Dark Currents (10 page)

Sixteen

M
ikill the frost giant drove me home, dripping all the way.

I was quiet, holding
dauda-dagr
awkwardly in my lap, thinking about what had transpired. For the first time since I’d become an agent of Hel, I felt the full weight of the responsibility vested in me, coupled with the realization that I had a lot to learn. Also, I was really, really tired. It was kind of overwhelming holding a conversation with a goddess who could casually reference having her own freaking
cosmology
. How did that even work, anyway? Trying to wrap my head around it just made my brain hurt.

By the time Mikill dropped me off in the alley, I was yawning. I thanked him and gave him back his fur coat.

Mrs. Browne was hard at work in the bakery, and her presence and the warm glow of light spilling into the alley from her windows was comforting. She spotted me and gave me a cheery little wave as I skulked past to check behind the Dumpster, where I found nothing. Yay.

That left the stairs to my apartment.

Opening the door gave me a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Feeling only a little silly, I clutched the leather-wrapped hilt of
dauda-dagr
tight in my right hand, and used the left to turn the doorknob, jumping back as the door swung open.

Also nothing.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

Upstairs, I hurried into my apartment and locked the door behind me. A scrabbling sound from the screened porch made me jump again, my tail lashing with nerves, but it was only Mogwai, forcing himself through the torn screen and complaining vociferously about his empty food bowl.

“Hey, big guy,” I said fondly, filling his bowl. “You scared me.”

Ignoring me, he chomped at his kibble.

“Long day.” I sank onto my futon couch and kicked off my sandals, fishing my phone out of my purse and checking it. No messages. No wonder. It was late. Having eaten, Mogwai deigned to come over to settle onto my lap and purr. “Hey, Mog?” I showed him
dauda-dagr
, runes shimmering the length of its blade. “Hel gave me a magic dagger. What do you think of that?”

Unimpressed, he kneaded my thighs with his paws, claws pricking a bit.

I thought about displacing him and going to bed.

Instead, I fell asleep.

I awoke to the sound of my phone chiming insistently and bright sunlight streaming through the windows, a sure indicator that I’d overslept. At least after the past twenty-four hours, I figured I got a pass on worrying about sloth. Glancing at my phone, I saw that the call was coming from the main desk at the station. “Hello?”

“Daisy, where are you?” Patty Rogan sounded harried. “The chief’s having conniptions.”

“Sorry.” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Long day, late night. I forgot to set my alarm. What’s up?”

She lowered her voice. “There’s a detective here from the sheriff’s department. And we got the autopsy report.”

That made me sit up straight. “And?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Daisy,
I
don’t know.” Her voice took on an irritated note. “Just get down here as fast as you can, okay?”

“Will do.”

I showered at top speed and yanked on a linen sheath dress so I wouldn’t have to take the time to worry about coordinating an outfit, then wolfed down a stale doughnut, eating it over the sink so I wouldn’t get powdered sugar on my dress.
Dauda-dagr
was a problem. Having been entrusted with it, I was pretty sure it was incumbent on me to carry it. How, exactly, was I supposed to accessorize a dagger as long as my forearm? I settled for switching out my purse for a woven straw satchel big enough to conceal it.

Phone, check. Keys, check. Magic dagger, check.

By the time I reached the station, Chief Bryant was wrapping up a conference with all the patrol officers, of which there were a grand total of six, and a plainclothes detective from the county sheriff’s office whom I vaguely recognized. The chief gave me a dour look as I sidled into the conference room, making me feel unwarrantedly guilty. A late-night summons from the Norse goddess of the dead was a pretty good excuse for being late to work.

Okay, maybe I do have a few daddy issues.

The chief dismissed all the officers but Cody Fairfax and the plainclothes detective. “Daisy, you remember Tim Wilkes from Sheriff Barnard’s office. He’s here to provide assistance and oversight.” His voice was neutral. “Detective Wilkes, Daisy Johanssen.”

“A pleasure.” The detective shook my hand, looking a bit bewildered. He was one of those average-looking Midwestern guys, mid-forties, with mild brown eyes, sandy hair, and a tidy mustache. “May I ask in what capacity you’re involved?”

