Infernal Affairs (16 page)

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Authors: Jes Battis

BOOK: Infernal Affairs
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“And what are we figuring out, exactly?”
“How to get you drunk.”
“I’m not really sure how that helps.”
“Beer helps everything. Haven’t you learned that?”
He sighed. “I broke into the mind of a child. I made him cry. What kind of a twisted freak
does
that?”
“He’s older than Angelus. He’s not a child. And that wasn’t you back there. It was something else entirely.”
“You think I’m possessed? Oh, God.” He put his head on the table.
“Not possessed, sweetheart.” I rubbed his hair. “It’s your gears. Something’s out of alignment, that’s all.”
“My soul,” he mumbled. “It’s gone. Replaced by a void.”
“Okay. We’re going to need a pitcher right now. And I don’t mean Miles.” I giggled. “Sorry; that came out before I could stop it. I may already be a little drunk from the air in this place.”
He groaned something incomprehensible in response.
A waitress came over. She had blond hair, and I recognized her, although we hadn’t seen each other in nearly two years. “Hi, Joanie.”
Joanie did a double take. Then she smiled shyly. “Wow, it’s been forever. How’s it going with all your”—she glanced at Derrick, facedown—“stuff?”
“Stuff is stuff. Messy and constant.”
“Kitchen’s closed,” she said. “On account of an incident I’m not supposed to be talking about.”
“Bar pixies?”
She shook her head. “I
really
can’t talk about it.”
“Gotcha. We’ll have two pitchers of Alexander Keith’s.”
“How many glasses?”
“Three.”
“’Kay. Back in a bit.” Joanie left.
“Why three glasses?”
“What’s that?”
Derrick was staring at me. “Tess. Who else is coming?”
I stared at my BlackBerry. I’d insisted we buy them so the family could keep in contact, but they also worked well as distracting fetish-objects. Really, Miles had been the one to ruin us all, with his device’s seductive messaging features.
“Tess—”
The door to the Sawbones opened. I can’t exactly say that a hush fell over the bar, but those with acute senses definitely felt something. A slight distortion in everyone’s immediate perception, like the ripple I’d seen on the radargrams. It was the feeling of power bending around a heavy element.
Duessa and Wolfie stepped into the bar. Derrick kicked me.
“Ow. Shit.” I glared at him.
“You suck,” he whispered. “And I’ll kick you again before the night’s over. What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?”
“They’re actually nice people, you know.”
“I’m not disputing their niceness. I’m just a bit nervous about the fact that Duessa is a scary immortal. And when Wolfie’s mad, he sets fire to people.”
“
Things.
Not people.”
“The Iblis?”
“That wasn’t strictly a person.”
They reached the table. Derrick, who was always good for his word, kicked me again underneath the table.
“Duessa.” I smiled. My shin was throbbing. Derrick had worn his chocolate brown Steve Maddens, which had vicious points. “Thanks for coming. It’s good to see both of you again, under more relaxing circumstances.”
Wolfie pulled the chair out for Duessa. “Wouldn’t you all prefer a classier venue? This place is full of wasted thugs and lost souls.”
Duessa took a seat. “Every soul’s got to have someplace to settle for a night. Even if it’s just to get fed.”
“Or laid.” Wolfie sat down. “The necromancers in the back booth are up to no good. I can smell whatever they’re channeling.”
“They’re always here. I barely notice them anymore.” I turned to Duessa. “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit rude, asking you to come without giving you very much info.”
“That’s fine. I live in this neighborhood.” She looked around with a slightly flat expression. “Although I don’t usually come here.”
Joanie came by, setting down two pitchers. She noticed Duessa, and her eyes widened. “Oh—hello.” She curtsied.
“Damn,” Wolfie said. “That was an honest curtsy.”
Duessa smiled at Joanie. “Well, she’s a lady.”
“I can get another glass—”
“It’s fine, honey. I brought my own.” She reached into her handbag and withdrew a stein with a gilded handle.
“That’s gorgeous,” Derrick said.
