I presented my left cheek subtly as he stood with his back to the ledge, studying me. With luck he’d recognize my tat. The kid with the green hair settled down cross-legged and lit another cigarette. The sweet smoky smell of synth-hash rose and twirled around the other odors of the Hole. I was glad I’d learned to tune down some of the demon acuity in my nose.
Konnie grinned, showing strong white teeth. It was a vidflash expression, there one moment, gone the next. “Deadhead. You get augments?”
“Kind of. Against my will.” I lifted a shoulder, dropped it. Blood crackled on my clothes, almost dry now and powerfully fragrant of spice and rotting fruit. Tucked under Konnie’s arm was a long slim shape in a chamois sheath. “Nice to see you too, Konnie.”
“Been a long wave.” He studied me carefully, scrupulously speaking my language instead of slic lingo. “You bringin’ trouble. Niners all over all the entrances. Been a few scuffs.”
“I’m sorry.” My eyes burned, and my lungs. The vast dim cavern beat with the pulse of slicboard travel and more vance parties starting, the walls really beginning to bounce. Stray tufts of breeze made the beads in his hair clack together, touched my cheek and ruffled my clothes. “I’m on the warpath, Konnie. I don’t want to hurt any slictribers, but my temper’s real short. I want a board, and I need to get out of here unseen and send a couple messages. I can pay.”
He shrugged, his lip curling. “Pay.”
Oh, Sekhmet sa’es. “New Credits, you ass. Not datband dangle. You think I was born yesterday?”
His eyes were troubled as he studied me. “You look awful young.”
You have no fucking idea how old I feel. “Not my fault. I lost a game with the Devil, Konnie.” There is no lie like telling the truth, is there?
Is there, Japhrimel?
Trust me, Japhrimel’s ghost replied. Say you will not doubt me.
I wish he hadn’t left me with McKinley, I wish I’d known not to get angry at him. Maybe I could have convinced him to help Eve, maybe not. I should have tried.
“Devil?” He blew out, a long low whistle between his strong white teeth. Business at the Arms must be good. He wore a datband plugin that registered him as constantly monitored by a security company, which meant he probably had his fingers in a few extralegal pies.
“Don’t ask. Look, Kon, are you gonna help or am I going to have to figure something else out? I’m kind of in a hurry.” I risked a little rudeness.
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Holy shit.” For a moment he sounded much younger, and his dead dark eyes flared to life. The Hole pounded, confused air swirling and buffeting, making the riding even more challenging. I heard a chorus of yells—a duel, maybe. “It is you. Valentine.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Nobody else would recognize me either.”
“Shit they won’t.” He weighed the chamois-sheathed package in both hands, his rings winking in the uncertain light. My own rings swirled with Power, his were merely human.
Completely human.
“You still got that look,” he said finally. “We all know it, that hungry Valentine look. Who you hunting this time, baby?”
“Whoever runs the Tanner Family and killed my best friend.” And anyone else who gets in my way. “Name a price, Konnie. If I don’t have it I’ll get it in an hour.”
He tossed me the package. I flashed to my feet and caught it, moving too quickly to be human. He didn’t flinch, I have to give him credit. But he made that little clicking sound again, tongue popping. “You always paid before. Spect you earned a little cred.” He jerked his head back. “C’mon, ride wit’ me. Then we figure out how get you outa here.”
I need more, Konnie. “And a couple slic couriers? There’s no danger in it, not for them.”
“Shit,” Konnie said, “this ain’t nothin’. You shoulda seen the fight we had last year between the Pacers and the TankLickers. Anything a Lander comes up with we can handle.”
My heart squeezed down on itself. These were no more than children, even if they were sk8 and slic couriers. I bloody well hope you’re right, Konnie. I really do.
CHAPTER 24
The package in chamois was a Valkyrie, sleek and black and beautiful, freshly-tuned and magclean. Good old Konnie. I wondered how much of my reputation still survived down here in the Hole.
I sent four messages by slic courier, three on paper and one on air.
