Storm in a Teacup (12 page)

To normal humans, "tip the scale" sounds like a bad cliché.

To Mediators, it means something worse. And the weight I feel on my chest grows heavier as Grace scampers away.

She's given me something I didn't expect. She's given me a reason for Lena to cooperate with the demons, and it's one that sends trembles through my arms as if I'm about to have that heart attack Alice promised me.

I've never been afraid to patrol before, but tonight I cling to every skittering squirrel, every caw of every crow, every rustle of a rat in the garbage simply because their presence means there are no demons nearby. I stick to the city tonight, down by the riverside where sometimes a frahlig can be found dripping half-digested fish guts on the sidewalks. I don't find any, and after an hour I return home, sword still shiny and polished.
 

I spend the next hour honing the edge of my blade and buffing out two small nicks that probably came from hacking through jeeling ribs. Hellkin bones can be as dense as steel. Even now, Grace's words stick to the inside of my skull like gum on the underside of a diner table.

I should tell Gregor. But then he'd know I was really ignoring him, and even though he probably already knows I was lying, he might get testy if I rub it in his face. Which leaves Ripper and Ben, and I don't really want to tell either of them what I know. No need to piss off Alamea or Gregor more than is absolutely necessary.

Instead, I entertain the idea that at least three of the unidentified creatures are loose in the Nashville area. I am starting to understand what they are, though I can't begin to explain how it's possible. If Grace called it Lena's child and the hellkin arranged such a ritual around its birth, its other half is demon. My back ripples into gooseflesh at the thought. A half-demon who can walk in sunlight.

My fingers stop, whetstone against the cold steel of my blade.
 

I'd thought two slummoths and a jeeling meeting in Forest Hills was odd, but coupled with a new breed of creature, it makes my hand eke out a sheen of sweat against the stone.

It's more than I am equipped to deal with. I should just tell Alamea and Gregor what I know. The thought keeps surfacing, but I'm not great at disobeying orders. I'm not created to be much of a free thinker, as much as I let my mouth and my curiosity run away with me. I'm proud to be a Mediator. I have the most important job on this sorry planet. I keep the norms safe. All those humans and witches and morphs out there — they'd be in an evil sort of pickle without us.

So why do I feel like Alamea and Gregor are looking for answers in the wrong zipcode?

I don't have an answer, and the whole thing digs under my skin. If I tell Alamea and Gregor that I've been poking into things behind their backs, there's a very real chance of punishment. If I keep doing what I'm doing, there's a very real chance of me getting dead.

Great, Ayala. Way to choose the getting dead option.

There's another dimension to my hesitation, one I don't want to admit even to myself. My mother. If what Grace said is true and Lena was a volunteer, maybe my mother was too. A Mediator's mother as a demon zealot. Color me unamused by the irony.

I slide my sword back into the scabbard.
 

Lena's now more than a hapless damsel. She chose her fate, which I suppose is anyone's right. And worse — or equally bad — has happened to just as many male demon-worshipers. But if there's been three, there will be more.
 

I can almost feel the scale centered in my chest.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My phone wakes me at eight-thirty. I don't know the number, but I answer anyway.

"Is this Mediator Storme?"

"At your service." I yawn, shuffling my blankets aside. I've gone and slept with my sword again. Sheathed or no, I'm going to poke holes in myself one of these days.

"This is Doctor Martha Birkberry. I have some information you are going to want to see. Can you meet me in the hospital cafeteria at one today?"

I tell her I can and hang up. Great. Now my stomach is going to spend the morning as a pretzel while I wonder what she's found.

I can't go back to sleep, so I go ahead and get ready for work. After leaving early the other day, I really ought to make up the hours.
 

The parking garage is bright and smells like tires and grease — which is to say, like every other parking garage ever.
 

My car beeps at me as I unlock it. I open the door, propping my sword on the roof of the car.

Something grabs my ankle.

"Mother fucker!" I yelp, jumping backward. I hear a chittering underneath my car and whip my sword from its sheath. My heart now beating in the vicinity of my nose, I back up three more steps, kicking my door shut on the way back.
 

My blood turns fizzy in my veins. "Okay, you're gonna grab me? Little dipshit imp. Get out here."

I don't expect it to listen, and it doesn't. Instead, I get another chitter-chitter that sounds more like the indignant squirrel that pelted me with acorns than a mini-demon. But that was no squirrel that grabbed my ankle. Ankle biters.
 

Not fun as dogs, less fun as hellkin.
 

A door slamming across the garage sends the thing scuttling out like a crab.

It's a metallic green color with dark grey accents. It moves using its arms as crutches, sort of like an ape would. I wait for it to come at me, but it doesn't.
 

"Ayala, look out!"

I throw myself to the floor of the parking garage just as something barrels by me.

Not something. Ben. He hits the imp and tackles it to the ground. One clean swipe of his scimitar and it's oozing kryptonite-colored blood all over the concrete.
 

I don't say anything as Ben gets up, brushing garage grime from his jeans and wiping his blade on the demon's metallic skin.
 

"Ben. You are doing what?"

"I stopped by to see you and then saw you with your sword drawn."

I'm too sleepy to think of anything to say to that, but now my clothes are dirty and there's a rip in my nice silk blouse. I'll have to go change. So much for getting to work early. I swear sometimes I spend the same amount on replacement business casual-wear as I do on rent. I don't even have the energy to snap at Ben.
 

"Want some coffee?" The question surprises even me. I don't like people pulling a "just turn up" at my doorstep or my parking garage, but finding an imp under my car is bewildering enough that the words are out of my mouth faster than I can chomp them back.

