Chapter 25
I woke up confused.
The last thing I remembered, I’d been in an ambulance on my way to the hospital. But now I was in my bed, at home, Roxana curled up against my side and purring heavily. I was face down, a small puddle of drool on the pillow next to me. Everything was hazy. At first, I thought the past week and a half must have been a strange and highly detailed dream.
Then the memories came flooding back, along with the throbbing pain. I’d passed out in the ambulance and woken at the hospital. There was an almost perfectly circular third degree burn in the middle of my upper back. The doctor had explained they would have to cut out a lot of the dead skin and the pieces of my shirt that had gotten melted into my back, and they’d do the best they could, but I’d likely have some severe scarring. That wasn’t a problem. I was used to scars. They were good reminders.
At some point, they’d put me under. My memory went in and out from there, but eventually the treatment was done and the doctors went away, replaced by nurses checking in during their rounds.
The following afternoon I’d insisted I was healed and needed to get home. Not only did I need to get back to work, but I wanted to be in the safety of my own wards and protective spells. I was injured and vulnerable. It didn’t strike me as a good plan to be defenseless in a hospital, with no control over who came and went, when at least one of the people who’d tried to take me was still at large.
The nurse and doctor had protested that I’d experienced severe burns and had just had surgery. I ripped off my dressings to show them my back, which was already mostly healed, and in their confusion, I’d discharged myself. The discharge clerk hadn’t overly protested—I didn’t have insurance anyway. Besides, the hospital staff couldn’t legally keep me against my will once I was conscious and able to make my own decisions. They just weren’t happy with my choice.
I’d gone home, checked my wards, eaten everything I could find in my kitchen that didn’t require cooking, drunk a healing concoction I had on standby—which would assist my already-accelerated natural healing processes work much faster and more efficiently—then passed out in my own bed.
Checking my wounds in the bathroom mirror, I noted the lump on my forehead had mostly disappeared, the only sign of it a faint yellow bruise. My back hurt, but it was already scarred over. Healing that quickly takes an enormous amount of energy, hence the ravenous hunger and the need for so much sleep. It had worn me out enough that my dreams didn’t even wake me, which was a small blessing.
But I was awake now, which meant I got to remember all the things I’d missed and the mistakes I’d made over the previous few days. I grabbed a pair of dirty jeans from the floor, taking a few seconds to slip into them before heading downstairs, a bottle of whisky in my hand. I was finally going to have that drink.
A couple hours later I was distracted by violent banging on the door.
“Quinn!” Connors voice yelled. “Open the fuck up!”
I groaned as I stood and made my way to the door.
“Adrienne,” I grunted as I opened it for her.
She pushed in past me without even asking for an invite. “What the hell, Quinn?!”
I was confused. “What?”
“What are you doing home?! You should be in the hospital! And I need to know what the hell happened in that stairwell—the Captain is up my ass for answers I can’t give him! You’ve got some explaining to…” She trailed off her angry scolding as she finally took a look at me.
“Jesus Christ, Quinn. What the hell happened to you?”
I looked down, confused, inspecting myself. I wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a pair of jeans. But I didn’t see any major injuries of which I was unaware.
“I’d expected a burn and some bruises. But the rest…”
She apparently hadn’t seen my bare torso when the paramedic had been examining and dressing the burn back in Grays Ferry. She’d been busy arguing with someone, I vaguely recalled, meaning she hadn’t seen my scars and tattoos before now. I’d lived a long, hard life, which had included quite a number of fights. I hadn’t won all of them, and even many of the victories had come at a cost. I looked unassuming when fully clothed, but my flesh bore extensive physical evidence of those experiences.
The faded tattoos had been protective and healing spells at one point, similar to the shield focusing tattoo on the back of my left hand. Some of them still worked, but for the most part the pattern had been broken by a great deal of scarring. That was why I had to supplement my natural healing with a potion, rather than letting the old glyphs do their work. They’d served their purpose but weren’t much help anymore.
She stepped to my right side, inspecting, her tirade forgotten in the shock of seeing the marks of my past. She reached out a hand and touched one of the bigger scars, which ran from my right pectoral up over the shoulder, down the ribs on my back to my right hip and below the waistline. It continued down the leg, but she couldn’t see that.
