Emerald Blaze

Chapter 9

The headquarters of the PRP, the Pit Reclamation Project, occupied the smaller of the two southern islands in the Pit. It took us two more bridges and another small island to get to the final bridge leading there. This time, nobody tried to murder us along the way.

Alessandro drove. He was still laboring under the impression that I had a concussion or a cranial hemorrhage, and my brains could leak out of my ears at any second. He didn’t feel I was fit to drive, and I decided not to fight with him about it.

The cocktail of medication in the antivenom shot had cooled down the pain but didn’t banish it completely. My side hurt, the stabbing agony reduced to a low, dull ache that flared up every time I shifted in my seat. My head hurt too, but not bad enough to slow me down. It stopped bleeding and my hair was rapidly drying. I’d rolled it into a bun to hide the gash. My shoulder throbbed, a consequence of landing on hard concrete after being batted aside by a construct, and my right arm felt ready to fall off. The swords I usually swung were considerably lighter than Linus’ monster.

At least my clothes were dried. I’d changed into the spare outfit I always carried in the car.

The memory of Alessandro looking up at me cycled in my head. I had to sort myself out.

My cell rang. I glanced at the number, and a cold spike of anxiety shot through me. “Yes?”

“She will see you tomorrow at five,” the polite male voice said.

“Of course.”

“Have a nice day, Ms. Tremaine.”

The screen went dark.

“Who was that?” Alessandro asked.

“My grandmother.” Technically, it was Trevor, one of her assistants, a pit bull in human skin with a Harvard education and special forces training.

“I’m guessing it was your other grandmother, because you’re staring at the phone as if it’s a snake about to bite.”

We passed by a copse of trees growing straight out of the water. It ended and two islands swung into view, the first, larger on our right, and the PRP island, smaller and more distant, straight ahead.

On the larger island to our right, construction crews bulldozed remnants of the flooded buildings under the watchful eye of guards armed with tactical shotguns and . . .

“A flamethrower?”

Alessandro smiled. “They can be fun, under the right circumstances.”

“I remember.” He’d sprayed fire on a swarm of arcane creatures once. It happened at night, and he’d grinned like a lunatic while doing it. It’d made him look demonic.

Alessandro glanced at the island again. “Shotguns, flamethrowers, and at least four Mark V DGRs.”

Dangerous game rifles, designed to bring down magically created creatures, a catch-all term that covered any animal augmented by magic or summoned through it.

“I wonder if Marat is guarding against giant plant monsters,” I murmured.

A summoner would be the most likely candidate to be interested in a biomechanical device that controlled arcane beasts. And Marat was the only Prime summoner involved as far as we knew. But then again, we also had constructs, which normally would mean an animator. Yet, as far as I knew, constructs didn’t require a magical core. Could Marat and Cheryl be working together?

“What’s your opinion of Marat?” I asked.

“Marat is opportunistic and vicious when cornered. He tries charm first, but even he knows he’s bad at it, so he defaults to violence. In the fifteen minutes we spent together, he attempted to bribe me by promising kickbacks if the project moved forward and followed up with citing the many dangers surrounding the Pit and the city of Houston.”

“He didn’t.”

“He most certainly did. I think I was supposed to be scared.”

That’s rich. “Were you?”

He spared me a look. “I managed to not faint.”

“Would you like to know what Leon dug up on him?”

“Yes.”

I opened a file on my phone. I had already read it before leaving the office.

“Marat Bared Kazarian, House Kazarian, Prime, Summoner. Forty years old, married, two sons, fifteen and thirteen. Second son of Taniel Kazarian, so he isn’t the heir, he’s the spare.”

Alessandro started his life as the spare too. His older brother died when he was just a few months old, but his name had been written into the family records, and Alessandro would forever be known as the second son.

I kept going. “Marat has no criminal record, no bankruptcies. On paper he’s squeaky clean.”

“But?” Alessandro asked.

“The family has ties to Prince Lebedev, a prominent metallofactor House in the Russian Imperium.”

Metallofactors dealt with ore, metal alloys, and all things that had to do with smelting and working metal. Most of them tended to specialize in steel or aluminum, but some chose precious metals.

“House Lebedev focuses on industrial and military metallurgy. The family is powerful but considered provincial by St. Petersburg. According to Leon, they’ve been linked with illegal arms sales and questionable magical research.”

“How did Marat get involved?” Alessandro asked.

“The Lebedevs have holdings in Armenia near Lake Sevan. House Kazarian still has relatives living there. Any connection to Arkan?”

