulder throbbed. I don’t care. He can do whatever he likes, what happened between me and Eve is private. It’s none of his business.
What I did next surprised me. I caught his arm, the sleeve of his long dark coat—I knew what it was made of, and it hadn’t bothered me for a long time. I tensed my fingers, clawtips sliding free to prick the lacquered material. I squeezed as hard as I could, in turn. It probably didn’t matter, I wasn’t able to hurt him. “You hurt me. Again.” Gods, I sound like a whining little girl. But it’s true. “You promised you wouldn’t.”
I was looking at his boots, so I missed whatever expression that produced.
“Do you truly think I would harm you?” He tore his arm out of my fingers, the material of his coat slick against my fingers. It was wings masquerading as clothing; he was literally of the Greater Flight of demons. He could have killed me without even trying.
How do we define “harm,” Japhrimel? I’m not bleeding or dead, so I’m fine? Is that it? “Fine.” I turned on my heel, headed for the stairs up to the rooms Leander had rented.
I barely saw the stairs through the welling water in my eyes. But I blinked it away. Crying wouldn’t do any good.
4
You’re what?” The emerald on Leander Beaudry’s cheek sparked, the thorny yin-yang accreditation tat on his left cheek twisting under the skin. My own cheek burned, my gem answering his in greeting.
“I’ve got some business in Saint City.” I dropped down in a lyre-backed, overstuffed maroon chair and stared at the room. Japhrimel was downstairs with Vann, making arrangements for us to blow this town. “Getting on the next transport. I’m putting the hunt on hold for a while.” For as long as I possibly can. Thank you, Gabe.
Lying cheek-by-jowl with the throbbing ache in my scarred shoulder was a new, unsteady panic. Gabe wouldn’t call me like this unless it was dire. She wouldn’t have sent that particular message unless it was a personal matter instead of another job for the Saint City PD. That added up to only a few possible scenarios: revenge, a bloody personal bounty, or bad trouble.
Add yet another layer of welling mistrust about Japhrimel’s motives, and I was bound to be a nervous wreck before long. He’d given in too easily. Far too easily. I’d expected a full-out fight instead of just an aching shoulder and verbal fencing over whether or not I was “hurt.”
“What’s the business in Saint City?” Leander pushed his hand back through his dark hair.
I squashed a flare of irritation. It wasn’t an unreasonable question—after all, he’d signed on to the hunt after spending a lot of Power after that hover incident in Freetown New Prague. Then he’d come to Giza and started making arrangements for further hunting. He was a good Necromance if what I’d read about him was true, and he seemed honorable. Plus he was a bounty hunter, which meant he could probably handle himself in any normal situation.
Too bad nothing about this was normal.
And he’s human. I squashed that thought too, sent it packing.
It refused to go quietly.
I sank into the chair. Gravity suddenly weighed down every inch of my skin. “A debt to an old friend. She’s called for my help.”
He studied me for a few moments, leaning back in his chair with his long legs stretched out, his katana laid across his lap. For a moment he reminded me of someone, though I couldn’t think of quite who.
The room was large and airy, containment fields humming over tall windows. Red tile decorated the plaster walls, heavy low furniture sat obediently in prearranged places; through a half-open door I saw the edge of a bed swathed in mosquito netting. Another bedroom door was closed—Lucas, getting some shut-eye. McKinley was nowhere in sight, and I was grateful for that. The black-clad Hellesvront agent with his oddly metallic left hand made me uneasy.
“And?” Leander’s eyebrows raised.
I’ve got to go. Not only that, but I’ve got to figure out a way to keep Japhrimel occupied so Eve can . . . what? What is she doing? I hope she has some kind of plan. “I don’t know the specifics.” I strangled another hot welling of irritation. “She’s called, she’ll tell me what she needs when I get there. It’s that simple.”
He absorbed this. “Your friends are lucky. Not many people would fly halfway around the world just on the strength of a phone call.”
