Pack of Lies (24 page)

And if there still wasn't anything there? If there wasn't any defensive current to find, from her, or the perps?

Then that would tell us something, too.

I got off the bus at 8th Avenue, and walked to the site. The sky was a clear blue, but the sun wasn't very strong today, and I wished I'd worn a sweater over my long-sleeved T-shirt, since Translocation didn't go via the coat closet to grab my jacket. Busy sidewalks, the usual weekday traffic, people in suits and jeans going to and from, intent on their business.
It was easy to be anonymous in New York City—it was hard to stand out, in fact. And yet, I could feel eyes on me, watching me, following me. The weight of their attention had a strange, almost stale feel to it; familiar and totally alien at the same time. Nonhuman eyes.

Fatae eyes.

They knew who I was—or, more to the point,
what
I was. Either from the Gather, or Danny, or the fatae gossip lines, they knew. They were still here from this morning, when Sharon saw them, only now they were just watching, judging, and it was freaking me the hell out.

And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. The U in PUPI stood for unaffiliated. That was Stosser's mantra, his impetus, and it was one we all agreed to, believed in. Repetition made habit. We had to be seen as impartial and unbiased to all sides. Not just client and suspect, but Talent and Null, human and fatae. If we weren't, if our findings were dismissed as being bought or biased, then everything we did would be completely useless. Worse than useless; they could be used against the people we were trying to help.

Before, I'd been frustrated at that: now I got a real sense for the tightrope we'd been shoved out on. If we did this wrong, if I did this wrong, it would be game over. The fatae, at least, would never trust us.

I couldn't afford to do it wrong.

There were only a few people around, once I made it across the wide expanse of West Street: an occasional jogger, rapt in their headphones, or a nanny pushing a stroller, trying to give kidlet some fresh air before returning to their high-rise apartment. The site itself was a little more worn than
before, but the pile of offerings had been refreshed on both sides. New flowers, new saint's candles. None of the participants had been religious, according to the dossier, so it wasn't specific to them: someone else was bringing god into this. It might not mean anything—people called on random deities all the time, even if they didn't actually believe and would be horrified if someone answered. Religion was rote and empty ritual for a lot of people. Faith, though…

If you believed in something hard enough, a lie can become truth. Yeah.

Holding on to the memory of Mercy's signature, I sank into fugue-state, and let my mage-sight flicker over the area. I wasn't looking for anything specific, nor was I trying to glean everything from the site. This was more akin to scanning the ocean's surface, looking for sign of a humpbacked whale, or dolphin's leap, out of the whitecaps and swells.

Only, instead of a dolphin or whale, I caught a sea monster. There were things lurking around the edges: new things, gathering and waiting. Some a block away, some within reach if I were to stretch out my hand. Some human, and some not. The eyes I felt on me before, and more. Sharon had only said a few…this was more like dozens. Right now they were passive, merely watching. Was this rubbernecking,
Cosa
-style? Or did it have something to do with the larger events around us, the antifatae tension Venec was worried about? Everyone had their eyes on us, right now, waiting to see what we did, what we decided—what we reported.

“Need to ask Venec what he thinks,” I said, the sound of my voice startling me, and sending several of the more alien observers skittering farther out of range.

*thinks what?*

I yelped, and fell onto my knees. Off in the distance I was damned sure I heard a snicker from one of my invisible observers, but ignored it, more intent on the sudden intrusion of a voice in my head.

*how did you hear me?* I demanded. That wasn't supposed to be possible. Screw that, it wasn't possible! I was tempted to throw up a total block, the kind you're only supposed to put up in case of emergencies—like blinding and deafening yourself while standing in the middle of traffic, it was more dangerous than it was useful—but my curiosity got the better of my outrage.

*how do you do that?*

There was a pause, as though Venec was as shocked to hear my voice as I had been to hear his, and then:

*was afraid of this*

As answers went, that wasn't. But Venec's mental voice lingered in my brain, more solid and specific than any ping I'd ever gotten, the same way it had been earlier that day, and I could feel him poking around, probing at the limits of that connection—not in his brain or in mine, but somewhere overlapping. It was like the current-bubble I'd formed with Pietr that allowed us to share a point of view, magically, only there hadn't been any spell, no intentional opening-up…

That weird current-spark, earlier in the week. That amazing, near-erotic feel of something transferring between us… No. Impossible. Current didn't work that way. There was no way to “accidentally” use current—you had to will it to do something, or it would turn back on the user, not go do something on its own, the same way a hammer would
come down on your finger, not go attack someone else if you weren't paying attention to the downward strike.

But the answer felt right, if impossible, and I could feel Venec's agreement as well, distant and right next to me at the same time. That, and his late-night visit in my head, and this… How, as J used to say over and over in lessons, was subject to If. Once If was met, then How was merely a matter of time and study. If we were connecting on some level neither of us had ever encountered before, then something had happened. If neither of us had intentionally done something, then either someone else had done it to us—and we both thought of and rejected that idea at once; this thing was locked between us, nobody else's signature anywhere to be found—or we'd somehow done it unintentionally.

I could
feel
his awareness and uncertainty about all this, tasting it the way a dog would taste the air for rabbit or squirrel.

Impossible or not, when my walls and barriers had been down during training, and his had been down, too, for whatever reason, then our usual current-brushes and attraction had…done what? Done something, damn it.

Suddenly the insights I'd had into Ian earlier made sense, too. They hadn't been mine, they'd been Ben's. It wasn't just his thoughts that had access into my brain, it was his knowledge, too.

My freaking earlier had been nothing compared to how I felt right then.

*get out* I ordered him, and slammed up walls fast and hard enough to dismember any mental fingers left in the way.

