Poisoned Pearls (14 page)

The non-man turned to go, his long coat flaring dramatically
around him as he stalked forward.

Then he paused, turned directly toward me, his pale,
ice-filled eyes boring into my soul. The skin along his jaw was covered in
scars, as if his whole face had been badly burned.

I held myself very, very still.

All he did was wink at me, then stride down, disappearing
before he reached the end of the alley.

I found myself shivering in the cold, but also panting as if
I’d just run a mile.

Holy shit. What the hell had just happened? And was that why
Sam had thought I was involved in Kyle’s death? Because I’d
seen
it?

I didn’t know what was going on. What I’d seen. How I was
supposed to report
that
to the
police.

Hunter wasn’t going to be of much help, since we saw
different things.

I only knew one post-cog who might be able to help.

So I called Sam.

***

Amy merely smirked at me when I asked her to cover me when
Sam came in.

Sam, of course, looked like a million bucks, with her
perfect pale skin, her cheeks pinked from the cold, her mink still impressive
as hell.

A million bucks that I could never afford.

Sam followed me without comment through the aisles of the
store, down the hallway in the back and out into the alley. I immediately
looked at the spot where Kyle had been lying. I wasn’t seeing his body any
more.

I didn’t know if it would come back, if I’d get stuck in
some kind of post-cog loop.

Sam waited patiently until I lit my cigarette before she
asked, “What’s the big emergency?”

I told her everything. Going to get tested. Josh
interrupting the flow. Hunter rescuing me. Taking the drugs. (She scowled at
that. Damn it. Even her scowl was sexy.) The failed training.

“Then I get here,” I told her. I pointed to the spot where
Kyle had lain. “And I saw it. I saw Kyle’s death. I saw
everything
.”

Understand crossed Sam’s face. “You’re a post-cog! Not a
pre-cog. No wonder his training didn’t work.”

A tension I didn’t know I’d been holding suddenly released.
“So it really is that different? He swore it wasn’t.”

“For most, it isn’t,” Sam admitted. “But there are some that
need specialized post-cog training. It sounds like you’re one of those.”

“Okay. Good.” I paused, then said, “There’s more, you know.”

“Yes?” Sam asked, grinning.

I suddenly realized that she expected me to hit on her.
Since I was no longer a mundane.

She was still out of my league, however.

“The guy who did it…” I paused. How the hell was I going to
explain that camera-spider creature?

“It was a guy?” Sam asked. “You’re certain?”

I shrugged. “See, this is where it gets weird. Hunter called
him a
non-man
. He didn’t look like a
normal person. He looked more like a ghost. Could see through him and
everything.”

Sam shook her head and sighed. “This is why it’s important
you get real training. Ghosts are just that. Ghosts. They aren’t real. Hunter
sees ghosts, doesn’t he?”

“He claims he sees more than one possible future,” I
admitted.

“That’s just not possible, Cassie,” Sam said gently.

“But multiple universes—”

“Are just a theory. No one’s ever really seen beyond this
world.”

I nodded. “Or so you say.”

“Look, I don’t know what you saw. But it wasn’t the truth,
Cassie. It wasn’t what really happened,” Sam insisted. “It was the drugs, the
way you were forced into your power. It won’t be the same once you get proper
training.”

“Then help me now,” I said. “Give me the first lesson
tonight, so I at least have a clue about what I’m doing.”

“That’s…actually a good idea,” Sam admitted. “So. Close your
eyes. Were you able to find the blue dot?”

“That was always the easy part,” I told her. “What’s next?”

“See if you can send out lines from that blue dot. Like the
spray from a water sprinkler,” Sam directed.

Finally
. I knew
that the squares were wrong. Clean blue lines spread out from the spot in the
corner, each one taking on a weight and heft of its own, turning
three-dimensional.

“Okay, what’s next?” I asked.

“Which one is strongest?” Sam asked. “And which one is
weakest?”

That was really hard to tell. All the lines looked equally
strong, equally valid.

Maybe this was why those who went through training only saw
a single future.

No
. It wasn’t
possible to see multiple futures. Or multiple pasts. I had to do as Sam said.

“The strongest one is the one to the far right. No, one over
from that,” I said. “The weakest one…to the far left.” It was difficult to
tell. The lines kept shifting.

“Very good,” Sam said, as if she was praising a five year
old.

I still felt warm under her approval.

“Now, follow the weakest one out,” she said.