The air-message was for Abracadabra, telling her I was still alive and still going after Gabe’s killers. She’d make sure the information got around and caused maximum confusion. It also had a chance of reaching Lucas, who would be able to pick up my trail in the Hole if he was lucky. I’d feel a lot better about this once he managed to catch up with me.
The first paper message was to Selene. Tell Tiens Japh’s been taken and needs help. That would also let the Hellesvront agents know I believed them without committing me to letting them “protect” me. Maybe, just maybe, they would concentrate on getting Japh out of hock or sowing some confusion to keep my trail clear of demons. I didn’t hope for much—after all, they were probably more interested in finding me and spiriting me away from Saint City before another group of demons got their hands on me. Still, I could hope.
Next message, to the Tanner Family’s corporate front downtown. A courier with long orange dreadlocks and the androgynous holovid figure in style now knew where it was and took a short note for me.
Hand over Spocarelli and Thornton’s killers or I’ll send you to Hell. Nice, sharp, direct, though I intended to pay them a visit soon after they received it. I signed it with a flourish and a certain feeling of grim enjoyment. The orange-haired courier also knew where the Tanner Family mansion was, their nerve center. It was by far the most productive half-hour I’d spent in a while, talking to her.
The very last message was to Jado. To this courier, a short, stocky mean-looking kid with a fuzz of dead black hair and a pierced lip, I gave Eddie’s mastersheets, sealed in a magpouch with the homicide file and a note asking him to hide it and apologizing for the inconvenience. This about wiped out my stolen bankroll, between pressing cash on Konnie and paying the couriers hazard fees. I was a hot commodity now; it would have been cheap not to pay them for potentially running across someone who would give them plasflak intended for me.
I finally stood at the edge of another ledge, down in the well of the Hole, far enough down that I felt the dread touch of claustrophobia. This would probably be a very good place to hide if I wasn’t so damn nervous in close, dark spaces. The central cavern was huge, of course, but still it was underground, and it was dark, and I could feel the pressure of the dirt overhead and to the sides bearing down on me. Konnie stood next to me, humming an old RetroPhunk groove.
A shiver touched my back. I needed food, I needed rest.
Too bad, sunshine.
A clear piercing whistle floated through the pulsing. Konnie finally tapped at his board, leaning against his leg. “Tribe’s movin’ to clear out an exit. Think y’can keep up?”
I shrugged. I had demon reflexes and had put in a fair amount of time on slicboards, but he was tribe. He lived on his board when he wasn’t running his shop. I knew better than to show any false bravado here, especially as he was doing me a favor. “Just go slow and try not to tip me.”
He sniggered. Japhrimel would have caught the sarcasm in my tone, but Konnie didn’t. He simply smacked the powercell, tossed the board, and performed the same trick as the other kids, leaping out into space and letting his feet thud on the deck’s surface, the antigrav giving resiliently under him. The kick of the kinetic energy meeting frictionless antigrav made the deck bounce violently, but he controlled it and whooshed away as I pressed the powercell on my own board and dropped it on the ledge, jumping and landing hard, stamping my front foot down to propel the board out over the Hole.
Space slid away under me, the board bounced, and I caught my slic legs quickly and dove after Konnie, who circled in a lazy
spiral and finally nipped neatly into an archway on the west side. I followed into the choking darkness, hoping he wouldn’t lead me astray.
It was a shock to go aboveground. Especially on a slicboard, bulleting past neon and keeping to streetside because the hoverlanes would bring me to the attention of the cops sooner. I hoped nobody had figured out I’d been talking to Horman—and I hoped he hadn’t alerted his superiors to my presence. I was depending on him to come through for me.
I went a short way into the Tank and found a nice dark Taliano restaurant that wouldn’t cavil at my appearance, got a booth, and started eating. Garlic bread first, and a bottle of chianti; calamari and bruschetta, two orders of spaghetti, and the biggest steak they had. Then another bottle of chianti—the carbs in it would help keep me fueled—and another order of spaghetti, an order of fettuccini alfredo with chicken and broccoli. Finally, comfortably full, I ordered three beers and downed them all one after another. I don’t like beer, but it’s a cheap source of carbs.
