Redemption Song (23 page)

I left my ride behind and walked down the ramp. A rusted-out Volvo with California plates rattled past me. My shoulders tensed. These galleries were too big, too packed with quiet and darkened cars. Too many shadows and too many ways to come up on somebody from behind, or open fire from the dark. I kept a tight hand on the shoulder strap of my duffel bag.

The hotel hired famous street artists to decorate the walls on each level. The fourth floor sported an underground-comics-inspired riot of black-and-white images splashed by garish red, line art mingling with old
Life
magazine photographs blown up into blurry smears. I walked halfway across the level before Harmony showed up. She stepped out from behind an NV Energy utility van.

I felt her before I saw her. She’d come loaded for bear. Her neck and wrists glowed like liquid gold in my second sight, dripping with high-caliber warding charms. She had something under her blazer, too, on the opposite side of her shoulder holster. Something that pricked at my mind when I tried to get a read on it, waving a razor in front of my eyes. I didn’t know if she was looking for a mage-fight, but she was ready for one.

“Is all that for me?” I said.

She held up her hand, stopping me about five feet away from her.

“That’s close enough,” she said. “We have a file on you, Faust. We know what you’re capable of.”

What she didn’t know, apparently, was that all my good magical tools burned up along with the rest of my apartment. My best weapon, right now, was the very mundane but very large handgun in my duffel bag. I didn’t feel inclined to share that information.

“Who’s ‘we’? Gary’s a schmuck, and your DEA guy—what’s his name, Lars? He’s about as magical as a dead car battery. You can’t tell me that either one of them has any idea what’s really going on.”

I had to gamble that Harmony didn’t know Gary’s real nature or that he was a quadruple agent working for her, Lauren, Sullivan, and now me too. If she’d figured that out, he was useless to me.

“I file two reports on every case,” she said. “One to my superiors in Seattle, and one to a office in Virginia with no windows and no number on the door. And that’s more than you need to know.”

I hoped she was lying. The idea of a sorceress going into law enforcement, a lone wolf, was a lot less scary than the idea of Uncle Sam figuring out which end of a pentagram points up. I prefer my government the same way I prefer my cops: clueless, helpless, and out of my way.

“Sounds ominous,” I said. “Do you get a cool code name, too?”

“No, but I have handcuffs—”

“Kinky.”

“—and a gun.”

I shook my head. “There you go, ruining the mental image. Nonetheless, I’ve got a present for you. I know we don’t see eye to eye on much, but we agree that Lauren Carmichael’s a problem, right?”

“That’s like calling a stalled engine on a 747 a problem. She’s a menace. What do you know about the Enclave?”

She calls it the Engine
, Gary had told me. A ripple of nervous tension shuddered down my spine.

“It’s some sort of occult undertaking on a massive scale,” I said. “Maybe unprecedented. I’m pretty sure it’s not designed to spread rainbows and rescue kittens, either. What do you know about it?”

She shook her head, looking like she’d bitten into something rancid.

“Not much more than you do. Carmichael’s not thinking long-term, though. I was doing an investigation into her corporate ledgers. At the rate they’re burning through cash, the parent company in Seattle will be bankrupt within a year. Every dime they make is being pumped into Carmichael-Sterling Nevada, to support the Enclave’s construction.”

“Problem there,” I said, “is Lauren’s a strategist. A damn good one. If she’s not thinking about the long term…”

Harmony finished my thought.

“Then there isn’t going to
be
a long term.”

Thirty

“Y
ou said you had something for me,” Harmony said. A Corvette, its bright blue paint flecked with desert dust, cruised past us on a hunt for an open parking spot. We both stepped to the side and waited quietly until it rounded the next bend and its taillights winked out of sight.

“First, information. Does the name Redemption Choir ring a bell?”

She nodded. “A cult of cambion who want to be human. I think they originated out of St. Louis or Detroit. They’ve been migrating westward, but we’re not sure why.”

Good. Whatever sources of occult intelligence Agent Black and her mysterious pals had to draw upon, they didn’t extend to the depths of hell.

“Their boss calls himself Sullivan. Nasty piece of work. He’s an incarnate, so watch yourself.”

Harmony’s brow furrowed. “What’s an incarnate?”

