Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (42 page)

"I'm pleased to see you're on the mend," Persaud said. "Your family was worried."

"I'm fine. I also have a hell of a lot of work to do, so if you don't mind--"
 

"Tell me, Proficient. Are you seeing anyone?" Vassal Persaud turned around, and Caleb could see the thin watery smile condensing on his face. "Or, knowing your ways with women, 'visiting' anyone?"

Caleb scowled. What was this, a dating show? "Why the hell is that any of your business?"

"It's a simple question."

"No."

"I see. So then... if she isn't a lover, then who is the Demesne Five barterer to you? This... Ezekiel Anon?" Persaud flicked his wrist and glossy sheaves of color landed on Caleb's desk.

Oh no.
No, no, no.

Photos. Of him and Zeika and the kid. At the Lobon Inn. In his car. Walking towards the old gardens, where Zeika's shop was located. Caleb felt himself fill with a rare rage, blinding and terrible and absolute--
 

"Stay away from her, Persaud," he growled. "She's a ghost of war, and none of your fucking business."

Persaud smiled, raising his eyebrows in interest.
"Ghost of war. You say that as though it somehow means something."

"What do you want? What is she to you?"

"More important is what she is to
you
. You see, I've been hearing some disturbing rumors, Proficient. Rumors of a certain Azure Prince bestowing his favors on a teenaged Civilian girl. A girl who is thought to be a Koan sympathizer."

Caleb stared at him, haunted. This was bullshit, pure and simple. "What the hell--"

"Typically, these sorts of rumors don't concern me. Many Azure men would enjoy a Civilian woman's company in all the ways he can, and I've no complaint on the matter. But you, so selfish, so engorged by your own passions--" Persaud locked eyes with him, and Caleb could finally see the simmering anger in his Vassal's gaze, the hate. "You would pursue your own pleasure at the risk of destroying your House. You would sully the Kojira family name, sully the Order, by yoking yourself with a Koan insurgent--"
 

"Zeika is
not
a terrorist."

Persaud put his thumb and forefinger to his chin and looked at him.
Really
looked at him, as though examining a foolish schoolboy who couldn't see that two plus two equalled four. As though he refused to believe Caleb was that stupid.

"Do you know who the Anons are?" Persaud asked, the question genuine. "I mean, truly?"

Caleb felt a bolt of terror that he prayed didn't register on his face. Did he know Zeika and Manja were Civic Alchemists?
 

Persaud was still looking at him and searching his face for an answer, leaving Caleb with two choices: reveal her secret or destroy his honor. The choice was easy.

You're an Azure asshole banging a civvie chick. You're mad because Persaud's in your biz. That's all.

"Zeika's just a civvie showing me some gratitude," he said casually. He felt the look of boredom come into his face, the same look he'd used on Persaud millions of times when he was a kid.

"She's more than that. She and her father were the biggest suppliers of arms and weaponry to the Civic Order. They owned the majority of military contracts, and thus owned the Civilian military. The girl in particular-- the same one you're cavorting around town with-- is an incredibly talented metalsmith, to the point where most Civilians believe it was her genius, and not her father's, that kept the business going." As Persaud spoke, Caleb could actually hear animosity curling around the man's words, tightening like a weed.

"Act 948 was
built
for the Anons! For them and for others like them, who would feed the Koan rebellion with weapons of destruction and terror. They were the biggest threat to world peace we've ever known, gun-runners and merchants of Azure death, stationed right here, in the heart of the Civic Order! The world was well rid of them until you floated the Anon prodigy
back
to the surface, all on the Kojira lifeboat! How do you think this makes your father look?! You couldn't just leave her to the likes of Sal Morgan or some other bottom-feeder, oh no. You, of course
you
, had to be the great fixer, gussying up Civilian trash under Lord Kojira's cloak!"
 

Foam collected at the corner of Persaud's mouth as he fumed, and Caleb still wasn't moved. He actually smirked. "Kojira can go suck on the bitter thumb all he wants," he said. "So can Sal Morgan. No one tells me who I roll around with and when. Zeika Anon is mine."