“What the hell happened here?”
I just grunted. I had no desire to explain my scars.
“No, Quinn.” She took a step back and crossed her arms, her face hard. “You owe me some fucking answers.”
I breathed, trying to calm myself. I was tired, I was hurt, I was drunk, and even on my best days I didn’t care to discuss my past. It had been a very long time since I’d interacted with people as much as I had over the past week. I’d almost forgotten how, once they knew something about you, they felt entitled to know everything else.
“My story is mine, Detective,” I replied, and turned to head back to the corner to resume drinking.
“Jesus Christ, not anymore, you arrogant shit,” she snapped.
I was startled and turned back to see her glaring angrily at me.
“Look, I don’t care how old you are, or how powerful you claim to be, or what kind of monsters you’ve fought. In the last few days, I’ve met with gods and mythical beings. I’ve seen miracles and magic. I’ve charged into a building expecting to fight fucking sorcerers with nothing but a handgun, to try to save your ass. And I’m getting really goddamn tired of being treated like a child, only hearing what you feel like telling me when you feel like telling it.”
She took a breath and gathered herself but continued before I could reply.
“My partner is lying in the hospital, missing most of his arm, after fighting for his life over the past two days. Your old fling put him there. I’m not saying it’s your fault, but goddammit, you’ve lost the right to keep shit from me. Maybe it’s relevant, maybe it isn’t, but you don’t get to decide—Samantha’s history with you was for damn sure relevant, wasn’t it? It may well have influenced your judgement about her, and Henri paid the price for it. So I’m done. I’m drawing a goddamn line in the sand, Quinn. You want my help, then you start talking. If not, fine. Have fun stopping these guys by yourself, without me or the Philadelphia Police Department. And I’ll go ahead and tell Captain Paulson he can arrest your ass like he already wants to do.”
I stared at her for a second or two. She was right. Maybe she’d come to me an ignorant and petulant child. But after everything we’d been through over the past several days, she’d earned my respect. Hell, she was probably the closest thing I’d had to a human friend in decades. Maybe I should start acting like it.
“Okay, Adrienne.”
I took a deep breath and thought about memories I’d long been trying to forget.
“It was the Shadow War, one of those pyrrhic victories I mentioned. There were reports of Shadow activity in Cambodia, near Angkor Wat. We went in force to check it out and walked right into an ambush. Hundreds of them, out of nowhere, from every direction. We had to retreat into the temple itself, and they besieged us. For days, we fought off wave after wave. On the third day, a big one got past the main gate. It almost got me before we put it down. That’s where I got the scar.”
She nodded. “Must have been hell.”
I looked away, remembering starving in a dark, blood-soaked temple complex, pinned down by an army of alien horrors, watching my closest friends in the world die all around me, day after day, absolutely certain I was about to join them at any moment. The pain. The hunger. The smell.
“Hell has nothing on it,” I murmured.
“How’d you escape?”
“We were trapped for five days. By the end, there were only four of us left, against a dozen or so of them. I was badly wounded. Dying. So Charlotte…”
I broke off and took a few deep breaths, struggling to regain my composure.
“She drew their attention so Angelo and Yuri could carry me. She sacrificed herself to save us.”
I stopped again. The memory was too wrapped in emotion. It hit me like a sledgehammer, and I choked up. Now the memory was in charge. I couldn’t stop the flood if I’d tried. My shoulders sagged and the tears started.
“She died because of me. The only woman I’ve ever loved died because I wasn’t strong enough when she needed me. I failed.” I looked back at Connors’s eyes, which were growing alarmed and concerned in equal measure. “Just like I failed Henri. That’s what I do, Adrienne. I fail people who count on me. It’s why I stopped having friends—you can’t fail anyone if no one counts on you, right?”
I was babbling. She shook her head angrily and cut in before I could go on.
“No, Quinn. That one’s not on you. We went into that stairwell knowing full well what might happen. You don’t get to take that from Henri—he made his choices. He’s a cop. He’s been a cop for a long time. You think this is the first time he’s had to make that choice? That he’s had to rush into a stairwell in some shithole building, knowing there was a better than even chance some asshole was gonna try his best to put holes in him? No, Quinn. You don’t get to claim responsibility for that one. It isn’t your burden to bear. If anyone, it’s mine—I’m his partner, I was the one who had his back. Hell, I was the one who pushed to go in. But he was the first one up the stairwell for a reason. That’s who he is. And I won’t let you take that away from him by trying to claim responsibility.”