He shook his head. “The name Lebedev never came up, which doesn’t mean they’re not connected, just that I don’t know about it.”

“Leon couldn’t figure out if House Kazarian actually got any benefits from this friendship. Also, their visits to the Imperium have tapered off in the past decade. Marat’s brother has political ambitions and a close association with the Russians doesn’t look good.”

“Politics costs money,” Alessandro said.

“And that’s where Marat comes in. He’s the family’s workhorse and their fixer. He killed two Significants and a Prime during a feud with another House eight years ago, so his brother’s hands would stay clean. Currently, House Kazarian is strapped for cash, because Marat’s sister went through an ugly divorce, and Marat shelled out a lump payment to his ex-brother-in-law. The former husband got four million dollars and House Kazarian got sole custody of the three children.”

“He bought his nieces and nephews,” Alessandro said. “Smart. No man who would sell his children deserves them.”

His tone told me he would’ve done the same thing.

“Leon doesn’t know how much money Marat sank into the Pit, but he thinks it’s in the millions.”

“Fifteen million,” Alessandro said. “That was the required buy-in when the board was formed.”

That’s right, he had access to Lander.

“Fifteen million is quite a bit,” I said. “If the project collapses, Marat might go bankrupt. Felix dying is the worst thing that could happen to him right now.”

“But you still like him for it?”

I nodded. “He is a summoner sitting in a swamp filled with arcane creatures, he has ties to Russia, and he is in debt up to his eyeballs. It might make him desperate and prone to doing something rash. Maybe Felix wanted him off the board.”

The PRP island loomed ahead. In the center of it, a relatively well-preserved office building rose three stories above the water. A faded green sign on the wall of the top floor proclaimed “XADAR.” The roof bristled with antennas, power poles, and a couple of satellite dishes. A seven-foot fence wrapped around the island, reinforced every few yards by metal posts. A guard tower rose on the west side, and a booth secured the entrance.

We pulled up to the security booth.

The guard glanced at our permit and waved us through. We drove into a large parking lot dotted with puddles. The spot nearest to the door was between an enormous black Ram truck and a mud-splattered Jeep, and Alessandro slid Rhino into it with surgical precision. He had many, many faults, but he was a superb driver.

“Marat’s ride,” I said and nodded at the truck. It was in the summary Leon had sent me.

Alessandro eyed the truck and sneered.

“It’s Texas.” I shrugged.

“What would he even transport in this truck? Another more reasonably sized truck, perhaps?”

“It’s a statement.”

“Yes, it is. Does it turn into a giant robot?”

“Will you run away if it does?”

He gave me a chiding look. “Please. Give me some credit.”

“Then we’re fine.”

Marat exited the building. He wore jeans and a dark shirt and walked with an aggressive, fast stride, as if he were doing the ground a favor.

Alessandro jumped out of the SUV, came around, and held my door open.

Marat looked at me. His eyebrows rose.

I always kept a spare outfit in Rhino, but when I packed it, I aimed for a generic business casual, the kind of outfit that would let me blend in with the city scene in the heat of Houston’s summer. I wore a light coral skirt, a pale, almost white blouse with just a hint of pink, and a striped black-and-white blazer with sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow. I had completed this fashionista ensemble with my muddy boots, because my only alternative was a pair of coral pumps.

It wasn’t the kind of outfit one wore to the swamp. I looked like a complete idiot.

Marat’s face told me he thought as much. “You’re late.” Then he turned away from me. “Prime Sagredo, good morning. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ah. Alessandro got a good morning and I got the hired-help greeting.

“My apologies,” Alessandro said smoothly. “Lander asked me to accompany Ms. Baylor. We ran into some obstacles on the way.”

“Was the road flooded?” Marat frowned. “I didn’t notice any trouble this morning.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Alessandro said.

“We are here now,” I said.

“Now I don’t have time,” Marat said. “I had time twenty minutes ago, but now I don’t have any to spare. I’ll have my secretary call you.”

I had hoped for the subtle approach, but Alessandro was right. Marat was a bully, and like all bullies, he only understood blunt strength.

I held out my hand.

Marat looked at it. “What?”

“Keys.”

“What keys?”

“Keys to the building. I’m shutting you down.”

Marat’s face turned purple. “You can’t do that.”

I quoted from memory, skipping over some irrelevant time limits. “In the event of the death of a Director from a Nonnatural Cause, the Deceased Director’s Voting Shareholders—that would be Lander Morton and Alessandro, by proxy—shall have the right, at their sole election and expense, to retain a private investigator to identify the person or persons responsible for the Deceased Director’s death. That would be me.

