"Yes," Phil said, giggling. "Chris worked a case a couple of years ago, where the ghost of this child was haunting some fancy little neighborhood of rich people. They'd let the child die of neglect, and the child turned into a ghost when he died. His agony was great enough to summon a Black Dog, and after Chris figured out the problem and punished the people in the complex, the Dog stuck with him. He's fascinated by the way Chris is half-ghost."
"I have heard that before," Johnnie murmured. "I did not know the veracity of it. That territory is on the opposite side of the country, and we have little reason to interact with Sable Brennus."
Phil grinned. "You're welcome to drop by anytime, just make sure you bring an umbrella. I heard you were there recently, weren't you?"
"Yes," Johnnie said, nodding toward Bergrin.
Phil looked toward Bergrin in surprise. "Oh? I did not know you were from my neck of the woods. Where do you live?"
"The historic district just outside the city. My father owns Shale Estate."
"Ah," Phil said, smiling. "It's a beautiful district. Shale Estate is the oldest house there, I believe. How remarkable; I did not even realize you were that Bergrin."
Bergrin shrugged. "We've always preferred to live quietly; my father is very private."
Phil nodded. "Of course." She turned to Johnnie. "Do you know his family history?"
"I know there are precious few abnormals in his family tree, and that they have been in Brennus' territory for a long time," Johnnie said, annoyed and not entirely certain why.
"They helped settled the territory, even before Sable arrived and staked a claim," Phil said. "They were the only law in the area for a very long time."
Bergrin shrugged. "If by law you mean shooting first, hanging second, asking questions later on."
"So babysitting runs in the blood, as well?" Johnnie asked. "You never mentioned your prestigious history of enforcing."
"That is because it amounted to very little," Bergrin said with a shrug. "It was a matter of survival. It hardly made us rich or famous, and it killed as many Bergrins as it did supposed criminals. All it amounts to is being able to say we're as old as the territory itself. I have always been more interested in the abnormal aspects of my family, rather than the normal."
Johnnie nodded. "Certainly it is the abnormal bits of one's family history that seem to cause the most trouble." He frowned, pensive mood returning as he brooded over all that his father had said—and what he still refused to say.
What could Tommy have made that was so awful no one wanted to admit what it was? Had he managed to make one of the impossible relics?
No, that was illogical. They were called impossible relics for a reason. In situations like these, it was always that the alchemist had made something he had never thought of, and which he did not know how to accidentally make a second time.
He drummed his fingers on his cane, his other hand bracing his chin as he stared out the car window again.
"You look lost in some serious thinking," Phil said. "I haven't looked that unhappy since I broke up with my last serious boyfriend ten years ago. Abnormal men are even more annoying to date than normal, let me tell you."
Johnnie laughed, even if the words stirred an ache in his chest. "I agree wholeheartedly, milady. That dance is tricky enough, without feeling as though you are dancing in the dark to music you do not know."
"That is perfectly said," Phil said, then smiled faintly. "You and your father are the first real gentlemen I have encountered in some time, but like all gentlemen, you are not for me to touch." She sighed. "Ah, well. So it goes. What had you frowning so, Johnnie?"
"Secrets," Johnnie said. "Everyone likes to keep secrets, and leave me out of them. I am tired of it."
"Is that what you were discussing when I intruded?" Phil asked. "I am sorry, I know how frustrating it is to be kept in the dark. It's been, oh, more years than I like to count, since someone tried to use me in a demonic ceremony. I didn't know what was going on, no one would tell me, and I felt like they were all treating me like a child—my father, Chris, everyone I pestered. But I pushed and pushed, and here I am, past fifty but still young looking." Her smile was bittersweet. "I buried my father, a few friends, and I am careful to avoid the rest until all that remains of my normal life finally fades away. I love my life, and do not regret my choices, but I better understand now why everyone tried to keep me in the dark."
