Otherworld Nights (38 page)

“Yep, and that’s the best I can do, despite every effort to get me on the girls’ basketball team in school.”

“No one ever tried getting me on our team, as you might guess. Mine was track, because I was fast. Mostly just running away from other kids, though.”

“Now you don’t need to run. Just disappear. Then pop out behind and clock them.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“When did it start? The teleporting?”

“Two years ago, when I was fifteen. Denver and I … we’re on our own. Mom died when I was twelve and our dad took off a few months later. I do pretty well in school, so I had a scholarship to a good one, but not the money to look like I belonged there. I got hassled. That day, it was three guys. If it’d been just one, I could take him. Denver taught me some decent moves and, like I said, I’m fast. But three? Running like hell was the only option. So I did, and then—
poof
, I ended up clear across the school yard in one stride.”

“Cool,” I said. “Also, shit-your-pants scary if you don’t know what’s going on.”

“I totally freaked out. I kept trying to come up with rational explanations. The best I could manage was that I blanked. That I was running and had some kind of adrenaline surge and my brain shorted out. Which didn’t explain the fact that those three guys were as freaked out as I was, swearing they’d seen me vanish. Of course, they were potheads, so I blamed that. But then it kept happening.”

He continued his story. It wasn’t a short one. These things never are—you don’t wake up one morning able to teleport and find answers by evening. It took Adam’s mom a long time to get from “my kid’s a budding pyromaniac” to Robert Vasic’s door. So it was with Keefer, except instead of a mother who wouldn’t accept easy answers, it had been his brother.

The first year had been fumbling in the dark. They started with the most rational explanation—that he was blacking out when he ran. They spent more money than they could afford before learning there was nothing physically wrong with Keefer, and if he persisted in this delusion, the doctors suggested he was in need of psychiatric help. By then, Denver and Keefer knew it wasn’t a medical or psychological problem, because Denver had borne witness to the fact that his brother could teleport. There was no answer to that in the natural world. So Denver started searching outside it.

Searching “outside” the natural world is a complete crapshoot for humans. Their most obvious resource—the Internet—is 99.99 percent bullshit. Unless you know what you’re looking for, you’ll never find that .01 percent of truth. But you can set off some alarms with your searches, and that’s what Denver had done.

Six months ago, they’d received an invitation from a private clinic. This clinic had learned of Keefer’s condition and would not only examine him for free—with the best equipment and best experts available—but pay him generously for his time. Yeah, Denver didn’t fall for that one. It’s as transparent as the Nigerian prince who wants to give you $1,453,234.23 after stumbling over
your Internet profile and thinking you seem like a nice person. Sadly, though, there’s a reason those scams persist. Because some people are idiots. And greedy as hell.

Cabals know this. They also know that people suddenly displaying weird powers don’t normally run around exercising them and having a grand old time, as they do in the movies. They worry and they fret, and the smart ones seek answers. If the half-demon community had gotten wind of Keefer, their approach would have been more subtle. Cabals say screw subtle. You want answers? We’ll not only give them free, we’ll throw in a bag of cash and a pony.

Denver had refused. Which is the right move when a Nigerian prince e-mails you. When a Cabal makes you an offer, though? It’s not only one you can’t refuse; it’s one you really, really shouldn’t. They’d gone after Keefer, discreetly at first, which suggests it may have actually been the Cortezes.

Whichever Cabal it was, when their invitation failed, they seem to have backed off. As a potential high-level teleporting half-demon, they’d keep an eye on him, but he was just a kid and his brother was skittish, so best to step away and monitor the situation intermittently.

The problem with that? Another Cabal had taken notice. And the minute the Cortezes backed off, they pounced. Sort of. An actual “pounce” would involve kidnapping. This Cabal went further than the Cortezes only by making direct contact with Keefer. They told him they were a team of medical researchers and that someone had brought Keefer’s case to their attention because they were investigating another incidence of “temporal displacement” that might be related to his. Was he willing to talk? Nothing intrusive. Just a few questions and then, if his case did indeed fit their research parameters, they would offer their expertise and any required examinations, free of charge, of course, with a small stipend for any inconvenience, as was usually offered to those participating in medical research.