Holy shit. The urge to hyperventilate came and went, but my hands were trembling and my pulse was too fast for comfort. Did not like, did not want. No. I might be casual about sex, I didn't have any of the usual hang-ups about body image or privacy or personal space, but there were certain things that were mine and mine alone and my brain was #1 on that list. Pings were all well and fine but I decided who I talked to, I decided what was in my brain.

Deep breath in.

Deep breath out.

Deep breath in.

Anyone watching me would have assumed a panic attack and they'd probably have been right. But slowly it came back under control. Whatever had happened, it was Venec. Venec, who had shadowed me before, when I was greener, but had shown respect for my privacy. Venec, who when I told him to leave, left. Venec, who didn't seem any happier about whatever was going on than I was.

Benjamin Venec, who guarded his privacy so closely that we didn't even know where in the city he lived, or if he was in a relationship or had a cat or a goldfish or if he'd hatched out of an egg in Stosser's backyard.

He was dark-eyed and broad-shouldered, with thick curls he tried to slick back but didn't have the patience to keep groomed, with strong square hands that were the hands of a workman, not an artist. Calloused fingers and strong muscled arms, and my pulse started to speed up again, if for more pleasant reasons, just thinking about those hands.

“Well, you're back to normal then, aren't you?” I asked
myself ruefully, relieved when there were only my own thoughts in my head in response.

I tried, after that, to slip back into a working fugue-state, but it was no use. I was too aware of every tremor around me, every shimmer of current, every twitch of movement. Going deeper would require me lowering the wall I'd erected, and be damned if I was going to do that right now. I was too off-kilter, too vulnerable. Any faint trace of the original players left here would have to stay hidden for now…and probably forever, after three days of wear and tear on the scene.

I came back to full normal awareness, still holding up my walls, and sighed. I was very much not good at failure, even if there were extenuating circumstances. Especially when there were extenuating circumstances: that felt too much like making excuses, and covering up the fact that we'd failed to gather everything in the first go.

Live and learn, J would say. But what if, someday, a screwup like that meant someone
didn't
live to learn?

The air felt colder than when I'd arrived, and I looked up to see that the sky—pale blue that morning—had clouded up to a thick gray. I was too tired to do more than sniff in ether, but there didn't seem to be any storm-hint in the air. Pity; I wasn't much for sourcing wild, but people—Talent—tended to relax more when the spring thunderstorm season started, and we were definitely, all of us, the pack and the entire damn city, in need of relaxing.

 

Venec was gone when I made it back to the office. I knew it even as I was climbing the stairs, even through my strengthened internal wall: he wasn't in the building.

“Coward,” I muttered, letting my wall drop enough that he would hear me. At least, I assumed he could hear me. Odds were he had his own wall up, to keep me out. Reasonable enough. I didn't think he was enjoying this any more than I was—he'd sounded so annoyed when he realized he'd heard me that it was almost insulting, actually. Irrationally—and I knew it was irrational and I couldn't help it—that just made me pissier.

“Hey.” Pietr greeted me when I stormed into the office, and picked up on my mood immediately. “Whatever it was, I'm pretty sure it wasn't my fault.”

I had the instinctive urge to say something wise-ass and cutting, and bit down on it. He was right: it wasn't any of his fault.

“Venec booked out for the day?”

“Yeah. About ten minutes ago.”

Hah. Just as I was getting out of the subway. “Coward,” I muttered again, for good measure. “Stosser?”

“Disappeared about an hour ago.”

“What are the others doing,” I asked, and then realized that I didn't give a damn. I loved my job but right now I did not want to be anywhere near anything that had anything to do with Benjamin Venec.

“Gone home, Venec's orders. Twelve hours of sleep before we're supposed to come back.” He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was disobeying that order.

Venec was right, damn him. I was wired with the need to
do
something, but we'd all had a hell of a week, and if I pushed it much further I really would fall over. I needed to
get out of here, and ideally get out of my skin, if only for a little while.

I gave Pietr a long considering look that had been known to make some people nervous. He met it square, his gray eyes calm and knowing. Hrm.

“You want to go get dinner?”

Pietr suggested the place, a little red-meat joint down by the seaport that the tourists didn't know about, and was perfectly willing to not talk about a damn thing that had anything to do with work. And somewhere over the course of a bloody-rare steak and my second vodka tonic, I decided that I was going to break my “no coworkers” rule, and have sex with Pietr. Feel-good, no-promises, tension-easing,
playful
sex. I was pretty sure he knew what I'd decided and was fine with that.

We finished dinner and paid the tab, and found ourselves standing on the sidewalk in the dusk. It had started to rain while we were eating, the kind of rain that's like mist against your face.

“My place is closer” was all he said.

Pietr's place was like him: quiet, almost elegant in its simplicity. He had a one-bedroom on the ground floor of a prewar building, with wooden parquet floors and an upgraded kitchen with very nice stainless appliances I coveted, and a bathroom twice the size of my own, but there were security bars on the windows that would have driven me nuts in a week.

His bedroom was totally what I would have expected from him: Shaker-style maple furniture with clean lines and a definite solidity, the bed in the middle of the room,
decent-size, two pillows, a golden-brown comforter and white sheets. Everything was clean and neatly organized, and there were black-and-white photographs on the wall, of scenes I thought I recognized. I walked over to look more closely.

“That's Budapest.”

“Yeah.”

I turned to look at him. “You took these?”

He shrugged and nodded, as though embarrassed.

“They're wonderful.” They were. I didn't know much about photography, but these really gave you a feel for the place and the time of day.

“Old camera, not much electronics to fuck up. I used to love playing around in the darkroom. I haven't been able to do much lately, though. We're…”

“Changing?”

“Yeah.” His embarrassment shifted to curiosity. “You've noticed it, too? Ever since we started really working out, using current more, it's harder to be around any kind of electronics, even the stuff that used to be safe. You think…”