Welp, there it was. Honor had just packed its bags and left him a Dear John letter, leaving Caleb feeling inhumanly gross. He hated talking about Zeika that way, but this was the Azure currency. If he wanted Persaud to buy his story, he'd have to make it good.

Persaud narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Was he buying it?

"This is very unlike you, Proficient," he said, stepping forward, his eyes still narrowed. "Very unlike you indeed. What are you up to?"

Caleb crossed his arms, standing his ground. "After spending two years in the jug, I'd hope I wouldn't have to spell it out for you. I don't kiss and tell."

"You could have any woman you wanted, Azure and Civilian alike, and you choose her. Why?"

He shrugged, as cavalier as he could fake it. "She gets me."

Persaud looked unconvinced. "Gets you. A foul-mouthed, teenaged, gun-making Civilian street scamp 'gets you'."
 

"You said yourself that passion was my saving grace. It's hers too. We've both been through hell. We understand each other. You'd be surprised how much traction you'd get out of that." He hesitated, wondering how much of that was actually true on some level--

No time for self-reflection. Just keep Zeika breathing.

Persaud considered this, seeming to come around-- then his acquiescence was gone, awash by a truth that only he seemed to see. "Whether she is your whore or not, in the eyes of the Alchemic Order, she is still a Koan conspirator. You are still an Azure Prince and heir to one of the highest Houses in the world. This... bestiality will not be countenanced by your House or by the Order, and I will not allow it either. You've had your fun. You will now leave her to Sal Morgan."

"Vassal. That is
my
property--"

"A poisoned fief if I've ever seen one!"

"It checked out just fine on my end."

"Did she check out when you found her,
armed,
in that Koan hollow too?"

Caleb felt his heart skip a beat. How had he known that? Getting recon pictures in public was one thing, but
no one
had been in the Koan hollow except him, his team, and the girls. All that Caleb had retained from the hollow incident were his memories, and storing and locking those back was the
first
thing he'd done when he'd woken up in the infirmary. But then, there had been that grasping sensation he'd dreamt about... like fingers pulling at his thoughts...

"No..."

Persaud smiled. "The thoughts of a Druidic detective are never private, Proficient. Besides, withholding evidence is a crime-- and goodness knows you don't need any more blemishes on your record. So in the interest of protecting your reputation, I submitted your memories to this precinct and to the Halls of Pact. They served well in supporting the repeals of the Articles39."

Caleb felt his entire façade shatter, hate filling him up. "You bastard."

"I admire you, Proficient. You played the game very well. Very convincing. I might have believed your story about your tryst with the gunrunner. In the end, however, only a true Druidic Alchemist can hide his real thoughts and feelings. And that's something you've never been."

Persaud sighed and picked up the pictures of him and Zeika. Real concern seeped into his gaze as he stared at them.
"You will thank me one day," he said, his voice a murmur. "There will come a time where you are at the mercy of Koa and the Civilians, and you will see for yourself that these peasants do not embrace our sense of civility. We Azures owe nothing to Civilian life. So if sacrifices must be made at their expense to ensure the prosperity of both the Order and of our glorious House, it shall be done. Starting with that barterer."

"I won't do it. You're going to have to get someone else."

"Like Xakiah, you mean?"

Caleb stiffened, and the chill crawled deeper as he watched a knowing smile spread across Persaud's face.

"Choose to stay if you will, Proficient. Xakiah is already there."

Horror crawled around Caleb's stomach as he grabbed his keys and bolted out of the office, leaving Persaud's sadistic smile behind him.

Zeika hadn't dared to leave the Forge in the past four days, not even during daylight. Things had become too tense. People were trying to flee the Fifth with their children, all of them getting stopped and arrested at the border. Zeika and Manja themselves had barely been able to avoid the slow creep of APs as they oozed out of every crack and dark alley, walking right by the kunja dealers to shake Civilian kids down without impunity. Also, there were the rumors. Private interrogations. Violence. Disappearances. She had convinced herself there was no way she was taking Manja back out there, not even for bartering runs. Not unless they had no other choice.

