Promise: Caulborn #2 (16 page)

“Doesn’t that bother you?” I asked.

Heph laughed again. “Are you kidding? Some nights it’s the only way I can get work done. Thank you again for the meal and conversation.” With that, he disappeared in a flash of green light.

I turned to Petra and put my arms around her. “Way to go, love.”

Petra cuddled into me. “I almost couldn’t do it,” she said. “She showed up, and all of a sudden it was just like every other time. But then she went too far. It’s one thing for her to insult me,” she said. “I’m her daughter; I expect that to a point. But I couldn’t just sit there and watch her toy with your mind. That and the way she was violating the old codes…” She trailed off. “So. We’ve eaten. Our company has left early. I just told off my mother, and you have the rest of the day off.” Her eyes were suddenly very inviting. “What shall we do with this free time?”

I rubbed my chin. “We could watch the rest of
Doctor Who
, season 3.” Petra grinned at me.

We did something else entirely.

Chapter 7

Bargain 19895621, Addendum A – Using sycophants to protect the target is proving too resource intensive. Two primary factors influence this – first, the nature of the target’s work requires the sycophants to expend much more energy to defend against paranormal threats. Second, the target possesses a pocket dimension that causes interference with the portals the sycophants use for traveling. It is possible that the pocket dimension itself may stop the sycophants from entering the target’s realm, and thus, impair or prevent them from protecting her. I will not fail to uphold my end of the bargain with the godling, and so am changing the nature of her protection. The godling need not be made aware of this; all that matters is that she be kept fine.

—From Keeper Laras’s Transaction Journal

The next morning, I rolled out of bed, tripped and face-planted on the carpet. Petra stuck her head out of the closet. “Oops. Sorry about that, love.” I hauled myself to my feet and carefully stepped over the suitcase that was lying open on the floor.

“Already?” I asked, nodding to the suitcase. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“Just a week or so. We’re shooting in Antigua.” I helped Petra pack and called a cab to take her to the airport.

“Be careful,” I said as she grabbed her coat and bag.

“Don’t you worry,” she replied. “When I get back, we are going to celebrate.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Driving my mother from the apartment. I think Hallmark should make cards for that.” She kissed me, long and hard, and I most definitely returned it. “See you in about a week,” she said when we broke apart. She winked at me and left.

As the door closed behind Petra, I opened my mind to my followers. There weren’t as many prayers today, as some of the Urisk were already encased in their protective chrysalises. Those who were praying were saying daily litanies to me, while others were asking for protection during the coming eclipse. Daimin’s voice stood out as the loudest, repeatedly thanking me for saving his family and asking for the Urisk to be kept safe. I blessed him and the rest of my followers and stretched.

The apartment faded from my view and was replaced by a dim gray light. Purple mist swirled around me, completely obscuring my vision. When it settled, a figure in a rumpled dark suit stood before me. “Why, Orcus, fancy meeting you here.” The god of oaths has always reminded me a bit of a gorilla. It could be because he’s built just like one and nearly as hairy.

Orcus shook his head at me. “You must think you’re real clever, kid.”

“Well, yeah, actually.” Orcus openly scowled at me. “Look, what do you want to hear?” I asked. “I found a way to keep the promise. Megan stays fine; I don’t go to Tartarus; everybody wins.”

“You don’t keep promises by proxy, kid,” Orcus growled. “That’s low.”

“Low? You want to talk about low? How about holding someone accountable for a slip of the tongue?”

“I hold you to your word!” Orcus roared. His voice was thunderous and terrible. I’d pressed my hands over my ears without even realizing it. Orcus glowered at me, and I put my hands down. With visible effort, he composed himself and pointed to the iron-bound book sitting on the pedestal behind him. The book was open to a page written in my hand, in my own blood.

I, Vincent Corinthos, have promised Megan Hayes that she will be fine. I swear this upon penalty of loss of power, loss of followers, and eternal damnation in Tartarus.

“I hold all gods accountable for all their promises,” Orcus said through clenched teeth. It sounded like he was straining to keep his voice level. “It keeps some of them humble and teaches others to keep their mouths shut. But you, you have to prove how damned clever you are.” He shook his head, disgust plain on his face.

