The Sunlight Slayings (11 page)

Oliver watched as the Merchynt looked down at Emalie. The wraith fluttered behind her, and Oliver saw the Merchynt's wrinkled face checking with the wraith now and again as Emalie spoke. The Merchynt's cloak fluttered, and now a wiry hand appeared and placed a tiny silver flask on the counter. Emalie took the flask. As she stuffed it in her pocket, the Merchynt stuck out its hand for payment, but the wraith hissed. The Merchynt nodded.

Emalie stepped away from the counter. Oliver glanced about and saw leering eyes falling on her from all directions. Shadowed figures clambered about to get a hungry view of her movements as she matter-of-factly began climbing up the ladders. Creatures turned and regarded her, but the wraith coiled protectively, hissing and clawing, warding off any wayward arms that couldn't resist reaching for Emalie.

“What now?” Dean asked.

Oliver watched her go. He had no idea. They wouldn't stand a chance against a wraith, not down here, anyway. “We have to wait at least until she's back on the surface.”

Just as they started up the ladder, reality blacked out once more. When it returned, up and down had shifted again: The wall, which had originally been the floor, had now become the ceiling. The ladder they'd been hanging on to was lying flat beneath them. Oliver and Dean scrambled to stand on top of it. Again, the air horn sounded, and the machinery rumbled. The shops, ladders, and gutters rearranged themselves so that now the Yomi looked like it had been built hanging from a ceiling. The shops were side to side again, with their roofs touching the rock ceiling that had once been the floor. The ladders had become flat catwalks beside the shops, with just enough room to walk without scraping your head. Below the ladders, the scaffolding stretched down into unknowable darkness.

As the hiss of petroleum signaled the relighting of the gutters, Oliver scanned the rearranged world. Emalie was lost from sight. They headed back toward the entrance, but could only move so fast on the bamboo ladders, wary of falling into the abyss.

“We're going to need something to get the wraith out of the way while we talk to her,” Dean mused seriously.

“Mmm,” Oliver said, deep in thought.
Talking to her, that's funny
, he thought darkly.
She's made a contract with a wraith. A human usually has to sign away their soul or their body or something to get a spirit to work for them
.
That's how bad she wants revenge on me
. Oliver had to wonder if Emalie could even be talked to anymore.

“So now what?” Dean asked as they passed back through the dead detector.

“Désirée's,” Oliver said, turning down the third floor. “Let's get what we need.”

Chapter 9

Désirée's Wordplay

THEY PUSHED THROUGH THE
revolving glass door into the clean and quiet of Désirée's. The store once again seemed empty. The same tinny bossa nova music echoed from speakers in the ceiling. Oliver and Dean walked down the nearest aisle, its perfectly arranged shelves stocked with mysterious tins and jars. They both glanced at their feet as their footsteps made no sound on the tile floor. The scent of bleach lingered in the air, like the place had once again just been cleaned. Oliver squinted, looking ahead through the whitewashed bright toward the high marble counter in the back. It was empty.

Halfway to the back of the store, they crossed a gap in the aisle. Oliver heard a strange, uneven clicking sound and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Something black and green like the grimy corners and shadows, watching them from the far aisle with large, golden eyes—but by the time he turned his head, it had flitted out of sight.

“What was that?” Dean whispered.

“I don't know,” Oliver replied. He'd had an impression of many arms or legs, of crusted skin, and of eyes that had gleamed gold. He wondered: had that been Désirée?
Without her mask?

“Hello, Oliver.” Oliver's head snapped back around to find Désirée's tall, thin form standing behind the counter in her pristine white coat. Her back was to them, and she was once again staring into the diamond-shaped mirror in its jade frame on the wall behind her. Oliver shuddered at the sight of her narrow figure, her red hair in a perfect bun, her delicate white hands clasped behind her back. And he was struck by that same thought he'd had during their last visit:
That's not what she really is
. He wondered what she saw in that mirror, and craned his neck to see into it, but could only make out the glowing white of what seemed like the reflection of the ceiling lights.