“You can ask,” the chief said. “Not sure I can give you a satisfactory answer. Unofficially, Miss Johanssen is a special consultant on . . . unusual cases.”

Detective Wilkes processed that in silence a moment. “Chief Bryant, I do have to request your complete cooperation in this investigation,” he said. “And your complete candor.”

The chief nodded. “Understood. And I have to request your discretion, and possibly a willing suspension of disbelief. You’ve been assigned to the region long enough to understand that circumstances in Pemkowet are . . . unusual.”

The detective made a noncommittal sound. “You know I can’t cut any corners for you, Dave.”

“Not asking you to.” Chief Bryant held up one broad hand. “Daisy . . . Miss Johanssen . . . has uncovered a significant development I haven’t divulged yet.”

“Oh?” Detective Wilkes raised his brows.

I fought the urge to squirm in my seat. I was dying to know what was in the autopsy report. Cody, seated at the conference table with an expression of stoic patience, gave me a warning look.

I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at him.

“We have witnesses who report seeing the Vanderhei boy’s body dumped in the river,” the chief said.

Detective Wilkes’s mild brown eyes took on a keen spark of interest. “I’ll need to see their statements. Maybe question the witnesses myself.”

The chief cleared his throat. “They’re undines.”

Tim Wilkes looked blank. “What?”

“The witnesses are undines,” I said, unable to restrain myself. “I didn’t take a formal statement because . . . well, they’re undines. There’s no point. It wouldn’t hold up in court.” I shook my head. “You can’t even establish an official identity for a water elemental, let alone admit testimony.”

“I see.” Contrary to his words, Tim Wilkes continued to look blank. “Undines. Yes. Definitely . . . unusual.”

Chief Bryant leaned back in his chair, which creaked. “You see why I’m asking for a measure of discretion?”

“Yes.” The keen spark returned to the detective’s gaze. “I do.”

“If you’re willing, I’d like you to work in conjunction with my people.” The chief gestured at Cody and me. “Officer Fairfax has done a fine job leading the investigation. And I suspect you’ll find Miss Johanssen’s connections in what we call the eldritch community to be invaluable.”

Tim Wilkes scrutinized me. “How is it you come to be so well connected, Miss Johanssen?”

My tail twitched with irritation and impatience. “That’s considered an impolite question in the community.”

Cody coughed, hiding a chuckle.

“You’re one of them.” It was a statement, not a question. At least the detective was shrewd.

I sighed. “Yes, I’m one of them. I’m also the goddess Hel’s liaison between mortal and underworld authorities, and I assure you, she’s very interested in seeing the truth come to light.” I rubbed my left palm. “I’d show you my badge, but you wouldn’t be able to see it. Since you’re here, I assume the medical examiner has ruled Thad Vanderhei’s death a probable homicide.” I glanced at Chief Bryant. “Chief, I’m sorry I was late, but can I please, please know what was in the autopsy report?”

He gave me a slow nod. “Your undines were right. The Vanderhei boy drowned, but not in the river.”

“Where?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Don’t know. But he drowned in salt water, not fresh.”

My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

Taking pity on me, Cody slid a copy of the autopsy report across the conference table. “Read it for yourself, Daise.”

I glanced briefly at it and saw a lot of scientific jargon. Bottom line, there’s actually a physiological difference between the process of drowning in salt water and in freshwater. Also, they tested the fluid in his lungs for saline content. Definitely not river water. Scanning further, I saw other details noted.

“Internal temperature suggests time of death may have been several hours before the discovery of the body,” Cody said helpfully. “Which corroborates your undines’ testimony.”

“He had scratch marks on his back.” I looked up. “And they found
scales
under his fingernails?”

He nodded.

For a brief, sickening moment, I thought of Lurine. She wouldn’t do that, would she? I was pretty sure she wouldn’t. And if she would, why would she have helped me with the investigation?