“It was a datpilot message.” I leaned my head back into the chair’s embrace, closing my eyes. “I made a promise. That’s a magickal law, isn’t it? Thy word is thy bond.”
I could tell by his faint exhaled laugh he recognized the quotation—attributed to Saint Crowley the Magi, no less, though it didn’t sound much like the treatises I’d read. I wish someone would tell my bounties that.” The wryness of the comment matched the dry humor in his tone. “Well, it’s Saint City then. All right.”
And that, apparently, was that. I let one eye drift open just a crack. “You’re not required to come along.”
He shrugged. A human shrug—it didn’t irritate me the way it did when Japhrimel gave one of his evocative noncommittal movements. “Call it my curiosity. I’ve got some time.”
“Might not be too healthy to hang around. People have a distressing habit of dying around me.” You’re human. Fragile. Or at least, more fragile than I am, and I’m not doing too well when it comes to facing down demons and the like. When did my life get so freaking dangerous?
I’d never considered forgoing combat training and hunting bounties. Freelance law enforcement had always seemed the only possible route for me; Jace had taught me about mercenary work and corporate espionage when I’d been desperate for cash after my Academy training and a few years in the field. It had only been a small step—I was, after all, familiar with the idea of fighting.
What you cannot escape, you must fight; what you cannot fight, you must endure. Life was dangerous in and of itself, I was privileged to know the fact from a young age.
It meant I wasn’t as nastily surprised as I got older.
“I’m a Necromance.” His tone managed to convey disdain and excessive neutrality in one pretty package. In other words, Death’s my trade too, kid.
Yeah, but I’m tougher than you and I’m having trouble keeping myself together here. Do I really want to be looking out for you? “Me too.” An unfamiliar smile spread over my face. It’s rare to find a Necromance I enjoy talking to; we’re such a bunch of neurotics. Using Power and psionic talent means most of us have distinctly odd personalities as well as a fair helping of Schadenfreude, and dealing with Death like we’re trained to will make even the most courageous human paranoid on one hand and adrenaline-addicted on the other.
Case in point? John Fairlane, the other Necromance left in Saint City besides Gabe. I couldn’t stand Fairlane; his white linen suits and pretentious lisp drove me up the wall. The feeling was most emphatically mutual. Two Necromances in the same room usually ended up with either a catfight or a pissing match. “You know what? You’re all right.”
“Thanks. That means something, coming from you.” Dry, ironic, and amused. He had a nice voice.
That won a tired giggle from me. His own laugh was warm caramel, the air suddenly relaxing between us. On the ebb of that laughter, Japhrimel entered the room and I heard the door close softly. The silent static of anger—his anger—touched me, made the mark on my shoulder turn hot and soft.
I wasn’t ready for that. I’d expect the mark to hurt when he was mad at me. It had certainly hurt plenty before, usually when I was already in dire trouble and sinking fast.
My eyes flew open. I turned my head to see him standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back as usual. “The next transport for a hub leaves past midnight,” he said. “We can be in Paradisse by late morning, North New York by the following nightfall, and Santiago City by the next afternoon. Slow, but more efficient than layovers.”
Too
slow, Gabe needs me now. “What about the hover Lucas had? That would be faster.”
He shrugged. The crackle of anger around him hadn’t abated. What did he have to be upset about? “Vann has already taken it.”
The faint, precious good humor I’d been feeling drained away. “Why?”
“To convince the Prince we are hunting in good faith instead of following your whim.” His voice was a little harsher than its usual even irony. “I suggest you rest, Dante. We will not leave until tonight.”
I would have liked to settle down in a bed and do some heavy brooding, but being ordered to do it took all the fun away. Instead, my eyes swung over to Leander, whose hand was just a little too tight on his katana. He was muscle-ropy and probably deadly with his blade, but I wasn’t quite human anymore. My strength and speed were closer to a demon’s—though not close enough.
Not nearly close enough for what I had to do.