“Why the weakest one?” I asked, finally just grabbing hold
of the one that felt relatively weaker than the others.

“So you don’t get overwhelmed,” Sam said.

That made sense. It also made me want to let go of it and
grab hold of the strongest one.

I still did as she said, following out the weakest one.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the alley. It hadn’t changed.
But there were different people there, now.

I instantly recognized the scene. It was after Kyle’s death.
The body was no longer there. The tape was. As were a couple of uniformed
officers.

“Are you seeing the crime scene?” Sam asked.

I nodded, looking around.

“Good,” Sam said. “Even though that was the weakest thread,
it was still probably going to be the one you’d find.”

There I still was, being questioned, close to one end of the
alley. Kyle and the ambulance were at the other end.

“Wait a second…” I said. Something was off.

I stalked down to the end of the alley.

That was me all right. Being questioned. And Sam was there.

However, it was no longer Ferguson. It was a lady cop.

***

“You couldn’t have seen an alternate past!” Sam insisted as
we walked down the street. Travis had agreed to stay on so I could take a
longer break.

“Then what did I see?” I asked, challenging her. “Because
that would sure be the best explanation for it.”

“It must be the drugs,” Sam said stubbornly.

“The drugs are out of my system by this point,” I said. I no
longer felt woozy or drugged. Head still hurt like a son of a bitch, but that
was from when Hunter hit me.

I was still going to have to get back at him for that.

“It was how you were brought into your powers. With
hallucinogenics
,” Sam said.

I snorted at her. “That was one hell of a hallucination,” I
told her. “Look, I’m not crazy.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, distrustful.

“I’m really not,” I told her. “I can distinguish reality and
this present from the ghosts I see. But take my word for it.
I do see ghosts.
”

Sam shook her head. “If you’re right,” she said
thoughtfully, “it means a lot of people, a whole lot of very smart people in
the program, are wrong.”

“I bet it’s why Josh was so very interested in me. In
Hunter. I bet they’re happy to take your rejects,” I told her.

Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking stricken.
“Do you think? No. They couldn’t. They wouldn’t.”

“Full sentences, please?” I asked, flirtatious.

Just because I was freezing cold and evidently a freak
didn’t mean I didn’t have a pulse. And anyone alive, and quite possibly more
than one ghost, would desire Sam.

Hell, I bet she could turn the heads of some of the straight
girls I knew.

“Most of the
blessed
have variations in their abilities and range,” Sam said slowly. “The Jacobson
Consortium keeps emphasizing
consistency
.
Over everything else. The community disagrees. But the consortium argues that
only a very narrow range of those with ability should be considered useful.”

“Which means those people will fall out of the government
programs,” I said. “And into theirs.”

“I foresee some
interesting
conversations up ahead,” Sam purred as she started walking again.

I didn’t doubt it. I bet Sam knew some powerful people. And
that she wasn’t afraid to use her power one bit.

A float passed by us on the street. It seemed a little late
for that, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. It was close to the holidays.
Maybe there was some kind of celebration going on.

Until I got a better look at the second float.

“
Uhm
. Sam? Is there a parade
scheduled for tonight?” I asked.

“No. Why? What are you seeing?” she asked, sounding worried.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

The men marching beside the float wore chest plates of
molded leather and metal helmets that covered their noses. They carried round
shields painted red and green and blue, as well as great spears. A few even had
axes and swords.

Now I realized the float was actually a war chariot.

This was an army marching into battle. A desperate one,
too—the grimness on their faces was only matched by their determined
stride.

“An army?” I said, looking at Sam.

I wasn’t sure when this had happened. But despite how the
men were dressed, it didn’t feel like long ago.

It felt recent. Almost now.

“Cassie?” Sam asked.

Then I saw the non-men. They were tall—like
parade-float high—their heads reaching the second and third floor
windows. Despite the cold, they were bare-chested, with animal skins wrapped
around their waists and boots made of soft leather tied to their feet. They
looked brutish, with a bulging brows and tiny,
piglike
eyes. Each one carried a weapon to match their size, a spear or ax or club.

Then one breathed out, instantly freezing the air around
him.

I hadn’t been into fairy tales as a kid. But this looked
like a frost giant to me.

“There’s an inhuman army marching to war,” I finally told
Sam, tearing my eyes away and looking at her.

Sam gave me a sad look. “You need help,” she said softly.

