Living with the Dead

FINN



FINN HAD PASSED THE PHOTO of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he’d interviewed as a witness a few years back.

“But my guy died before the case came to trial,” the detective said. “Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn’t give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn’t. One of those companies that doesn’t seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy’s name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I’d pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there.”

Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn’t bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.

Now Finn was trolling the Nast Corporation Web site, searching in vain for photos of the executives while Damon continued roaming the department, eavesdropping. Madoz arrived, looking for an update. Finn gave it to him, then showed him the photo.

“That’s Irving Nast,” he said without hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Works for the Nast Corporation. Vice president of something or other. He’s the CEO’s nephew. I had a case a couple of years ago, one of their employees was killed in a hit-and-run. The widow had this nutty conspiracy theory. Claimed the company did it.”

“Orchestrated a hit-and-run?”

Madoz laughed. “Yeah. Apparently the guy quit his job the week before. Definitely a hanging offense.” He shook his head. “Total bullshit, but I had to follow through. I think the widow was hoping they’d pay her to shut up. Anyway, my liaison with the firm was Irving Nast.

Nice enough guy. Confused as hell about the whole thing, but cooperated fully. Wish they were all that easy.”

“Did you have a home number for him?”

“I think so. Let me grab the file.”



FINN CALLED Irving Nast’s home number and got his wife. That made things tricky. Nast had cooperated with Madoz, but he might be less inclined to do so when the matter involved a potential indiscretion with a very young woman. Without admitting why he was calling, Finn was able to get Nast’s wife to tell him where he was—at the office for a few hours—but couldn’t persuade her to part with a cell phone number. So a drop-by visit was in order.

As Finn drove to the Nast head office, Damon’s fingers drummed against his leg. He had been like that since the shooting, disappearing into his thoughts, sometimes so much that he faded, once vanishing completely for a few minutes before surging back with a fresh spurt of energy.

The woman’s death had bothered him, Finn knew, but more than that, watching her husband’s shock and grief had reminded him of Robyn. Last night, Damon said he expected he’d be kept away if Finn found Robyn. But Finn knew he’d hoped that being allowed into the fair meant the barrier had been lifted. He’d expected to see her. Now that disappointment kept pulling him under.

Damon balled his fist and shook it. When he rested his hand on the door handle, though, it took only a minute before he started drumming again. His fingers made no sound, and the unnaturalness of it made Finn turn the radio up another notch. It didn’t help. He could still feel the weight of Damon’s mood.

“How’d you two meet?” he asked finally.

He had to say it twice before Damon responded, “Huh?”

“You and Robyn. How did you meet?”

Damon’s eyes lit up, but the smile was hesitant as he studied Finn, judging whether he was just being polite.

“Did you go to college together?” Finn asked.

Damon shook his head. “She was a friend of my younger sister.”

“So your sister introduced . . .”

“Not exactly.” Damon’s hand moved to his lap, fingers still now. “We met at her wedding—my sister’s, that is. Her fiancé was this hotshot stockbroker, liked to throw his money around, so he insisted on a huge wedding. Robyn was more of an acquaintance than a friend, but she made the guest list. They had this wedding planner who was big on forced mingling. You know, putting guests at a table where they don’t know anyone? Bobby got the seat next to me. Everyone else was from the groom’s side—coworkers and friends.”

“So you talked to her, made her feel welcome.”

“Bobby didn’t need help mingling. She’s quiet—compared to me—but she’s great at making small talk. Gotta be, in her job. These girls we were sitting with, though? They only knew two kinds of small talk. Gossip and snark. Now, if you want to engage in a serious conversation about the propriety of the groom’s stepmother wearing a leather miniskirt to the wedding, Bobby’s your girl. But sniping and backbiting? No. That was the first thing that got my attention—the way she handled it. Most people would have joined in just to be included. Bobby tried, very politely, to steer the conversation in more constructive directions. When that failed, she backed out.”

“And talked to you.”

Damon’s smile burst into a grin. “By that point, I was the one doing the initiating. I asked about her job, she asked about mine. Few things kill a girl’s interest faster than ‘I’m a junior high math teacher,’ and I came this close to mentioning my band gig instead. But I could tell that wouldn’t fly with Bobby. So I told the truth, and she was cool with it. Interested even. We got talking so much, I didn’t notice when dessert was served, which, for me, is a miracle.”

He paused, as if watching the movie in his head, one he’d replayed so many times he could mouth along with the words.

“And that was it then,” Finn said. “You asked her out.”

“Wasn’t quite that easy. We were both seeing other people. For me, that other relationship was over before the meal was. Robyn had to be convinced, and that wasn’t easy when she wouldn’t even have coffee with me while she was involved with another guy.”

