Haunted (39 page)

Like me, he had been assigned an angel liaison—not Trsiel, but another of the full-bloods. It had taken him all of two days to ditch the guardian and strike out on his own. Of course, he’d been bright enough not to just cut and run, probably because the Fates had been bright enough to fit him with the mystical equivalent of an anklet tracking device. Instead, he’d proven to them that he worked better on his own. When he needed an angel, he’d call. Until then, he’d report back daily with updates. After four months, he caught up with the Nix. Only he didn’t call for backup. He separated her from her partner’s body all by himself. Then, rather than drag his prize back to the Fates and collect his reward, he cut a new deal…with the Nix.

“Okay,” I said when the middle Fate finished her explanation. “So he’s still in this serial-killer hell, right? I mean, he hasn’t, you know…escaped.”

“No, Eve. Our security isn’t that poor. The Nix was—”

“A special case. Yeah, I know. But if this guy’s still down there, what are we waiting for? Throw open the gates to hell, ’cause I’m coming in.”

“That’s a very, uh, noble sentiment, Eve,” Trsiel began.

“Noble, my ass. I just want to see this bitch’s face when I rip her out of Jaime’s body.”

A soft chuckle from Kristof.

Trsiel shook his head. “It’s not that easy—”

“Yeah, I know, this guy’s a killer, and he’s in a hell dimension, but I didn’t lead a sheltered life. If this guy knows how to catch the Nix, I’ll get it out of him. I know how to reason with guys like that. If I can’t, I’ll kick his ass from hell to Honolulu.”

Kris grinned. “And I’ll be there to help…in the persuasion phase.” He shot the grin my way. “If it comes down to ass-kicking, I’ll just watch.”

The Fate let out a heartfelt sigh and shook her head.

“Great plan,” Trsiel said. “One small problem.”

“What?” I said.

“He lies.”

“Huh?”

“Dachev can’t be trusted. Shocking, really, but—”

“Stuff the sarcasm, Trsiel,” I said. “We’re here to solve a problem, and I don’t hear you offering to help—”

“Which, track record considered, may be a blessing,” Kristof murmured.

Trsiel shot him a glare, but before he could come up with a retort, I carried on.

“If you don’t have a solution of your own, at least don’t mock ours,” I said. “Obviously this guy can’t be trusted to tell the truth about how he stopped the Nix, but if I can apply enough pressure—”

“You can’t,” the Fate said. “There is only one way to compel him to tell the truth. The Sword of Judgment. If he could be made to tell what he did, while laying his hands on it, he’d be forced to tell the truth.”

Trsiel looked at Kristof. “And before you ask why I haven’t done so myself, I cannot enter that place.
Can
not, not will not or may not. No full-blooded angel can enter a true hell. The ascendeds can…and we’ve already sent Katsuo, the only one who’d volunteer.”

“So the only way I can force him to speak the truth is to become an angel.” I looked from Trsiel to the Fates.

“Convenient.”

Kristof wheeled on Trsiel. “You scheming son-of-a-bitch.”

I laid my hand on his arm. “If anyone’s scheming here, I doubt it’s Trsiel. So far, he’s been the only one who’s been—or tried to be—honest with me about this whole angel thing.” I fixed my gaze on the Fates. “Anything you ladies want to tell me about this quest?”

The middle-aged Fate nodded. “Yes, Eve, we have selected you as a candidate for ascension. Trsiel has told us that you figured that out…” A reproachful look his way. “With a little help from him. While it’s not the way we wanted you to learn of our plans, we will not deny it. However, it will always be your decision to make. We would never force you to ascend.”

“But the point is moot anyway, considering I can’t get that sword until I’ve completed this quest…and if I’ve completed the quest, I don’t need Dachev.”

“The inaugural quest is not an entrance exam. It is an assessment of your training requirements. We have chosen you, and although we’re supposed to wait until after the quest to let you ascend, in this case the Creator would grant an exception. There is, however, another, less reliable way. If you do not wish to become an angel—”

“I don’t.”

She glanced from Kristof to me. “Your…attachment to this world has changed, then?”

“It has.”