Reaching across the table, Detective Wilkes turned a page for me. “The ME’s office consulted with a biology professor at Western,” he said. “He identified them as fish scales, but he couldn’t pinpoint the species. On his recommendation, we’re sending them to an expert ichthyologist. Hopefully, that will help narrow down our search.” He tapped the page. “For now, we’re thinking fish tanks.”

I let out my breath. “Fish tanks?”

“Any other ideas?”

“No,” I said honestly. Snake scales would have been bad; snake scales might have meant a lamia, or
the
lamia. As far as I knew, there was only one. I was just glad it wasn’t snake scales. “And I don’t see how this connects with the ghouls.”

“Ghouls?” Again with the blank look.

This time it was the chief who coughed. “We have a statement from an eyewitness—that is, a
human
eyewitness—confirming that two of the boys were seen at the Wheelhouse two weeks prior looking for a ghoul known as Ray D. The victim was found with a Wheelhouse matchbook in his pocket, and an illegible number on it. And if I understand correctly, Miss Johanssen’s undines tentatively identified two of the party in the boat as ghouls.”

“Also, one of them attacked me last night,” I added. The chief shot me a dumbstruck look. “I’m not sure if it’s related.”

“Sorry, sir,” Cody murmured. “I didn’t have time to report it.”

Detective Wilkes scribbled in a leather-bound notebook. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself. “Got a bit of a learning curve here.” He glanced up at us. “I’ve never worked a case with a—what do you call it?—
eldritch
angle before. You’re going to have to bring me up to speed on a few things.”

“Where do you want to start?” I asked.

He tossed the question back to me. “Where do
you
want to start?”

I patted my straw satchel, emboldened by the presence of
dauda-dagr
inside it. “I’d like to have a few words with the new head ghoul.”

“So would I,” Cody said in a flat tone.

Detective Wilkes brushed his finger over his neat mustache, thinking. “All right, I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour to study the case file and make a few calls to my team. I’d like to get them started running background checks on everyone involved and looking into local pet stores or aquarium maintenance services.” He pointed at me. “I’d like to see your full report on the, um, undines’ testimony. I understand it isn’t written yet?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Not to mention this ghoul attack.” The chief glowered. “Daisy, if this is getting dangerous—”

“It’s not the kind of attack you can report, sir,” I said. “Not to mundane authorities. It was a violation of Hel’s rules. Unless you can charge a man with attempting to feed on the emotions of the unwilling?”

He sighed.

Tim Wilkes looked slightly pale. “So that’s what ghouls do?”

“That’s what ghouls do,” Cody confirmed.

“Not usually.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to defend them, except maybe for the memory of Stefan Ludovic’s ice-blue eyes. Tragic figures, Hel had called them. In Stefan’s case, I could almost believe it. Or maybe I just wanted to. The others, not so much. “Usually, they feed on the willing.”

“Who are willing because they’re miserable, and
want
to have their emotions drained,” Cody countered. “A vicious cycle most ghouls are only too happy to perpetuate.”

“None of which even remotely begins to explain how and why a twenty-one-year-old boy apparently drowned in salt water a thousand miles from the nearest ocean,” Chief Bryant interjected in a hard voice. He tossed a copy of today’s
Appeldoorn Guardian
on the conference table. The headline screamed,

PEMKOWET CHIEF OF POLICE

CONTINUES TO STONEWALL

Should Legislative Action Be Considered?

“I suggest you get to work before the shitstorm intensifies.”

Briefly, I entertained an unwelcome vision of Garm the bread-loving hellhound lying shot and bleeding on the dunes, Yggdrasil II hewn down with a thundering crash by an army of chain saws, and Little Niflheim excavated with backhoes. “Duly noted, sir.”

“Good.”

Seventeen

A
little more than an hour later, Cody, Detective Wilkes, and I set out to pay a visit to Stefan Ludovic at the Wheelhouse, having first confirmed with a phone call that the head ghoul was on the premises and willing to receive us.

There were at least a dozen motorcycles in the parking lot, which seemed a bit excessive for not quite noon on a Wednesday. I wondered whether Stefan had called for backup. He didn’t strike me as the nervous type, but he didn’t strike me as the type to shy away from a show of force, either.

