Healing spells existed, but they were in the realm of specialists and were intensely regulated, given that they brushed so close to the forbidden area of necromancy. The universities didn’t even teach them anymore. So Sully found herself in a hospital in Carolina. A few deputies had been set to guard her room until she woke up, and now they gave her an even mix of sympathetic and angry stares. She had screwed up, and they knew it. It had cost her a few bruises and a concussion, but it had cost them a coworker—chunks of whom were still being hosed off the highway.
The local chief had debriefed her after she woke up the first time, and she didn’t even consider making excuses. It had been her call to take on the deputy alone. It had been her magic that overloaded him. If she had stuck to the plan, it probably still would have happened, but there would have been a bit more transparency. When an Imperial Agent descended on a small town and exploded somebody, it was hard not to suspect some sort of cover-up or conspiracy. Especially when Sully had received very explicit instructions from the Deputy Director of the IBI to not discuss the case with anyone, even the victims’ families.
A day in a hospital was more than enough for Sully. After about twelve hours of stewing in her adjustable bed, cursing her own stupidity, and ignoring her throbbing everything, Sully discharged herself and caught the train home. The media bubble was about to burst now. There were too many small-town cops involved, and it would be all they’d talk about for months, if not years. Civilians would overhear, and with civilians came journalists.
Sully found a seat in one of the train’s quiet compartments and buried her head in her hands. If Colcross even let her stay on the case when she got back to New Amsterdam—and after this, there was a good chance he wouldn’t—then it was going to be her whole life until it was over. That meant finding out who was really behind it. Not just the killers, who appeared to be victims themselves. This magic was something new, something Sully had never even heard of before, and it was going to be a nightmare to puzzle through.
But at least once it was public, she could tap resources, call in the assistance that she needed and, hopefully, keep interference from the Colonial Government at arm’s length for as long as the public were watching.
If the painkillers weren’t already flooding her system, just thinking about all of this would have given her a pulsing headache. She slept fitfully on the way back home. In one of her waking moments, against all sense of self preservation, she turned on her cell. The message from Deputy Director Colcross was the politest she had ever heard, and that scared her, asking her to stop by his office at her earliest convenience. She also had a message from Raavi, trying to set her up on another blind date with his sister and casually mentioning that he was finished with the first three rounds of bodies she’d sent him.
The third message was briefer, a throaty southern voice whispering down the line, “I need to see you darlin’. I’m hurting.”
The morphine haze lifted in a rush of excitement. Setting up that last meeting was a little further out of her way, but at least it would be something to look forward to, whether she was still on the case or not. Maybe her own aches and bruises would get some soothing while she was at it.
* * *
It was night by the time New Amsterdam’s shining skyline was visible, but there was no hope of dodging out of work on an excuse as tawdry as being injured and needing to rest. A crowd milled about outside the IBI building; not the usual suits blustering around, but a proper press of bodies. Cameras and microphones were being thrust in the face of anyone walking in or out.
Sully groaned softly and pushed her way through the crowd. It didn’t take long for one of her earlier cases to bite her in the ass—like it or not, she was known to the press. One of the reporters who had followed the Florida dragon smuggling case spotted her and put two and two together. The media were like a school of piranhas. Another reporter spotted the redirected attention of the first, and then they all turned on her in a wave of shrieked questions.
The first time one of them bashed up against her, she gritted her teeth and pressed on, but the next one caught her in her cracked ribs with an elbow, and it was enough to set off her contingency spells. The unfortunate cameraman was lifted off his feet and began a slow orbit around her. The rest of the media scampered away with a slight decrease in volume and Sully strode on toward the entrance, using the slowly drifting man as a shield to keep the rest of them away, until the spell finally dumped him in a heap on the ground. He shouted something about a lawsuit, until Sully glowered with so much contempt that he shut up and scampered off.
She was just about to step through the door of the IBI building, aching and angry, when she did something stupid. Turning to the gathered swarm, she held up her hands for silence. When it came, she said, “The IBI is investigating this matter. I will be taking care of it personally. We will be making official statements shortly.”