“The remaining Shareholders shall cooperate with the Investigation by, at a minimum, one, producing in full any documents requested by the Investigator, subject to a separate nondisclosure agreement; two, responding in writing to any written questions submitted by the Investigator to a Shareholder; three, making available to the Investigator for interview any persons under the control of the Shareholder to whom the request is made; and four, immediately upon retention of the Investigator, preserving all records in any and all media formats by taking any other steps necessary to prevent the spoliation of evidence.

“In the event that any Shareholder fails to cooperate with the Investigation as required by this section, the Deceased Director’s Voting Shareholders shall have the right, at their sole election, to suspend any and all activities of the Corporation, but for the following: one, payment of previously incurred obligations; two, payment of taxes; and three, any filings required to maintain the Corporation as an entity in Good Standing with the Texas Secretary of State.”

Marat gaped at me.

It wasn’t that impressive, actually. I was good at memorization, and a lot of PI work, and especially Warden-related work, landed me into a grey area between regular citizen and law enforcement. Knowing exactly what I was and wasn’t authorized to do was essential, and I had learned to spit the relevant contract language on command.

“You signed this agreement, Mr. Kazarian. You clearly don’t understand what you’ve signed, so I will explain it to you.”

Marat sputtered.

“The contract requires you to comply with my investigation. I’m making a formal request to view the crime scene and interview you in regards to the death of Felix Morton. You’re refusing me access. Therefore, you are in breach of contract. That gives me the right to mothball this project until you decide to cooperate.”

I raised my voice. I had no idea if there was anyone within earshot, but it didn’t matter. “Starting today nobody gets paid. Drop what you’re doing and leave.”

Marat spun to Alessandro. “Are you going to let her do this?”

“Yes.”

“Every moment we’re not working, we’re losing money.”

Alessandro arranged his stunning face into an expression of concern. “I’d like to help. I really would. But she’s a very dangerous woman and you’ve made her angry.”

Marat swore. “Don’t be a fucking pussy!”

Weeks of visiting Grandma Victoria and controlling my face paid off. I didn’t laugh.

“Let’s be reasonable,” Alessandro said, his voice soothing.

“You signed the contract,” I told Marat. “Nobody twisted your arm to do it. This can end any time you’re ready. Show me to the crime scene and answer my questions, and I’ll go away.”

Marat whipped out his phone and stalked away.

I reached out and patted Alessandro’s arm.

“What’s that for?”

“Superhuman self-restraint.”

Marat turned around and marched back to us, his face dark. “Fine. Fucking fine. Let’s go. I’ll show you the damn crime scene.”

We trudged along a series of bridges. One guard, an older, balding man with a Texas tan, in the lead, and the other, a man in his late twenties with hair so pale it was almost white and a brick-red sunburn, bringing up the rear. Both were armed with shotguns and both looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here. Alessandro stuck close to me, blocking the rear guard’s view of me with his wide back. I had a feeling if that shotgun came up, he would grab me and throw me into the murky water.

Around us the Pit bloomed in neon colors. The air smelled of honey and spice, the fragrance drifting from the bloodred lilies. Here and there, half-drowned construction equipment stuck out of the dark water, accumulating plastic garbage that was floating on the surface. The equipment still had bright new paint. Either the water level rose suddenly, or something had dragged bulldozers and backhoes into it and not that long ago.

Another bridge. More drowned equipment. Holy crap, they had sunk a lot of money into this, and they were getting nowhere. They had to be desperate.

“Compared to the rest of this, your main building has a rather nice setup,” Alessandro said.

“It was in decent shape and already wired,” Marat said over his shoulder. “Which is why we chose it. The joke was on us though. Took weeks to make it safe.”

“What was wrong with it?” Alessandro asked.

“Some fool had booby-trapped the whole place. Trip wires everywhere. My demolition guy said he hadn’t seen anything like that since the Army.”

Finally, we clopped our way to a half-flooded industrial building thrusting from the mire. A metal walkway, bordered by a thin metal rail, clung to its second story, only five feet above the water. The front guard went up the stairs to the walkway and waved to us. Marat followed, and we trailed him all the way to the back of the building.

The lobster-red rear guard halted on the side, visibly nervous. Great. That’s what you want with you in a dangerous arcane garbage dump—a panicky guy with a shotgun.

The bulk of the structure shielded us from the rest of the Pit. Directly in front of us, past a twenty-yard stretch of murky water, the overgrown shore presented a wall of green. We were isolated and hidden, but close enough to the main building to get back in under five minutes if we ran. A perfect spot to kill someone. The murderer could stab their victim and dump the body into the water and return before most people realized they were missing.