“I know.” Duessa pulled out a handkerchief and placed it on the table. Then she set the glass on top of it. “A pirate from Kinsale gave it to me. Anne.” She smiled, shaking her head. “Mad, that one.”
“Kitchen’s closed,” Joanie reiterated. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. We ate already.”
Joanie left, heading for the kitchen. I started to say something, but Duessa beat me to it. She looked squarely at Derrick.
“Let’s see your eyes,” she said.
He flinched. “What exactly did she tell you?”
“Just look at me.”
They stared at each other for a moment. It was the opposite of the “conversation” with Ru, when neither had been able to meet the other’s gaze. I felt nothing in the way of power. Duessa seemed to just be looking closely at him.
Then it was over. Duessa grabbed the pitcher and began pouring glasses. “I think we could all use some of this.”
“It’s bad. I knew it was bad.” Derrick sighed. “Maybe there’s a little demon inside my brain. Like that guy from the
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
who lived inside the robot’s stomach. Krang.”
I frowned. “But didn’t he build the robot—”
Duessa cleared her throat, cutting me off. “It’s not a case of inside versus outside. That’s too binary. What you’ve got is an impact.”
Derrick frowned. “Like—a car hit my brain?”
“Close. A demon gave you a concussion. Your mind’s wounded, and it’s got to heal before things will get back to normal.”
“Am I dangerous?”
She took a sip of her beer. “It’s not as simple as that.”
I could feel Derrick clamping down on his natural sarcasm. He kept his tone even and polite. “I imagine it isn’t. But is there anything else you can tell me? I don’t want to go brain-snatching at random, you know?”
“It’s not brain-snatching. Not yet.” Duessa patted his hand. “Look. Here’s what happened. You got crosschecked by something old and powerful. Your mind’s a little beat-up. It may do some odd things. Hiccups.”
“I’ve broken into people’s brains,” Derrick said. “First my boyfriend, and now someone who really shouldn’t have any connection to me at all. That’s a bit more than a hiccup. I don’t want to hurt people. At least be honest with me—if you think I need to be locked away, then tell me.”
“Isolation isn’t the answer. If you’re really going to heal, you need good people around you, people who are willing to give you their energy.”
“That sounds like mooching.”
“It is. But it’s the good kind.”
“And you don’t see anything else?”
Duessa sighed. “All right. Think of your mind as a house. Some rooms are open, and some aren’t. When a demon shakes you around, it’s like a storm going right through your house. It can stir things up. It can open doors.”
“I don’t like whatever door it’s opened.”
“That’s tough. If it really is open, then it’s open for good. You’ve got to deal with whatever comes out.”
“We can all help,” I said. “You’re not alone.”
Derrick stared at his glass. “You were right. Beer is the only answer that really makes sense to me right now.”
Wolfie’s phone rang. He looked down at it, then groaned. “It’s the supplier. I’m going to take this outside.”
“It’s awfully late for them to be calling,” Duessa said.
“But we like them because of the flexible hours they keep, remember?” He answered the phone, heading for the door.
“Is he running the House?” I asked her.
“Nearly. I do very little administrative work anymore. I have to tell you, it’s been an enormous relief.”
“You must need a vacation.”
“That only comes when you die. And I’m not quite ready to give up the ghost yet. But it’s nice to have some time off, at least.”
“I already miss my time off,” Derrick said. “I should have pretended that the pain was a lot worse. I was really getting used to sleeping in.”
“Yeah, sorry, buddy.” I patted his shoulder. “Those halcyon days are over now. You’re back in the trenches. Drink up.”
Duessa turned to me. “What were
you
going to tell me?”
“I can’t recall anything specific.”
“That’s strange. I was almost certain I heard it in your voice.”
It was nearly impossible to lie to her. I exhaled.
“We were interrogating a demon—the same one who attacked Derrick. The demon claimed to know my father.”
Derrick stared at me. “Holy shit. Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Yeah, but we’re supposed to share plates.”
“I’d rather take my crazy to go. At least for right now.”
“What sort of demon?”
“I’m not allowed to say. I’m sorry. Maybe it was lying. Maybe it just wanted to get a rise out of me. But it didn’t seem like a lie.”
