Shadow Burns: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Preternatural Affairs Book 4) (23 page)

He looked at me over Suzy’s head. “She realizes that this is insubordination, right?” More patronization.

If he wanted to win brownie points with her, that wasn’t the way to do it.

I wasn’t sure whose wrath I should have been more worried about—Suzy’s or Fritz’s. Either way, our work environment was about to get a hell of a lot pricklier. And I was going to be in the middle of it.

So rather than responding to Fritz, I settled for cowardly retreat.

“I’m going to check on Isobel.”

I left the two of them bickering and hunted down the OPA’s ambulance, which was solid black. If it hadn’t been for the rear doors standing open, letting me see all of the ordinary medical equipment inside, I never would have been able to tell the difference between the ambulance and any one of our other work vehicles.

A pair of EMTs—also clad in black—were tidying up the rear compartment. There was no patient in sight.

I leaned through the doors to address the EMTs. “What happened to the woman you were bandaging?”

The men exchanged looks. “Well…” said the guy on the right. His name was Mark. We’d been hired at the same time and done orientation together.

“Come on, man,” I said. “Where’d she go?”

He hopped out of the ambulance. Dropped his voice to a whisper. “She slipped away when we weren’t looking. I have no idea how she did it. My back was only turned for a few seconds.” That sounded like Isobel to me. “Are you going to report us?”

“Nah, I don’t blame you. She’s escaped me a few times.” It was probably better for her to get away from the OPA as quickly as possible. God only knew what they’d find in her blood if they did a draw.

Mark looked relieved. “She did leave this.” He fished something out of his pocket and handed it to me.

It was a scrap of paper with a phone number on it. A feather with a needle point had been driven through the center. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure nobody was watching before tucking it in my slacks. “I think this is for me. Thanks.”

I hung back to watch everyone clearing out, returning to their respective posts. The EMTs went to the medical center. The Union took Calhoun off campus entirely. I hoped he was going somewhere incredibly miserable.

Fritz stood at my side as I watched the vehicles depart. His attention was on Suzy, who was now conversing with Aniruddha under a nearby tree.

“That woman is going to have my job someday,” Fritz said.

“Agent Takeuchi? Pretty sure she’s going to run the entire Office of Preternatural Affairs someday. And when she does, we’ll be screwed.” He gave a low chuckle at that. I didn’t laugh. I wasn’t joking. “Fritz, about Isobel—about Hope Jimenez—”

“We’re not going to discuss that.”

“But you knew her. You know things about her that even she doesn’t know because you were there before she signed the contract.”

“That’s right. And we’re not going to discuss it.” He checked his watch. “You’d better get some rest. Agent Takeuchi may have saved our lives, but she involved the entire organization in the process. That means you and I are going to be dealing with a lot of bureaucracy tomorrow. I expect you to pick me up at five o’clock.”

Frustration clawed at my chest. “I don’t care about the goddamn bureaucracy. I’m just worried about Isobel.”

His eyes flashed. “Consider the door closed with Isobel, Agent Hawke. Focus on what we can control. Focus on the job.”

I knew an order when I heard one. I set my jaw.

“Yes, sir.”

Calhoun Deppe’s trial went swiftly.

To be honest, I was surprised he got a trial at all.

After more than three years working for the Office of Preternatural Affairs, I’d never seen anyone get a trial. The way we dealt with significant threats was a lot creepier than that. The Union just made people we didn’t like vanish into black bags.

The Constitution isn’t a big deal when you’re a secret government organization handling creatures that don’t officially exist.

But apparently we did, in fact, perform trials sometimes. I just hadn’t ever been invited to one before.

The trial took place inside one of our secure interview rooms. It was the space we had prepared to contain demon-possessed perpetrators, although it had been modified to include niceties from our interview room for witches, too. There were so many dampening spells that my eyes watered just walking within ten feet of it.

Calhoun spent the entire trial blindfolded, gagged, and strapped to a chair. We weren’t taking any chances with that asshole.

The proceedings themselves weren’t very exciting, though. There were no lawyers or judges. Agent Bryce had been put in charge of Calhoun; she listed off the facts as we knew them while the director for the Los Angeles branch of the Union listened attentively.