Ben's eyes light up, bright in the yellowish underground glow. "Sure." Then he looks down at the bundle of bloodied imp at his feet. "Let me just get rid of this first."

I watch as he opens the trunk of his car and pulls out a sheet of visqueen. He rolls it out on the ground and bundles the imp into it, then sprays the blood pool with an enzyme reactor to break down any corrosive properties.

The baby demon burrito goes into the trunk, and the spray back into a little caddy. No hair necklace on this one. Because no more Lena? I don't know.

I shake my head at how organized Ben's car is, peering through the back window of mine at the heap of mess. How does he have what he needs?

I've never had Ben in my apartment before, and it's weird how he immediately doffs his shoes and carefully hangs his jacket on a hook by the door while I start the coffee maker. I duck into my bedroom to change into a new work-appropriate outfit, hoping there are no more surprises waiting for me.
 

When I come out, Ben is eying my collection of soapstone carvings. "It's funny," he says.

"I didn't think any of them were particularly humorous."

He looks up, giving me a wry ha-ha smile. "I mean, you keep your car in a state of disaster. I expected your apartment to look the same."

I have reasons for a messy car. I also have reasons for wanting to live in a nice apartment. Plus, I have a housekeeper called Clyde who comes in once a week and serenades me with show tunes while he vacuums. "If you're just going to make fun of me, you can just scoot on out of here, Wheedle."

He puts his hands in the air. "I honestly just stopped by to see how you were doing."

"Just peachy. So peachy, you'd think I came from Georgia."

Never been to Georgia, obviously, but I like their peaches.
 

"Look, I know you want to know what Alamea and Gregor are doing. I kind of do too, but I guess they'll tell us when they feel like it."

I already know more than I want to, and possibly more than both Alamea and Gregor. But I'm not going to say any of that. I look at the clock on my wall. It's now ten. If I'm going to take off to meet Birkberry at the hospital, I need to get to work. "Ben, I've kind of got to go."

"What about the coffee?"

"Wasn't thinking. I'll give you one of my travel mugs." I pour coffee into a mug with a bunny on it.
 

He smiles at the bunny. "Thanks. Walk you out?"

I'm going out there anyway, so I agree and follow him back to my car. When we get twenty feet away, I bend over and look underneath. No waiting little skitter-critters this time. I give Ben a sarcastic salute, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

I shut my door and start the engine before he can.

The morning at work glides by without further incident, and at quarter of one, I leave to meet the coroner.

The hospital cafeteria smells like sickness and powdered mashed potatoes. I see Doctor Birkberry sitting on the far side of the room, a bright blue tray in front of her. Making my way over to her, I'm glad I let Alice order delivery today. If I'd tried to eat the meatloaf I see on a tray as I pass, I think I might urp all over whatever information Birkberry's found. Maybe even all over Birkberry herself. She's probably had worse, but that doesn't mean she'd appreciate my vomit decorating her chest.

She's picking at the selfsame meatloaf when I reach her, and she drops her fork on the tray. I sit across from her, expecting an ominous folder or some other form of evidence. Instead, it's just her.

"Hello, Mediator Storme." She takes a bite of mashed potatoes, winces, and puts her fork back down. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for looking into this stuff. What did you find?"

Birkberry pushes a white streak of hair behind her ear. "I looked up all the cities you told me about. Birmingham, Knoxville, Louisville, Cincinnati. All of them had at least two similar cases."

I do not like that. That's at least eight more. I start to ask for details, but she goes on.
 

"And there's more than that. Franklin General told me they'd had three such splats come in, and in Chattanooga and Memphis there were four each from the surrounding hospitals."

"That's...terrible news." Eleven plus the at least eight. Twenty or more. Probably more. Yeah. Really terrible news. I brace myself for more.

"There's one good thing."

I brighten. "Oh?"

"They all seem to be in this territory."

She's referring to the area to which Mediators are bound. "So that could be all?"

"I didn't find any farther away than Birmingham in the south and Cincy in the north. I called out to St. Louis and they didn't have anything similar at all. Little Rock was so disorganized that they could be run by demons and wouldn't know, but as far as I can tell, it only goes as far as this territory."

Why would they keep it only here? If they were looking to really tip the scales, they'd be inciting chaos willy-nilly all over the states. Why aren't they?

"Any idea why we're so special?" I ask.

"That I don't know."

I thank Birkberry for her tip and return to work. Laura is leaning against Alice's desk when I return, and from the way her eyebrows are trying to kiss in the middle of her forehead, I figure she's less than thrilled to see me.
 

Laura is pretty tolerant of my second job, but you can only be late or take off so many times because of hellkin even as a Mediator. Norms don't usually understand that for us, the demons just keep coming and aren't exactly a rare occurrence. And they are even less forgiving.

"You were out again?" Laura has an unusually high voice. When she's upset, she sounds like a mouse. Right now she sounds like a mouse on helium.

"I came in early this morning to make up for it. I had a lunch meeting."

"You were supposed to have those press release fliers for me this morning."
 

I put them on her desk before I left. "Laura, they're in your inbox. I emailed them. And the hard copies are on the corner of your desk."

"What?" Her head swivels around, and she leans to look into her office. "I don't see them."
 

I point to the corner of her desk. "They're right there."

Her lips pucker up like she's about to give me a kiss, but somehow I doubt that's her intention or what it's meant to look like. "You'll stay till nine tonight to make up for all the time you lost this week." With that, Laura stalks into her office and kicks the door shut behind her.