The Brimstone Deception (5 page)

Ian gave me another squeeze.

I smiled a little and sniffed twice. Yep, Ian's hugs always did the trick.

“You did the right thing.” He went quiet for a moment. “Need something to eat?”

I would've thought that with all I'd seen and smelled, food would be the last thing I'd want to be in the same room with, let alone actually eat it. Surprisingly, I was starving.

“Come on, let's get you fed.”

FOR
SPI agents on duty—or who wanted to be nearby when a coworker regained consciousness after being psychically attacked by a demon-possessed corpse—our new onsite cafeteria was the place to get a quick bite. Though calling it a cafeteria didn't come close to describing the gastronomic delights available to hungry and stressed agents.

It's said that you can accomplish pretty much anything if you throw enough money at it. And our agency founder and director, Vivienne Sagadraco, certainly had enough wealth to throw around to ensure that her agents were well fed and happy around the clock. There were plenty of hotshot supernaturals and clued-in human chefs available in a city known for its world-class restaurants. The boss simply waved some more money in front of them, got them to sign one hell of a non-disclosure agreement, and we had a kitchen staff that rivaled anything New York City had to offer. Our head of HSR (Human and Supernatural Resources) was a voodoo high priestess. SPI's non-disclosure agreements for
new employees were signed in her office and in their blood. It didn't matter who or what you did or didn't worship, nobody messed with voodoo. No one had ever even thought about blabbing about the agency to the press or anyone else. Once signed, our secret was safe.

As to food in our cafeteria, you could get anything you wanted at any time. Human, goblin, elf, troll, gnome, vampire, werewolf, were-anything—if you had a craving, the boys and girls in the kitchens would whip it up—or procure it—for you. It was nothing short of culinary heaven.

Best of all, they kept me in iced tea sweet enough to stand a spoon in. Ask any Southerner; you couldn't get decent sweet tea above the Mason-Dixon Line. That is, if you could even find sweet tea at all. Thanks to the generosity of Vivienne Sagadraco, there was no beverage homesickness for me. I'd even managed to score numerous converts.

In case Bert came around quickly, I just went with a turkey and provolone sandwich. It sounded simple, but all bread was made on-site. I'd had enough contact with red meat for one day. On second thought, make that for the next week.

I could tell Ian wanted to ask me something, but he kept it to himself until I'd finished eating. He was having an open-faced roast beef, piled high with meat and drowning in gravy. I tried not to look at it. It didn't matter what my partner had just seen, smelled, or even touched, he could eat anything, anywhere, anytime. Even though his and Kylie's lunch reservation at Café Mina had been half an hour before mine and Rake's, and he'd had time to eat, he was hungry again. Ian was about six two and solid. It took a lot of fuel to run that.

“It's not Café Mina,” Ian noted, when I polished off the last bite of my sandwich.

I sat back with a contented sigh. “You can read minds now?”

“Nope. It was obvious that you were hungry.”

I nodded toward his empty plate. Even the gravy had been mopped up. “Likewise.”

Ian shrugged. “Mina's was good, but it's kind of . . .”

“Froufrou?”

“Yeah.”

“I know. You're a bar, beer, and burger kind of guy. Does Kylie know that?”

Ian smiled slightly. “She does. For our first time out, she said she wanted to take me somewhere nice.”

“Aww. Sorry, couldn't help myself. That's just so sweet. Does she know you want actual food, not decorative squiggles on a plate?”

He nodded. “She does. Next time, I pick the place.”

“And?”

“I was thinking about Franco's.”

Italian. Low light. Romantic ambiance. Best of all, good food and lots of it. A carb-loading, meat-lover's paradise. “Good choice.”

“Really?”

“You wouldn't know it to look at her, but that girl can put away some food. She can flat out load some carbs. I've had lunch with her enough to know. She'll love Franco's.”

Ian took a breath and looked down at his plate. He could probably see his reflection in the thing. “I'm sorry about what I said today at lunch about you and Rake Danescu.”

I smiled and gave him a little nudge under the table with the toe of my boot. “No, you're not.”

He glanced up, his lips twitching at the corners. “You're right. I'm not. He asked you out again.”

“Yep, lunch tomorrow. He . . . Wait, that wasn't a question. Unless you sprouted eyes in the back of your head, how did—”

“There was a framed print on the wall of the coffee shop behind Fred. I could see your reflection. Danescu must have been hungry, too. I thought he was going to eat your hand.”

“Just because I haven't been out before with a goblin millionaire—”

“Billionaire.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, dang.” I shrugged. “Okay, all that means is there's a couple of extra zeros in his bankbook. And yeah, he's hot, but money and looks don't impress me.”