Finn liked that. It supported the picture he was forming of Robyn Peltier as someone principled and honest, someone he could work with and help . . . if only he got the chance.

“You ever read The Godfather?” Damon asked.

It took a moment for Finn to slide back from his thoughts. “Seen the movie.”

Damon’s eyes rolled up in thought. “Not sure if it’s in the movie. I read the book when I was young. There’s this part where Michael Corleone meets his first fiancée, in Sicily, and this old guy says Michael was hit by the thunderbolt. I remember rolling my eyes at that. Really schmaltzy, like something from a bad romance novel. But the night my sister got married, I understood what it meant. Sounds corny as hell, but it’s true. You can meet someone and, bam, it’s like being hit by a thunderbolt.”

“Love at first sight.”

“Mmm, I guess so. But that always sounds so . . . passive. It’s not like that at all. It wakes you up with a jolt and you know your life is never going to be the same. Say what you will about fate and that metaphysical shit, but I don’t think our meeting was a coincidence, us sitting together, alone, our significant others unable to attend. Me and Bobby, it just . . . works, you know? We have something.” He paused. “Had something.” Another pause, then Damon looked out the window. After a moment, his fingers returned to the armrest, silently drumming.





COLM





COLM HAD TO WARN ADELE.

He took out the cell phone she’d given him, the one she’d taken from Robyn. She’d set up a speed-dial number to her cell phone. He called it . . . and got a message saying she was unavailable.

He tried twice more. She must have accidentally turned it off. He had to get to their meeting place. He ran behind the bookstore, his chest so tight that each breath seemed to lodge in his throat.

What had happened in there?

Adele had made it sound so simple. Get Robyn Peltier out and Adele would take it from there.

But she hadn’t said how to get Robyn out. Maybe she thought it was so simple he didn’t need instructions. But it hadn’t been simple at all.

He’d hesitated and, in that hesitation, he’d betrayed Adele.

The kumpania taught that the gods punished mortals for laziness, for letting fate lead the way, for failing to take decisive action in shaping their own destiny. Adele knew how to please the gods. She’d never hesitated to take the most difficult steps to protect herself and the kumpania. A strong, shining example, like his mother. Colm was weak, indecisive and afraid, like his father.

His mother never said anything negative about his father, but Colm had heard the rumors. His father had been a durjardo, like Adele, an outside clairvoyant welcomed into the kumpania. Unlike Adele, though, he’d failed to assimilate and in the end, he’d abandoned his family, and for that he’d died. Killed by the gods. Given a chance at the best possible life for a clairvoyant, he had turned his back on it.

Now Colm saw himself failing, like his father. He’d followed Robyn Peltier . . . and walked straight into a trap. He’d never told Adele about that couple at the apartment. He’d seen the man’s supernatural powers. He’d suspected the woman’s powers. But he’d refused to consider the implications. He’d run away.

Adele had thought Robyn was an unwitting pawn. She’d been wrong. Robyn was part of the plan to capture Adele for the Nast Cabal. If there had been any doubt, any sense he might be overreacting, it had been erased when he’d seen the man in the ball cap.

Colm knew him. He had no idea how or from where, but one look at the man’s face and recognition had hit like a fist to his stomach. With that recognition came the feeling that seeing him was bad, horribly and impossibly bad. That meant the man had to be from the Cabal.

Like every kumpania child, Colm had undergone “the lessons.” He couldn’t remember much about them, but sometimes he’d have nightmares and wake gasping and shaking, remembering snippets of a basement room and Niko’s voice and photographs being flashed on a screen and jolts of indescribable pain. Seeing that man, and feeling that dread, Colm knew he must have seen him in those photographs—pictures of people who worked for the Cabal.

The man had said Colm’s name. Not once, but twice. And Colm had seen his future—locked in a Cabal cell, forced to use his clairvoyant powers until he fell into madness, consumed by his visions.

The accidental dropping of his gun had seemed almost a stroke of good luck. As the security guard bore down on him, gun at the ready, Colm had seen his escape route—the final release every kumpania child was taught to take if he was ever cornered by a Cabal. All he had to do was reach for the fallen gun and the guard would free him.

But the Cabal man hadn’t been about to let that happen. And when he distracted the guard, giving Colm a chance to escape, he’d taken it.

He hurried around the rear corner. No sign of Adele. That was okay—she’d be hidden ahead, trusting he had everything under control.

He slowed, thinking of how he could slant the events to favor him without downplaying the danger. When he had his story ready, he picked up his pace and looked behind the bin where Adele was supposed to wait.

She wasn’t there.

Disappointment and dread prickled under his skin, and he stamped his feet, shaking it off. He had to focus. So she wasn’t here. Big deal. He’d been gone a long time and she must have set out to see what was wrong.