If I hadn’t been so hungry I would have read the book Selene gave me while I ate instead of stuffing everything down as fast as I could. Long ago I stopped feeling good about the sheer amount of food I needed. I felt like a glutton, especially when I’d expended a lot of physical power. If Japhrimel had been around it would have been better, I didn’t need to eat quite so much when I hung around him.
There I went thinking about Japhrimel again.
I had to pay with my datband, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t intend to stay in the Tank for long, and by the time any bounty hunters or police reached the restaurant, I would be long gone.
Outside it was raining again, pellets of slushy ice. Wet neon slicked the streets, painted the hovers with splashes and traceries of light. The streets hummed uncomfortably, the well of Power pulsing a little differently. I noticed less psions than usual out in the rain-washed night.
I didn’t blame them. Saint City felt carnivorous tonight.
So did I.
I zipped through the streets with wet wind mouthing my hair, splashes and kisses of cold against my skin. My clothes were definitely the worse for wear, full of dried blood and artistically torn, unmarked golden skin showing through the rips and bullet holes. I had a full load of ammunition, thanks to Konnie, plus my plasguns and my sword as well as my knives.
It wasn’t enough for a full-scale assault on a Mob Family.
The Tanner Family nerve center was in a rich part of town, an arc of prime bayfront property housing blueblood mansions. This wasn’t the corporate front, the legal face of the Mob business. This was their home, where they would entertain and hold their most important meetings. A lone psion would be recklessly stupid to attack a nerve center.
I might be stupid, but I’m fast, I’m mean, I have a sword that can cut the Devil and the will to use it. Whoever’s there will just have to die, that’s all. After they answer my questions.
All my questions.
I had to approach from uphill, swinging out in a wide arc and staying below the hoverlanes likely to hold police traffic. Slicboards can’t go over water, and if I’d had a hover… well, a hover wouldn’t have changed anything. Across the water, the lights of downtown glittered like a necklace, the orange glow of antigrav and streetlights staining the rainy sky. My city throbbed and pulsed like a heart, its chambers thudding with Power—a pulse echoed by the Gauntlet, clasped to my left wrist.
There are demons in the city tonight. Something’s happened. Has Japh broken free? I don’t think so, I’d probably feel it through the mark. But something’s shifted.
Let’s hope that’s good for Eve.
The mansion was low and beautiful, a song of blue Graeco-Revival architecture, with outbuildings just as graceful and flawless. The Family had done well for itself. Good shielding wedded to the walls and property line, the kind of shielding laid for corporate clients. There would be regular security too, magscan and deepscan shields, a whole battery of defenses as well as guards roaming the grounds.
In other words, a great opportunity for me to let loose a little aggression.
I hid the slicboard under a juniper hedge, laying a small keepcharm over it. Then, my jeans and shirt flapping and crusted from my healed wounds, I walked up the broad, well-maintained sidewalk as if I belonged in the neighborhood.
The front gates were iron, stylized teeth writhing decoratively along the top curve. They reminded me of another set of gates on the East Side, gates with a gothic R H worked into their metal, standing slightly ajar and beckoning like every trap.
I set my shoulders, gritted my teeth.
The defenses started to quiver as soon as I got within half a block. I tasted the pulsing of the energies used to build them, could See the layers of Power thickening, hardening at my approach. By the time I stood in front of the gates the defenses trembled on the edge of locking down.
My sword was in my left hand, sheathed and ready. I would need it soon.
In the old days, I would have found a way to subvert the defenses, broken in quietly and pursued what I wanted. Now I had a share of a demon’s Power and no need or desire to act like this was corporate espionage. Besides, I wasn’t here to steal. I was here for something else entirely.
The house at the end of its black-paved drive was lit up like a Putchkin Yuletree. I looked at it shimmering on its gentle hill and the rage rose up inside me. Whoever was in that house knew something about Gabe’s murder, if they hadn’t committed it. Either way, they were going to tell me what they knew. All of it. Quickly.