“Well, I’m here in Cairo Giza and there’s a couple hours to kill before we can catch transport. It’d be a shame to miss the Great Souk. I can probably even pick up a little something for Gabe.” I stretched, yawned, and made it to my feet. “Hey, boy, this is your town. You want to show me around?”
“Happy to.” Leander turned his own leaning-forward into a graceful movement bringing him up to his feet. “You’ve never seen the Souk? You’re in for a treat.”
“Good. Guess the day’s not going to be a total loss, then.” Was it just me or did my cheerfulness sound forced?
Then again, cheerful didn’t seem to be on the menu lately. Here I was about to go running back to Saint City, to a disaster in progress. Lucifer would be breathing down my neck soon. I was under contract to the Devil himself to hunt the escaped demons down, which meant I had to think of some way to keep Japhrimel away from Eve for the length of that contract—a cool seven years of fun and games.
And Japhrimel was hiding some new nasty surprise from me, not to mention making it eloquently clear I was by far the weaker half of our partnership. There was a time I’d thought I’d learned to know him, when I’d thought nothing could break the bond between us—but all that crashed down when Lucifer started poking his nose in my life again.
I glanced down at the metal cuff on my left wrist. The space for my arm to slip free had narrowed, or maybe my wrist had gotten bigger. The Gauntlet’s fluidly-etched lines weren’t glowing green, but the feel of the warm metal against my skin suddenly turned my stomach. The feeling of being watched returned, my nape prickling.
You don’t survive as a bounty hunter by ignoring that feeling.
Well, we can start fixing what’s wrong right here. I shoved my sword into the handy loop on my rig and dug my fingers in, curling them around the metal, twisting. It didn’t want to let go of my skin but I pried it loose, finding that I could just squeeze my wrist through the slim opening.
I stuffed the heavy barbaric silver in my bag, and looked up to find a demon and a Necromance both staring at me.
“Let’s go.” I almost hoped Japhrimel would stay behind, the faint line between his eyebrows and slight downward tilt to the corners of his mouth told me he wasn’t pleased at all. My pulse pounded thinly in my throat, fear and sharp defiance mixing.
You can’t control me, Japh. I love you, and you’re stronger than me—but I won’t let you win.
When I followed Leander out the door, Japh was right behind me, the weight of his disapproval a stone in my throat.
The Great Souk of Cairo Giza seethes under fierce sun, dust and sand drifting on a vast rectangular stone plaza glowered over by plasteel-reinforced mudbrick buildings. Climate control and the floating shadows of hovers in parking patterns overhead provide some relief from the heat, but not much. Plenty of the Souk hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. Vast baskets of dates, figs, and other delicacies; whole hanging sides of slaughtered animals—I shuddered to see those, but even in Saint City they still have fresh meat—with stasis fields humming to keep the flies away, children laughing and playing among the shifting crowds, professional pickpockets and thieves scamming through the tide of humanity, every conceivable merchandise on display.
You can get just about anything in the Souk, from vat-grown diamonds to legitimate indentured servants to not-so-legitimate slaves—though that trade is relegated to back alleys and in perennial danger of Hegemony police coming through and cleaning them out. You can buy drugs, augments, or enzyme treatments; the sedayeen communes have open-air clinics and biolabs, and Skinlin sell herbal remedies. A Ceremonial or Magi can do a quickshield or tell a fortune. There are even paranormals who have their own booths—swanhilds run messages, werecain sell bright woven rugs or rent out as protection duty. And plenty more.
There’s an advantage to being sandwiched between a demon and a Necromance in a crowd, you do get a certain amount of space. The Egyptianos seemed less likely than other normals to look askance at my tat and Leander’s; they didn’t seem to have much of the fear of psions I’d seen in other parts of the world. Japhrimel looked normal, but the breath of alienness he carried seemed to communicate itself to them more readily and he was given more strange looks than either of us psions. Maybe it was the long black Chinese-collared coat in the heat, or his straight face, or maybe it was the way he loomed behind me.
