The streets of Nashville were still under martial law and would remain so until a decision was made about what to do with the gorilla demon, since between Sully and the vamps, they’d disposed of the other three. Local magicians had checked the stability of Sully’s little trap and had even reinforced it with several rings of other materials, but the problem remained that it was in the middle of a big crossroads next to one of the Empire’s biggest film studios. People were starting to get tetchy about it.
After escaping a certain flaming death, Sully had checked into a motel on the opposite end of town where the normal human beings—and in Nashville, that meant those not involved in the entertainment industry—tended to gather.
Her night was spent in various conference calls: first with Deputy Director Colcross, then with a very agitated General in Her Imperial Majesty’s Armed Forces. Then there was a magus, who seemed to be only partially mentally present—which was par for the course—and finally, for one memorable moment, with Marie, who had called when Sully was waiting to talk to a demonologist in Newcastle and startled her out of her shell-shock.
The demonologist had turned out to be a wasted call, since his helpful theories turned out to be things Sully had already explored with Leonard. A few of the vampire squaddies visited when she was finally starting to consider sleep, looking to trade a few stories and share some surprisingly good whiskey that they had plundered from the rubble of an upmarket bar. They couldn’t drink it but they seemed to think they owed her a favor or two.
* * *
The next morning, after no more than an hour’s actual sleep, Sully took a cheap and nasty portal from the University of Nashville back to her apartment for a shower and a quick change of clothes. Then she went back to work, or as she was increasingly calling it, home.
The IBI offices were usually a flurry of activity and raised voices. The fact that Sully’s return was met with dead silence was a clear sign that news had traveled ahead of her and had made the rounds of the office. She ignored her coworkers, who followed her every movement with owl-like attention, and headed down to the basement to run ideas past Leonard before she had to explain to the Deputy Director why her trip to Nashville to conduct an interview had turned the city into a demonic war zone.
She found the door to the lab locked, and her patience, which had the tensile strength of tissue paper on the best of days, snapped. She didn’t even bother to unlock the door, she just shot a burst of flame from her fingertips that burnt away the entire handle and locking mechanism. Then she stormed inside. Leonard had been busy; the chalk boards were filled with equations and variables, and he had even rolled in several spares which were well on their way to being filled too.
Sully had the presence of mind to extinguish the flames with a flick of the wrist before she advanced on Leonard. “The demons are talking about the Year of the Knife; they’ve been talking about it since three years back. I don’t think the doll knows about it, because he’s been up here for about thirty years, but the demons are involved somehow. That’s the angle we need to pursue.”
Leonard winced but he didn’t back away. “I am afraid that your assessment may be somewhat tempered by the facts, my dear woman. We have very few records of instances of magic performed by the gentlemen downstairs, with the vast majority of their wish granting and such being done behind closed doors.
“However, there were several experiments conducted at the Blue-tooth Institute in Greenland that clearly indicate a resonance pattern within demonic magic—a certain spikiness to their output that I am sorry to inform you does not match up with what we have been able to identify from the remains of your primary victims and the locations where they were originally affected.”
Sully froze with her mouth still open and then let out a huff of air that could have easily been mistaken for a growl. “You’re certain?”
He nodded slowly, as though any sudden movement might provoke her, “I am afraid that the structure of the spell involved is definitely consistent with a human thought pattern and that, while we do not recognize the particular field of arcana, it is certainly derived from our magical traditions. There are actually some hallmarks of the European pseudo-Teutonic spellforms—”
Sully cut him off dead. “And you didn’t think that was relevant information?”
Leonard leaned away with a stubborn set his shoulders. She stood almost nose to nose with him now, give or take a box for her to stand on. “My dear Miss Sullivan, the pseudo-Teutonic forms have been adopted by almost every school that the British Empire has had contact with, due to their stability and ease of retention. Also, if you recall your history at all, then you may note that the vast majority of places our brave and bountiful explorations have led us to as a world power—after immediately adopting those elements of our most excellent education systems that would enable them to do so—rebel against our occupation. Most often culminating in decades of bloody warfare.
“When you incorporate the number of college-trained magicians within the Empire, as well as the refugees who were successful in their flight from mainland Europe before it was sealed off, we are left with a list of suspects numbering in the thousands.”
Sully leaned forward the last inch and rested her head against Leonard’s cravat for a moment, groaning. “So the lead that I leveled Nashville for is useless.”
Leonard awkwardly patted her on the back. “Not at all, my dear. Not at all. We now know that someone has at least been in discussion with the gentlemen downstairs about the Year of the Knife. Either the demons became involved in a manner shy of wish granting, or they were merely consulted at the planning stage for this stunt.”
Sully straightened up, giving Leonard a shy smile before her usual scowl reasserted itself, “You aren’t completely useless to have around, Leonard.”
Then she stormed back out of the room.
* * *
Sully emerged from the elevator and headed straight for Colcross’s office at a brisk pace, barely bothering to glance at Chloe for permission. The girl smiled at her pleasantly as she typed at her keyboard. Maybe the shock of Sully actually flirting with her had finally broken her out of her weird rabbit-in-the-headlights habits.
Inside the office, Colcross was snoring. His overstuffed chair kept him upright, but the man was definitely asleep. The snoring wasn’t earthshaking, just little unexpected snorts.
However long Sully’s hours were, however beaten up she got, she could always go home for a few hours to recuperate between shifts. She couldn’t think of a time when he wasn’t here in his office. He looked almost innocent when he was asleep, not like a slave driver or her designated protection against the machinations of high society. She slammed the door with her back turned to him and when she turned around he had his glasses perched on his nose and seemed to be in the middle of reading a report. He glanced up at her over the top of his spectacles and sighed. “You generate a substantial amount of paperwork, Agent Sullivan.”