Today, their choices had run out.
 

The food was gone, and since Zeika hadn't made a trade in days, it was coming time for her to sneak out of their hole and make some money. So she sat at her desk while Manja sat on top of it, and they beamed a lamp light down on a one-eyed teddy bear, checking for fleas or bedbugs.
 

"No nasties," Manja whispered, poking the bear in the stomach.

Good, great. That was an extra two bucks they could score. She was writing the price down when heavy thumps came at the door.

"Open up," a strangely smooth voice commanded. "I've a question for you."

Zeika looked up, brow creased. She directed a silent look towards Manja, and the little girl slipped across the floor and buried her way into the tall stack of blankets, cocooning herself inside. Zeika then reached under the desk and grasped the mounted Beretta 9mm with trembling fingers, remembering the extra one in her sash.

"Questions without appointments do not receive answers, friend," she responded casually to the accented voice. "Please visit during our open hours."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. You see, I'm not asking you."

She was rising out of her chair when, suddenly, the metal locks on the door began to shriek and fold in on themselves, curling backward against the frame. The door opened, and the light from her office outlined a figure she didn't recognize.

She gritted her teeth as her trust in Caleb was blasted away. This was it. He'd figured out that she was an unregistered Civic Alchemist and had sent the authorities. Bastard didn't even have the balls to come himself.
 

She wanted to scream, throw something, curse him for making them targets, but instead, she calmly sat back down in her seat. Whoever this was, he wasn't Caleb, and from the way this guy had just ripped her door open without raising a hand, she guessed that he wasn't about the diplomacy either. She needed to focus.
 

The man walked in, slowly, surveying the shop. She watched him, noting the deliberate way he marked the surroundings. Everything in her wanted to pull the gun, but a look at the broken lock reminded her it would be useless. She cast a quick glance at the pile of clothes in the corner. The rags were trembling. She had to keep his attention on her alone.

"Lovely night," she muttered.
 

His eyes finally settled on her, and as the quicksilver of his gaze set itself into her bones, she felt her body warmth plummet. He came forward, and Zeika had to force herself to not feel intimidated by how big he was. Over six feet, rippling with muscle, a hood draping a dark shadow over the ash gray of his eyes. He was fully equipped: two Glocks, a knife at his left shoulder, some extra clips at his lower holster. He had no problem getting in her face, either, coming almost nose-to-nose as he dropped a tattered piece of parchment on her desk.
 

"You're violating curfew."

Zeika's eyes narrowed, her fingers curling more tightly around the gun under the table. Something about his energy was cold and heavy, and as he stared at her, she got the impression that he wasn't an AP. Not at all.

"Can I see your badge?"
 

"No."

"Then get out. I don't know who you are, but you damn sure don't have the authority to come in here and push me around."

"Do not test me, child," the Azure cooed. "If I decide to move on you, no one will find the pieces. Understand?"

In spite of herself, she squared her shoulders and slowly stood to a stand. "You have no intention of letting me walk out of here alive, Azure. I can smell blood all over you."

"Oh?" A smile slipped onto the man's face. "Can you now?"

A cold blast shot down the back of her neck, and she leapt sideways, her body moving before she told it to, and felt the horrible sound of the chair disintegrating in a
crack
of splintering wood.
 

She tumbled, crashing awkwardly up against a bookshelf before she scrambled to her feet and pulled her other gun from her obi sash. Heart hammering, she aimed wildly at the thing that had almost killed her, trying to understand what she was looking at, which part of it to shoot--

Oh God...

Some kind of opaque and inky creature, like emptiness and plague personified, crawled up from the wreck. Its onyx-toned back rippled formlessly against the light, nearly extinguishing its glow like a black hole before a sun, and as it stood to its full height next to the Azure, she knew that she was looking into the eyes of Death.

Zeika aimed with two shaking hands as it turned towards her. The thing stood between her and Manja, and whatever this was, bullets weren't going to be enough; she knew it just by the unfazed way it was looking at her, by the sheer glee in the Azure's eyes as he watched.