But why not just call him?

Her cell phone must be broken, which is why he couldn’t get through. Or maybe his was. If it came from Robyn and Robyn was with the Cabal, then he shouldn’t be using it at all. Maybe Robyn had planted a trace in it. That would explain how they’d known he was in the bookstore.

He took out the cell phone and pitched it against the wall. It didn’t break, but made a satisfying crack. He kicked it under a bin. Then he strode back around the building to find Adele.



COLM CLIMBED THE FENCE behind the store, dropped to the other side and huddled there, knees clasped to his chest, his back to the fence, gaze darting side to side, knowing he wouldn’t see anyone, but looking anyway.

He’d circled the store and weaved through the parking lot looking for her, one eye always fixed on the store doors. There was a police car in the lot, meaning officers were inside. When they’d come out, he’d hid between two minivans, then balled up his nerve and tailed a group of kids his age into the store. Adele hadn’t been in there either.

He’d found a pay phone and tried her cell, but got that same “unavailable” message. He’d even tried catching a vision of her. He knew he couldn’t—clairvoyant powers didn’t work on one another—but he’d hoped their connection, their love, might help him past that barrier. It hadn’t.

He couldn’t find her. And he couldn’t find any of the others—Robyn, the pretty Indian girl, her boyfriend or the ball-cap-wearing man. That could only mean one thing: they’d taken Adele.

That’s why they hadn’t chased him. He was just a boy, coming into his powers. Adele was a trained clairvoyant, her powers proven. She was their only target.

The incident in the store had been staged. Robyn led him to the pretty girl, making him realize something was wrong, making him worry. Then the man called his name, sending the worry into full panic, distracting him while the girl’s superhuman boyfriend snatched Adele outside.

He had to call the kumpania.

But what if he was wrong? What if Adele was looking for him? And if Niko learned she’d been targeted by a Cabal and had said nothing, leaving the entire kumpania exposed . . .

Colm rubbed his hands against his jeans to clear the images from his head. Niko wouldn’t kill Adele, no matter what kumpania law said. He’d give her another chance. He had to. Colm couldn’t bear to think—

He rubbed harder, the rough seam scraping his palms, skin burning from the friction.

Why hadn’t she told Niko from the start? By not admitting it, she’d only made the situation worse and now he was stuck making decisions he should never have to make.

He clenched and unclenched his hands, exhaling slowly. He’d make one more round of the parking lot and store, and then he’d call his mother. If Adele didn’t like that, too bad. Saving her from the Cabal was all that mattered.

He hefted himself up onto the wooden fence, a simple sound barrier that wobbled under his weight. He made it to the top when a slender, light-haired woman rounded the bookstore back corner.

Adele’s name sprang to his lips. Then the woman stepped from the shadow, shading her eyes to look up at him on the fence, and he saw it was Robyn Peltier.

He twisted to scramble back down.

“Wait!” she called. “We need to talk to you.”

He leapt from the fence. One knee buckled as he landed, and he fell on all fours. A shadow passed over him. He looked up to see the man from the apartment vaulting the fence.

Colm tried to bolt, but the man landed in his path. His eyes met Colm’s and something shamefully like a whimper bubbled in the boy’s throat. The man lifted his chin. A slight tilt of the head, raising his nose, nostrils flaring . . . and Colm knew what was standing in front of him. A werewolf.

Colm’s insides liquefied and a few drops trickled down his leg. The werewolf’s nostrils flared again, as if he could smell Colm’s humiliation.

The man lifted a finger, a subtle “wait” to someone. Colm noticed the pretty girl from the apartment on the fence. The man kept his gaze locked with Colm’s.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” he said. “We just need to talk.”

Colm’s gaze shunted to the side, looking and praying for Adele.

“She’s gone,” said the girl from her fence-top post. “We just want to talk. We can go someplace that you’ll feel safe, someplace public—”

Colm bolted. He knew it was useless. The man was a werewolf—he could lunge and break Colm’s neck before he made it five feet. When he didn’t, he glanced back to see the man still standing where he’d left him.

As Colm turned, he saw why. A middle-aged man stood in the medical building lot, his key fob extended, now stopped to watch what was unfolding at the fence line.

Colm checked over his shoulder one more time, then broke into a full out run for the building. The man in the parking lot watched Colm, his key fob still in hand, other reaching toward his car door. When Colm reached the building door, the man nodded, as if he’d done his duty, seen the boy to safety. He opened his car door.

Colm reached for the building door. If it was locked, he’d run to the man in the car, make up some story. If it opened, that meant there were more people inside and he could hide there.

He pulled the door. It swung open. He ran through.