Dead Man Rising

Oh yeah? For once, the snide voice of my conscience didn't sound like Japhrimel. What about Jace?

I drew in a deep ragged breath. "Chances are it wasn't you, Bastian. Lots of kids killed themselves rather than handle the fallout from that place. Who knows what she suffered before she helped bring Mirovitch down?" My voice sank into its lowest registers, a throbbing contralto husk, swirling into her skin as I tied mental strings in a complicated knot, sealing the Power into her. For a few days, Polyamour would be free; she wouldn't have to feed. The power-charge I gave her would last longer if she didn't attempt any spells—and if she was attacked, she now had a full charge to fight with. It was poor payment for what I'd just put her through, but all I could give.

One thing was certain. Our killer wasn't Polyamour. Sexwitches didn't turn Feeder. Their capacity to hold a charge of Power was finite; they couldn't feed from anything other than sex. Not only was our killer not Polyamour, but she wasn't implicated in the mess. She was clean.

She gained her balance, and I let go of her neck. "And the next time you need another few days of rest, Poly, you come see me." I forced myself to step cautiously, then turned on my heel and tilted my head at Jace. "We'll let ourselves out."

Jace turned too, preceded me to the door. His hand touched the knob.

"Valentine!" Polyamour's voice didn't quiver. I halted, not looking back. If I looked back I was going to do something I shouldn't. My left hand almost creaked, I clutched the scabbard so tightly.

"You bitch." Now her voice broke like a teenage boy's. "Thank you."

If you only knew how close I was to scaring you, to using you, you might not thank me. "No problem." I touched Jace's shoulder, he pushed the door open, and led me out into the hall beyond.

"We're going to have to do the elevator again," he said. I let out a sharp breath, closing my eyes. My hand dug into his shoulder. He leaned into it. If it hurt him, he gave no indication. "Don't worry, Da

It was more comforting than I expected. "Good." My voice was still low, it made a shiver run through Polyamour's House. That was close. That was so fucking close. And I invited her to call me again. She needs it, every sexwitch needs it. Loathing crept up my spine, skin-crawling dislike. No. I can offer her some help. That's all. Payment for what I almost did to her, for what I was tempted to do. I'am not a demon. I'm human. Human.

But that exquisite sensation, the blessed relief from pain, the pleasure of smelling her fear, sweeter than anything I'd tasted since being locked in a demon's arms…

No. No. I was human, goddammit. I was going to stay that way, no matter what. Genesplicing didn't make a human less human, and neither would this. Only my body had changed. The rest of me remained the same.

Didn't it?

Oh, Anubis, I prayed, don't let me be wrong on this one.

"Da

I let out a ragged breath. "Yeah?" Don't ask me, Jace. Don't ask me if I can give you any more than what you already have from me. The best thing I can do is finish out this case, however it ends up, and try to find some way to set you free to live your own damn life. I can't do this anymore.

But once again, he surprised me. "Where we going next? Let me guess. To find Hollin Sukerow."

I opened my eyes again. The mark on my left shoulder throbbed against my skin, and I felt hot fingers trail up my back. Dead fingers. Japhrimel's fingers. Had my fear smelled like that to him? Had he loved the smell of my terror? Had it strained his control? I wrestled the thought away with an almost-physical effort, forced it down. "You got it. But first we're going to rendezvous with Gabe."

And as soon as I can, I'm going to see if there's a slaughterhouse in Saint City that will do me a blood vat.

It was a good thought, one that made my heart lighten. The one that came after it made my entire chest sink. But what if I'm wrong and I dump Japhrimel's ashes in a vat of blood and ruin them? Lucifer lies, and the rest is just guesswork. What if he's taunting me?

If the Devil was taunting me, he was doing a goddamn good job of it. I would have to finish this goddamn hunt and then find every book I could lay my hands on about resurrecting demons. No more bounties.

I'd grieved long enough, goddammit.

Chapter Twenty-five

The station house was a seethe of activity, and we made it to the Parapsych floor from the underground parking garage without trouble. I guess my hover was known to the cops, because their parking-lot AI deck took care of bringing the hover in. Jace said very little, and his face was thoughtful. I had finally managed to unclench my left hand and convince myself I hadn't just tempted Poly to call me again. I'd only been offering an exchange, fair payment to her for making her remember the Hall.

So what if I felt the lightest touch of sweat prickling along my forehead and under my arms when I thought of her? I didn't sweat easy anymore, it took phenomenal effort that left me numb and hungry to wring water out of my skin. But there it was.

Gabe stalked into her office with a stack of paper to find us waiting for her. Her dark eyes glittered with something close to rage, her sleek hair ruffled. She stopped, seeing us, and tossed the paper on the desk. "Find anything useful?" A slight snarl turned her pretty face feral.

Yeah. I found out that I can get drunk off scaring a sexwitch. How about you, Gabe? "Lots of interesting, and possibly useful." I blinked at her. "What's up, Spooky girl?"

"I made a list of the kids in the yearbook that had that mark. One of 'em I can't find. All of the few still living are still in Saint City. The others are dead."

"How many?" Jace leaned against the wall of her cubicle, folding his arms. I tried to tell myself I didn't want to know what he smelled in Poly's fear.

Lying to yourself is a bad habit to start when you're a Necromance.

"Nine outside Saint City dead." Gabe's mouth turned down at the corners. "It looks like they scattered to the winds: three of them in Putchkin territory, two in Freetowns, and the rest in Hegemony territory as far away from Saint City as possible."

"Let me guess." I dropped down in a chair and leaned back, closing my eyes. Thank the gods, something else to think about. "The one you can't find is Kellerman Lourdes."

"Sounds like you've had a productive few hours," she said sourly. "Here's the thing: all of the nine are dead. It started in Putchkin territory, then in the Freetowns, then coming closer and closer to the city. Then this last string of killings in the city itself. And nobody's caught on. Guess when the first killing was."

I shrugged, reaching up and rubbing at my temples as if I had a headache. I wondered if part-demons ever got headaches, or if a psychosomatic headache would explain the way my head was pounding. "Tell me." Not in the mood for guessing games, Gabe. Sorry.

"Exactly ten years to the day after Mirovitch's death. The victim, Anders Cullam—"

"I remember him." I shivered. "One of Mirovitch's stooges." The phantom scars on my back started to burn, three stripes of fire; the branding along the lower crease of my left buttock gave one flare of pain and then settled down. My left shoulder spread a prickling heat down my chest, velvet fire threading through my veins, soothing me just as I'd just soothed Polyamour.

I was almost happier with a demon mark that was cold and quiescent than one that seemed to have a mind of its own. Especially since I wondered if the mark was reacting to my fear. But that was impossible. I was not a sexwitch.