“It’s the truth.”
“I wish we had something more substantial. The Wardens said you saw an intruder, who ran. Any details you can add?”
Black eyes, and a smile like a bared knife. Long, taut muscles, dusky skin. Laughing. Taunting. “I have some leads to follow up, that’s all.”
“Nothing concrete? Nothing we can give Alaxic, or the King in Red?”
He saw Mal spinning through space, as demons’ claws clutched after her.
“No.”
6
“No?” Teo’s shout echoed through Muerte Coffee. The listless girl behind the register snapped shut the novel she’d been browsing, and scanned the tables in panic.
“Quiet,” Caleb hissed. The coffee shop was almost empty, but small. Anyone might be listening—the man in the pinstriped suit pretending not to read a tabloid’s swimsuit issue, the woman walking a pen through her fingers, the girl at the register. Only the garish yellow skeletons that adorned the walls seemed to be watching him, but you never knew.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“The Wardens already know there was a runner. It’s not as if I’m hiding that.”
“But you didn’t tell them the runner was a woman. Or that you spoke with her. Or that you know her name.”
“Part of her name. I don’t even know which part. She could have been lying.”
“That’s not your call.”
He shrugged. “I kept the information to myself because I thought Tollan should be the first to know—the crime hurt RKC more than the city.”
“But you didn’t tell Tollan, either.”
“No.”
“Concealing something like this from her, from the Wardens, from the King in Red—one of them will kill you. Or they won’t. They’ll make you beg for death, and hold it back.”
“I know I’m playing a dangerous game.”
“You can’t imagine how dangerous.”
“What do you think will happen to this woman if I tell them about her? Some Wardens will hunt her down, lock her in a cell, and tear her mind to shreds.”
“Isn’t that the point? She’s a poisoner.”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s a huge comfort, you having so much experience with this sort of thing.”
“She moved like a cliff runner. She was telling the truth about that.”
Teo dumped two spoons of sugar in her coffee and stirred. “So she’s a suicidal thrill-seeker who can evade our security. Sounds like an upstanding citizen.”
“Upstanding, maybe not. But I don’t think she’s a terrorist.”
Teo rolled her eyes. “You think she’s cute.”
“I think she stumbled into the middle of something way too big for her. I empathize.”
“And you think she’s cute.”
The bell over Muerte’s door rang six times to herald the arrival of a small pack of bankers, broad-shouldered men whose over-muscled arms strained against their jacket sleeves. Their hair spiked up from their skulls, and all their vowels converged to a dull schwa. As the bankers ordered triple espressos, Caleb changed the subject: “Tell me about Sam.”
Teo frowned, but knew better than to talk sensitive business in a crowded room. “It’s a new thing.” She stirred her coffee again, though the sugar was already dissolved. “She’s impulsive, smart, impractical. My type.”
“Actor?”
“Painter.”
“That’s a change.”
“Not all blondes are actors,” Teo said.
“Most of them are, around here.”
“The theaters think blondes are hot. I don’t make the public taste, even if I happen to agree with it.”
“Always with the foreign devils. Whatever happened to finding a nice Quechal girl and settling down?”
“You sound like my grandmother: ’Teotihual, if you must be an altar maid, at least stay within the pale of your own kind!’”
Caleb stifled a laugh. “She still says ’altar maid’ for women who like other women?”
“What do you expect from the older generation? Sensitivity training?”
“Pretty offensive, though.”
“Toothless. No one comes hunting for sacrifices these days.”
“Not too clear what ’pale’ means, either, sounds like.”
“Give her a break. Low Quechal’s her first language; she only speaks Kathic with me and my brothers because our Quechal’s so bad.”
The bell over the door rang again, and a wave of hot air ushered the bankers out. Through the window, Caleb watched them saunter into the pyramid next door. The air above the street shivered. He thought about thirst.
“You won’t tell Tollan about this girl,” Teo said after the door swung shut.
“Mal.”
“About Mal.”
“Correct.”
“What will you do, then?”
“I told you about her.”
“I mean what will you do next.”
He sipped his coffee. Teo’s eyes narrowed.
