Ink and Shadows (19 page)

“He seemed nice,” Mal struggled to explain. “I talked to him before he fell asleep last night.”

“Gods, you are an idiot,” Ari said, ruffling Mal’s tousled hair. “I don’t think I was ever that innocent. Don’t worry about it. That kid was pretty rough around the edges. I’m surprised we still have a TV.”

Mal felt around for the light switch, fingers fumbling. The room flared brightly, making his eyes
water. “I need a shower. I’ll be right up.”

“Better hurry,” Ari said. “Or there’ll be hell to pay. If there was a hell. And if it cost to get in.”

“War.” Mal’s voice was low, making Ari pause. “Is Death really mad at me?”

Ari heard the insecurity rooted there. They’d all been hard on the youngest, deriding his efforts to reach out to the other Horsemen.

It wasn’t just that he missed Batu. Ari didn’t understand Mal or what drove their youngest to do the things he did. Ari’s world was simpler. Mankind’s growth was a game. He moved certain pieces to draw mortal attention to or away from things, not interfering with either its wars against injustice or wars against itself. Mal saw the Horsemen as a way for Mankind to better itself. Humans would either condemn themselves to extinction or avoid it, without any help or deliberate hindrance of any immortal. Mal had walked too close to that line more than once, always pulled back from the brink of disaster by Death’s steady hand.

“No, Death’s not mad at you. Besides, there wasn’t much left to what the boy was wearing. Min can
afford to lose a few things. Hell, he might even return them.” Ari’s voice gentled, a reassuring rumble. “I
think Death’s more worried about the kid. That wraith shouldn’t have formed here. Shi thinks someone
called it up. We’ve got to figure out first what happened to the kid and then find out who wants to hurt
him.”

Ari patted Mal’s shoulder. “Go take your shower. I’ve got some coffee going. It’ll be done by the time you come up.”

“Thanks, Ari.” Mal located his glasses, surprised to find a sheen of tears still burning his eyes when he put them on. “He just looked lost. I know what that feels like, being that lost.”

“Not a problem, Cooties.” Ari took the stairs two at a time, calling down them when he reached the top. “And by the way, whatever you were holding up to your waist doesn’t cover a damned thing. You might want to consider wearing it next time we go trolling for sex. Could get you laid.”

M
ICHAEL
B
ECKETT
walked the length of the hallway from his bedroom to the main room in his La Jolla
home, his eyes blind to the seascape just outside. Perched high on a sea cliff, the house gleamed with
stretches of polished glass and chrome, set high enough on the rocky crag to be safe from the crashing
waves spraying foam into the air. Shadows avoided the place, the splotches of nonlight clean of any
living darkness. The house loomed over the bluffs, eerily silent despite the nearby ocean and the two-lane road winding just beyond the main gates.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Frazier waited patiently for Beckett, his broad shoulders straightening to attention as the other man approached. Dressed in matte gray slacks and a matching long-sleeved cotton shirt, his tanned skin shone bronze from years of being out in the sun. A brush of silver-shot brown hair bristled over his head, cropped nearly to the skin above his ears. Nodding a brusque welcome when his employer entered, Frazier sipped from a bottle of water, his fingers picking at its plastic label.

When Beckett first approached the older man, Frazier thought it would be easy money guarding the insane man who offered him immortality. When the shadows became creatures around him and slips of half-people caught the corners of Frazier’s eyes, he no longer doubted the man’s sanity. Although at times, he admitted to questioning his own.

The taste of the water was bitter on his tongue, the liquid clouded from the powdery substance both he and Beckett consumed on a regular basis. With the boy’s probable successful crossing into the unseen, Beckett suggested increasing the dosages, something Frazier initially resisted until the blackened, oily corpse of Beckett’s wraith lay outlined against the motel’s stained concrete. Then Frazier realized it was better to see everything around him, even the things that couldn’t quite touch him.

Beckett had his own reasons for wanting the substance to work, intensely personal reasons, but Frazier wanted something different. Being able to see and manipulate what was unseen had potential. If forever came with it, then it became all the more attractive.