I choked up again. “But I hesitated. I was afraid, and I held back. If I’d only—”
My words came to an abrupt halt when Connors’s open left hand slapped me across the cheek. I stood, open mouthed, not believing she had really done that.
I breathed heavily, getting angry. “How dare you, you little—”
Again, I was stopped mid-sentence by a slap across the face.
“How dare I?” she snapped back. “I already told you, you arrogant son of a bitch. Henri owns what happened to him, not you. How about you quit feeling sorry for yourself, and start making his sacrifice count for something?!”
She tried to punctuate her words with another slap, but this time I caught her arm and held on firmly when she tried to pull it back. I looked in her eyes and spoke very quietly.
“Detective Connors, let me make this very clear. If you ever slap me again, you will regret it.”
“And,” she replied, unflinchingly, “if you don’t let go of my wrist, you’ll regret it more.”
I felt something poke me in the belly and glanced down. She’d drawn her service weapon with her other hand. She stared at me, her nostrils flared, struggling to control her breathing. And I saw clearly what I’d seen in that burned out stairwell. Not many people, having witnessed what she had and knowing what I was capable of, would stand face to face with me and dare me to blink first.
I let go. She holstered her weapon and rubbed her left wrist where I’d clenched it in my hand.
“I…” I began, looking away. The words wouldn’t come. I swallowed and forced my pride down and met her eyes again.
“I’m sorry.” I paused and fought back the emotions threatening to rip their way out.
I turned away from her and walked over to the reading nook, where I sat heavily in an armchair facing her and picked up the near-empty bottle of whisky I’d been drinking before she came in. I drained the rest of it in a single long pull, then looked back at her.
“You wanted me to be honest with you?” I mumbled, “Fine, this is me being honest with you. This is who I am.” I gestured to the empty bottle. “I’m a pathetic drunk, and a right son of a bitch, in far more ways than you know. I’m not a good person, Adrienne. I’ve killed more people than I can count. Thousands. Tens of thousands, maybe, depending how you want to divvy up credit for a few atrocities. Over the past two centuries, I’ve committed every sin you can name and a few you’ve never even imagined. I can’t sleep without half a bottle of whiskey to quiet the screams in my head. Thrice now I’ve had to save the world, and each time it cost more and more of myself. I’m not sure I have much of a soul left anymore. Most every friend I’ve ever had is dead, some of them by my hands, others because of my failures.”
I looked away, remembering, for a few seconds before I continued.
“And here I am, now, being asked to save the world yet again. Wondering what will cost this time. And I’m not sure I’m going to be able to pay the price. That hesitation is why you and Henri were in that stairwell in the first place. That hesitation is what terrifies me so much. So I’m sorry. For everything.”
Connors walked over to the reading nook and sat in the other chair, quiet for a long moment as if processing what I’d said. Finally, she nodded and looked me in the eye.
“Quinn, I don’t know what the hell you are. I don’t know if you’re a good man, a bad man, or somewhere in the middle like the most of us, just muddling your way through as best you can. But frankly, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Because you’re right: I’m sitting here asking you to help me save the world. That’s what we’re talking about. This isn’t about you, or me, or Henri. It’s about the billions of lives that may be in jeopardy if we let these assholes get what they want, whatever it is. And I don’t know what the price will be. Maybe your soul. Maybe your life. Maybe mine, too. But I can’t do this alone. I need you to help me. If you can’t, if the price is too high, I need you to tell me now, so I can find someone who can. I’ll call Rachel, or whoever else you tell me to call. You can crawl back into your bottle and leave it to us. I won’t think any less of you, I promise. But I need you to tell me right now whether you’re up for this.”
I spent a long moment in silence, just slowing my heartrate and breathing, getting myself back under control.
She was giving me a way out. I didn’t have to do anything but give her a phone number, and I could go back to my life before all of this. It was tempting.