I won’t admit to uncritical delight, but I will admit to feeling a lot better than I had in a long time. Haggling was the rule here. It took only a few times of watching Leander artfully bargain in pidgin Merican before I got an idea of the going prices, and soon I was munching on the dates he’d bought while fiercely arguing down the price of a pair of beautiful Erabic daggers. They were the finest in the stall, perfectly balanced for throwing—and metal that doesn’t need to be filed down for throwing is a rarity indeed. Their hilts were dark wood, plain and serviceable, but the shape of the blades and their balance made them works of art.
We finished bargaining, I paid the man with New Credit notes and stuffed my thinning bankroll back into my bag. The keepcharm on my bag bristled—not many quick fingers would try a Necromance’s bag, but you never know. I accepted the knives from the hawk-faced stall proprietor, who bowed, touching his forehead with his right hand and crying out his praise. I must have been smiling, because Leander gave me a curious look. “You do that like you’ve lived here for years.” He handed me another date.
If you only knew how much time I’ve spent haggling around the world. “I’m a quick study. Is there statuary here?”
“Down on the west side; take us a while to get there.” We pushed back out into the milling mass of people come to buy or sell. An iceseller’s traditional plaintive cry split through the noise, a bright thread drawn through the dark surfroar. “Want to go through Jeweler’s Alley, and then the rugs?” Leander shouted over the crowd noise, dark eyes dancing. I wrapped the two sheathed knives together and put them in my bag as well.
“Lead the way!” I shouted back. I normally don’t like crowds—the messy overspill of emotion from each normal presses against a psion’s shields, takes energy to push away. But I was enjoying this. For the first time since hearing that Lucifer wanted to see me again, I was almost content.
Except for the nagging worry about what trouble Gabe had landed in. And the nervous sense of being watched, of disaster hanging just around the corner.
Japhrimel followed as we made our way through the dappled shadows of hovertraffic. I checked the sky more than usual—getting hit with a few hovers will make a girl nervous—and took in the kaleidoscope of sound, color, and throbbing Power that was the Souk.
If I’d still been human I would have been acclimatizing to the different flow of organic energy here. But being almost-demon meant my body had taken to this new sea of Power within seconds. Here in Cairo Giza the pyramids were sonorous bass notes at the very edge of psychic “hearing,” throbbing against bones and viscera like a subsonic beat. The well of Power tasted like sand and spice with the faint heavy odor of animals from the pens on the outskirts,
goats and camels mostly. Add the heavy spiced langorousness from the coffee, and it was a heady brew indeed.
Maybe that was why I let Leander buy the bag of candied almonds. We shared them out under the overhang of a rugseller’s tent, and even Japhrimel took a handful when I pressed them on him, his skin warm and dry and his face still and set.
A thin trickle of sweat kissed Leander’s pale temple, and I sipped from one of the bottles of limonada I’d bought while Leander cracked his open with a practiced twist. The jewelryseller’s alley glittered under the sun, gold and silver and gems, both vat-grown and natural, flashed.
I was suddenly fiercely glad I was a Necromance. Most normals never get the chance to see more than a little slice of the world; I’d been all over and was even now standing in the Great Souk, something I’d seen in holovids and mags but never thought I’d get around to experiencing for myself. It must have shown in my face.
Must have? Well, I was grinning like a fool. Any minute all hell might break loose, between Lucifer, Japhrimel, and whatever was going down in Saint City; but for right now I was actually—was I happy?
I guess so. Gabe must be right about credit therapy. “Shopping is the perfect antidote, Danny. Just remember that.”
Thinking of Gabe, I sobered. But I still felt my cheeks swell with the smile.
“Like it?” Leander asked.
“It’s something.” Was I being idiotic? The mark on my left shoulder burned, sending waves of Power through me like heatshimmer above pavement. I tried not to feel it, tried to forget the way my shoulder still twinged every now and again with Japhrimel’s attention. “It’s really something.”
“Nothing like it on earth,” was his easy reply.
“Ever been to Moscow?” I tried again to banish the smile from my face, failed.