Dead to Me (40 page)

“Go,” she said, “and take her with you.”

“Irene,” I said, feeling a bit uncomfortable staring into Cyrus’s eyes as I spoke to her. “This is Jane. She’s…well…”

“I know,” Irene said, softening Cyrus’s face. “You don’t need to explain. I can see her energy…intertwined with yours. It’s okay. Life is for the living.”

The softness disappeared from Cyrus’s face, and as he began to win control of his body once more, he bent to retrieve his cutlass, his face contorted with the effort. Before he could grab ahold of it, Irene forced his body back to a standing position.

“Go!” she screamed. “He’s pushing me out.”

“Connor and I will find you after this, I swear.”

Irene smiled, but Cyrus’s sharklike teeth made it unpleasant.

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” she said. “Something feels terribly right about all this.” Irene turned to face Jane. “Take care of him. He’s a terrible amount of trouble.”

“You’re telling me,” Jane said with a faint laugh. Then with absolute sincerity, she said, “Thank you. I’ll try.”

Cyrus came to the surface again and I watched his arm as he balled up his fist. His face strained with the effort, the veins in his neck popping out like suspension cables.

“If you’re going to do anything,” Irene said weakly, “now would be the time…”

As Irene gave one final push for control over him, Cyrus’s face went slack and his arms dropped lifelessly to his side. Seizing the moment Irene had provided for us, Jane and I swung the shield, rushing forward. The shield smacked into Cyrus’s head, and it rang out like a gong. He fell to the floor. Jane stared at him for a second, and then we stepped over him, heading for the south end of the room. I think Jane gave him a parting kick on the way out, but I didn’t look back to see where. I don’t think I wanted to know.

Jane pulled ahead and took the lead. It wasn’t hard to do, considering I was holding my ribs as I limped after her, while also trying to remove the shield from my arm. She effectively dodged the galloping horsemen and avoided the retreating cultists, who were clearly spooked by the sudden turn of events. I found myself crying and laughing at the same time. These folks wanted Surrealism; they certainly were getting it. I doubt anyone had expected a night like this.

Connor frantically waved us over and we plowed through the crowd, using the shield to reach him. Two of the suits of armor had responded to his commands like he was the sorcerer’s apprentice, and stretched between their arms were Faisal “Don Corleone” Bane himself.

“Well, kid,” Connor shouted over the noise. “What should we do with him?”

I looked around the room. So much of what was happening tonight rested on this madman’s machinations. He was responsible for Irene and Tamara’s deaths, and who knew how many more? Even Jane had been at his mercy. Given that we had yet to put a stop to Faisal’s corporate headhunter, she still was. Though I had never killed anyone, in that moment I wanted to. Knowing the Department frowned on such behavior, I restrained myself, and yet I had to do something.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I yelled over the sound of combat. “There’s no way all these evil folk are escaping scot-free with all the alarms going off, but there’s a chance that we’ll be able to.”

Connor nodded. His hair whipped around wildly and his Bogart trench coat fluttered out behind him like a cape. “That still doesn’t tell me what we should do with Faisal,” he said. “I think the spirits want to rip him limb from limb, and I’m having a hard time coming up with reasons for them not to.”

“All we have to do is detain him until the authorities arrive,” I said.

“But you said it yourself, kid…we can’t stick around for that. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Faisal smiled as he hung midair between the two horsemen. Once we left, he surely would break free. There had to be a better way to keep the smug bastard in line.

“Jane?” I said as I turned. I presented the hilt of the sword to her. “Would you care to do the honors?”

She smiled nervously, reluctant.

“I don’t want you tokill him!” I said. “We just need to…detain him. I thought you might want a little payback. Don’t forget, heis trying to have you killed.”

“Might I remind you,” she said, “that he tried to kill you as well? That’s what he sent me after you for.”

“Then I suggest we do it together. Drastic times call for, you know—”

“Dosomething !” Connor shouted.

Faisal looked pained from the tugging and pulling, and I took a dark pleasure in that. Jane and I hefted the sword together and thrust it forward through his shoulder, driving him against the wall. We forced the sword as deep as we could into the wall, nearly to the hilt, and Faisal was effectively pinned. He hissed in pain, but he definitely looked incapable of moving.

“Let’s see our little butterfly wriggle free from this specimen board before the authorities get here now,” I said.

“Guess you don’t believe in handcuffs, huh?” Jane said.

“Don’t really carry them,” I said. “Most of the things I deal with can’t be held by them anyway.”

Connor clapped me on the shoulder. “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge, kid,” he said. “I’ll go back and grab the Inspectre. You two kids make a break for it.”

I surveyed the destruction as Jane and I started off, and the art enthusiast in me winced at the thought of all the property damage. The Museum would certainly have its work cut out for it, including the task of figuring out just what the hell the now toppled Ghostsniffing machine was. We passed it on our way out, and I was happy to see all the clay pots were empty or broken.

The wooden fish stuck out of the debris, the glow of its power fading from it, and I stretched down painfully to grab it. I tucked it under my shirt, careful not to put it against the open hole along my ribs. It was a bit of thievery, but it didn’t belong to the museum’s collection anyway, and they would have enough to deal with tomorrow.

I gave one final look back as Jane and I raced out of the hall, but there was no trace of Irene anywhere now. Jane squeezed my hand sympathetically. The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from the other direction snapped me out of it, and we headed off to find quiet and escape, arm in arm, thanks to the support of our army of the dead.

37

Most of Other Division was crowded around the television at the front of the Lovecraft Café. Jane was at my side, her hand openly around my shoulder, but I didn’t mind it in public anymore. People could think what they wanted to think. Bruises, slings, and more than one set of crutches were signs that last night had not been a dream—that and the wooden fish now hanging on the wall of my apartment.