Johnnie shrugged impatiently. "I ceased to have a normal life the moment my parents were murdered; I am tired of people trying to keep me partly normal."
"Well, from what little I know of you," Phil said, "if no one tells you the truth, you will uncover it yourself. Just be careful, Johnnie. Better to dance in the dark than be devoured by it."
"I know," Johnnie replied quietly. "Believe me, I am all too aware of what can happen in the dark."
They lapsed into silence then, and Johnnie slid a brief look at Bergrin, sitting directly opposite him. Bergrin, to his surprise, seemed troubled. A deep frown cut hard lines into his face, and he for once seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings.
Johnnie hesitated, then reached out with his cane and struck Bergrin lightly on the leg. "What has you looking gloomy, babysitter?"
"Hm?" Bergrin asked, then his eyes cleared as he left his thoughts to focus on Johnnie. "Uh. Nothing of importance. I apologize."
Rolling his eyes, Johnnie struck him again with a little more force. "Fine. If it is nothing, stop scowling." He withdrew his cane, and laid it across his lap again, then resumed staring out the window. The car lapsed into silence, save for brief, soft laughter from Phil.
They arrived at the Bremen four long hours later, and Johnnie gave Phil his arm, wondering with amusement how the others would react to his guest.
Inside, the entire room stopped, several pairs of eyes locked on Phil. Hanging up her coat, Phil smoothed her hair, then beamed at all of them. She strode to the bar, heels clicking on the floor, shockingly loud in the stunned silence, and leaned on the counter. Smiling at Peyton, she said, "Hey, there, wolf. Could I get a whiskey sour?"
"Sure thing," Peyton managed, and went to make the drink, pausing only to slide a shot of vodka across the bar for Johnnie.
Johnnie picked up the shot and tossed it back, then turned to the rest of the room and said, "Stop gawking. Walsh, you are about to set something on fire with that cigar."
Jerking into motion, Walsh set the cigar hastily aside in a tray, then moved with the others almost as one.
Heath snickered from the far end of the bar. "Johnnie, Johnnie. However did you wind up with a woman clearly too good for you?"
Phil laughed, then thanked Peyton as he brought her drink. "Hello, boys. It's nice to meet you. What an interesting mix you've got here." She glanced at Heath. "You're Heath Etherton."
Johnnie's eyes snapped to Heath. "Are you really?"
"I was, yes," Heath said tersely. "I was disowned. I like it here. You didn't come here to discuss me."
"No," Phil said. "We came to meet with Micah."
"That's me," Micah said from one of the tables, lifting his beer in greeting. He smiled at Phil, then glanced at Johnnie. "What do you need from me?"
"Everything you know about plane crossing," Johnnie said. "Let us talk upstairs." He walked across the bar to the door leading up to his rooms, not giving anyone a chance to argue.
Phil murmured a thanks and a farewell to the other men, then followed along with Micah and Bergrin. "Nice place," she commented as she sat down in one of the leather chairs in the living area. "And above a bar. I've got a nice penthouse these days, but it lacks the charm of this place."
Johnnie smiled briefly in thanks, as he sat down in his favorite place on his leather sofa. Bergrin sat down next to him, startling Johnnie. He fought an urge to shift—and hated he was not certain if he wanted to move further away or closer in, and
why
must he be noticing his damned babysitter this way? Life had been much easier, even with all his recent complications, before his awareness of Bergrin had become sexually charged.
Micah sat down in the other leather chair set next to Phil's, with a table between them. "So what can I tell you, Johnnie?"
"We have had an interesting string of murders," Johnnie began, and told him all that Phil had earlier related.
"Yeah, that sounds like plane crossing," Micah said when he had finished. "Sounds like they were pulled into dreaming while half-asleep, and gradually woken still trapped there—then thrown out of it, or possibly fell out of it when they died."
Bergrin stirred at that. "Bodies do not typically move from the plane in which they died. Souls do, but not bodies."
Johnnie's brows rose. "You sound certain of that."