There was also a shiny black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows sitting in the lot, its engine idling. I wondered what the hell
that
was all about.

I didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as we exited the car, a driver in a suit and tie got out of the Lincoln and opened the door for his passenger. A pair of long, shapely legs in stiletto heels emerged with the elegance of considerable practice, followed by the rest of a familiar figure.

“Hey, baby girl!” Lurine greeted me. She wore oversize sunglasses and a formfitting dress with a bold, graphic print. “Long time no see.”

“Is that . . . ?” Cody sounded stunned.

Lurine lowered her sunglasses enough to peer over them, looking him up and down. “Oh, my, you
are
a fine-looking specimen.”

Detective Wilkes’s voice was faint and incredulous. “Are you, um, Lurine Hollister, ma’am?”

She winked at him. “Guilty as charged.”

I sighed. “Lurine, what are you doing here?”

“Let’s just say that I had a feeling you’d turn up here today.” Lurine slung an affectionate arm over my shoulders. “Your mom’s worried about you, cupcake. And I promised to look after you a long time ago.”

“You know Lurine Hollister?” Cody turned his stunned expression in my direction.

“Uh-huh.”

“Ever since my little cupcake here was hardly more than a baby.” Lurine planted a smacking kiss on my temple. “Right, Daise?”

“Yep.”

“Is she . . .” The detective lowered his voice. “One of
your kind
?”

Lurine gave him a mild glance. “And what kind do you suppose that might be, cutie-pie?”

He flushed. “I’ve no idea, ma’am.”

She patted his arm with her free hand. “That’s probably for the best, don’t you think?”

“I’ve seen all your movies,” Cody blurted. “You were great in
Revulsion Asylum
, and
Return to Revulsion Asylum
.”

Lurine smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”

Cody blushed, too. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”

Oh, gah!

“I can’t believe your taste in movies,” I said to Cody. “That’s what you watch? Seriously?” Realizing what I’d said, I grimaced and checked myself. “So sorry, Lurine. No offense intended.”

She squeezed my shoulders. “None taken, cupcake. Shall we go inside?”

“You don’t have to do this,” I said to her. “In fact, you really
shouldn’t
do this.”

Releasing me, Lurine rummaged in her purse and withdrew a neatly folded handkerchief, which she used to blot the crimson lipstick imprint she’d left on my brow. “Oh, don’t argue with me.” Surveying her handiwork, she gave my temple a final swipe and stowed her handkerchief. “I’ve been bored lately. This will be fun.”

“Ma’am.” Detective Wilkes cleared his throat. “Ah . . . Ms. Hollister. This is highly irregular.”

She gave him another wink. “That’s what makes it fun.”

I think the detective would have tried to stop her if he dared, but he didn’t. Lurine sauntered toward the door of the Wheelhouse, and the rest of us fell obediently in line behind her.

“I can’t believe you know
Lurine Hollister
!” Cody whispered to me. I punched him unobtrusively in the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

This time, there was no clatter of cue sticks and pool balls to go silent when we entered the bar. It was already silent.

But it got . . . more silent.

I counted seven or eight rough-looking ghouls with pale skin, glittering eyes, and doting women near them. To my relief, Al the Walrus wasn’t among them; to my covert disappointment, neither was Stefan Ludovic. There were another four or five mortal men, also members of the Outcasts, wearing their colors with sullen pride. The same skinny human bartender with the muttonchops was on duty, wearing a sleeveless black concert T-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his wiry arms.

Since we’d called ahead, they had been expecting us.

They hadn’t expected Lurine.

See, here’s the thing. Like I said, members of the eldritch community always recognize one another as kin of a sort. Sometimes it’s obvious; sometimes it’s not. If there’s a glamour, we can see through it. Even if there isn’t, as is the case with half-breeds like me or shape-shifters like Cody, there’s a palpable sense of
otherness
.

On the other hand, recognizing someone as
other
doesn’t necessarily translate into knowing exactly what that
other
is. But if it hadn’t been evident enough last night, today I realized Lurine was in a category by herself.

Predators recognize one another, too. And the ghouls in the bar that day may not have known exactly what Lurine was, but they sure as hell recognized her as something bigger and badder and older than themselves.