Music to my ears. She had skill, I could tell that much from the raw power ebbing off her protective trinkets, but she wasn’t nearly as clued-in as I feared. I thought about a quick change of subject, but the angel on my shoulder told me I’d better throw her a bone. If she went up against Sullivan thinking he was just another halfbreed, he’d rip her to pieces. I wanted Agent Black off my back. That didn’t mean I wanted her dead.

“It’s a trick only major demons can pull off. They build a body for themselves out of their own raw soul-stuff, held together with willpower and spite.”

“That’s impossible,” she said. “Demons can only enter our world by possessing a human or an animal.”

“Suffice to say I’ve got a little more experience than you on this subject. Anyway, it’s a tradeoff. Kill a hijacker’s host body, you just send the demon back to hell to lick its wounds for a while. Kill an incarnate—and I mean, utterly destroy its body, down to ashes—and you kill them for good. You won’t get the chance, though, because incarnates are fast, and they’re strong.”

“How fast and how strong?” Harmony said. She was in full recon mode now, and I knew every word I said to her would end up in a memo on some faceless bureaucrat’s desk.

“Ever see
The Terminator
? Arnie’s got nothing on a pissed-off incarnate.”

“Numbers?”

“Numbers?” I repeated, not sure what she wanted.

“How many, Faust? How many are out there, disguised as American citizens?”

I shrugged. “None. As far as I know, Sullivan’s the only one in the States right now. Until recently I thought incarnates were just an urban legend, but I’ve seen him in action. The stories are true.”

The best lies are always grounded in truth. If she accepted everything else I’d told her at face value, she’d probably accept that too. They already had Caitlin’s photograph. I wanted her off Harmony’s radar entirely.

“So I realize you’re hot to arrest somebody,” I said. “But Sullivan’s not going to let you take him in. Try it and you, and everyone with you, are gonna get very dead very fast.”

“There has to be a way to neutralize him.”

“I’m working on that. In the meantime, how would you like to toss a wrench into Lauren’s plans?”

She cocked a hand on her hip. A silver bangle drifted down her wrist at an angle, glimmering with magic.

“I’m listening,” she said.

I patted my duffel bag. “Would you believe I have a human soul in here?”

“From what I know about you? Yes.”

“Gilles de Rais. French knight, child murderer, and all-around world-class shitheel. Lauren was looking for a way to snatch him out of hell. She needs him to finish the Enclave, don’t ask me why. I got him first.”

“How?” she said.

“What was it you said earlier? Something to the effect of ‘and that’s more than you need to know’? Bottom line: she needs it, I have it.”

“And where do I come in?”

Over by the bend in the ramp, about thirty feet down the line, we had company. A rough-looking guy in his twenties staggered from car to car, peering in windows, trying handles. I would have taken him for an incompetent thief, but from the wobble in his walk and the glaze in his eyes I figured he was coming off an all-night bender. Probably couldn’t remember what his car even looked like, let alone where he’d parked it. All the same, I kept my eye on him.

“I found the soul’s previous owner. If I did, so can Lauren. Sooner or later she’s going to figure out I took it and come gunning for me. I need to make certain this thing stays well out of harm’s way.”

“You’re giving it to me,” she said, catching on.

“Last place she’ll think of looking. Even if she traces the soul to your doorstep, even Lauren Carmichael will think twice before going toe to toe with a federal agent. She doesn’t need that kind of heat right now. Besides, I get the feeling you can hold your own in a fight. You don’t have to do anything with the soul. Just stash it someplace safe and forget about it. Now the Enclave’s stalled indefinitely, problem solved. Easy.”

Harmony gave me a hard look, like if she stared long enough she could bore right into my black heart.

“What’s your angle?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re a black magician, knee-deep in brimstone. I can also connect you—circumstantially, or we’d be having this conversation in your cozy new prison cell—to a string of heists and hijackings, not to mention at least three murders. Lauren has people just like you on her payroll. She could make you rich. She definitely pays better than Nicky Agnelli. Why are you standing in her way?”

“I already told you, I don’t work for Nicky anymore. As for Lauren, she killed a good buddy of mine. Well, Meadow Brand killed him, but she did it on Lauren’s orders. Right in front of me.”

“How did he die?” Harmony asked.