I watched the marching army for a long minute before turning
back to her.

“No,” I told her. “I’m right. You’re not. And these
men—they’re connected with the not-man who killed Kyle. There’s some kind
of war going on.”

“You know what you sound like, don’t you?” Sam said.

“Just living up to my namesake,” I told her.

Sam stared out into the street for another moment before she
shook her head. “You need help. And until you admit that, until you go in for
proper training, I can’t help you anymore.”

“So you’re just going to run away instead of admitting that
there might be more to your world than just your science,” I told her angrily.

“I’ve seen this before,” Sam said. “And I won’t—I
can’t—live through it again.”

“Past girlfriend?” I asked spitefully.

“My brother,” Sam said. She turned and walked away, down the
street. The shops continued to blare their happy holiday tunes. Men continued
to march through the cars and passing pedestrians, heading to war.

I wanted to follow Sam. I did.

But I had to believe that I’d been chosen for a reason. That
I could take on the title
blessed
because I really was. That these connections I saw were real.

I turned and followed the marching men. Either I was crazy,
or the world was.

Or both.

“Loki!” Odin called as he strode into the trickster’s hall.
“What have you done?” he thundered.
Mim’s
warnings
still echoed through Odin’s head. Fates had been changed. And lives, too. Now
the frost giants were taking to the battlefield, one of the sure signs of the
end of days.

What was Loki planning?

Loki’s hall was laid out similarly to Odin’s, long and
narrow with a fire in the center and wide columns running down either side, but
with subtle differences. Carved wolves, not snakes, encircled the wide columns,
endlessly chasing the sun, the moon, and each other; the banners hanging from
the tall rafters showed scenes of glorious battle, but also intimate bedroom
scenes that were graphic enough to make even a god blush; and the front dais
held a couch, not a chair.

“What do you mean?” Loki said, coming out from behind a
pillar at the front of the hall. “I’ve just been trying to give you a good
battle, Val-Father, as was part of our bet. Hasn’t Frigg been more attentive?”
He still wore long robes in black and red, and a fine silver circlet on his
long blond locks. His eye patch was made from finely tooled leather, with a
decorative pattern of grapes embossed in silver on it.

Odin refused to be sidetracked. “I talked to
Mim’s
head. She told me of fates exchanged.”

At least Loki looked slightly worried at that news. But he
smoothed the expression away quickly. “Have you discovered the new end of days?
You survive, now, past the final battle. It seems that you are neither dead nor
alive in the belly of the wolf. So you will walk the shores of the new ocean
with Baldur and
Holdur
.”

The words pounded into Odin’s chest like the strongest war
hammer.

Everything Loki said was true.

How could that be? How did Odin survive the twilight? How
could he live when the other gods died? How had Loki done such a thing?

“I didn’t know such a thing was possible,” Odin admitted,
marveling.
He could survive.

Then he stalked over to Loki and picked him up by the
throat, carrying him up off the floor. Loki was tall and strong, but no match
for Odin in a rage.

“Why?” Odin demanded, shaking Loki like a rag doll. He
tightened his grasp around Loki’s neck, his fingers digging into the cool
flesh. “Why would you do this?”

Loki gasped and struggled like a fish on a hook, trying to
get away. “For you!” he managed to rasp out. “I did it for you!”

Disgusted, Odin tossed Loki to the floor.

Loki coughed and scooted back, away from Odin.

It gave Odin some satisfaction that the trickster was still
afraid of him. Good. He would be more afraid still, if he didn’t confess.

“I did it for you,” Loki said again, still massaging his
throat.

“I don’t believe you,” Odin said. “You’ve never thought of
anyone other than yourself. Ever. Why would you try to save me?”

“If you survive,
we
survive,” Loki said. He at least sounded sincere. “You’ll be acknowledged as
the greatest storyteller in the world after the final battle. You’ll wander the
earth and tell everyone tales of the gods, both before and after the twilight.
Through you, we’ll all survive.”

Odin heaved a great sigh. It was something he’d heard
before: that even in this modern day, when they had no worshipers or
sacrifices, the reason the gods survived was because of the stories still told
about them.

They lived on while men still remembered them.

“But Baldur and
Holdur
—”
Odin started to say.

“Not the same. And you know it. Even Thor’s sons, who may or
may not also survive, won’t tell the tales like you will,” Loki said
emphatically. He hesitated, drawing his legs in.