“You told me because you’re about to do something stupid, but you don’t know how stupid. You trust me to stop you from going too far.”
The coffee tasted like black, dense earth, and burned his throat on the way down.
“I’m not your conscience, Caleb.”
“I’m not asking you to be. I just want to talk things through. And I want someone to know what I’m up to, in case it all goes wrong.”
“You have a plan.”
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
“I want to find her. That’s the only way to know I’m right. Find her and learn who she is, what she saw.”
“No.”
“It’s not that bad an idea.”
“It’s not even possible, that’s how bad an idea it is. You’ve seen her once, and you might know part of her first name. Do you have any idea how many people live in the greater DL metro area?”
“Seventeen million, give or take a few hundred thou.”
“And how many of them have names that contain the syllable ’Mal’?”
“Mal’s probably short for Malina.”
“Don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”
“It’s a kind of cactus flower. Very traditional name. Your grandmother would love her.”
“So you have a name, possibly fake. What else?”
“She’s a cliff runner. She’s good, and rich enough to afford some High Quechal glyphwork. That narrows the range. Other runners should be able to lead me to her.”
“That’s assuming she told you the truth, about her name or about being a runner.” She frowned. “You’re interested in this girl.”
“Woman.”
“You’re interested in this woman.”
He might have lied, if there had been any chance of fooling Teo. “I’m interested. I’m interested, and I don’t want to sic the Wardens on her. I’ve seen what they do to people when they want answers. She was afraid last night.”
“Why would she be frightened if she wasn’t guilty?”
“I won’t dignify that with a response.” He stared out the window into the heat. “I don’t want someone else to burn for something my father or his cronies did. And she will burn, if the Wardens get their hands on her. They’ll crack her skull, pull the memories out, sew her back together again. Meanwhile, my father escapes unscathed, like always.”
“He told you he didn’t have anything to do with this one. Why would he lie?”
“Why tell the truth?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he admitted. “You remember university?”
“What do you think I’ve forgotten?”
“You remember when you told me you’d decided to break up with Ivan, that you’d met a girl. That you needed to do this, that it was a part of you. I asked you why you’d come to me. You said you had to know you were telling the truth to yourself, and the only way to know that was to tell it to someone you trusted to know when you were lying.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Do you think this is the same thing?”
“As coming out?” He put up his hands between them. “No. Of course not. Shit. Sorry.”
“Apology noted.”
“But this could kill me. I’m not being figurative. The Wardens will want my head for lying to them. I’m maybe obstructing justice, aiding and abetting who knows what. It’s not like I’m above suspicion, either. Tollan has been good to me, but I doubt she ever forgets who my father is. So I want to know—am I telling the truth? Is this something I need to do? Or am I about to commit suicide because I want to get in this woman’s pants?”
“I said I wouldn’t be your conscience.”
Caleb drained the last of his coffee, and stood. The shop felt too small. Skeletons mocked him from the walls, waving their arms in an obscene dance. Fire built inside him, fed by words he didn’t remember how to speak. Teo bit her lower lip, teeth showing white against her dark skin. Weighing scales shifted in her eyes.
“Do it,” she said at last, as if passing sentence. “Find her. But if you don’t manage it in two weeks, I’ll go to Tollan myself. She will kill you for keeping this from her, and I’ll never work in this city again because I waited to tell her. I’ll have to throw myself on the tender mercies of my family, and be cursed to wear nice dresses and glad-hand Craftswomen at parties, or else join my cousins in the hedonism tango. I’ll hire a Craftsman to raise you from the dead once Tollan’s done with you, just so I can kill you again. I’ll do that whenever I get bored. And life with my family is so. Very. Boring.” She emphasized each word with a tap of her forefinger on the table.
“You’re serious.”
“I am serious.”
“Why let me look for her at all? Why not go to Tollan right now, or force me to?”
“Because four years ago you would have gone all in with two queens in hand and a third showing, rather than let yourself be bluffed out of the pot. Because you used to have fire, and you’ve got scared. You’re becoming a risk manager in truth as well as title, and it’s hard to watch. This is a stupid idea, but I won’t stand in your way. In fact, I’ll lay you a soul and a half that you won’t be able to find her and learn what she knows before my two week deadline’s up.”