This would have been the St. Cloud Cabal. The most scientific. The least aggressive. Keefer had nibbled the bait, but Denver wouldn’t bite. Then Keefer learned he could teleport others with him and, not surprisingly, the St. Clouds really did pounce, attempting to take him captive. They failed, and Denver took his little brother on the run.

They’d managed to dodge the St. Clouds for a while. But then their luck ran out. Their pursuers became even more aggressive and impossible to shake. Because it was another Cabal. I was certain of that, just as I was certain which one it was. They all have their trademarks. Ferreting Keefer out first, assessing, and withdrawing until he reached adulthood? Cortezes. Playing the scientific angle and then failing on the follow-through attack? St. Clouds. Swooping in for the kill and pursuing like the hounds of hell? Oh, yeah. That was my dad’s side of the family. The Nasts.

Keefer knew none of this. He’d never heard the word “Cabal,” apparently—not in this context, anyway. To him and Denver, there’d been a single group of shady and dangerous individuals stalking and hunting them the whole time. Denver had thought it was the government, maybe the military. Yeah, it’s amazing how many conspiracy charges leveled at the American government are actually the result of Cabal actions.

As for what happened next, it was a bit of a muddle because Denver had stopped sharing his findings with his brother. I suspect that happened right around the time Denver’s digging unearthed the word “demon.” He didn’t want to scare Keefer. Nor, I’m sure, did he want his little brother thinking he’d lost his mind. But someone had set Denver on that trail. Someone had also set him on our trail, because it was no coincidence he’d wound up in Portland. And no coincidence Keefer contacted me to help.

After they’d arrived in Portland, Keefer had found our business card in Denver’s wallet with a note on the back: “These guys can help.
Call them
.” Denver brought Keefer here, then followed his
brother when he went to meet the guy who sold him the demon-summoning supplies. Denver asked the black market merchant about us and, not surprisingly, the guy told him we were all kinds of trouble and that the demon was Denver’s best bet. Summon and hold it and get answers. That’s when Keefer called me. And that’s when his brother went to that empty building, summoned a demon, and learned, too late, why you don’t trust a guy who sells black market rituals in a back alley.

“That’s my story,” Keefer said. “Your turn. What am I and what the hell is going on?”

“I can tell you what you are, but I’m really not the expert.” I walked to the door and opened it. “Hey, Adam?”

No answer. I looked down the empty and silent hall. There was no way anyone could break in. Not without setting off a shitload of alarms. Still, my heart beat a little quicker when he didn’t reply.

I motioned for Keefer to wait and hurried down to Adam’s office. He was there, lying on the couch in the near dark, lights off. Sleeping, I thought. But when I stepped in, I saw his eyes were open. Staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” I said.

I got a grunt in return.

“I know you’re tired,” I said. “But this kid needs some answers, and you’re the demonology expert.”

Another grunt.

“Adam?”

“In a minute.” He pushed up and strode past me without a glance my way. I watched him walk into the hall … and then into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a hard click.

Something’s wrong
.

How? What could have happened in the couple of minutes between arriving here—when he’d been joking with Keefer—and joining us in the meeting room? Nothing, other than exhaustion setting in.

Or maybe he’d checked his e-mail and something there annoyed him, and he was tired enough that it spun his mood on a one-eighty. Adam is the most easygoing guy I know. But his dad
is
the lord demon of fire. Adam has a temper. Something had set that off, and he was waiting for it to settle. Being exhausted only made that tougher.

I rapped on the bathroom door as I passed. “I’ll give him the basics, okay? No rush. Like I said, I know you’re tired.”

He didn’t answer. I returned to the meeting room.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘half-demon’?” I said.

Keefer’s look answered with an emphatic no. So I explained. I finished by saying, “That’s what Adam is. It’s where he gets his fire power from—literally. My mom was one, too, with visual powers. I don’t get any of that. It’s not hereditary past the first generation. I have demon blood, and it adds a turbo boost to my spell-casting, but that’s it. And the demon part doesn’t mean what people might think it does. It doesn’t
make
you demonic. It just gives you power, and it’s up to you to decide how you want to use it. For trouble or for good, like Adam does.”