But I couldn’t do it. She was right, this wasn’t a mere serial killer I could pass off to the Rectors and breathe easy, trusting them to solve the problem without me. And even if they were successful, I’d have given up my home, my privacy, to the Arcanum. That was unacceptable. Spite may not be the most noble of motivations, but it was the one I had available.
“This is my city, Adrienne,” I said firmly, meeting her eyes. “I’ll be damned if I’m handing it off to the Arcanum. You can call Rachel when I’m dead, and not before.”
“Good enough,” she nodded. “Don’t let me down.”
I paused for a moment. “How’s Henri?”
“Not good, Quinn. Not good. He lost his arm. They had to amputate further, all the way up to the shoulder. He’s critical, but stable, and not awake yet. So while he’s still down, fighting for his life, how about you start talking.”
I was tired. I needed another drink, but I wasn’t up to hunting down a bottle at the moment.
“What do you want to know?”
“For starters,” she said, her arms crossed again but her face no longer hard, “what happened in the stairwell? I know the basics. Fill in the details.”
I rubbed my temples with both hands.
“Sam was with them from the beginning. I don’t know how far back. Maybe as long as I’ve known her. That would make the most sense, and possibly explain her prior interest in me. Maybe she joined them at some point in the past twenty years. But the fact she came back here shortly before the rites began clearly wasn’t a coincidence.”
I thought through what had happened, what she’d said.
“As best I can figure, she told us just enough truth to be believable, but she must have altered the ley-line shifts on the map to throw off the timeline. I thought the node wouldn’t be in place until that afternoon, but apparently it was there several hours earlier. Time enough for them to conduct the ritual during the night, including killing the old man who lived in the apartment they’d chosen. Sam already knew what I was planning—we talked about it briefly before I sent her away. So she and the other two must have planned a counterambush. She got the other two to enter the building exactly as we expected, even using the old man’s body to make us think they had the intended sacrifice with them. When I reached the fourth landing of the stairwell, she hit me in the back. I was trapped between her below me and her partners above. When you two responded, she let you in to draw me out from behind my shield. I shot her, but not in time to save Henri. The two upstairs set off the explosion, some kind of spell; it must have also started the fire. I killed the big one when they came to grab me. The other ran off.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Grab you? Why not just kill you?”
“Sam said they were under orders not to kill me, that they needed me alive.”
She cocked her head. “Orders?”
“Yes,” I shrugged. “At least that confirms I was right that there’s someone pulling the strings. Meaning there are at least two left. Maybe more.”
“What would they need you alive for?”
I chuckled weakly. “The last sacrifice, I imagine. I doubt they’re trying to recruit me. That’s why I’m home, and not in the hospital. I’m not sure why they didn’t try to take me while I was there—maybe they weren’t expecting the first plan to fail and didn’t have anyone ready to grab me that quickly—but the longer I stayed, the more likely it was they’d come looking. At home, I’m defended even when I’m in no state to fight.”
“Alright,” she frowned. “We got outplayed. The question is what do we do now? Can you figure out their next move?”
I thought about it for a minute, my fingers steepled in front of my face.
“Yes,” I answered. “Now that I know the actual ley-line shift rate, I can figure out where and when the next sacrifice will be. This time I’ll lie in wait from the start, and ambush them myself. Turnabout is fair play. And I won’t underestimate them again.”
I owed it to Lajoie, and to their other victims, to stop this threat. To make the sacrifice of his arm—and still possibly his life—meaningful, I needed to start acting like the sorcerer I was.
“Okay,” she said. “But before that, we’ve got something to take care of. After we almost burned down an entire apartment complex, the captain has been demanding answers. And thanks to your stunt checking yourself out of the hospital, he’s halfway convinced you’re involved in the whole thing. Before we can ambush anyone, unless you want to be the subject of a city-wide manhunt, we need to go talk to him. Convince him you’re one of the good guys, and even though we fucked up last time, we can still catch these sons of bitches.”
I actually smiled and met her eyes. “Okay, Adrienne. Give me an hour to figure out where and when we need to meet the killers. Then let’s go convince the captain.”
“You can have a little longer than that,” she replied, an eyebrow arched. “You should sober up first. And maybe shower.”