“It wouldn’t have come to this if you’d just cut me some slack,” I said.

Orcus’s shoulders slouched. “Fine, kid. Fine. You win. Congratulations, enjoy it. But one question: did you ask them how they were going to keep her fine? Sure, they’ve got people watching her, but they’ve taken casualties, kid. How many people do you think they’ve got willing to sacrifice themselves to keep
your
promise? How long’s that gonna last before they find some other way?” My mouth worked, but no sound came out. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said as he shook his head again. “See you around, kid.” Orcus’s realm faded and I was back in my kitchen.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Megan. Four rings later got me to her voicemail. I cursed and dialed Leslie. “Les, has Megan checked in today?”

“One moment, Mr. Corinthos,” Galahad’s secretary replied. A pause. “No, it doesn’t look like she has.”

“All right. Tell the boss I’m headed over to her place now, and I think she’s in trouble.” I hung up and flagged down a taxi. Megan’s place was in the South Side, so the cab ride was blessedly short. I Opened the door to her apartment building and took the elevator up to the sixth floor. The building was newly renovated and there was still the tang of fresh paint in the air as I moved as fast as I could down the hall without actually running. I found her apartment and knocked three times.

“Megan, are you in there?” Three more knocks and I still hadn’t gotten a response. I Opened her door and stepped inside. As I did, I had a sudden fear that maybe the reason Megan hadn’t answered her phone or her door was because she and Herb were having some quality time together. “Megan, it’s Vincent,” I called out. No response. My gaze swept around the apartment. It was like walking onto the set of a 1950s sitcom. Here in the living room, the couch and armchairs had little lace doilies on the backs and arms. A poster-sized copy of the
Saturday Evening Post
issue showing a little girl holding her doll up to a doctor hung on the far wall. A copy of
Quilter’s Monthly
magazine sat on the coffee table. Of course, it was unlikely that June Cleaver would’ve had
Handguns Monthly
sitting right next to that, as Megan did.

I moved in further, calling her name. There were diplomas on the walls from high school and college, situated just below a pair of crossed field hockey sticks and a few medals. A bookshelf was packed to bursting with books on both the occult and leadership. A copy of
Taking People with You – The Only Way to Make Big Things Happen
, was on an end table next to the shelf, several dozen Post-it flags marking various pages.

I poked my head into the doorway on the left. Megan’s bedroom was neater than I’d expected, if that were possible. Laundry sat in baskets against the far wall, and the bed had hospital corners that would’ve made any nurse proud. The comforter, blankets, and pillowcases were all pink and purple pastels, as were the drapes. No sign of Megan, though. The kitchen was immaculate, as was the bathroom, and I couldn’t find any signs of a struggle or forced entry. I tried her cell again.

I started as
What if God was One of Us?
began playing from the kitchen. I found her phone there, with my name prominently displayed on the screen. I killed the call and sighed. She’d probably just gone out and forgotten her phone. I tried to convince myself that people did that all the time, but this was Megan we were talking about here. Still, even she wasn’t perfect.

A knock came at the door. “Megan?” I crossed the room and opened the door to find Herb Wallenby standing there, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a Parcheesi board in the other. His coat was mostly unzipped, and he wore a nice pair of slacks, a button-down shirt, and shoes so perfectly polished they actually reflected the light from the hall.

“Vincent?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Megan,” I said as I ushered him in. “You?”

“We had a brunch date,” he said. “She was going to make waffles, and I was going to bring the Parcheesi board.” He jiggled the game beneath his arm.

“You guys seriously play Parcheesi on dates?” I asked. Then I shook my head. “No, forget it. Listen, Herb. No one at work knows where Megan is. Her phone’s on the counter. There’s a chance she’s still at the grocery store getting maple syrup or something, but I’m not betting on it. When was the last time you talked with her?”

Herb pursed his lips. “Around 9:30 last night. That’s when we made plans for brunch today.”

“You went home? I thought you guys were…” I ran a hand over my face, then put up both my hands. “No, never mind.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Herb said. “Do you have a key to Megan’s apartment? How’d you get in?”