It only took an afternoon. A long, miserable afternoon of recounting every awful thing that had happened at Paradise Mile Retirement Village.

Fritz and I watched from the other side of a one-way mirror. Agent Bryce finished her review around four o’clock. Director Grimsey sat quietly as she reviewed the paperwork for Calhoun’s case, looking for any missing forms or conflicting evidence.

She wouldn’t find any. Fritz and I had worked on that shit all week, and our case was perfect.

My kopis was watching the silent room with great interest even though it had been quiet for several minutes. I took the chance to study him. This guy whose life was tethered to mine, who I thought I knew pretty well, yet actually knew nothing about at all.

There were bags under his eyes and new lines bracketing his mouth. He hadn’t been sleeping—I knew that much. I’d actually won a skirmish against him when we trained that morning, and it wasn’t because I’d improved.

Something was keeping him up at night. I could guess what it was.

It made me feel a little better to know the case had bothered him. That even he couldn’t handle all the lies, the deception, and the ugly consequences of our decisions without approaching a breaking point.

Even ruthless billionaire Fritz Friederling had his limits.

Agent Bryce moved forward to remove Calhoun’s gag. They were finally allowing him to speak. “I’ve reviewed your case and come to a verdict, Mr. Deppe,” Director Grimsey said. “Do you want to make a statement before I sign off on your detention?”

The witch’s head swiveled around so that he was facing the one-way mirror. He was still blindfolded, so I couldn’t see his red eyes. He shouldn’t have been able to see us, either.

But I felt him staring through the blindfold.

“No jail can hold me,” Calhoun said. “Not now that I’ve tasted the strength of demons. Gertie might be gone, but there’s more where she came from.”

I almost missed the director’s exasperated headshake. She was a white-haired lady with a square jaw and jowls, probably well past retirement age. She didn’t look like she had any patience for vague threats.

“Then we’ll have to skip detention, won’t we?” She wrote something at the bottom of a form, signed it, and announced, “Calhoun Deppe will be executed this afternoon.”

He jerked in his chair. “Wait, what? I wasn’t finished.”

“
I’m
finished,” Director Grimsey said. “Get him out of here.”

Calhoun thrashed as Agent Bryce returned the gag to his mouth. Up until the moment it was strapped tightly into place, he was still trying to protest that he had more to say.

Whether it might have been more threats or some kind of apology, the director wasn’t interested. She straightened her suit and walked out without looking back at him.

As I’ve said, I’m not a violent guy. But I’d still be lying if I said I didn’t have a little bit of a justice boner.

The door to the viewing room opened and the director entered. Fritz stood to meet her.

“Director Grimsey,” he said warmly, shaking her hand.

“I hope you’re satisfied by the verdict.”

“Satisfied and awed by your eminent wisdom, as usual.”

She shook her head at him, just like she’d shaken her head at Calhoun. The director was not a fan of Fritz. If she had a grudge, she’d just have to get in line; most of the OPA’s upper management seemed to detest his existence. “And who’s this? The new aspis?”

“Agent Cèsar Hawke,” Fritz said. “Yes, he’s my aspis.”

I shook her hand too. Her skin was warm and soft and wrinkled, but her grip was steel.

“You must be something special, Agent Hawke,” Director Grimsey said. “Anyone who agrees to put up with Fritz here for the rest of his life must be quite the guy.”

I wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Even if Fritz didn’t bother making friends with many of the others at the OPA, it was still some kind of honor to be his aspis.

Right?

I settled for, “Thanks.”

On the other side of the glass, Union guards wheeled Calhoun away for his last ride down the hallway.

Fritz and Director Grimsey kept talking. They’d already moved from the matter of Calhoun Deppe to inter-departmental niceties. Something about making arrangements for a semi-centennial summit. I didn’t really hear them because I wasn’t listening.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the man who had killed Hope Jimenez until the moment he vanished through the door. When it shut, the muffled sound through the wall was a little bit like a mausoleum slamming closed.

Justice for Isobel at last.

Or something like that.

AFTER CALHOUN DEPPE’S EXECUTION, my coworkers held a party at the Magical Violations Department’s favorite bar.

Yeah, we’re morbid assholes. What can I say? Even though the case had been officially closed for days, the MVD hadn’t had much to do with it, and people had died, my coworkers still wanted to celebrate over drinks.