“Hello, boys.” She took off her sunglasses. “So nice of you to see us. Is the boss in the house?”

Frozen, no one replied.

I nodded toward the back of the bar. “He’s probably lurking in the shadows. He likes to make an entrance.”

“He’s a show-off,” Cody agreed.

Lurine pursed her carmine lips. “So predictable.”

From the shadows came a low chuckle.

“I’m really not in control of this investigation, am I?” Detective Wilkes mused to himself. He blinked. “Did I say that out loud?”

Unexpectedly, the muttonchopped bartender banged an empty glass on the service bar. “Hey, Stefan!” he hollered. “Your fucking cops are fucking here again! Are you gonna talk to them or not?”

Raising her eyebrows a fraction, Lurine turned her gaze on the bartender.

He returned it impassively, mopping the bar with a dingy-looking rag. “What are you lookin’ at, Goldilocks?”

“I’m not sure.” Her tone was thoughtful.

Stefan Ludovic chose that moment to make his entrance, coming forward from the shadows with loose-limbed grace. He paused briefly at the sight of Lurine, and then circled her, his head slightly cocked, his longish black hair brushing the collar of his leather vest. His ice-blue eyes were curious, their pupils waxing and waning. She remained where she was, looking sublimely unconcerned.

Definitely some kind of predator face-off. Or a mating ritual. Possibly both.

Detective Wilkes consulted his notes. “Um . . . Mr. Ludovic?”

Stefan ignored him. “Have we met before?” he asked Lurine. “Perhaps in Prague . . . some time ago? Or somewhere else?”

Lurine smiled at him. “Oh, I don’t think so, sweetie.”

His nostrils flared, and he said something in a foreign language.

She replied in kind.

And then he said something in
another
foreign language; or at least that was what it sounded like to me. Lurine answered him in that one, too.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” My impatience got the better of me. “We’ve got a few issues to discuss. Can we talk, please?”

Stefan inclined his head. “Step into my office.”

His office was surprisingly luxurious and well-appointed, a back room in the bar with lots of dark wood paneling and leather-upholstered furniture. Nice recessed track lighting, too.

Stefan took a seat behind the desk, indicating a pair of chairs in front of it. “Ladies, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

Lurine sat, crossing her legs. After an uncertain glance at Cody and the detective, I took the other seat. “First off, one of your ghouls attacked me last night,” I said. “I came home to find him waiting in the stairwell of my apartment. He tried to . . . um, feed on me.”

His pupils contracted to pinpoints. “I’m very sorry to hear it,” he said in a clipped tone. “That is unacceptable. Can you identify him?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Al. The big guy with the mustache.”

“Ah.” A complicated expression crossed Stefan’s face. “When you were here before, he tasted you, did he not?”

“Um . . . yeah.”
Ick.

He nodded. “As a result of your, shall we say, mixed heritage, your emotions are unusually powerful, Miss Johanssen. For one of our kind . . .” His pupils expanded in a rush, giving me an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Possibly lower, too. It was creepy-gross on Al the Walrus, but creepy-hot on Stefan. Yeah, fine, call me shallow. “For one of our kind, I fear it is rather like a strong drug.”

“I thought the nectar of chemically induced emotions was poisonous,” Cody observed in his most laconic voice.

Stefan raised one eyebrow. Of course he was one of those guys who made it look effortless. “You have a good memory, Officer. But there is nothing artificial about Miss Johanssen’s emotions.” His pupils did that wane-and-wax thing again. “Indeed, I suspect they are a singularly pure nectar. And having tasted it, Al is ravening.”

“Ravening?” I echoed.

He inclined his head. “Like an addict craving a fix, only more dangerous. It is a condition to which the undisciplined among us are vulnerable. Usually it is triggered by exposure to extreme emotion, and causes the afflicted to seek to provoke further extremity in . . . unfortunate ways.”

“Like murder?” Cody asked bluntly.

“No.” Stefan turned his ice-blue gaze on him. “There is no sustenance to be gained from the dead. Only the living.”

My skin felt cold and prickly.

