Black Lament
Page 16

“That’s… really weird,” I said. “But useful.”
Beezle shrugged. “Magic is often weird but useful.”
I went to dress and check the time and place of my soul pickup. It was on Southport in an hour, just under the Brown Line stop. There was an asterisk next to the name, and the footnote at the bottom of the page said, “Possibility of collateral damage.”
That didn’t sound like a routine soul collection. I was surprised that I was the only one assigned if there was the possibility of other deaths. It was annoying that the Agency seers hadn’t bothered to give me any further information. They knew how the person was going to die. Didn’t they think it would help me to know that, too?
The thing about the Agency seers is that they like to keep Agents in the dark. There’s always a possibility that an Agent might try to prevent a death if he or she knew how the death would occur. That is absolutely, positively not allowed. Once a death is foreseen, that’s it. It’s in the books, and no matter how unfair or gruesome that death may be, we are not allowed to stop it.
I slung my sword over my shoulder. “Possibility of collateral damage” meant that only one death was certain; the others could be prevented. It was best to be prepared for anything.
I pulled on a coat, hat and gloves, and made sure Beezle and Samiel knew where I was going—no sense in having them raise the alarm again. Then I flew out the back window toward Southport, which was east of my house.
The winter sun shone so bright I regretted not bringing sunglasses, but it was still close to zero degrees with the wind chill. The snow on the streets and sidewalks was getting that grungy look, gray from dirt and pollution. The cars on the street were coated in a thin film of salt.
Cloaked by my Agent’s magic, I landed near the corner of Roscoe and Southport, in front of a liquor shop that was connected to the El station. On the other side of the station was a two-story building under construction that would eventually hold a fitness center and some more shops.
I checked the clock on my cell phone and saw that it was a few minutes until showtime. I hadn’t identified the soul yet, so I settled in to wait.
A minute or two later a college-age girl stepped out of the El stop. She was bundled up so thoroughly I could see only her eyes peeking above her scarf and the long strands of her ponytail emerging from under her hat. Her backpack looked like it was laden with textbooks. She turned north when she left the station, away from me, and I pushed away from the wall. This was Jayne Wiskowski, and her death had already been written.
I followed her slowly, my boots crunching in the ice and snow even though no one could see me. I didn’t see any sign of her impending doom.
The tattoo in my right palm twitched. Something was coming.
One second it wasn’t there, and the next second it was, like it had crawled through a fold in time and space to appear directly in front of Jayne.
The creature looked like a long and elegant preying mantis, albeit one the size of an NBA player. It closed a pincer around her neck and squeezed.
I broke into a run, the sword in my hand before I could think about it. The pincer, sharp as a Santoku, sliced through her neck before I’d taken three steps.
A woman pushing two toddlers in a double stroller a few feet away screeched as Jayne’s head fell from her shoulders and rolled onto the sidewalk. Arterial blood spurted as her body collapsed. Her soul poured out in a stream of ectoplasm, mouth open in the scream she’d never had the opportunity to utter.
The mantis looked at me, and something like a smile ghosted across its alien features. I realized that I was the only one who could see the creature. And it was turning toward the screaming mother and her crying kids.
I didn’t have time to think about Jayne’s confused soul. I charged the creature and brought the sword down, aiming for the soft, vulnerable joint at its shoulder.
The blade struck true, and the thing gave an ear-shattering cry of pain and anger. Gelatinous goo oozed from the wound.
“What is that? What is that?” the mother screamed, backing away from the sound. She was getting dangerously close to the street, and her kids were freaking out more because their mom was losing it. “What’s happening?”
She couldn’t see the creature, or me, but she could hear the monster’s cries. Behind me I heard the El rumbling into the station. In a minute a bunch of people would get off the train and find Jayne’s body. Then there would be a lot of fussing and running to and fro, and the creature would have more opportunities to kill. More opportunities for “collateral damage.”
I had to take it out or get it away from the area. I couldn’t think about Jayne right now.
The mantis slashed out at me, its pincers snapping at any part of me it could reach. I dodged away, striking back with the sword. The blade slid off the smooth carapace that covered the creature all over except at its joints, so if I didn’t strike in those precise spots, I was just wasting energy. I didn’t want to start throwing magic around. There were too many people, too many chances for things to go wrong.