* * *
Colcross was not amused. “It is my hope that you recognize the uncomfortable position you have put the Bureau in, both in your failure to apprehend the last suspect, and in announcing your involvement in this case so publicly. Especially when you take into consideration that there has been no progress whatsoever under your . . . eh . . . attentive care.”
Sully bit back her first three replies before finally grunting, “Hard to make progress when I’m running in circles and nobody’s telling me anything.”
The director fluttered down and perched on the back of Sully’s chair with a loud squawk. Bolstered by the avian moral support Sully pressed on. “If I hadn’t landed in the middle of this case, I would never have known anything was going on. The rest of the department needs to be brought up to speed. The constabularies across the colony need to be put on alert. We need to go through all of the murders this year to find out when these attacks started.”
Colcross’s expression was fixed, his stare glassy. “Do you have any other suggestions on how I should run this department, Agent Sullivan?”
Sully recognized the dripping sarcasm but waded right through it. “Whoever is doing this has more power and magic than any civilian. If we find out that it’s not some kind of new demonic incursion, then a magus must be doing it. Either way, this is going way above my pay grade, and I need you to have my back. If you want this put down. Sir.”
He gave her a thin smile. “Thank you for your input, Sullivan. I will take your comments into consideration.”
Sully smiled back, with just as much warmth. “With all due respect, sir, what the hell does that mean?”
If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn Colcross’s smile almost became genuine for an instant. The Director hopped down onto her shoulder and croaked, “Put it down. Put it down.”
Colcross scowled at the bird, but nodded. “It means that I am already gathering the information that you have requested, and should any solid evidence present itself, then I will pass that information along to you. It also means that this conversation never happened. Are we clear?”
Sully grinned, this was better than the morphine. “As crystal, sir.”
Colcross pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed a sheet of paper across the table. “This is a requisition order for the theoretical assistance you requested. Local constabularies have been alerted to the situation. What I need, Sullivan, is for you to find the cause of these events. If we know how this is done, we can stop it from being done again. No more chasing our tails. No more . . . eh . . . explosive errors in our decision making. Do try not to disappoint me, Agent Sullivan.”
* * *
The morgue was scattered with body-bags and fast-food wrappers. Bodies were stacked in piles organized by their respective cases, and despite the relatively early time, Raavi’s shirt was off and all four hands were full. Although one held a ginger beer, which meant it wasn’t quite crunch time yet.
Raavi met her placid smile with a manic one of his own. “This is getting boring Sully. All of these bodies. All killed in such boring ways. I remember when you used to bring me people with their blood turned to molten lead. I remember when you brought me a severed tongue that kept on moving in a jar for three months. You remember?
“The interns thought it was some kind of exotic slug. These are just people who got stabbed or shot. And I won’t even get to look at the last body since it is basically jelly. This is a waste of my talents. Go solve this nonsense so I can get back to staying up all night doing the things I like to do.”
Sully laughed despite the fresh fire it spread through her rib cage. “Sorry that you’re being put out. Have you found anything I can use?”
He shook his head. “All the same as the first one; dislocations all over the place. So much magic one of my Schrödingers actually jammed into full-on panic mode. I am going to say demons. Smells like demons to me.”
Sully snorted. “I’m not sure your smells are going to interest the Deputy Director.”
Raavi looked up at her again. Blood had dried across his forehead and on his mask in a dark brown smear. “I mean they really smell of something, Sully. Ozone and rotten eggs. Brimstone if you like. I’m doing more testing but this sort of thing is hard to narrow down. Magic isn’t an exact science, you know.”
Sully rolled her eyes. “Spoken like somebody who never studied it. You really think we have demons involved? This isn’t just your weird dissection fetish flaring up again, is it?”
“I derive purely intellectual pleasure from chopping up demon corpses. Don’t sully my passion with your filthy sexual allusions.”
Sully tried to keep a straight face as she stared him down. Blood trickled down one of his arms from the scalpel in his upper right hand. Eventually he fidgeted, “Alright, so I enjoy my work. That doesn’t make me wrong. That doesn’t make me perverse. It just makes me happy. Why don’t you want me to be happy? I thought we were friends?”