This time I didn’t push the red, screaming fury down. I took a deep breath and jabbed my right hand forward, pushing through the layers of defenses on the property line. They went crystal, locking down—but I was already in, the stiletto of my Will driven like a physical knife between ribs.
My right-hand rings, amber and obsidian, sparked as I pumped Power into them, the mark on my shoulder blazing with soft spurred heat. I drew on it, drew on the brand that was Japhrimel’s name, past caring that it was a demon’s name I was relying on. If he had broken free and showed up here it was all to the good; if other demons came along… well, that was a risk I was going to have to take.
I found myself not minding as much as I should have.
The wristcuff tightened, grinding the bones underneath again too, and sent another ice-burn of welcome strength jolting through my shoulder, into my chest.
I set my feet and pushed, a low sound of effort jetting between my teeth. Felt a yielding like fat-rich flesh under a sharp thin blade.
I struck. A short, sharp kia, my eyes suddenly hot and blazing as if lasers were popping out of them. Deadly force coiling, smashing loose, I wrenched the tough fabric of the defenses apart as casually as Japhrimel might tear apart an origami animal—a crane, perhaps—in his golden fingers.
Dead silence except for my own harsh breathing. Where were the alarms, the guards? Or was this the wrong house? The orange-haired courier had said this was the place, described it to me, and a few moments at a public infoshell had confirmed that the property was legally owned by one Asa Tanner, head of the corporate identity comprising the legal front of the Tanner Family.
I stepped through the rent in the shielding, now bleeding Power into the rainy air, and pushed the gates. Metal squealed as they swung wide on well-oiled hinges. My boots crunched on the raked immaculate gravel. I drew my sword, shoving the scabbard back in its loop on my belt and taking out a plasgun.
“Hi honey,” I called, my voice flashing through the rain, breaking the drops into smaller steaming tracers of mist, spraying out in concentric rings. “I’m hooo-ome!”
Gravel crunched like small bones underfoot. I couldn’t feel them, the guards, hanging back out of sight. But I could imagine them just fine. Trap. It was a trap.
So what? Close the trap, and see what happens when Danny Valentine gets really pissed.
I walked through the rain, hair plastered against skull and nape, dripping onto my ruined clothes. S
team curled up from my skin, ice melting before it could hit me. The sword sang in my hand, white flame twisting in its heart, blue runes spilling through the edges of the metal. My shields flared into the visible range, traceries of glittering light shimmering in a perfect globe around me, and Japhrimel’s aura of black diamond flames had closed over mine again. As if he was behind me, walking with his soundless step, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes burning no less than mine.
I felt other minds here, and tasted the acrid tang of fear. There was too much magshielding for it to be a plain civilian’s house. I was in the right place, I knew I was.
So why weren’t they attacking?
I got maybe halfway to the house before thunder rumbled low and ominous in the sky and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I swung around, sword lifting, the cuff suddenly flaming the green of Japhrimel’s eyes. “Sekhmet sa’es—” I hissed, ready to face the trap—but what I saw froze the curse on my lips and made my heart pound thinly in my temples, throat, and wrists.
A low sinuous shadow stalked through the rip I’d made in the defenses. A flash of crimson eyes, a glossy obsidian pelt, an ungainly graceful shamble of a walk.
I dropped the plasgun and closed both hands instinctively around my katana’s hilt, screaming my defiance as the hellhound—was it the same one?—finished shouldering through the rent in the Tanner house’s shields and bulleted toward me.
I had time to admire each finicky-precise footfall, its head bobbing back and forth; paradoxically, I had no time at all. Gathered myself, compressing demon muscle and bone, then threw my body to the side, both hands on the hilt and blade blurring down as a white-fire scythe, the kia sharp and deadly. More steam drifted up from the hellhound’s body. It turned on itself as I landed, too quick it was too quick it was too quick, my feet barely touched down and I flung myself in the opposite direction, gravel sprayed as it skidded and roar-hissed its frustration. Gravel also smashed up, exploding away from the sound, my cry taking on physical weight.