He looked back at me. “But that is not the case here. Your ordinary emotions are provocation enough. At any rate, do not be concerned. I will attend to the matter.”

“Mind if I ask how?” I said.

Apparently, he did. “You have my word. I will attend to it.”

Cody shook his head. “Not good enough. I want details.”

For the first time since I’d met him, Stefan Ludovic looked irritated. There’s a whole hierarchal thing that goes on in parts of the eldritch community, and he didn’t like being challenged. “This isn’t a matter that concerns mundane—”

Lurine interrupted him. “Oh, now, a little detail or two couldn’t hurt, could it?” She took a compact out of her purse and checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Daisy’s practically my goddaughter.” She gave him a winsome smile. “I’d take it as a personal favor, Mr. Ludovic.”

It was a face-saving measure, and it worked. “Oh, indeed?” He eased. “I didn’t catch your name, Miss . . . ?”

“Hollister,” she said. “Lurine Hollister.”

“Is that the name you were born with?” Stefan asked. Not a fan of B-grade horror movies or tabloid gossip, it seemed.

“Is yours?” she countered.

He laughed. “Actually, yes. Very well. I’ll have Al picked up this afternoon and confined under guard until the ravening passes. He’s only had a couple of brief tastes. It shouldn’t take more than ten days. You’ll want to avoid accidental contact with him afterward,” he added to me. “It could retrigger him.”

Oh, great.
“Not a problem.”

“Does that satisfy you?” Stefan asked Lurine.

She closed her compact with a snap. “Thank you, yes.”

He looked at me. “You said a
few
issues.”

“Yeah.” I glanced at Detective Wilkes and Cody in case either of them wanted to take the lead, but the detective was clearly overwhelmed, and Cody gave me a go-ahead nod. “Okay, here’s the deal. We’ve got a dead boy who was in this bar looking for Ray D two weeks before he died, and we’ve got eyewitnesses who saw two ghouls, one male and one female, dump the boy’s body in the river. Like it or not, your people are involved in this, Mr. Ludovic.” I held up my left hand, flashing Hel’s rune at him. “Last night I was summoned to Little Niflheim. To put it mildly, Hel is
very
concerned.”

“I see.” His pupils contracted again, giving him a blind, inward-looking appearance. “I will look deeper into the matter. But I assure you, no one you spoke to the other day lied.” His nostrils flared, and his pupils expanded. “I would have known.”

Lurine idly jiggled one stilettoed heel. “What about the bartender?”

“Jerry? It’s possible,” Stefan admitted after a pause, a frown creasing his pale brow. “He’s a blank.”

I felt ignorant. “What’s a blank?”

“He has no sense of empathy.” Stefan was silent a moment. “Condemn us as you will; call us
ghouls
.” He spoke the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, and I remembered Hel calling it an unkind name. Briefly, I wondered what they called themselves, and wished I’d thought to ask her. “We are what we are, victims of our own passions. But we could not exist without being attuned to the emotions of others. This gift is not without its uses.” His unnerving gaze settled on me. “One such as you, a skilled and compassionate
ghoul
could assist. One could allow you to safely experience the emotions you fear, Daisy Johanssen.”

A shiver ran down my spine. Sheesh, was it that obvious? I cleared my throat. “Yeah, um, this isn’t about me. Back to the blanks?”

He shrugged. “Because they lack empathy, we cannot attune to them. So yes, in theory it is possible for Jerry to lie in my presence.”

“He’s a sociopath.” Detective Wilkes had found his voice. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

Again with the arched eyebrow. “Is that the correct terminology? Yes, I suppose so.”

“Can we subpoena the bartender and bring him in to testify under oath?” Cody asked Wilkes. “Maybe hook him up to the polygraph?”

The detective shook his head. “Based on this? Hell, no. I read the file. He’s already given you a statement. You want me to go to a judge and claim he’s an uncooperative witness because some, some . . . ghoul . . . says he has no sense of empathy?” He shook his head again. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

Stefan Ludovic laid his hands flat on the desk. “Speak, Hel’s liaison. My services are at your disposal. What will you?”