“Then why would—”

“He's interesting,” I said simply. “Intriguing, even. I want to know what makes him tick. That he's easy on the eyes while I'm trying to find that out is just a side benefit.”

“The stereotypical mystery man.”

“Hey, I'm not embarrassed to admit it.”

“And if you actually find out what makes Rake Danescu tick?”

“
That
just might be the reason to keep seeing him—or send me screaming in the other direction.”

Ian's expression went grim. “That's part of what worries me. He's a dark mage.”

“I've known dark mages, back home and here. Heck, I'm even related to a few. My family's thick with seers, but that's not the only magical flavor in the family casserole. A lot of families have colorful relatives in their metaphorical attic. We Southerners take ours out and show 'em off. Dark doesn't mean evil. Now the big question would be why is he interested in me? I mean, I clean up good, but I'm no beauty.”

Ian started to speak. I held up a hand. “Thank you, but don't bother. I'm good with how I look, and I don't need any empty compliments to boost my self-esteem. It's quite healthy.”

“Any compliment I pay you wouldn't be empty.”

“Thank you again.” I smiled slightly. “The only reason I can come up with is that I'm probably the only woman who's ever told him no. And if it turns out that's his only reason, I'm not interested.”

“There's your magic. He tried to hire you away from SPI your first night on the job.”

“And he hasn't tried again since then.”

“Goblins can be patient.”

“Good, because I'm gonna be trying the heck out of his
patience, regardless of his reasons for chasing after me. If you're worried about my safety, don't be. Ms. Sagadraco knows all about today's lunch.”

“She does?”

I nodded. “Since Rake's on the perpetual suspect list, I thought it might be prudent to check in with the boss first.”

“And?”

“She told me to go and have fun. If Ms. Sagadraco isn't worried, then you shouldn't be, either. Rake's not gonna do anything without my say so, and if he's serious about trying, he's gonna have to answer to me. He's well aware that he doesn't want to piss off the boss.” I gave him a quick grin. “Or my partner.”

“Damn right, he doesn't.”

“See? All settled.”

“I wouldn't call it settled.”

“Of course you wouldn't.”

“But I feel better hearing your side of it.”

“I can assure you, it takes a lot to turn my head—and I have yet to lose it, over anyone.”

“Just know that if he ever hurts you—”

“Honey, you're gonna have to get in line behind me. Though we both might have to get in line after Vivienne Sagadraco, and once she's through with him, there might not be enough left to bother with.”

Ian's grin was ferocious. “I'd gladly relinquish my place in line
and
pay to see that. Speaking of our bosses, have you heard back from Alain Moreau?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should go straight to the Dragon Lady. It's not every day one of her agents can see a portal.”

“I just saw
one
. That doesn't mean I'll be able to see any more.”

“But it makes it highly likely.”

“You're squashing my hope here.”

“Have you felt any different since Saturday night?”

“I had a couple of dizzy spells, but I chalked that up to getting sucked inside Viktor Kain's head for a stroll down his World War II Memory Lane. Though the trip inside Kain's head felt more like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.”

“Can anyone in your family see portals?”

“No. At least not that I'm aware of. I can see through wards and glamours on living things. To the best of my knowledge, portals aren't living things.” I thought back to the pulsing wall—and what had stood waiting on the other side. “Or are they?”

“No, they're not. And what keeps anyone—except the person who created it—from seeing a portal isn't a ward, it's the nature of portals. The magic used in their creation is specific to that person on a DNA level. Otherwise they couldn't pass through.”

“And I can't create portals, so there's no good reason that I should be able to see one.”

“Creating one takes a level of magical skill and training that you haven't had. That being said, there aren't many people who took a direct hit from a ley line convergence.”

I knew about ley lines. We had one running through the mountain near where I grew up.

Ley lines were narrow, intersecting energy streams that magnified magical and paranormal powers. There were a number of them near Manhattan. One ley line ran north and south roughly along the East River. Another ran more east to west. The east/west ley line ran directly beneath the SPI complex. It was one of the reasons why Vivienne Sagadraco chose this location for SPI's world headquarters.

Those possessing earth magic could tap a microscopic amount of power from ley lines, but they would be unable to use the lines to magnify and spread their magic. Diamonds, like ley lines, are of and from the earth. Rare diamonds—like
the Dragon Eggs from our most recent big case last Saturday night—that are imbued with power can tap directly into ley lines to carry and spread the power they contain like an underground river.