“All Caulborn agents leave a key with HQ in case of an emergency,” I lied as I jangled my own key ring in my pocket. “Standard procedure. Look, Herb, I need to find out where Megan went. If you hear from her, or if she comes home, call me at this number.” I rattled off my cell, which he plugged into his phone.

I started for the door, but Herb grabbed my wrist. “Wait,” he said. “If Megan is in trouble, I can help. If you learn anything, or if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, Vincent.” There was a determination, almost fierceness, in his eyes that I hadn’t expected. Wow. Mr. Wallenby had it really bad for Megan, and I was starting to think he might be a good match for her after all.

“Don’t you worry, Herb,” I said as I put a hand on his shoulder. “I will.” I left him there and headed back for the street. Protocol said I should check in with HQ to update them on the situation, but I had some people I needed to speak with first.

I caught a cab to Keeper Central and sprinted up the stairs. When I got inside, my high tops squeaked agonizingly loud as I crossed the tile floor to Julie’s desk. The receptionist flashed me a chipper smile as I approached. “Good afternoon, Mr. Corinthos.”

“Julie, I need to speak with Laras right away.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Laras is indisposed at the moment, Mr. Corinthos,” she said, pulling a pencil from her bun. “I’ll be happy to make a note that you stopped by, though.”

This was one of those insanely frustrating moments when I wished my telepathic powers worked on humans. Unfortunately, something about the human psyche prevents telepathic communication with people. It’d be so much easier if I could just mentally dominate Julie to make her pick up the phone and tell Laras to get his ass down here. Instead, I took a breath and tried to think of how Megan would handle this situation. “Julie,” I said. “I realize that Mr. Laras is a busy man, and I assure you I am not one to waste his time. However, an issue around our arrangement has arisen, and I need to speak with him immediately. It may well be a matter of life or death.”

“Issue?” Julie looked genuinely confused. “Ms. Hayes is perfectly safe, Mr. Corinthos,” she said.

I blinked. “You know the details? Jesus, Laras said he was discreet.”

Julie’s annoying smile quickly returned. “You forget that I drew up the paperwork myself for this agreement, Mr. Corinthos.” She folded her hands on the desk. “I assure you that the Keepers maintain a strict level of discretion when speaking to outsiders. Within the organization, though, there are no secrets. This enables us to ensure that all bargains are properly fulfilled.”

“All right then, maybe you can help me. Laras said that he was assigning a group of people to ward Megan. Now she’s vanished. I’d like to know where she went, or to speak to the people assigned to protect her.”

“I assure you she is completely safe, Mr. Corinthos.”

“How do you know that? What aren’t you telling me?”

“That knowledge is not necessary for the bargain. You upheld your end, and we uphold ours. Megan Hayes is completely safe and will forever be fine. This obligation is no longer your responsibility.”

“I need to see her.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

“But not to us.” Julie’s eyes were suddenly hard. The change in her demeanor was so fast that I took a step back. She unclipped the cord of her headset from her black cardigan, stood, and stalked around the desk to me. Her gray slacks swished as she moved, and I noticed they looked more like karate pants than they did business casual attire. She took my arm with a too-firm grip, her manicured nails digging into my biceps so deeply that I thought they’d draw blood if not for my leather bomber. “Mr. Corinthos, your request will be noted and relayed to Mr. Laras. In the meantime, I believe it is time for you to leave the premises.” She physically dragged me across the tiled floor, my Reeboks squeaking the entire way.

“Hang on,” I said as I tried to pull away.

Julie’s hands moved faster than I could follow. The next thing I knew, my left arm was locked behind my back and she’d marched me out the front door. Before I could do anything, she’d launched me off the doorstep and down the stairs, where I promptly collided with a blue metal mailbox on the side of the street. Going by the force with which I’d hit, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a Vincent-shaped dent in its side. Julie stepped back inside and shut the door. As I shakily got to my feet, a steel security door rolled into place.

I brushed myself off. Okay, you want to be like that? I marched up to the security door and stretched out my hand to Open it. If these Keepers thought they could stop me with something as simple as a metal door they had another thing—