She was about to fake a smile when he continued, “Considerably more paperwork than results. I am considering making another Superior Agent the lead on this case. I would still require you to be directly involved and your insights would be absolutely essential to progressing matters, but I have to take the public perception and political pressures into consideration.”
Sully gritted her teeth. “Anyone else who was lead on this would be dead three times over by now.”
Colcross nodded faintly, as if conceding the point but added, “Perhaps that is due to the manner in which you are conducting your investigation.”
Sully nodded back sharply.
Colcross pressed on. “Thus far, you have squandered your budget on an expensive consultant, medical care and considerable transport costs, without producing anything substantial with which we could progress matters. You must understand how this looks—”
Sully butted in. “A human being is doing this—turning other people into puppets to conduct their little reign of terror. They’re an enemy of the British Empire, but they were likely trained in one of our colleges. They consult with demons, but don’t use them to do whatever it is they are doing. And what they are doing with the murderers is a distraction.”
Colcross had been looking back at the papers in front of him until she said those final words. His head snapped up, “All of these deaths are purely a distraction?”
Sully shrugged. “It’s the only motive that makes sense. How does scaring the crap out of people help your cause? It makes them chase after shadows. It keeps them on their heels and lets you get away with whatever else you’re trying to do. Next time the governor or any of the twits from back in the old country ring you up, that is what you can tell them. We need to find out what this is really about.”
Colcross took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Agent Sullivan, I gave you an already difficult task in finding the perpetrator of these murders, why do you insist on adding to your difficulties by inventing conspiracies?”
Sully snapped, “Motive is one of the three corners of a case, sir. If I get that, everything else falls into place.”
Colcross rolled his eyes. “In my considerable experience, you will find that the reason for a crime is rarely important to your investigation. Leave that concern to those given the thankless task of prosecuting it.”
Sully nodded stiffly and waited to be dismissed. Colcross glanced at the papers and then back up at her. “You will remain lead on this case until a better option presents itself, Agent Sullivan. Please produce something concrete so that my faith in you is seen to be well founded.”
Sully turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, her temper held in check by the need for continued employment. Which was silly, really. Financially, she would be a lot better off packing in her job and selling off the spells she’d developed over the year—there were plenty of interested parties. The Navy was desperate for her concussion spell.
The anger faded away just thinking about her life after work. Sitting on a porch sipping gin all day until her liver exploded, or until Marie showed up one night when she had another girl over and drained her dry in a fit of jealous rage. To hell with that.
Chloe caught her eye as she came out of the office and crooked a finger in invitation. Sully approached with a smirk: the girl didn’t even seem flustered today, just sitting there with a letter opener in her hand and a pile of Colcross’s mail in front of her. When Sully got close enough, Chloe grinned up at her.
Sully finally asked, “Did you need something?”
The pretty girl’s head lolled to the side. Her mouth hung open and the words hissed out. “IT iS thE YeAr of thE KNIFe.”
She lunged forward with the letter opener and would have gotten Sully in the gut if Sully’s bar fighting experience hadn’t kicked in. Sully jerked her hand up and, for her trouble, caught the blade right in the palm. A gleeful grin spread over Chloe’s face as she tried to twist the blunted knife. The pain nearly drove Sully to her knees. It was all happening too fast—Sully didn’t have time to think. A hundred spells were on the tip of her tongue but every one of them would have blown the walls off the building when they interacted with whatever was controlling the girl. Sully had already proven that theory in Carolina.
The girl’s arms were hanging limp at her sides but when she jerked them forward she still hit like a brick. Chloe leaned in close and that brimstone aroma washed over Sully for an instant before another smell took over, the ozone scent of air after a storm. Chloe whispered, “YOu havE crOSSED me fOR THE LasT timE WITch.”
Sully must have cried out, or maybe it was the sound of the tussle that brought Colcross out of his office with an old service revolver in his hand. Sully couldn’t have guessed the caliber, but it looked too big, even for a man of Colcross’s size. He aimed it very carefully at Chloe and spoke with a quaver in his usually robust voice. “Chloe, let go of the knife and step away from Agent Sullivan.”
Chloe started to laugh and that garbled blend of noise rolled over Sully’s strained voice as she shouted, “Don’t shoot.”
Colcross wasn’t a military man, as far as Sully knew, but he sure as hell could shoot straight. The back of Chloe’s head blew out over the wood-paneled walls. Blood and things thicker than blood splattered across the wall and stuck there, and as long as Sully kept her eyes on that and didn’t turn her head, she wouldn’t have to see the big hole in the pretty face of the silly girl she used to torment.
Chloe didn’t fall—she just kept on laughing. Despite herself, Sully looked up into the bleeding hole that used to be the girl’s face. The tongue still waggled around inside the hole like some obscene worm. The body jerked, pulling the letter opener out of Sully’s hand. Staggering back a step, Chloe fell into her chair before half-heartedly tossing the letter opener at Colcross. It tumbled to land by his feet, still slick with Sully’s blood. The gun slipped from Colcross’s fingers and fell on the floor beside it.
Sully tried to breathe calmly, even as the pain crept up her arm and gripped her chest in a vice-like hold. Avoiding the corpse, she looked at Colcross instead and eventually shouted, “Hey!” to break his vacant stare. He looked like a man in a dream, so Sully tried again. “Hey! Go downstairs and tell someone what happened.”
He nodded and walked toward the elevator. Sully stared at the blood-soaked carpet and the mess that had been Chloe. The girl’s remaining eye showed no signs of life now, but for all Sully knew, the orchestrator of the attack might be observing her at that very moment. She didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.