Marat leaned on the rail and pointed to the electric cable, strung horizontally on wooden poles rising from the water fifty yards apart. The cable sagged in the middle, where Felix’s body must’ve hung.

My original theory was that someone had looped the cable around Felix’s neck and shoved him off the edge. Shoving a grown man over hip-high fence was one thing, but this railing reached to my chest. Too high.

“Walk me through July 15^th, please,” I asked.

Marat shrugged. “Got up, took a piss, brushed my teeth, got dressed, drove to the gym—”

“What time did you leave for the gym?”

To my left, Alessandro studied the metal railing, a calculating look in his eyes. He was thinking along the same lines I was.

“Six,” Marat said. “Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I leave the house at six, get to the gym, work with my trainer, leave at seven-thirty, get home, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast with the family, get to the office or here by nine.”

I glanced to the roof. The cable ran too far to the side. Too low for someone to grab it from the roof yet too high to snag it from the walkway.

Alessandro tested the rail with his hand. It didn’t move. Solid as a rock.

How did they get the cable around Felix’s neck? The only way his hanging made sense was if the wire caught his neck and then sprang straight up, jerking his body upward. It would break his neck.

Hmm.

“Where were you by nine on the day Felix died?” I asked.

“Here,” Marat said. “I checked in at the gate, worked in my office until four, went home, then went out to dinner with my wife, my brother, his wife, and his wife’s brother at Steak 48.”

It took me a second to sort out all the wives and brothers. “What time did you arrive to the restaurant?”

“At 5:48.”

“That’s rather exact.”

Marat heaved a sigh. “My sister-in-law made a reservation for five-thirty. My wife wanted to leave earlier, but I stank like the swamp, so I took a shower. My wife hates to be late. I’m often late. If we’re late by more than fifteen minutes, she gets to pick a movie for Saturday night.”

“What did she pick?” Alessandro asked.

“Underneath.” Marat’s face assumed a long-suffering expression. “A family buys an old house and some kind of nastiness is under it and eats them one by one. Why she likes that scary crap, I’ll never know. I had to hold her the whole time. Not that I mind that part.”

“What was the occasion for dinner?” I asked.

Marat grimaced. “Tamara’s brother was looking for ‘a career change.’”

“Let me guess.” Alessandro raised his eyebrows. “He was let go.”

“Of course he was let go. He ran his department into the ground.”

“When did you leave the restaurant?” I asked.

“They gave up a little past seven,” Marat said.

“You told them no?” Alessandro asked.

“We can’t afford dead weight, especially now. Before you ask, my wife and I went to see my father to warn him that my brother and his wife would ambush him first thing in the morning and cry a river about how I don’t care about the family. We stayed there until nine, and then we went home, watched the new episode of Killer Wives, and went to bed.”

Unlike Nevada, I didn’t have the benefit of magic warning me every time someone lied, but I had interviewed many people, and so far everything about this conversation seemed genuine. His alibi would be easy to check, and even if he employed an illusion mage to impersonate himself, his family would know it wasn’t him. They would probably cover for him, however.

But Marat just didn’t seem like a man with a guilty conscience. He was visibly worried and trying not to show it, which was normal, he didn’t ask leading questions, and he didn’t try to steer the conversation. Nor did he give short answers.

“On the day of his death, Felix attended the Texas Assembly. So did your brother. Did they speak?”

“No. My brother never met Felix. Until Felix died, my brother didn’t even know what he looked like. This is the business side of things. My brother has different ambitions.”

It was time to up the stakes.

“How long have you been aware of the biomechanical magic activity in the Pit?”

Marat had recovered enough to look surprised. “What biomechanical activity?”

Really now? “How many workers are unaccounted for to date?”

“That’s confidential.”

My voice frosted over. “Nothing is confidential. Your procedures, your missing workers, your sister’s divorce settlement, your connection with Lebedev, nothing is off-limits.”

Marat’s eyes narrowed. “Now you listen to me. I don’t know what biomechanical bullshit—”

A tentacle studded with metal hooks burst from the water, wrapped itself around Marat’s chest, and jerked him into the swamp over the rail. He vanished under the surface.

Oh my God.

Alessandro laughed.

The sunburned guard next to us turned and ran, his boots thudding on the walkway. The other guard pounded toward us and fired at the water. Alessandro grabbed the shotgun and drove his elbow into the man’s face with casual ease. The guard let go and stumbled back. The chew flew out of his mouth and landed in the water.