“The manager of the motel called me. Left a message,” Frazier said casually. “The boy’s back.”

“So soon?” Beckett smiled at the news. “Humans are ever creatures of habit. I take it you’ll be heading back there shortly.”

“I just wanted to give you an update,” the man said. “I told the manager to stall the boy if it looks like he’s going to leave.”

“Good.” Beckett took an iced bottle from the wet bar, then tapped a crystalline mixture into the cold water. “Were you able to find out anything from the creature’s corpse?”

Dehydrated lime added a pleasant tang to the water, an astringent flavor Beckett quite enjoyed.

Shaking the bottle until the lime dissolved, he smiled at the man he’d tricked into consuming the untested
elixir, wondering how long it would be until the insanity ate at Frazier’s brain. Sipping at the water, he
joined Frazier in the living room, motioning for Frazier to take a seat.

“I couldn’t touch it, but I’m not sure if that’s because it was almost gone or if I’ve just not got enough of the elixir in me yet.” Frazier rubbed at the tips of his fingers, showing Beckett the inky stains of the wraith’s fluids. The gore burned at first, then turned numbing. The feeling was finally returning, a tingle spreading up to his palm. “The boy definitely was bitten. His blood was all over the sidewalk, but none of the cops could see it.”

“Bitten is good. But what happened to the wraith?”

“The creature was killed by a blade,” Frazier said. “Something very sharp. Clean cuts and precise. Someone who knew how to kill, and I’m guessing by the cuts, it was something bigger than a knife.”

“Really?” Beckett ran his fingers along his lower lip, contemplating the puzzle before him. “Think
our boy killed it?”

“Doubtful,” Frazier said, digging a small notebook from his pocket. He found the scribbled notes he’d made while talking to the residents of the motel. “Kismet
Andreas. He’s lived at the motel for a year or so, fairly quiet and sticks to himself. Mostly does drugs and paints, from what I can tell. He works part-time at a tattoo parlor one of the suppliers owns. That’s how he
came into contact with the batch you released.”

“Curious how we all are connected.” Beckett sipped at his lime water, swishing it around in his mouth. “Does he prostitute? He’d need to know how to handle someone threatening him if he works the streets. He could have been armed.”

“The neighbor across of him says no, but then the boy probably doesn’t bring anyone home.” Frazier shrugged. “But he could do business somewhere else. Plenty of alleys around the area or even down by the park. But honestly, he doesn’t sound like someone disciplined enough to have that kind of skill. Whoever carved up your creature knew what he was doing.”

“So probably not our druggie,” Beckett said. “There are others behind the Veil that could have helped him. One of the Sidhe perhaps. It could get complicated if he has someone to help him.”

“Complicated I can handle, as long as I can see it.” Frazier handed his employer one of the folders he’d left on the table. “Here, I thought you might want to take a look at these. They were all over the boy’s room. The manager let me in after a bit of persuasion.”

“Dear God.” Beckett nearly grinned at the photographs Frazier had taken of Kismet’s room. The man had carefully placed canvases against the wall, recording as many paintings as he could in each photo. “Our Mr. Andreas definitely has the Sight.”

Horrors crawled through paint, stretched tight over the canvas and reaching out to the unaware.
Wraiths curved around lampposts, snagging at the skulls of passersby. A picture of a homeless woman,
filth and despair dominating her battered face, writhed with the tiniest of shadowy tadpoles, a few bulbous
heads already buried under her dirt-splattered skin. Each photo grew grimmer with each pass, until the
magus reached the bottom of the packet, his hands trembling with the images of darkfae and slender,
lithesome forms of hidden Sidhe.

“So he’s like you, predisposed to see things?” Frazier asked softly. “But probably unable to touch anything. Until now.”

“Until now,” Beckett agreed, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. “God, these are beautiful.”

“We’re assuming the drugs worked.” Frazier leaned forward, taking another sip of the bitters. “We just need to snag him and confirm it. Then we’ll be able to use the new mixture without worrying about any side effects.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” the magus murmured, tracing his fingers along one of the red lines of Kismet’s paintings. Looking up, he saw the calculation in Frazier’s eyes, a hunger lurking just below the surface. Beckett welcomed that hunger, hoping to exploit Frazier’s greed and manipulate it. “We’re so close.”

