Haunted (13 page)

“I’m sorry,” Trsiel whispered behind me. “I didn’t—it’s not normally like that. I thought I could filter it, guide you, but you tapped in directly.”

He laid a hand between my shoulder blades. I shrugged it off and stepped away. The images and emotions were fading, but my brain kept plucking them back, like picking at a scab to see whether it still hurt. I pressed my palms to my eyelids and let out a shuddering sigh.

“So that’s it, then,” I said. “Your ‘gift.’ You see evil. See it, feel it…”

“We learn to control it,” Trsiel said. “Focus, so we see only what we need. When you—” He stopped, audibly swallowing his words. “I’m—this isn’t—Zadkiel does this—handles the inaugural quests and the new recruits, guides them, teaches them how to use the gift. It’s not…”

He sighed and I heard him sink into a chair. When I turned, he was slouched in the white armchair, head resting on the top, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Surely, if you’re as old as Trsiel had to be, you’d have enough experience and enough confidence in yourself to act, if not with perfect results, then at least with perfect resolve. Yet he looked as frustrated as any human thrust into a job he’s not qualified for.

I walked to the other chair, and perched on the arm-rest. “What do you normally do, then? Angels, I mean. This—that ‘gift’—somehow, I doubt you guys use it to flit about spreading messages of peace and hope.”

A slow shake of his head. “That’s for the living. Angels aren’t evangelists. We’re warriors. Instruments of justice.”

“Hence the really big swords.”

His lips twitched and he rolled his head to the side, his eyes meeting mine. “Yes. Hence the really big swords.”

“You see evil because that’s what you fight.”

“Some of us—only the ascended ones these days. The full-bloods—” He bit the last words off and gave a sharp shake of his head. “Things have changed, and—”

Another sharp shake. He looked away for a moment. Before I could say anything, he continued, “The traditional job of angels, full-blood or ascended, is to enforce certain codes on an individual level. Clearly, as you just said, we don’t—can’t—stamp out evil in every form. We are given quests, not unlike the one you’re on, to bring certain souls to justice.”

“Celestial bounty-hunters.”

His gaze met mine, eyes sparking in a tiny smile. “Exactly.”

Again, an image of Savannah sprang to mind, but this time I left it there. “So…you can affect the living world? Protect people in it?”

“Within limits.”

“What limits?”

He shrugged and pushed to his feet. “It’s complicated, but you’ll get to that when it’s time. For now, since we know you can access the gift through me, let’s get back to Janah.”

11

TRSIEL DID ALL THE TALKING AGAIN. HE TRIED CARRYING
on the conversation in English, but it was obvious Janah was more coherent, and comfortable, in her native tongue, so with a quiet apology to me, he switched languages. When they’d finished, he took me back to the white room. He grabbed the second chair and swung it around to face the one he’d been using earlier, then sat on the edge of his and motioned me into the other one.

“You need to find the Nix’s last partner,” he said.

“Okay. So we talk to the Fates and find out who—”

“While the partner is alive, the Fates don’t know who she is.”

I sighed. “Of course not. That would be too easy. So somehow I find this latest partner, hope the Nix is still in her—”

“Our chances of finding the Nix while she’s still cohabiting are next to nil—by the time the police solve the crime, the Nix is long gone. Yet when she leaves a partner, part of her stays behind, a thread of consciousness. Completely one-way, and completely passive. Her partners can’t communicate with her nor she with them. Instead they catch glimpses through her eyes, in sporadic visions.”

“So that’s why we need this angel gift. Hook up with her last partner and we’ll see what the Nix is up to now. This is where my necromancer will come in handy. With her help, I can dig through recent cases of female murderers…” I looked over at Trsiel. “The Fates showed me two past partners. Both serial killers. Both with male partners. Is that the Nix’s MO?”

Trsiel frowned.

“Her usual method,” I said.

He shook his head and stretched his legs. “Coincidence. But you’re on the right track. Two partners, two sets of sensational murders—”

“Headline-grabbers. Nixen, like most demons, get off on chaos. The more chaos, the more payoff. The crimes will be front-page news. So I should look for women accused—” I stopped. “But if they’ve been accused, they’ve probably been caught, and this Nix must have learned a thing or two about hiding her crimes by now.”

“She may, but she doesn’t bother. For her—”

“The more chaos, the more payoff. Right. Commit a few nasty murders, cover your tracks and move on, and people will forget. Let the killer get caught—or make
sure
she does—and you double your fun.”

He arched his brows. “You have an innate sense of—”

“Let’s just say the Fates didn’t pick me for my charm.”

How much
did
he know about me? Dumb question, I suppose, considering what that “gift” of his did. But if it bothered him, he hid it well.

“So I’ll find the partner, then you move in and do your thing.”

“That’s probably what the Fates had in mind. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t help—”

“Thanks, but this I can handle.”

He hesitated, as if this wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. “Yes, well, don’t worry about whittling the list down too much. I can help with that. I’ve dealt with this Nix.”

When I looked up in surprise, he shrugged, and continued. “A couple of times…briefly. First when I brought her in—”

“You’re the one who captured her?”

“It was more a delivery than a capture. I was sent to retrieve the witch she first inhabited.”

“And the second time?”

“Hmmm?”

“You said you met her a couple of times.”

He hesitated. “Right. Well, there’s not much to tell about that one. No capture or delivery involved, unfortunately.” He got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your investigating, then. If you want anything, just whistle.”

“You know how to whistle, don’t you?” I said, in my best Lauren Bacall voice.

As the words left my mouth, I mentally slapped myself in the forehead, expecting Trsiel to turn to me with that confused frown he’d given when I’d said “MO.” Instead, he smiled.