“Your dad was a pureblood, no?”
“I think so. I mean, that’s what my mother told me, although lately she’s become an unreliable source of information.”
“Well, it’s possible. They could run in the same circles.”
“The Iblis knew my father, too. He seems to be quite the popular guy with murderers and assassins.”
“And the manticore,” Derrick said softly. “It seemed to recognize you. It said,
She’s something
. Maybe it knew your dad as well.”
“Well, I wish we could have a psychotic family reunion, but two of those creatures are already dead. The third’s in a holding cell.”
“That may not last for long,” Duessa said. “I hope it’s under close watch. And very far underground.”
I started to say something. Then I blushed slightly, shaking my head. “Sorry. Never mind. I was about to ask something inappropriate.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well—” I gave Derrick a guilty look. “Is it true that Lord Nightingale used to be the Condessa of Portugal?”
“That gossip is nine centuries old. I imagine Lucito blabbed it to you?”
“He said they hooked up.”
“And you’re jealous.”
“Well. Yes.”
“I’m confused,” Derrick said. “Lucian hooked up with Lord Nightingale, when he used to be a woman?”
“No. He was a guy at the time.”
“Oh.” His eyes widened. “
Oh.
This must be killing you.”
“Shut up.” I turned back to Duessa. “I’ve got nothing to worry about, right? I mean, they hooked up while they were on vacation. Big deal.”
She chuckled. “Theresa’s a rover. Lucian’s always been just the opposite. When he’s with someone, he’s with them. He’d tell you if something was up.”
“So, wait.” Derrick was still a beat behind us. “He’s Portuguese?”
I sighed, returning my attention to Duessa. “I know I’m just being paranoid. And I mean, realistically, if he likes boys, too—there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Hear, hear.” Derrick took a drink. “Even though they’re all bastards.”
“Yes. In spite of that.”
“He seems to like only you, at the moment,” Duessa said. “I guess you’ll just have to be content with that.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Besides.” She drained her glass. “We’re not all the things we used to be. People change. Nothing can stand in the way of that.”
“We’ll need more beer soon,” Derrick observed.
Duessa looked at me. “You’re paying?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’d be delighted to have another pitcher.”
I stood up, taking out a twenty. “Derrick? Any special shots? I can get you the one with whipped cream again.”
“No. I’m done with blow jobs.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.”
He sighed. “Get me something that tastes like candy.”
11
I arrived at the lab hungover, but focused. Der
rick had agreed to meet me for coffee in the break room. I stifled a yawn as I was swiping my card to get in the building. That would definitely end up being the security snapshot of the day: me with my eyes closed, looking like I’m eating my own fist.
Cindée was examining a tray filled with fragments. They resembled grayish black shards of porcelain. They’d been charred, and bits of soil matrix still clung to them in places. They reminded me of a broken mug, or at least its aftermath. It’s a reality in forensics that we often have to work with small, broken, dirty things.
“There’s glass mixed in there,” Cindée said, “as well as what could be pottery shards. But they also have a faint porosity.”
“Like bone?”
“Possibly. We don’t know yet if they’re mineral or artificial.”
“How far down were they?”
“Less than two meters.”
I looked at the fragments. “They aren’t metal. The GPR only bounced off them because they’re radioactive.”
“They have a fraction of the energy released by a dental X-ray. But because it’s gamma radiation, it registers a lot stronger.”
The lab itself had materia-fed screens, which reconstituted nonexotic forms of radiation into low-band ultraviolet energy. The most I was going to get from these fragments was a mild suntan.
“What sort of trace are we looking for?”
“I doubt we’ll find a fingerprint. The pieces are too small. But we might find a few lazy amino acids still hanging around. We’ll bake the materia at a steady temperature. The charring may reveal something.”
I spaced out for a second. When I came back, Cindée was saying something about using a wet powder suspension on the fragments.
“Where’dja go, sweetheart?” she asked.
“I have no idea. I need a coffee.”
“Don’t taunt me.”
“Do you want one?”

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