Sully snorted and then gasped, grabbing at her cracked ribs. All humor left Raavi’s face, and where anyone else would have shown concern, he went straight to professionalism. “Cracked ribs? Anything else?”
Sully blew out a strangled breath. “Just my everything.”
Raavi’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. “Have they given you the good drugs or that cheap nonsense they use on civilians.”
Sully winced through another laugh. “Not my first time at the circus Raavi. I know my limits, don’t start mothering me.”
He scoffed and went back to his work. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darling. Toddle off and find our demon, will you? I can’t wait to see what it looks like. Some sort of jellyfish is my bet. I love the ones with tentacles. Their neurology is always so fancy.”
* * *
The taxi driver who took her home was Irish, and it was no secret his passenger was too. The faint hint of her accent and the bloody red hair made sure of that. So it didn’t surprise Sully when about halfway through the trip, he brought up the conversation every immigrant eventually had.
They spoke about the old country, the home of their blood, exchanging stories about what was happening over there. As an immigrant in the British Empire, pretty much anything said about Ireland could be interpreted as sedition. Their countries had a long and bloody history. And every few years there was another failed uprising: some hedge witch would get their hands on a little extra power and lead some glorious revolution, which would promptly be crushed by agents of the Crown. Then came the usual crackdowns, rationing to the point of starvation, and campaigns of dehumanization that the Empire used to keep its colonial subjects in line. All providing a healthy well of hatred for the next would-be revolutionary to tap into.
It was a cycle that nobody wanted to see repeated. As far as the British were concerned, the Irish were ungrateful savages; as far as the Irish were concerned, the British were perfectly nice people when they didn’t have their boot on your face. The driver told her about the new bridge that cursed London had started growing across the Irish sea in its never ending expansion, and the rumors that the Veil of Tears was starting to break down.
The bridge didn’t concern her, London could go on growing forever for all she cared, but any breakdown of the barrier spell between the demon-haunted, magic-ravaged mainland of Europe and home set alarm bells ringing in her mind. If the Veil fell, every demon that was running riot through the ruins of Europe would have been free to go roaming around the world, slaughtering as it saw fit. It was almost enough to make her call her mother. Almost.
Sully shared a few stories of her own, not quite confidential information, but helpful enough that a few good people who had garnered a little too much attention from the Empire would be fleeing their homes immediately after the taxi driver dropped her off and got to a phone. He wouldn’t take her money when they finally arrived—even though she argued back and forth with him for a solid minute—and it wasn’t an insignificant fare. He eventually forced her hand back into the passenger compartment with her cash still bundled up in it and then gave it a squeeze. “You remind me of my daughter. I’m not going to take your money. We need to take care of each other out here in the wilds.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
* * *
It took some digging in her pockets to find her door keys; everything was out of its usual place after the hospital stay. When she finally got them into the door, it swung open of its own accord.
Sully ducked to the side of the door and cast a quick shield over herself but nothing exploded in a flurry of bullets or spells. Her arcane senses rolled out over the room but she could feel nothing alive in her apartment beyond the usual roaches. Nothing alive. Someone inside. That meant vampires.
Vampires had no magic of their own, but if they bit someone, it severed that person’s connection to magic too. Even the day after a bite Sully always felt that her powers were weaker. So whoever was in the apartment would probably try to rush her before she could cast, if they had any sense. Sully readied a freezing spell, felt the cool energy crawling along her fingers, then spun around and rushed through the door with her hand raised to cast.
By the bed was a lit candle. The scent of perfume swept over Sully: wildflowers and coconut oil. Cold hands encircled her wrist, and the spell died as her hand was drawn away from her. Cold lips wrapped around one of her fingertips, kissing it all better. A fang brushed over the soft pad of her finger, drawing a gasp out of the depths of her chest. The vampire practically purred as Sully succumbed, kicking the door shut behind them. Marie leaned in close enough that her chill breath tickled Sully’s ear and whispered, “Welcome home, darlin’.”