The results of that connection had nearly been catastrophic.

I'd been woozy, dizzy, and faintly nauseated after experiencing just a fraction of that power, though I'd chalked it up to an involuntary psychic link to a psychotic Russian dragon/crime lord.

Maybe my dizziness then had more to do with coming so close to a convergence of major ley lines that'd been kicked awake by the power of the activated Dragon Eggs.

No one else had picked up any additional mojo.

Or had they?

Caera Filarion didn't have any magical talent to speak of. Was that still the case?

And Ben Sadler probably wouldn't know if he had picked up any extra power. He was still getting used to his gem mage powers waking up.

Crap.

What about Rake Danescu?

He wouldn't tell us how he was involved in what we were standing knee deep in. Why would I think he'd tell us he'd picked up an extra magical talent or two that night?

“Ian?”

“Yes?”

“If my being able to see portals is somehow connected to what happened on North Brother Island . . . I wasn't even touching the Dragon Eggs, and now I can see portals. What about Ben and Caera?” I paused. “And what about Rake?”

Ian ran his hand over his face.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And fat chance of his telling us if he did pick up a ‘little something extra.' Ben and possibly even Caera could have gotten a boost. Though if Rake did get one of his talents supersized, at least he'd know how to control
and use it. That could be good, or it could be cause for a whole mess of concern.”

“You got it.”

The cafeteria doors opened, and there stood Vivienne Sagadraco and Alain Moreau.

Our quiet meal was about to turn into a serious meeting.

WHEN
SPI's top necromancer tried to link with a murder victim and got zapped with a demonic booby trap, you knew there was gonna be a meeting. If it was strong enough to put Bert in a psychic headlock, it was serious enough to earn a visit from the occupants of the fifth floor—SPI's executive suite.

And when one of the agents who witnessed said zapping had also developed an inexplicable talent for seeing portals, the bigwigs would quickly bring that meeting to you.

Entirely too many of my cases ended up with me explaining myself to Vivienne Sagadraco. Only once had I been in real trouble, but that time hadn't been my fault. A doppelganger had been impersonating me to plant grendel eggs in headquarters with the intent of slaughtering—and eating—as many of our agents as they could. When I'd seen me on that surveillance camera, for a minute there, I'd almost believed I was guilty, too.

Ian and cookies had saved me from a fate worse than
firing. My doppelganger had been dressed exactly like me. My distinguishing characteristic that day had been powdered sugar sprinkled down the front of my sweater. I'd been eating cookies that a coworker had brought in and left in the break room.

My doppelganger had not. No cookies consumed. No powdered sugar to show for it.

Saved by my sweet tooth.

My sweet tooth wasn't going to help any of us today.

Vivienne Sagadraco stood five foot and some change. Back when she was born—actually hatched—that had probably been quite tall. That had been a little over two thousand years ago. The founder and CEO of SPI was a dragon—a three-story-tall, iridescent blue and green dragon. In her human form, she reminded me of 007's M as played by Judi Dench.

Alain Moreau was a tall, slender, and impeccably well-dressed vampire. I didn't know when he'd been turned, but company rumor had it that he was at least three hundred years old. He didn't look a day over thirty-five with the silver-fox-Anderson-Cooper look he had going on.

“Agents Byrne and Fraser,” the boss said.

“Ma'am,” we said in unison.

“Sir,” I added with a nod to Alain Moreau.

“You weren't at your desk,” my manager noted coolly. “And neither of you are answering your phones.”

Ian and I exchanged a baffled look and reached for our phones.

“Shit!” I jerked my hand away. “Excuse me, ma'am, but damn that thing's hot.” I winced. “Excuse me, again.”

Ian managed to get his hand on his phone and tossed it on the table. I could swear I saw smoke coming from it. He flipped his phone over with the back of one finger and peered at the display. “Fried.”

Deep fried. The Gorilla Glass was even broken.

I wrapped my hand in a cloth napkin and extracted mine from its holster. Dead as a doornail. Even more baffling was
that we hadn't felt the heat until we'd actually touched the phones.

“I called you when we got back from the Murwood,” I told Moreau. “It was working fine then.”

“That was before both of us grabbed Bert,” Ian reminded me.

And after Bert had his brain grabbed by a demon-possessed corpse.

“Sir, may I borrow your phone?” Ian asked Moreau. “Fred Ash was with us.”

“He won't be able to answer if his phone got zapped, too,” I pointed out.