“Three thousand thaums.” Two months’ payment on his house. Buy-in for one hell of a high-stakes game. “Odds?”
“I’ll give you two-to-one against. I don’t want to bankrupt you.”
“You sure you can cover it? I don’t want to send you running back to Mama when I come to collect. I know how uncomfortable your family makes you.”
“You should talk.”
“You’re on.”
They shook. The yellow skeletons grinned.
He grinned back at them.
7
The next day’s dawn clawed at Caleb’s eyes. He tugged his hat brim low, and climbed the gravel path that wound up the sandy hill toward Heartstone’s headquarters. The driverless carriage that had brought him rolled away into heat and haze.
Caleb felt about sunrise the way he felt about RKC’s accounting department: necessary, and best kept at a distance. But Alaxic, Heartstone’s chief executive, was a busy man, and when he set the meeting early, Caleb hadn’t argued—he needed this talk to end well. If Alaxic took pressure off the King in Red, the King should relax his grip on Tollan and the Wardens, leaving Caleb free to search for Mal. If not, Caleb’s chances for finding her dwindled to nothing. Especially if the Wardens decided to peek inside his head for any details about the runner he might have missed.
Dry dwarf pines rustled beside the path. Caleb turned to look, and a slender blade settled against the swell of his throat. He froze. Sharp points and edges pressed into his back. A needle breathed over his right eyelid. He heard the silence of something large standing still, and near.
“State your name and business,” said a voice like chalk on slate.
“Caleb Altemoc.” He swallowed. His throat pressed against the security demon’s claw. “I’m from RKC, here to see Alaxic.” Slowly, he reached into his pocket, and slid his badge out of his wallet. “I have an appointment.”
The claw did not slide across Caleb’s throat, nor did the spines of the demon’s chest impale him. This was probably a good sign.
Caleb waited.
The Tzimet in Bright Mirror Reservoir were to proper demons what a monkey was to a man: similar in shape, sometimes even stronger, but pale imitations with regard to intellect and cruelty.
Minutes passed. He waited on the hillside, millimeters from death.
Footsteps. He tried to turn his head, but the thorns at his cheek prevented him.
A woman entered his field of vision: skin a shade darker than Teo’s, face round, red-tinged hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a khaki suit with a knee-length skirt, and carried a clipboard. She glanced from his face to the clipboard, and held out her hand. “You must be Caleb. I’m Allesandre Olim. Mister Alaxic is eager to meet you.”
Claws, blades, and thorns released him. One moment, a sneeze would have driven ten spikes through Caleb’s skull; the next, he stood free on the path. Caleb accepted Allesandre’s hand and shook it. Her grip was firm, and she did not smile.
“Apologies for the security. Our work here is delicate, and dangerous. This way, please.”
“You have effective guards,” Caleb said, and would have turned to look behind him. Allesandre shook her head, and he stopped. “The demon’s still there, isn’t it?”
“Will you follow me?” she said, and left the path.
Caleb followed. The hillside where they walked looked rocky and uneven, tangled with sagebrush and weeds, but he felt a smooth stone walkway under his feet.
Allesandre led him to a circle of standing stones. With a wave of her clipboard she slid a five-hundred-pound altar aside, revealing a rough-hewn tunnel into the earth, and rock steps descending.
They climbed down the steps for a long time.
At first the tunnel felt warm as desert noon, then warm as a baker’s oven. Dim red light illuminated wall carvings of the Hero Sisters, eagle-headed gods, and of course serpents: the ancient Quechal who dug this passage had etched a double bar of stylized scales under each graven figure.
“This,” Caleb said, “is a strange place to work.” The Quechal carvings reminded him of childhood, of nights listening to his father chant holy tales of blood and murder. He remembered some of these designs from the walls of his father’s temple in the Skittersill, before it burned. “You don’t see carvings like these anymore.”
“The bas reliefs are authentic,” Allesandre said. “Five hundred years old, give or take a century.”
Caleb lifted his hand from the wall. “Trying to save on real estate?”
“Hardly,” she replied. “Sites like this are vital to our work.”