That was how the department worked. Bad guy killed? Get drunk. Big case closed? Get drunk. New employee? Get drunk. Someone’s going on vacation for two weeks? Heck, why not get drunk? We’d probably miss Clarence from HR while he was gone—better drink away our sorrows.

I didn’t go to this party. I deleted the email verifying that Calhoun was dead, checked out of work, and drove to the beach.

It was raining, so the teal RV overlooking the shore was alone on the sand. The beaded curtains were drawn. Faint magic glowed from the wards.

Isobel opened the door for me when I approached.

“Dayna here yet?” I asked.

She shook her head. “She’s due any minute. Come on in.”

The inside of Isobel’s RV looked like a crime scene: plastic bags of blood sitting on the tables, pieces of animal carcass, fresh furs hanging from the ceiling. She was wearing a bathrobe, but when she moved, a flash of coyote hide peeked through the gap.

Isobel Stonecrow was in costume.

“You’re working tonight, aren’t you?” I asked.

“It’s Halloween—busy night for death witches. I have four local clients lined up for Yelena and me.”

“But I thought…”

“What? That I would immediately return to practicing law now that I don’t have to be in hiding?”

“The money’s better in lawyering.”

“You have no idea how much money I make.” She hugged the bathrobe tighter around herself. “It’s not about money anyway. I don’t care about money. I’ve
never
cared about being rich.” She sounded awfully defensive, considering that I hadn’t been accusing her of anything.

A knocking at the door. Isobel stiffened.

“I’ll get it,” I said.

She nodded, lips sealed shut as she sat on her couch.

I was about to open the door when Isobel said, “Thanks, by the way. For being here while we do this.”

She said that like I would have even considered the alternative.

I opened the door. Dayna stood at the bottom of the steps with her hood lifted, rain drizzling from the edge. Her eyes were shadowed. I could only see the curve of her lips and chin.

“Come on in,” I said, stepping back so that she could enter the RV.

The whole vehicle shifted under her weight as she climbed in. Her expression as she took in the sight of the beaded curtains, incense, and shag carpeting was somewhere between disgust and exasperation.

“Hello again, Belle,” Dayna said. She didn’t sound happy about the greeting.

Isobel didn’t look happy about it, either. “Hi, Dayna.”

The high priestess shed her cloak. I was surprised to see that she was wearing professional slacks and a loose blouse. It looked like we’d caught her coming home from the office.

She sat beside Isobel. “We’ll be quick about this. I’m busy.”

“Halloween,” Isobel said.

“Yes. All Hallows’ Eve. Lots to do at the temple.” Dayna checked her watch. “We have a few minutes, though.”

“Need anything for the magic?” I asked, hovering nearby.

Dayna took Isobel’s hands and flipped them so that they faced the ceiling. The high priestess trailed her fingernails over Isobel’s palms. “My skills are similar to Belle’s. No ritual is required.” Her lips twitched in a brief, unfriendly smile. “I’m surprised you’re letting me into your head again after the last time. Do you really want to know what’s hidden in that pretty skull of yours?”

“Just go ahead and do it,” Isobel said. “I’m sick of—”

She cut off. Her eyes went blank.

Dayna stared fixedly at Isobel’s forehead.

The temperature in the RV dropped about ten degrees. Chills rolled over my spine, prickled my flesh, froze the sweat under my arms. My sinuses tickled, but I managed not to sneeze for once.

When Dayna spoke again, it was in a low, emotionless tone.

“I remember.”

Isobel’s lips moved along with the syllables, but she didn’t have a voice. She was speaking through Dayna. Her skin glowed with a faint blue nimbus.

After all the times I’d seen Isobel talking to the dead, it was weird to see the same thing being used on her.

“You remember what?” I asked.

“I remember my law office,” Dayna said. “It’s a hot day and the air conditioning is broken. The repairman is taking hours to come even though my assistant’s been calling him for hours. Why doesn’t he prioritize our office? We have work to do. Important work. Everyone else can wait.”

That must have been Hope Jimenez. I wasn’t sure if she sounded haughty because she was coming through Dayna’s filter, or if that was just who she’d been.