I drove the creature toward Newport, hoping to push it off the main thoroughfare and into the alley that was behind the candy store. A couple of concerned citizens had arrived in response to the mother’s cries, and had conveniently moved her off to the side, away from both the battle and the street.
There was a hubbub of activity behind me now as more people found the body without a head and a crowd gathered. Sirens blared a few blocks away. There was a police station very close by on Addison, and the authorities would be arriving at any moment.
The mantis clipped at my coat, snagging the material dangerously close to my neck but missing my skin. It cried out in frustration as I slashed at it, forcing it to move away from the crowd of people.
I couldn’t do this all day. I could feel my energy flagging, the weariness that came from pregnancy covering me like a veil. I had to take a chance, and there was no one on the street behind the creature.
I dropped the sword to one side, loosely gripping it in my left hand. The mantis lifted its pincer high like it was anticipating the need to block an attack. I stepped forward with my right foot, fluttered up on my wings and reached under the block with my hand, laying it on the visible flesh just under the creature’s head.
It was slimy, and soft, a lot like touching an exposed organ. But I couldn’t think about what I was feeling, or give the mantis a chance to attack. I sent electricity careening through my body and out my fingers, into the soft parts of the monster.
It gave a hideous cry, high-pitched and ear-shattering. The hubbub on Southport quieted as several people cried out, “What’s that? What now?”
I held tight to the creature as it struggled, its body shaking and trembling, my feet suspended above the sidewalk. The air filled with the smell of cooked insect. I gagged, barely holding on to the pancakes churning in my belly.
After a few moments I let go, and the creature’s blackened corpse fell to the sidewalk. I hung in the air for a moment, breathing in and out through my nose until my stomach settled. Then I lowered to the ground and looked at the burned and twisted thing smoking there.
I couldn’t leave the corpse in the middle of the sidewalk. No one could see it, but they might step on it. I heaved a sigh and went around behind the mantis to drag it into the alley.
The body was surprisingly heavy. Despite the extra dose of strength that came from being half-angel, it was still a struggle for me to pull the creature about ten feet to the nearest Dumpster.
I stood, huffing and puffing and trying to get my pounding heart under control before I attempted putting the remains in with the other garbage.
“Madeline… Black…”
I shrieked and jumped back as an eerie, metallic voice came from the monster I’d thought I’d killed.
8
“MADELINE BLACK,” IT SAID AGAIN, AND ITS VOICE WAS tinny, fading away.
I raised my sword above my head to finish it off.
“All… your… fault,” it said, coughing. “Here… for you.”
Was this creature telling me that Jayne had died because of me? That she was a lure to get to me?
“Who sent you?” I demanded.
It laughed, or tried to. It was hideous to watch it try to speak. Burnt flesh and armor fell from its beaklike mouth, crumbling into ash in the bitter wind.
“Find out… soon enough,” it said.
I heard the rattle of breath, the last exhalation of the dead. But I wasn’t taking any chances.
I cut off its head anyway. Then I cut off its arms, and then its legs, and then I began hacking away at its torso, which was much more vulnerable to the slice of my blade now that it was burned up.
After a while the red haze of anger receded. I realized I was dripping sweat over a pile of smoking insect parts. The wind cut through the holes in my battle-damaged coat, and I shivered.
This was stupid on so many levels. I was standing out in the cold, pregnant and exhausted, and while I was mindlessly hacking up the mantis, one of my many enemies could have snuck up behind me.
“At least it’s easier to put in the garbage now,” I muttered, scooping up the parts and tossing them into the Dumpster.
I adjusted my hat, put away the sword and went to find Jayne Wiskowski.
Her soul, of course, was gone.
There was crime scene tape up around the spot where her body had fallen, and several police officers stood around talking to one another and shooing away the curious. Her body was nowhere to be seen, which meant it had been already transported to the morgue.
Given the trauma of her death, it was unlikely that the soul was still attached to the body. She’d probably broken free of her mortal shell pretty soon after her ectoplasmic self had caught a glimpse of her separated head. Which meant that she was wandering somewhere.
I gritted my teeth, knowing I’d have to hunt for her, and settled in for the long haul. Given all the problems at the Agency, there was no way I could submit paperwork on a lost soul. Of course, the Agency could have helped me out by sending another collector instead of leaving me hanging in the wind.