With a sigh, Odin stretched out his hand and helped Loki to
his feet. “So you found a spell to change our fate,” Odin said. “And you sacrificed
an eye to do it.”

Loki shrugged. “It seemed only fair. You sacrificed your own
trying to avoid our original fate.”

Odin looked at Loki thoughtfully. “Why did you choose for me
to survive? And not yourself?”

Loki made a face at that. “Some things really are fated,” he
said sourly. “I couldn’t change my own fate. Or that of Baldur,” he added. “No
matter how I searched. There was no world in which he survived. Or I.”

Odin knew that Loki told the truth. Yet, there was something
else. He was sure of it.

“Then why are you bringing this final battle?” Odin asked.
“Why force the twilight to come?” That was the other part he just didn’t
understand. Living on in stories was surely not going to be enough for the
trickster.

“How better to test the fate?” Loki asked. “And it isn’t
only me who’s bringing the twilight closer. It’s predicted that you’ll talk
with
Mim’s
head just before the end.”

Odin stiffened in shock.
Damn
that trickster.
Even Odin had fallen into his trap, drawing the end days
closer.

“I don’t trust you,” Odin said plainly. “I don’t believe
you, either. There’s another game you’re playing. I’m watching you.”

“Don’t you need both eyes to do that?” Loki asked, smirking.

He still stepped back out of the way when Odin feinted in
his direction.

“I will find out what you’re up to,” Odin warned. “And I
will stop you.” With that, Odin turned and strode out of Loki’s hall.

Only the greatest of discipline enabled him to not turn back
and beat the trickster into the dirt when Loki said softly, “Good luck with
that, old man.”

***

Loki took another long draught, the healing mead soothing
his sore throat. He had fled his hall and headed for his private chambers,
lying back on the thick furs in front of the warm hearth. The fire painted
light and shadow on the tall, peaked ceiling, but didn’t brighten the corners,
which were as dark as Loki’s thoughts.

Bastard.

And the gods wondered why Loki turned against them. They
were always bullying Loki. Always getting him to fix their problems. Always
saving their asses.

This time, Loki was only concerned about one ass. His own.
And making sure it got saved.

Odin would never know what hit him when Loki did the
transfer spell. All he had to do was to make sure the challenge worked right,
just at the end, before Odin was swallowed by the wolf.

Because the new fate was set.

Or was it?

Loki tugged at the ends of the prophecy. It seemed weaker
this morning than it had the night before. It wasn’t transparent, but it wasn’t
as solid, either.

The old fate was trying to bleed through the new, replace
it.

At least Loki knew what he could do to prevent that. He
would have to go back to earth, find another storyteller, one who saw the fates
of the other worlds.

There weren’t many humans with this special ability. Less
than half a dozen.

Loki could get to them, though. Encourage them to sing their
special song. Find the right fate for the gods and the end of the world.

Kill the storyteller as he finished, and use blood and semen
to make the fate “stick.”

***

Sam watched Cassie march off, down the dark street, away
from her.

How could she believe so strongly in what she saw? It wasn’t
real. Sam
knew
it wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be. If it was, that meant Tim, her younger
brother, had been right all along. That he was sane.

Maybe knowing that would have saved him, though he’d always
been fragile.

Sam shivered in her mink. The coat was warm, heavy, and a
reminder why she didn’t want to follow Cassie: her life was too good as it was.
She didn’t need the complications of a woman who was just one step out of the
gutter.

Even if Cassie was cute and solid and charming and smart and
tenacious and all those things Sam admired.

Sam brushed past the happy-go-lucky pedestrians getting ready
for their holiday. She already had all her gifts purchased and wrapped. More
than a month ago. Though she didn’t have anything for Cassie.

Sam shook her head. She didn’t
do
casual. Just like she didn’t do spontaneous.

Most of the post-cogs she knew were like that. There was
enough chaos with unplanned visions. Plus, working with the police meant she
had to be on call more hours than she’d like. So keeping the rest of her life
planned out and drama-free just worked out better.

As Sam made her way back to the underground garage where her
BMW was parked, she went through the list of teachers she’d had over the years,
the extra trainers that her parents had paid for, trying to find one that would
be a good fit for Cassie.

Who could train her beyond the insanity of seeing more than
one past.

Finally, Sam hit on the right person: Ron Sumner, a
professor at the University.

Before Sam pulled out of the parking garage, she’d already
called Ron and arranged to see him that evening.