"I am," Bergrin said.
"How can you know that? No one knows much of anything about travelling the planes, let alone what happens when a person belongs to one plane, but dies in another."
Bergrin did not reply, and in fact looked sorry that he had spoken.
One more secret, Johnnie thought bitterly. One more stupid, infuriating secret. "Fine, keep your precious secrets. Everyone else does." Not giving Bergrin a chance to reply, he turned back to Micah and said, "How could one do that?"
Micah shrugged. "There are spells, but that sort of thing is generally a onetime only sort of thing. Summoning a demon from hell, calling down an angel, bringing forth a Jinn—any of it. But once their binding is broken, or their power grows too great in the case of a demon, then back they go. Once brought out and sent back, there usually is no second trip. In the case of normals and less powerful abnormals jumping planes, it's most often a one way street. It's … too taxing, I guess, except in the case of the dream plane. And, well, how well do normals or even abnormals remember their dreams?"
"I would not know," Johnnie said. "I do not dream."
"Probably you just do not remember them at all," Phil said. "Many don't."
Johnnie disagreed, for he had read enough about dreams and dreaming over the years to know for a certainty that he did not dream, but he did not press the matter. "So what is one way to get a regular abnormal from the mortal plane to the dream plane without them being completely asleep?"
"Powerful spell work," Micah replied. "You probably already knew that. It's definitely nothing I could do, not without getting into the sort of alchemy that no one should get mixed up in. You're talking powerful witch work, and then only if it's a damned good witch. More likely, it's sorcerer or necromancer level. It wouldn't be unlike how that cane was made actually." He nodded at the cane Johnnie still held.
Flourishing it, Johnnie examined the runes, then said, "Explain."
Micah did not look happy, but said, "An item that can cross all the planes must be made with the lifeblood of a creature from every plane. That is why I do not make more of them. That is why I do not want anyone else to have it. That is why I will die before I share the secret with anyone who might abuse it. You three already know more than any other living person, and I tell you only because I trust you, Johnnie, and am willing to trust your friends."
"No one will ever hear it from me," Phil promised solemnly.
"It is not possible to capture a creature from every plane," Bergrin said. "Most can be summoned, but not all. No one even knows for certain how many planes there truly are, which ones are myth, which ones are fact."
Micah shrugged. "The secret of the cane's making has been passed down orally through many generations. The finer points of it, we have purposely lost. My father always surmised that the one who actually made the cane must have had help from a sorcerer who was able to summon forth all the necessary creatures. Demon, angel, whatever dream creature—I do not know them all, I only know the cane exists, and that to make it required murdering each of those creatures and binding their essence to the cane."
Johnnie grimaced as he examined his cane again, and quoted, "He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."
Beside him, Bergrin grunted. "I shudder to think what they did and tried before finally getting the experiment correct."
"I agree," Phil murmured. "So how does all of this tie in to the dead women, you think? Someone is trying to step it up from objects to living persons?"
Johnnie frowned, thinking, then pulled out his phone and punched one of the speed dials. "Come see me," he said, then hung up.
A moment later, Rostislav appeared by the window. He smiled at Johnnie in amusement. "You summoned, Master Johnnie? You are lucky I was not otherwise occupied."
"Jesse is always in his business meetings this time of day," Johnnie said dismissively. "Nothing else you do now is more important."
Rostislav laughed, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the window. "So how might I serve, oh lord and master?"
Johnnie rolled his eyes, then said, "You said once that there were rumors of someone interested in plane crossing."
"Yes," Rostislav replied slowly, pushing away from the wall again, hands falling to his side. "Someone is hunting plane crossing relics, through fair means and foul. Mostly foul—extremely foul. No one knows who or why, only that lately that sort of thing has been highly in demand. Word is that if you have one, guard it heavily or give it up. I also heard the same someone was hunting plane-crossing creatures, but I can't imagine there are many, if any, of those just floating around. There is no creature that can just cross the planes."