“Badly. Very badly. And he didn’t do a damn thing to deserve it. Then Lauren…”

The memory surged back. Lying paralyzed on Spengler’s blood-soaked carpet as Lauren pressed her palms against my chest, shredding my psychic walls, forcing her sick, toxic energy into my body one seething inch at a time. I remembered the way she’d gasped with pleasure, the satisfied look on her face as she pulled away, leaving a hungry snake squirming in my guts.

“Faust?”

I blinked, snapping out of it. I shook my head.

“She killed a friend of mine,” I said. “He was family. Not by blood, by bond. Where I come from, if somebody hurts a member of your family, you put them in the ground. No mercy, no forgiveness, no second chances. Lauren signed her own death warrant.”

“She’s going to prison. I’m sorry for your loss, I really am, but we have laws for a reason. They keep us sane. They keep society functioning. You’re not killing her; I’m arresting her. We need to be clear on that, right here, right now.”

My gaze flitted to the drunk, wobbling his way closer as he fruitlessly searched for his car. He was ten feet away, and I could smell the booze on his breath from here. No shape to drive. If he actually found his car, I idly decided, I’d yank his keys away and toss them in the hotel pool. Maybe steal his wallet, too. Tourist stupidity tax.

“I’m not the only sorcerer in Vegas, Agent Black. We don’t agree on much, but we’re pretty damn unified on the subject of Lauren Carmichael’s continued survival. Besides, get real. What are you going to arrest her for? The legal system isn’t
for
people like us. The crimes we commit aren’t on the books, and it’s pretty damn hard to prove a curse or a hex with forensic science.”

“That’s your problem, right there,” Harmony jabbed her finger at my chest. “You think what you can do makes you above everyone else. You think the rules of society don’t apply to you, just because it’s easier for you to break them and get away with it. You’re wrong. The rules apply to everybody.”

I waved her off. “I don’t think I’m better than anybody else. I just make the most of what I have. Don’t you? I’m going to go out on a limb here, agent, and guess you don’t put on a psychic blindfold when you’re on the job. You use your magic, find your culprit, then work backward to gather ‘real’ evidence to get a conviction.”

She stared at me.

“That’s how I would do it,” I said with a shrug.

“That’s different. I’m upholding the law.”

“By using techniques other cops don’t have. But it’s not cheating when you do it, right?”

“I’m protecting people. You hurt people for a living.”

I unzipped the duffel bag. I wanted to get this over with, for more reasons than one.

“That reckless-driving and gun-possession rap against Jennifer and me,” I said. “I want it dropped. You know those charges are bullshit. Meadow Brand set us up.”

“I know she did. Doesn’t change the fact that you committed the crime, does it? Besides, I’m a federal agent, Faust. I can’t just wave a magic wand and make local charges disappear.”

“No, but you can talk to Metro and put some pressure on the DA. I’m doing you a solid here. All I’m asking for is some consideration in return.”

Harmony held out her open hand.

“Considering how long you
should
be going to prison for, I’d say you’re already getting some. If this isn’t some kind of trick, and this really does stall Lauren’s plans long enough for me to deal with her, I’ll be refocusing the task force’s investigation. I’m not saying you’re off the hook, I’m just saying I’ll be too busy to think about you for a while. Maybe a long while, if you keep your nose clean.”

“Hey,” the drunk said, wandering up. “Hey, ‘scuse me, hey.”

Inside the bag, my fingertips slid past the soul bottle and around the grip of my pistol. Instinct.

Harmony flashed her badge. “Official business, sir. Please move along.”

He was invading her personal space, but I doubted he even realized it. The way his eyes glazed, I figured he was trying to figure out which of the two Harmonys he should answer back to.

“Sorry, sorry,” he slurred. “But maybe you can just tell me, is this the Karnak?”

I shook my head. “Buddy, you are a long way from your hotel room.”

“The Metropolitan,” Harmony said, rolling her eyes. She pointed up the ramp. “Go upstairs, take a right, look for the taxi stand. Don’t let me catch you driving—”

Her arm was stretched out a little too far, her balance a little off, and suddenly the drunk guy wasn’t drunk anymore. He lunged for her wrist, caught it, and twisted it behind her back. His other hand conjured a cruel little knife that gleamed in the shadows of the parking garage, the business end pressed to the smooth, pale skin of her throat.