She nodded. “Then perhaps that will be what you needed. As I said, the choice was yours, and we will not press the matter further, although we may find other tasks for you from time to time.”

“That’s fine. Thank you. Now what’s this other way?”

“You know there are magics for testing the sincerity of a demon. Something I believe you’ve tested fairly recently.” Her gaze shunted to Kristof. “There are also magics to do the same with a spirit. This spell would test Dachev’s words, but couldn’t force him to speak those words.”

“In other words, I need to trick him into telling me.”

She shook her head. “This spell requires his active participation. He must recite part of the incantation, and you cannot ‘trick’ him into doing that.”

“Okay, so I have to persuade a psychopath trapped in hell to voluntarily tell me how to catch his former partner—”

“There’s more.”

“Of course there is.”

Kristof walked behind me and put his arms around my waist, letting me lean against him. I felt his warmth against my back and relaxed.

“He can hurt you,” the Fate said.

“Who? Dachev? But I’m a—”

“A ghost, yes. But in that world—it’s part of the magic there. Physical pain is possible, and there’s nothing we can do to shield you from it. He can’t kill you, of course, but he can hurt you…and we may not be able to erase all the damage.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I didn’t really need both my arms anyway.”

Kristof chuckled against my ear.

The Fate frowned at me. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously, Eve.”

“Look, compared to what you’ve already suggested, I’m willing to take the risk, okay?”

“
We’re
willing,” Kris murmured against my ear. “I’ll be right beside you.”

“No, Kristof,” the Fate said.

He opened his mouth to object, but the Fate lifted her hand.

“We will not let you go with Eve. That is an absolute, so do not argue the matter or you’ll only delay her. As for why we won’t allow it, I’m sure you already know. Perhaps you could help her, but you will also hinder her. Anyone we sent with her, even Katsuo, could prove a dangerous distraction. In a place like that, she must look to her own safety at all times.”

“I’ll go alone,” I said. “That’s best. One question: If I can hurt, he can hurt, right?”

“Yes, but…” She hesitated. “I have said that I will respect your decision not to ascend, and I am loath to do anything that could be seen as pushing you toward that choice, and yet…” She gripped the side of the spinning wheel and leaned forward. “This much I
must
say, if only because it would unpardonable to omit it. Were you to find yourself in a situation where no other escape is possible, ascension is still an option. You need only to wish for it, and the Creator will grant it immediately. You would then be impervious to harm and would be able to use the sword. But, know this, Eve, if you ascend, we cannot reverse the process, however much we may wish to.”

“I understand. Now tell me more about this Dachev. If he’s in your realms, that makes him a supernatural.”

“He’s a magician.”

I thumped my head back against Kristof’s shoulder and sighed. “Of course he is.”

Magicians were related to sorcerers, and they had even more reason than their brethren to hate witches. Magicians are a substandard form of spell-casters. I say that with no snobbery. Sorcerers and witches can argue over which race is less powerful, but even a sorcerer would admit, albeit grudgingly, that a witch outranked a magician any day.

For centuries, there had been no distinction between male spell-casters—they were all sorcerers, and all inferior to witches. At the time, their magic was limited to simple illusions and sleight of hand, the kind of magic you can see at a kid’s birthday party these days. Then witches, being the generous fools they often are, decided it was time to join forces, a drive for sexual equality a thousand years before the suffragettes hit the streets.

Witches taught the sorcerers how to strengthen their skills with stronger magic and incantations. All went just dandy for a few hundred years, until the Inquisition hit, and sorcerers turned on the witches. But that’s ancient history…even if it doesn’t keep either race from holding a grudge five hundred years later.

Back to the original racial integration. There were some sorcerers who couldn’t cut it. They didn’t have the supernatural juice to learn what the witches were teaching them. So, as any group with an ounce of ingenuity and pride does when it can’t fit into the larger society, these sorcerers reinvented themselves, breaking away from their brothers and declaring themselves a new race: magicians. Rather than fight a losing battle to learn higher magic, they would concentrate on the lesser skills of illusion and sleight of hand, and be happy with what they were.