David Davidson was on the screen live from Town Hall, where he was looking nervous for the first time since I had known him. In the past he had been able to disavow much of the paranormal and occult activities in the city. But there was no way he could cover up the events of last night. You simply couldn’t get away with destroying the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You especially didn’t get away with it considering we had left an occultist ringleader pinned to the wall. Davidson floundered for words when the questions started coming. Claiming an emergency had come up he ran away from the podium, and I knew we had rattled him.

Godfrey Candella from the Gauntlet patted me on the shoulder before asking me to stop by later so he could transcribe my oral account of what happened at the Met for their archives. On the television screen, the news cut away from the empty podium.

“Satisfied?” Jane said in my ear. I leaned into her.

“I guess so,” I said. “Was kinda hoping the Mayor might fire him, though.”

“Good heavens, no!” the Inspectre chimed in next to us. “And make us break in a new liaison? Why would you want that? You know how devilishly long it would take to get someone new jumping through the right hoops? We’ve got Davidson right where we want him now.”

“I’d hardly call what Davidson does for us jumping through the hoops, sir.”

He patted me on the shoulder and leaned closer. “He’s no saint, m’boy,that is for sure. But he’s certainly better than many men we could be dealing with.”

Connor walked over to us. He was carrying iced coffees, one for himself and one as a peace offering for Jane, who seemed to have taken up his addiction.

“The Devil you know is better than the Devil you don’t, kid,” he said, “and Davidson’s no devil. Not by a long shot. Imp, maybe, but he ain’t no devil.”

“Well,” I said, “he sure as hell went out of his way to help Faisal and Cyrus and everyone in their big, bad clubhouse of evil there.”

The Inspectre chuckled. The assembled crowd slowly split up and returned to the offices. There was a jovial camaraderie among the departments today, and even the White Stripes were high-fiving people who weren’t part of their hair club for men.

“Enough, Simon, enough!” the Inspectre said. “You’re not due to studyCynicism and the Road to Ruin until the Other Division conference in mid-December. I’m sure they’ll expect one corker of a speech about last night out of you. I believe they’ve also nominated you for Most Battered in the Line of Duty, my boy.”

I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not, but I laughed anyway. I instantly regretted it as I felt the tape binding my ribs pull tight. Jane’s arm tightened around my shoulder in response.

“I’m okay,” I said with all the believability of a politician. “I’m sure the internal bleeding will be just fine.”

“No time for jokes,” Jane said. “With your sense of humor, you’re bound to puncture a lung before you realize it. Let’s get you back to work. Up and at ’em. I can help you through the theater at the very least.”

Though Jane still wasn’t allowed back in the Department proper, there was serious talk about pushing through the paperwork because of the way she had proven herself in the line of duty. But the wheels of red tape were ever slow. I wasn’t holding my breath that it would be anytime soon.

“I can take him from there,” Connor said in the spirit of cooperation as he gathered our drinks.

When we neared Mrs. Teasley at the back of the café, her cat almost fell off the table as it leaned over to rub its head against my hand.

“I don’t mean to alarm you two,” the old seer said with her hands knuckle deep in coffee grounds, “but you should expect a visitation in the near future.”

I scritched the cat under his chin and he purred happily. “Another one of your psychic readings, eh, Mrs. T?”

“No,” she said. “Silly boy. It’s just that Director Wesker seems to be waiting behind you.”

Jane slowly turned us around, and sure enough, Wesker was standing there, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as usual. I tensed immediately, never quite sure what his whole role in the Sectarian fiasco had been.

“Are either of you two familiar with a Mr. Jason Charles?” Wesker said smugly.

Just the mention of the corporate headhunter was enough to put me on guard and Jane followed my lead. She took her arm from around me in search of something to defend herself with. I wobbled tentatively as she abandoned me, but managed to stagger toward the counter for support. I braced one hand against it. Sadly, my bat was sitting on my desk out back so I scooped up the nearest object I could to defend myself—a pair of muffin tongs. Not terribly intimidating, mind you, but I had worked with worse during Unorthodox Fighting Techniques.

“Easy now, easy!” Wesker said, raising both hands high in the air. “So you are familiar with the name. Good. I thought you might be.”

“Is he here?” I said, snapping the tongs as viciously as I could. The Inspectre and Connor stopped by the curtained doorway of the theater.

“No. And in case you forgot, Simon, Iwork here,” Wesker said, then sneered at Jane. “Unlike some people. Now put down those tongs before you damage someone’s muffin.”

The Inspectre moved defensively toward Jane. He looked Wesker up and down. “What the devil is he talking about, dear?”

“Jason Charles was the man the Sectarians assigned to kill me, sir,” Jane said, speaking up, “but he was about as effective at that as he was being a boyfriend. His solution to most of life’s problems was to shoot them, especially for money. Hell, I bet when he found out I was the target, he offered to cap me for free.”

Wesker stepped forward like he was going to push his way past all of us, but I clicked my tongs,SNIKT SNIKT SNIKT , and his eyes darted to me nervously.

“Jane,” I said calmly. “This might not be the best time to squabble over who was shooting who and for how much…”

“Nobody is shooting anybody anymore!” Wesker said, exasperated. “Thanks to the deal I cut, naturally.”

Jane and I shared a WTF glance.

“What deal?” I asked.

“The point I was trying to make if you would have shut up for a minute,” Wesker said, “is that Mr. Charles will no longer be bothering you. Either of you.”

“Oh,” I said, hopping toward Wesker. “Just like that?”