Désirée turned around, a smile stretched across her pristine white face. Behind her thin glasses, Oliver saw no gold gleam, only mild lavender eyes. “It's so nice to see you back so soon,” she said pleasantly.

Oliver had been waiting to talk to Désirée again, to maybe even shout at her about the amulet and the vision of his parents, but now, with her smiling down at him, he could only get out one innocent word. “Hi,” he croaked.

Désirée glanced to Dean, then back to Oliver, her smile unchanging. Her hands appeared, long fingers touching in front of her. “Well,” she purred, “I see somebody's been through some changes.”

Oliver heard Dean gulp.

Her eyes narrowed as she seemed to study Oliver. “Ah, so many things have changed, haven't they? What happened to your other friend?”

Oliver wanted to blurt out:
You already know
. He could practically feel Désirée picking through his thoughts, learning everything she wanted to.

“I see,” Désirée went on. “That's part of why you're here. Well then, first things first.…” She reached into her coat pocket and removed a tiny blue glass bottle. She placed it on the counter. “This will help with the pain.”

Oliver glanced at it. “What pain?” When he looked back up, he saw the hidden forms of whatever lurked beneath Désirée's mask rolling with enjoyment.

“Oliver …” she said, sounding like a teacher. “For your amulet wound … Now, ask me.”

“What?”

Désirée's grin widened even further. “Ask me the question you want to ask most.”

Oliver stared at her and almost felt like he couldn't break from her eyes. He'd imagined himself questioning her before, demanding answers.
Why did you lie to me?
That was always the question he wanted to shout at her. So he opened his mouth and asked:

“Was it real?” The question surprised him, and yet the tremor in his gut that came with it made him realize that yes, this was what he wanted to know most.

Désirée nodded. “Yes, the portal vision of your human parents was real.”

If it was possible to feel both relieved and more freaked out than ever, Oliver did. “B-but how can I believe you?”

“Because you already knew it was real, didn't you?”

“I—”

“Next question.”

Oliver could barely keep up. “Wh-why did you give it to me?”

Désirée's face remained smiling. “Obviously because it was what you asked me for.”

“But I— I asked you to help me see what that photo showed, and it ended up ruined.”

“What the photo would have showed you would not have told you what you really wanted to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oliver.” Désirée sounded almost motherly. “You may have wanted to see what the photo showed, but what you really wanted to
know
was what was wrong with you. The photo would have been an answer, but not one that you could have figured out.”

“Huh?”

“You are a sired, yet demonless, vampire, Oliver, a truly unique collection of forces and spectra. I don't think your parents, or anyone for that matter, knew exactly what would happen if you were photographed. I think they worried that you might see something disturbing.”

“Well, like what?”

“We can't be sure. Without a demon, my hunch was that the photo would have shown you as a corpse, possibly even as an infant, from the night you died. That would have been disturbing for you, and you wouldn't have understood what it meant. No one around you would have explained it to you, which is why I decided to … assist. The portal was designed to react to the energy in the photo and use it like coordinates. That way you would have context and a complete answer, as opposed to another confusing question.”

“But it destroyed the photo.” Oliver saw Désirée's point, but he still couldn't help being mistrustful. What if by destroying the photo she was hiding something from him just like everybody else?

“Yes, sorry about that,” Désirée continued. “The transfer of energy to the amulet was powerful, and paper is a delicate thing, after all. But please believe me when I say that what you would have seen would have been upsetting, and also not particularly helpful. The portal was the answer you needed. Though I imagine that was disturbing, too.”

“I guess.” Oliver tried to work through what he was hearing. “So, the amulet … that whole story about me needing protection … that was a lie.”

Désirée suddenly laughed. Three quick bursts erupted from her, sounding at once delighted and dangerous. Her face snapped into a blank, serious stare. “I don't lie, Oliver.”

“I— I didn't mean that you—”

“The amulet of Ephyra is a powerful protective artifact, and while I gave it a second purpose by imbuing it with a portal, its original function is working exactly as I intended it to. It's protecting you right now.”