A very noble plan of modern-day self-affirmation. Unfortunately, as they soon discovered, those lesser skills weren’t good for a whole helluva lot. Magicians ended up forming two factions: entertainers and con artists—and the lines between the two weren’t always that clear. Today, almost all the magicians who remain fall into the latter category. In a world accustomed to David Copperfield no one will pay to see a guy pull a quarter from behind your ear.

In Bulgaria, circa 1926, though, things were different and, as the Fates explained, that’s where Andrei Dachev had made a name for himself with his sideshow acts, traveling from town to town, bringing light entertainment to a country still reeling from the Balkan conflict and the First World War. Although Dachev was an accomplished magician, the real attraction at his circus was the freak show. And I don’t mean sword swallowers or fire-breathers. Dachev’s freaks were the type that children would dare one another to look at, then suffer weeks of nightmares if they did. His freaks were born severely deformed or had been mutilated in horrific accidents, and all were young women, adding to the titillation value.

For three years Dachev toured Bulgaria and surrounding countries, sticking to the rural areas, avoiding cities and larger urban areas where his freaks might be less welcome. And if, over those three years, the occasional girl disappeared from a town he passed through, well, Dachev was a handsome charmer, with an eye for the ladies, and these things happened.

Eventually, though, one of these missing girls had a beau who didn’t buy this “ran away with the circus” explanation. He followed Dachev. Soon, he discovered that the circus freaks hadn’t suffered a cruel twist of genetics or accidental fate. They were man-made. Though he managed to rescue his fiancée before Dachev started in on her, when it came to the other half-dozen victims, the authorities decided to quietly provide them with a fast-acting poison and allow them to make their own decision. All chose death, and Andrei Dachev was executed as a serial killer.

“And you unleashed this…this
thing
back into the world?” I said.

The eldest Fate appeared, mouth a thin, tight line. “We did not unleash—”

“Yeah, he was a ghost. Powerless. Found a way around that one, though, didn’t he? What the hell do you think he’s been doing down there all these years? Hail Marys? He’s been reliving his glory days, just itching for the chance to—”

“No, he has not.”

“Oh, and you know that because—”

“Because he cannot.” She paused, and her middle sister took over. “Andrei Dachev has no memories of the atrocities he committed, Eve. That is part of their punishment. We take away all memory of their lives before they died. They can’t relive their crimes, their fantasies, even their impulses. It’s all gone. Then they are cast into a plane where, when their urges and impulses resurface, they have no possible outlet.”

“Because they’re in a world of killers.”

She nodded. “A world without victims, without even those that they might see as a potential victim, no female killers, no weaker males—”

“All predators and no prey. Okay, so he can’t remember his crimes. But those impulses you mentioned? First time he sees a pretty girl, even if he can’t remember
ever
seeing one—”

“The memory loss sometimes has a second, reformatory effect. Erasing their memories may erase the source of some of their urges. If their lives were warped by extreme circumstances, such as early abuse, then—”

“When they can’t remember the abuse, they become a different person, someone who isn’t a killer?”

“Which, granted, happens very, very rarely,” the Fate said. “But it does happen. That’s what we believed had happened here. For ten years, Andrei Dachev gave no sign of having any of the urges that possessed him to commit these crimes.”

“He played model prisoner.”

“Played. Yes, most likely, though every test we gave him indicated that he had indeed reformed. Perhaps even he thought he had.”

“Until he went into the world again.”

She gave a slow, sad nod.

“His memory,” I said. “It wasn’t erased after his capture, right?”

“We can’t do that. We can only erase living memories. I suppose, though, that’s a blessing now.”

“Or else he wouldn’t know how he’d caught the Nix. So I need to persuade him to tell me, by descending into a hell filled with serial killers, for most of whom I’ll be the first woman—and potential victim—they’ve ever seen.” I sighed. “Well, at least they can feel pain. Please tell me I can use my spells and my Aspicio powers.”

When she didn’t answer, I groaned. “Let me guess. Because they’re all supernaturals, it’s a magic-free zone—wipes out any racial advantages.”

The little girl appeared. “Well, it’s
supposed
to be magic-free, but if a person went in there who possessed a type of magic none of the inhabitants should be able to possess…”

“Such as a female-only variety. Like witch magic.”