Moreau handed Ian his phone, and my partner started entering Fred's number. “Yes, but we'd get an ‘out of service' message. That would clinch it.” He waited as the phone tried to call Fred. After about thirty seconds he hung up and passed the phone back to Moreau. “Thank you. Fred's number is disconnected or is no longer in service.”

Looked like touching a necromancer under attack by a possessed corpse was bad for phone health, too.

Vivienne Sagadraco settled herself into one of the cafeteria's chairs. “Considering the number of encounters you've had today, I think you'd both better start at the beginning.”

Ian and I took turns, starting with our interrupted lunch.

Alain Moreau had a raised eyebrow at the identity of my lunch date, but Ms. Sagadraco didn't bat an eye. While Moreau was my manager, Vivienne Sagadraco was boss lady to both of us. She'd told me to go and have fun. Her blessing overruled one raised eyebrow. Besides, I wasn't the one dating the world's oldest gorgon, Helena Thanos. Though she
was
the boss's BFF, and was
not
on SPI's perpetual suspect list. Neither could be said of Rake.

We recounted what we'd found at the scene of Sar Gedeon's murder: the unique and grisly cause of death, and most critical—at least to me—how the killers had gotten into and out of the apartment. In order to describe precisely what I had
seen, I had to recall every detail, which I wasn't too keen to do, but if I wanted to find out why I could suddenly see portals, I had a sinking feeling I'd be telling it more than once. I'd better not only be good at it, but also get used to it.

“This is a new skill,” Vivienne Sagadraco said when I'd finished. She didn't ask it as a question. She knew what I could do, and until today, what I could do didn't include seeing portals.

“Agent Byrne and I believe it may have something to do with the ley line convergence,” I said. “I
was
right on top of it.”

“So were Ben Sadler and Agent Filarion,” Ms. Sagadraco said.

“And Rake Danescu,” Ian added.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Alain, would you check with Mr. Sadler and Agent Filarion to see if they are experiencing any unusual aftereffects due to contact with the Dragon Eggs?”

The vampire nodded. “As soon as we're finished here.”

“Is it possible?” I asked. “I didn't actually touch any of the Dragon Eggs, but could exposure to a magnified ley line nexus do something like that?”

“Prior to Viktor Kain collecting those seven diamonds, they had never been together, let alone activated by a gem mage of Mr. Sadler's skill. Add to that the fact that they were activated above the convergence of two major ley lines . . . I feel safe in saying that we are treading new ground.”

Holy crap. Vivienne Sagadraco was two millennia old. Alain Moreau was at least three centuries. They'd been around the block a couple thousand times. If they'd never heard of it happening, it'd never happened.

“I've never aspired to be a trailblazer, ma'am.”

She almost smiled. “Those who are, seldom do.”

“Could there be another explanation?”

“There is, but it is one that you would find distasteful.”

“I've already got a bad taste in my mouth from all of this.”

“You were briefly connected to the mind of Viktor Kain.
That combined with your proximity to the nexus and activated Dragon Eggs may be what is responsible for your new talent.”

“I'm trying real hard
not
to think Viktor Kain might have something to do with this.”

“Nevertheless, it must be considered as a possibility.”

“I don't feel like I'm being influenced by evil forces.”

“I wasn't implying that you were, merely that all possibilities must be considered. And as we recently experienced with Mr. Sadler, abilities previously dormant can emerge in startling ways.”

“Seeing a demonic portal was startling all right.”

“No doubt.”

“Ma'am, do you think it'll be possible to find out what caused it?”

“Rest assured, if the answer can be found, we will find it.”

I knew for a fact that Vivienne Sagadraco could read minds—and emotions. She knew I was scared. She'd hired the best and brightest minds she could lure away from both the government and private sector. What she said was what she meant: if the reason could be found, SPI would find it. I couldn't ask for better odds than that.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“For now we'll assume that Mac seeing the portal at the murder scene wasn't an isolated incident,” Alain Moreau said. “Who knows about this?” he asked me and Ian.

I shifted uneasily. “Aside from whatever was watching me on the other side of that portal, just the four of us.”

“There's nothing we can do about the one; but on this side, it doesn't leave this table for now. We'll bring others in on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

We all knew the reason why.

As the only seer in SPI's New York office, and one of only five worldwide, I made it more difficult for supernatural criminals to magically disappear into a crowd. My three predecessors at headquarters had met untimely—and highly
suspicious—ends. One death could've been an accident; two would've been bad luck. But three? In a row? That was foul play of the premeditated kind. For whatever reason, someone out there didn't want SPI New York to have a seer.

Now I could see portals.