“Here. I want you to take this now.” Beckett passed Frazier a packet of brown powder, minute flecks glistening amid the dull tan. “This should help you hold on to the boy if he’s passed fully through. Once you get him secured, come back here immediately. The effects of this will wear off in about four hours, so you’ll need to get him locked down before then.”

“I’ll have him here by tonight.” Frazier stood, taking the packet from Beckett’s table. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Beckett waited until he was certain the man was gone, then smiled at the immortal standing by the counter. Charity had slid out of the Veil nearly as soon as the door closed behind Frazier’s back, greeting his sister’s lover with a wave.

“I think he believes every word you say. You’ve gotten him to agree to take what you gave the boy without even a whisper of suspicion.” Charity walked out of the shadows, his bare feet barely leaving a trace on the carpet. “We’re on our way, then. My sister chose well in you.”

“Thank you. I try,” Beckett replied.

“I’m kind of worried that we lost the boy.”

“Frazier will find him. Nothing motivates like greed.”

Charity turned, leaning his back against a pane of glass. “So the boy killed your wraith? That seems a bit unlikely.”

“I think someone else helped kill the creature.” A frown crinkled Beckett’s forehead. “I’m worried that whoever killed the wraith will try to prevent Frazier from grabbing the boy.”

“I don’t like someone sniffing around the boy. We’re just so close.” Tapping his fingers on the window, Charity made a face. “It worries me too. He shouldn’t have any allies. Humans and immortals don’t mingle. And none of the Veiled would have the strength to fight off a wraith. They’d sooner avoid that kind of trouble.”

“Can you think of anyone who might have stepped in?” Beckett asked.

“I can’t imagine one of the Sidhe Courts helping a human,” Charity said. “The same can be said of the darkfae. No one just walked by and helped the boy out of the kindness of his heart. Darkfae don’t do anything unless profit or family glory is involved.”

“Someone helped him.” Beckett drained the water in the bottle. “Something that exists in the shadows.”

“The Horsemen are in this area.” Charity fretted, thinking of Death and his crew. “But they aren’t known to get involved in human matters. Their hands are dirty enough as it is. I can’t see them lifting a finger to help a single human.”

“Would it be possible to ask anyone about them? Poke around and see if they’re interested in the boy?”

“It would look suspicious. They’re not something brought up in casual conversation.” Charity shrugged at his sister’s lover. “None of us have anything to do with them. Ari wouldn’t think twice about someone asking after them. If word even got to him, it would just stroke his ego, but Death, he would hone in on me.”

“I thought you were immune to Death.”

“No one is immune to Death.” Charity mulled over the scar-faced immortal interfering with the young man they needed. “He’s more of a hunter than Ari is. I don’t want Death’s notice. If I start asking after the Horsemen, there would be more questions than answers.”

“There’s got to be someone who pays attention to what they’re doing. Maybe not an immortal but one of the other Veiled?” Beckett asked.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ve already told you too much about the others. Speaking about them sends ripples. That’s one of the ways we know we are needed. I have to be careful.” He canted his head to one side, feeling the summons of a calling. The man felt at the edges of the request, worrying at the threads reaching out to him. He would have to respond to this one. It was too big to ignore. “I have to leave.”

“I’ll try to get this resolved,” Beckett promised. “You can’t live your life being dragged from place to place. I don’t want that for Faith. She deserves more.”

Charity’s bitterness rode high in his throat, burning and sour. “None of us have lives. There is no
privacy, no days when I can say I am not responding to a call. Humans are always mewling and whining
about their existence, not realizing that on this muddy spit of a world, they have everything right at their
fingertips. I would give anything to just say no, I’m not going to go, but none of us have that luxury.”

“This will bring me over.” Beckett held his hand out to the immortal. His eyes burned with fervor. “And then we’ll know for sure that it will help you.”

“Do what you can, and no matter what, remember we’re doing this for her.” The immortal faded, drawn along the line of his call. “I don’t care about me, but she deserves to be free of this prison.”