Sam told herself, as she eased into the completely stopped
downtown street traffic, that she was doing this for the community, that they
couldn’t afford to lose someone as strong as Cassie.

Even the radio couldn’t drown out the little voice at the
back of her head that called her a
liar.

***

Ron lived in a gorgeous brownstone near the University Club
in St. Paul, near Grand Hill, overlooking the Mississippi. The sidewalk up the
steep hill had been meticulously swept clean of any snow. A red carpet covered
the walkway leading to the door, and the lamps were all yellow glass, giving
the front of the building a warm, honeyed glow.

“Come in, come in,” Ron told Sam, taking her coat and
ushering her into a festively decorated living room. A discreet Christmas tree
blinked in the corner, next to the wide glass window that looked directly onto
the river. A brown leather couch, very masculine, divided the room, facing the
window. It was a lovely place to sit with morning coffee.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Ron offered. “Or even some eggnog?”
He wore a typical bachelor-professor outfit—a small-print plaid shirt
under a brown wool vest, with jeans.

“If you have some red open,” Sam said, hesitantly. She
shouldn’t be drinking, not tonight, but a nice glass would chase away the cold
of the night.

“Don’t I always?” Ron asked.

Sam seated herself on the leather couch, looking out over
the river. The sky was clear but there were too many lights to see the stars.
Dark swaths of trees stood between the building and the river. She couldn’t see
the water from here, just the cliffs. It was enough.

“Thank you,” Sam said, taking the glass from Ron and sipping
it. He always served the finest reds, and this one was no exception, with hints
of peppercorn and cherry. It soothed and warmed her immediately.

“So what’s this about?” Ron asked after a comfortable
silence had passed between them.

“I’ve met someone,” Sam said, hesitatingly.

“Really?” Ron asked, very pleased. “How exciting!”

“Not like that,” Sam said wryly.

“Uh huh,” Ron said, nodding, obviously not believing her.
“Do go on.”

Sam rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, so it isn’t like that
yet. Maybe not ever.” She sighed and looked at the glass of wine cradled in her
hand. “She’s a post-cog. Just came into her powers.”

“Bit late,” Ron said, suddenly serious. “Unless you’re going
for jailbait now?”

Sam glared at him. “The problem is, she’s seeing things.”
Sam took a large gulp of wine. “Things that aren’t there. That can’t possibly
be there.”

“Like what?” Ron asked gently.

“The first time I met her was at a crime scene,” Sam said.

“Of course,” Ron said.

What did he mean by that? Sam didn’t ask, but made herself
continue. “When she got her powers, I walked her through the scene. Going back
to that time. She said she saw it, but it was a different past. An
alternate
past.”

“What had changed?” Ron asked, curious.

“Instead of Ferguson, one of the male cops I’ve been working
with, it was a female cop,” Sam explained. “But that couldn’t be, right? It
isn’t possible to see other pasts.”

“Could she be making it up?” Ron asked.

Sam hadn’t thought of that. “No,” she said after a moment.
“I don’t believe Cassie would do something like that.” Cassie was too
straightforward, too honest. Sure, she’d lie to the cops. But not to Sam. Not
like that.

Not even to get in Sam’s panties.

Ron shrugged. “So, if she isn’t making it up, that means
she’s actually seeing what she’s seeing.”

“Which means she’s insane,” Sam said bitterly.

“No, not necessarily,” Ron said.

“What?” Sam said. “Are you serious?”

Ron shrugged. “There’s been a lot of study about what is
seen, and not seen, in recent years. There’s a possibility she’s actually
seeing real alternate histories.”

“But that’s not possible!” Sam exclaimed, even as her heart
leapt.

Maybe Cassie didn’t need saving.

“It is, actually.” Ron stopped and sighed, taking a drink
from his own glass before he continued. “Now, Timothy, he was a different case.
The alternates he was seeing couldn’t possibly be true. Where demons and
were-creatures lived.”

“Cassie’s also seeing alternates that can’t be true,” Sam
said. “She saw war chariots. Men marching off to battle. And what she calls
non-men
—beings that look like
ghosts.”

“That’s troublesome,” Ron admitted. “Still. She also might
also be seeing real alternate pasts.”

Sam leaned back into the couch and took another warming sip.
Cassie was telling the truth, at least as Cassie saw it.

“‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt
of in your philosophy,’” Ron said after another moment.

“You may be right,” Sam said eventually.