“Bogie and Bacall,” he said.
“To Have and Have Not.”

“Very good. When he died, she buried a gold whistle with him, inscribed ‘If you want anything…just whistle.’”

A corner of his mouth twitched, twisting his smile into a crooked grin. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” I said. “So when I need you…” I grinned. “I’ll just put my lips together…and blow.”

I did just that. Put my lips together, and blew. Then disappeared. Let’s see Bacall top that.

12

IT WAS NOW NEARLY TWO IN THE MORNING, WELL PAST
necro office hours. Time for a much-delayed Savannah checkup. I popped over to Portland, and found her asleep. I could hear Paige and Lucas downstairs, discussing a new case, some wrong that needed righting. And if anyone had ever told me that I’d be doing the same thing, I’d have pissed myself laughing.

I lingered for another minute, sitting beside my daughter and catching snatches of the impassioned debate downstairs. Then I kissed Savannah’s forehead and left.

My first urge was to hunt down Kristof and get his take on everything that had happened. Yet if I was going to use him, even just as a sounding board, I had to do something for him in return…even if it wasn’t a favor I could tell him about. I’d checked in on one of his children. Now, time for the other two…

Kristof limited himself to one parental checkup a month. He thought it was better that way. I disagreed, of course, but I tried to see his point and, in the meantime, did more frequent checkups for him.

Kris’s younger son, Bryce, was in California, asleep in his grandfather’s villa. He should have been in college, but he’d dropped out last term. Kristof’s death…well, naturally it affected both his boys, but in different ways; maybe the opposite of what anyone would have expected. Bryce had always been the difficult child, the one who’d started pushing Kris away even before the Great Divide of adolescence. Kris had respected Bryce’s rebellion, stepping back, yet staying close, always there to catch him when he stumbled.

When Kris died, Bryce had been in his first year of college, a music major, having declared that he had no intention of following his father into Cabal corporate life. After Kris’s death, Bryce had dropped out of school and decided to work for the Cabal part-time. Now he was a company AVP, living with his grandfather—the CEO—and planning to return to college in the fall, not to music at Berkeley, but political science at Harvard, with law school to follow—the same path Kristof had taken.

Next I headed to New York, where Sean was finishing his MBA. He shared an apartment with his cousin Austin, but only Austin was there, sitting up watching CNN. I was about to leave when the doorknob turned, so slow I thought I was imagining it. The door eased open and Sean peered around the edge of it.

The sight of Sean always made me smile. He reminded me so much of Kris when we’d first met, tall, lean, and broad-shouldered, with thick blond hair and gorgeous big blue eyes. Kris had lost that lean build, and about half the hair, but there was still no mistaking the resemblance. In personality, Sean and his father couldn’t be more different, but Sean did share his father’s values. He was the only Nast who’d made any effort to contact Savannah—and had not only contacted her, but had become a part of her life, despite his grandfather’s disapproval. That made Kristof prouder than Sean could ever imagine.

As Sean opened the door, he saw the light on in the living room and winced. He was tiptoeing past the living room entrance when Austin turned.

“Hey, Casanova,” Austin called. “I thought you were studying tonight. Library closes at eleven.”

“I went out for a couple of drinks.”

Austin leaned over the back of the sofa, grinning. “A couple, huh? What are their names?”

Sean mumbled something and slid toward the bathroom. Austin zipped through the kitchen and cut off his cousin.

“Oh, come on. You used to tell me everything. What’s happened? Meet someone special? That’s what Grand-dad thinks. He called tonight and when I told him you were out, he said to tell you to bring her home next month.”

Panic shot through Sean’s eyes, but he dowsed it fast and shrugged as he slipped past Austin.

Sean had indeed met someone…and he would never take that someone home to meet his family. For a Cabal son, there was only one thing worse than bringing home a witch—bringing home a lover who was never going to produce that all-important heir.

Even as a teen, Sean had unabashedly looked up to his father as a role model, did whatever he thought Kris wanted, not because Kris demanded it, or even requested it, but because Sean was that kind of kid, good-natured and eager to please. He’d been ready to follow Kris’s example, marry for duty and produce the essential “heir and a spare.” But now Kris was gone, and so was Sean’s reason for fighting his nature. Yet he still hid it, not yet ready to make that commitment and risk being ostracized by his remaining family.

The time would come, though, when he would take that step, and when he did, he’d need help. His father’s help. One more reason I needed to figure out a way for us to break through to the living world. I owed Kris that much.

Now, finally, I’d earned myself some Kristof time.

I found Kris on his houseboat. He was reading in his narrow cabin bed. From the glasses perched halfway down his nose, I knew he was engrossed in something more serious than comic books. Of course, Kris didn’t need glasses; all of our physical infirmities are cured in death. But he’d been wearing reading glasses for about ten years before his death, so putting them on had become part of his study habits. Like eating, sleeping, even sex, there are things we continue to do as ghosts long after the need disappears.

I stood in the doorway a moment, watching him stretched out on the bed, pants gone, shirt unbuttoned, socks still on, as if he’d started getting undressed, then become distracted by his studies and forgotten to finish.

I cast a blur spell to sneak up on him. When I got to the end of the bed, I saw the title of the book he was reading.
Traditional German Folklore.
I hesitated just a moment, then leapt. Kris rolled to the side. I slammed onto the bed and got a mouthful of pillow.

“Saw me, huh?” I said as I lifted my head.

“The moment you stepped in the door.”

“Damn.” I pulled myself up and sat on the edge of the bed. “Reading up on Nixen?”

“I thought I’d fill in my own blanks, and maybe give you a hand at the same time.”

“You didn’t need to—”

He lifted a hand to stop my protest, but I beat him to it, pressing my fingers to his lips.