Portals weren't exactly common. It took specialized and expensive talent to create them. Well-connected criminals used portals as escape routes. Powerful and highly placed elves and goblins used them to travel between the dimensions—most notably ours—undetected. For someone in law enforcement to be able to see them? Well, that'd make me the most popular girl on any number of hit lists.

My mouth went dry at the thought, and I downed the last of my sweet tea. “I already have a target on my back by being a seer; now I've got the magic equivalent of a red laser dot between my eyes.”

Silence.

“Isn't anyone going to tell me I'm wrong?”

“I make it a point never to lie to my agents,” Ms. Sagadraco said.

“Ma'am, I wouldn't mind the occasional happy, fluffy, white one.”

She turned toward Moreau. “I want to bring Martin DiMatteo in on this.”

Oh boy.

That confirmed that demons were going to be a big part of my immediate future; though as long as I didn't end up like Sar Gedeon, I could deal with it.

Martin DiMatteo was SPI's expert on all things demonic. We'd been introduced during my first week when, as a new employee, I felt like I'd been introduced to every person who worked at SPI and their intern. No one really expected newbies to remember all the names and faces thrown at them, but I'd had no trouble remembering Mr. DiMatteo. If SPI had business cards, Martin DiMatteo's would've said
“Director of Demonology.” When we'd been introduced, he'd had pink scorch marks where his eyebrows should have been. That earned him a special place in my memory.

The eyebrows hadn't grown back.

A couple of weeks later, what hair he had on his head had disappeared as well—though I think the hair was a personal style choice rather than another work-related mishap.

Martin DiMatteo was probably a nice enough guy once you got to know him, but let's just say I'd always hoped our caseloads would never intersect on the agency meeting calendar.

Sounded like my luck was about to run out; but like I said, if I didn't end up on a slab in the morgue, it was all good.

“When we leave here, I'll be going to see Bertram,” Ms. Sagadraco said. “I would like to be there when he regains consciousness. I don't want to tax his strength having him tell me what happened.”

“Whereas we were there and
didn't
get walloped by a demon,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I let Ian do the honors. He'd had much more experience giving detailed reports.

“Detective Ash and I couldn't get Dr. Ferguson to let go of the corpse, though I think it was more like the corpse wouldn't let go of Dr. Ferguson. It was Agent Fraser who was able to help break whatever had hold of Bert's mind.”

“May I ask how?” Ms. Sagadraco asked.

“You can ask, ma'am,” I said, “but I honestly don't know. I just blocked Bert's visual contact with Sar Gedeon. I think Bert did all the work. I just let him know we were there and he wasn't alone.”

“Sometimes the reassuring touch of another being is more effective than any magic.”

“What attacked him?” Moreau asked.

“That we won't know for sure until Bert wakes up and tells us,” Ian said, “but I think it was a trap, deliberately set
for a necromancer attempting a postmortem contact. In this case, the soul had been taken and the trap left in its place.”

Moreau leaned forward. “Taken?”

“The heart had been removed in addition to the soul.”

“I'm unfamiliar with any demonic significance of those acts,” Moreau said. “Madam?”

“Likewise. Another reason why Martin's insights could prove invaluable.”

“Fred Ash is one of the NYPD's investigators assigned to Brimstone,” Ian said. “We'll share information as needed. Even though we don't have a solid and proven connection between Sar Gedeon's killers and the drug, it's a coincidence we can't ignore. Fred said that as far as they know, Gedeon wasn't connected to Brimstone manufacturing and sales, but it's possible he could be a link in the chain.”

“What effect is it supposed to have?” Ms. Sagadraco asked.

“Unknown,” Ian replied. “Fred said they haven't been able to get a sample for analysis.”

“Then that should be our first priority. If it is a drug that is not of this dimension, we are most qualified to locate a supply and track down its source. Our lab facilities and technicians are better qualified to analyze a drug of extra-dimensional origin, and determine what effects it has on mortal, immortal, and supernatural alike. That being said, our colleagues of the NYPD could ascertain the reason for its popularity as well as we could. I can't imagine anyone paying any amount—exorbitant or not—to be scared out of their wits.”

“I don't know, ma'am,” I said. “We humans can be a pretty flaky lot.”

She almost smiled. “I have observed this on occasion. The same can also be said of immortals and supernaturals. Alain, have our agents with connections in the city's drug industry find out what they know about this Brimstone. Have any new underworld elements recently arrived here? And by underworld, I mean criminal or demonic—or both. If
this drug is of extra-dimensional origin, it is bothersome to me that mortal law enforcement discovered its existence before we did. In the light of a possible connection between this drug and today's murder, I would like to know why.”