“Okay …”

“Actual demons, though? That’s another story. Definitely demonic.”

“Yeah, kinda figured that out.”

“Right. Sorry.” I’d been pacing as I talked. Now I lowered myself into a chair and cast another glance at the door, hoping for Adam. He was so much better at the empathetic stuff. And the demon stuff. I said as much—about the demon part—to Keefer, suggesting he save questions for Adam.

“How about Cabals, then?” he said.

“Yes!” I said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. “I can definitely explain about Cabals. In three words: supernatural corporate mafia.”

“Supernatural …”

“Basically, they’re huge corporations, and they do the usual corporate stuff—sell products and services on a multinational level. If I gave you names, you wouldn’t recognize them unless you subscribe to
Fortune
or
Businessweek
, but if I started naming their product lines, you would. They hire supernaturals almost exclusively. Our powers give them a massive advantage in the business world. Supernaturals get good-paying jobs where they don’t need to hide what they are, and they get medical benefits and a lot of other stuff that can be tough for us to find otherwise. In return, the Cabal owns your soul. Well, not literally, but pretty damned close. It’s not exactly an ethical business model. Hence the mafia part of the description.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They were coming after you for recruitment.” I considered telling him I suspected he’d been targeted by three Cabals, but that just got confusing. And, possibly, terrifying. “The one we just encountered is almost certainly the Nasts. Half of it, at least. They split and … Never mind. The point is that they’re the, well, nastiest of the bunch. Their idea of recruitment is more like conscription, at least for someone like you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got some wonky powers. Even an Abeo can’t teleport someone with him.”

“Abeo?”

“Top-level teleporting half-demon. Fathered by … I forget which lord demon. Adam knows. He’ll explain the levels and test your powers, just as soon as he …” I glanced toward the hall. “As soon as he’s done whatever he’s doing. In the meantime, I’m going to make a call. See if I can get a handle on what’s going on here, maybe put some pressure on the Nasts to pull their dogs. I’ve got an in with one of the CEOs.”

I told him to grab another Coke if he wanted it and make himself comfortable. Then I called Sean. He answered on the third ring with, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Got a situation that I think involves Uncle Josef, and if it does, I’m looking for some familial intervention.”

Sean snorted, possibly at my use of “uncle”—Josef tends to blow a gasket when I call him that—or possibly at the suggestion that Sean was in any position to intervene with the opposing half of the family business.

“What have you got?” he asked.

“Teleporting half-demon kid with wonky powers.”

Silence. Then, “Kid?”

“I use the term colloquially. For those of us with an Ivy League education, he is what you would refer to as an adolescent. Seventeen years of age, which means, according to intra-Cabal regulations, too young to be recruited. Not that anyone really gives a shit about the intra-Cabal regulations. Still, it seems the Cortezes backed off after they assessed him. I’ll tell Lucas to pass on a thanks to his dad for that show of restraint. The St. Clouds went after him next but lost him. As inept as ever. Uncle Joe’s bunch, though? They’re hot on his tail. Here. In Portland. Going after me in the process, which I believe is also a violation of intra-Cabal regulations.” I paused. “No, wait. That only applies to the protection of inner-family members from rival Cabals. Doesn’t count if it’s your own family going after you, right? Except Josef doesn’t consider me family, so then it does count because you do and therefore, as your sister, I fall under your protection. Damn, that’s complicated.”

Silence.

“Lost you, didn’t I?”

He chuckled, but it was a little off, a little forced.

“Sean?” I said.

“Sorry, I was waiting to see if you were done talking.”

“Ha-ha. Yes, I am. So this kid …”

“Does he have a name?”

“Everyone does.”

“And you’re not giving it to me.”

“Client confidentiality. I love you dearly and trust you completely—in personal matters. In business? Fifty percent.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, with Benicio, it’s twenty-five percent in business, fifty in personal, and he’s the closest thing I’ve got to a granddaddy. Love him. Don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. You win that contest.”