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“You are not going to believe what’s happened. The news about Gambit got out on the early news, plus his photo. We’ve had five women come in already, claiming he raped them, too. Three FBHs, another Fae, one elf.”
“That motherfucking piece of trash—”
“Yeah, I agree. Of course, Gambit’s protesting his innocence and went into martyr mode. He used his phone call to contact the editor of his yellow rag, who first staged the protests and then called a lawyer for Gambit. And the guy he hired is apparently on the payroll with the same attitude that Gambit has. This is going to be sticky, because two of Gambit’s victims are from Otherworld. Technically, I could extradite him, but the crowd out there would go insane.”
“If we could get him to confess, it would make it so much easier.” I didn’t like the thought of Gambit on trial. There were too many things that could go wrong in a rape trial. Even with a serial rapist. Alfina was a gorgeous woman; the mindset that a woman deserved what she got was still far too ingrained in society—both Earthside and parts of Otherworld.
“That’s not likely to happen. Unless…” Chase jumped up. “Wait here.”
As he left the room, I opened the packet of information Trytian had given me. The top page was a photo of the bald-headed man—or at least a bald-headed man, but he was gaunt and lean, and tough looking, so he was probably our Koyanni. Around his neck was a pendant. One of the spirit seals.
“That’s our man.” Trillian picked up the dossier on him and began to read. “Name is Newkirk. No address, but it says here that he’s been spotted at the Energy Exchange. In fact…it says here he’s one of the regulars.”
Camille leaned over his shoulder. “Looks like we’re going clubbing tonight. What else is in that packet of info?”
I flipped through the pages; there was information on Gulakah—mostly what we already knew. He sure looked like a buttload of laughs. On the last page was a schematic of the bar. As I examined the layout, it became apparent there were several hidden areas, including…a tunnel.
“Want to make a bet there’s an entrance from Underground Seattle?”
“What better place to use to hide things you don’t want the cops to find out? Or to hide when enemies come looking?” Shade drummed his fingers on the table.
“I think the real question is, do they know what that pendant is? Do they understand the significance? The Koyanni looking for Amber’s spirit seal didn’t. All they knew was that it was of great religious significance to them, and it gave their leader powers.” Camille shook her head. “I’m not betting the Koyanni know the true nature of the gem, but want to make a bet that Van and Jaycee do and they’re biding their time to try to retrieve it for Shadow Wing?”
I skimmed through the pages until I found what I was looking for.
“It’s no coincidence that Gulakah showed up here at this point.” I pointed to one of the paragraphs. “Here—it says that Newkirk showed up on the scene a couple weeks ago. Van and Jaycee took an immediate interest in him.”
“They recognized the spirit seal?” Trillian rapped his fingers on the table.
“Yeah. My bet is that they’ve figured out that Newkirk really does have one of the spirit seals and that they called home to Shadow Wing for help. Chances are, they don’t know how powerful Newkirk is—yet. If they try to steal the seal by themselves and fail, that’s going to look really bad to Big Daddy back home in the Sub-Realms.”
“So, call for help and that way, it removes the responsibility from Van and Jaycee should something go wrong.” Smoky said. “Which means the demon general knows exactly who has the spirit seal.”
“Which means we’re not the only ones after Newkirk. A three-way race against someone determined to keep what they’ve got. Us, Trytian, and the demons.” The potential results of that race didn’t make me altogether comfortable. In fact, two out of the three possible end scenarios weren’t in our favor.
Chase opened the door and slipped back in. We looked at him, waiting. He cocked his head to the side, a faint smile flickering across his lips. “I just went to check on something and we may have lucked out. Turns out one of our FBH rape victims reported the attack when it happened a year and a half ago. They got DNA off her, but no hits were ever made, and though she described her attacker to the sketch artist, there were never any leads. We already ordered a DNA swab from Andy Gambit in Alfina’s case. We’ll know in a couple of days. I put a rush on it.”
“It’s going to be positive. You know it is, and then we make that pervert fry. Now, we’ve got some info for you about one of the spirit seals. We have a new demon general in town.” My cell rang and I stopped to answer it. The Caller ID read Trytian. Crap, what now?
I flipped it open, listened to what Trytian had to say, and then turned to the others. “Don’t they ever give it a rest? Van and Jaycee have been spotted over in one of the graveyards. They’re with Telazhar, raising the dead—who knows for what purpose? Looks like they’re intent on wreaking as much havoc as possible.” I turned to Chase. “Can we borrow weapons? Not guns, of course, but my dagger’s at home and so is Trillian’s sword, and Camille’s knife.”
Chase nodded. As he called for Shamas to get a couple of long daggers from the armory, we grabbed our jackets. “I wish I could go with you, but I need my men here, in case things get ugly. Gambit’s incarcerated here, and I don’t want a situation where there’s a run on the station.”
“No problem. We can take care of this,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. At that moment, Shamas hurried in and handed Trillian, Camille, and me each a good-sized dagger. They weren’t silver but they were sharp, with cool steel hilts. As we headed toward the door, I gave them directions.
“We’re headed to Freeburg Cemetery, a secluded graveyard in the West Seattle area.” West Seattle wasn’t all that far from the Industrial District, where the Energy Exchange bar was.
As we burst out the doors, we saw that the protest had swelled dramatically. There were three times as many protesters as there had been when we entered the building, but the majority of the new ones carried counterprotest signs. The media was having a field day, news crews all over, taking photographs and filming the relatively peaceful mob. I spotted Tim, standing with a bullhorn. He stood next to Neely, who had another bullhorn. Waving to them, I scrambled into my Jeep and put the car into gear as Shade joined me.
“I wish I’d brought Lysanthra,” I muttered. “She’s silver and works really well against the undead.”
“Yes, but at least we have blades.” Shade nodded. “We’ll just have to get along with what we have. We don’t have time to go home.”
“Yeah, I know. But from now on, we go armed everywhere. I’ve been caught twice in the past few days relying on what I had on hand. Not again.”
As we peeled out of the parking lot, following Camille’s Lexus, life felt all too chaotic. I longed for the days when we were a small band, fighting what seemed like a relatively tame enemy.
Freeburg Cemetery was the home of the unclaimed dead, the final resting place for those with no money for fancy funerals or family to acknowledge them. A group of churches—including the United Worlds Church—contributed to the upkeep, as well as the burial of the indigent, the homeless, and the nameless.