Oliver reached down and lightly touched the area above the wound. Pain echoed up his side, and he felt a rush of understanding. “The Scourge,” he said slowly. “It hasn't been missing me.”

Désirée nodded. “Indeed, you've been attacked directly with the Scourge of Selket twice now and survived both encounters. If it wasn't for that shard of amulet in your side, you'd be very much a scattering of dust right now. I am sorry, though, that it shattered on you. Sometimes I don't know my own strength with portals. That's why I'm giving you this medication, free of charge. It will clean up the infection.” Her smile returned, yet Oliver wasn't sure that the face beneath was sharing it. “And I tell you what, I'll also knock twenty-five percent off that VanMuren's Mortar that you need,” Désirée added, even though Oliver hadn't yet mentioned that.

She glanced at Dean again, who perked up at hearing this. “Finding your master …” Désirée said, then clicked her tongue on her teeth. Her eyes flashed back to Oliver. “That should be interesting.” Désirée changed subjects before Oliver could respond. “And you also need, I gather, something else?”

“Um, yeah. We need to ward off a wraith.”

“Mmm, tricky business,” She said, folding her arms and tapping a finger on her chin. “Well, of course, nothing works forever. Wraiths are powered by grieving souls and, as you can imagine, those just keep on going. I do believe I have something, though.…” She whisked off into the shelves behind her.

Oliver turned to find Dean raising his eyebrows skeptically.

“Here we are.” Désirée returned and placed a square block of black stone on the counter. Its center was hollowed out like a bowl. Egyptian hieroglyphics decorated the borders of the depression. “One VanMuren's Mortar, and …”

She placed a small tin beside it. Its gleaming metallic surface was painted with a white, circular-bordered Skrit. “Spread this powder in a protective circle to keep the wraith out. Depending on the wraith's strength, this may buy you up to a half hour. After that, well, as the saying goes, beware most those things that are driven by grief.”

“Okay.” Oliver nodded. “How about—”

“The Scourge?” Désirée smiled. “I'm afraid that everything I had, I already sold to your father and his team for, let me just say, top dollar.” Désirée licked her lips as she said this. “Your amulet shard should be sufficient. Now then, I understand you're in a rush, so that will be fifteen
myna
.”

Oliver nodded, not surprised to hear Désirée ask for the exact amount Phlox had given him. He handed her the coins. Désirée placed the items in a canvas bag that was a surprisingly friendly pink color. “Looking forward to seeing you again,” she said.

“Yeah,” Oliver said wearily, feeling like he probably would. He turned toward Dean. “Let's go,” he said, but then stopped. When he looked back again, he thought he saw a moment of surprise on Désirée's face.

“Well now,” she breathed, “I didn't think you'd get up the nerve. All right, go ahead and ask.”

Oliver hesitated, then did: “Do you know anything about the Nexia Gate?”

Désirée beamed at him. Oliver didn't know whether to feel worried or proud. Dean began to fidget, siding with worried. “Oliver,” Désirée said warmly. “I
do
. And I'm flattered that you would ask, but questions about your destiny must be directed to an Oracle. I could be banned from business for indulging in speculation about your future.”

“But—you talk about my future all the time,” Oliver said.

“Mmm.” Désirée smiled coyly. “It's a fine line, I'll admit. But I'm sorry.” She put a finger to her lips. “I suppose there is one thing I could tell you.…” She leaned forward, almost unnaturally far over the desk, down beside Oliver so that her lips were by his ear. Oliver shivered, feeling her coarse hair against his cheek, as Désirée whispered, “Selene is best heard through the fires that burn cold.” She stood up. “Pretty, isn't it?”

Oliver stared at her blankly. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Désirée shrugged her shoulders slightly, looking amused. “I'm afraid your time's up.”

“But—”

“Oliver!” Oliver spun to see Phlox storming down the aisle.

“Bummer,” Dean murmured.

Phlox was bearing down on them, her eyes burning turquoise. “I've been at the food court for”—she checked her watch—“almost a half hour! I've searched every table, alerted security, even called your father! Just what—”