“You’ll shoot him, idiot,” Alessandro said.

The water churned. I reached out with my magic. There it was again, an echo of distant malevolent intelligence, too diffuse to target.

Marat surfaced for half a second before a tentacle yanked him under again.

Crap. I climbed onto the railing.

Alessandro grabbed me and pulled me back. “What are you doing?”

“He’s drowning! I’m going to save him.”

Alessandro swore. “Stay here!”

He thrust the shotgun into my hands. Magic surged around him before a chain flashed into existence in his hands. Alessandro leaped over the rail and dived into the water, dragging the chain with him.

“Holy shit!” The guard leaned on the rail on my right.

The chain slid into the water, uncoiling from somewhere above and snapped taut. The water boiled, whipped into froth.

A shiny spark shot out of the greenery at the shore and streaked through the air toward us.

I jumped out of the way on pure instinct.

A two-foot-long metal spike thudded into the wall to the right of the guard. He gaped at it for half a second, and the next spike took him in the throat, pinning him to the wall.

A shotgun would do nothing at that range. I dropped it to free my hands, spun left, and ran.

Behind me, thumps announced more spikes slicing into the wall.

I sprinted to the corner, caught the rail, and threw my body into the turn. A spike whistled past my right shoulder. I pounded down the stairs and dived behind the building, flattening myself against the wall.

A metal spike cleared the building on my right, turned, and streaked to the wall at a sharp angle, missing me by ten feet.

A telekinetic, positioned on the shore. The spike had sunk almost halfway into the wall. Considering the range and the power of the throw, it had to be a Prime. Lucky for me, I had a paranoid brother-in-law. Connor insisted on drills, and I knew as much about fighting a telekinetic as was humanly possible without being one. Prime or no Prime, the attacker still needed line of sight. That, and a loss of concentration was their Achilles’ heel.

A dozen spikes whistled through the air over the building, curving to strike.

I hauled myself over the rail and dived into the water. It swallowed me, tepid, dark, and smelling faintly of fish and algae. I kicked my feet and surfaced. Above me, the spikes hammered home, sinking into the walls.

I barely had any magic left, but I had recovered some, and I reached out with it. A concentrating telekinetic was like a beacon, massive power focused into a laser beam. Two seconds, and I had him, a sharp, painfully bright pinprick of white about thirty-five yards away on the shore.

A second volley of spikes curved around the building.

I opened my wings and reached for him. He couldn’t see me, but he could hear me, and I sent the sound of my voice, augmented with my power, at his mind.

“Come to me.”

My magic locked on to him, gripping his mind in a mental fist. The spikes lost their direction and rained down on the water. I dived, holding on to his mind. He flailed, caught by my will like a fish on a line. I surfaced and sang one more time.

“Come to me!”

He convulsed, fighting to get free. His will was strong, almost as strong as Connor’s, but Mad Rogan’s mind was an immovable fortress. This mind sputtered, rock steady one instant, careening the next. I needed more magic, but I had none left.

His magic buckled. My grasp slipped. He broke free and I went back under.

Shit. My magic was gone, and Alessandro couldn’t teleport. Even if he realized the telekinetic was there, he would have to swim across to get to him. He would be a sitting duck in the water.

I surfaced.

The sharp glow of the telekinetic’s will receded.

Ha! He was running away. He’d panicked.

Something brushed against my thigh. I kicked on pure instinct, frantically trying to get away. Straight ahead, barely ten feet away, a ramp hung from the walkway.

Something grabbed my legs, spun me around, and let go. I floated, keeping as still as I could.

A faint glow slid under the water toward me. I breathed in, deep and slow. Don’t panic. Just don’t panic . . .

The glow surfaced. A flexible metal tentacle rose out of the depths and hovered a foot away, level with my face. A pale bud glowed on its end, growing out of the metal against all the laws of nature.

The bud opened. A beautiful flower bloomed, unfolding three rows of pristine white petals with sharp tips. A spicy honeyed aroma washed over me.

A round eye stared at me from the inside of the flower, glowing with brilliant emerald fire.

Holy crap.

A presence brushed against my mind, alien, strange, but sentient. Panic crested inside me and I stomped on it, keeping myself still.

The presence touched me. We connected.

A human mind was a localized, concentrated presence, sometimes a mere smudge of light, sometimes a brilliant star. This was a cloud, a storm with pinpoints of light caught in the glowing ether of consciousness. It was everywhere, dispersed through the Pit, stretching out in wispy strands, a cluster of stars there, a barely perceptible veil here, flowing, shifting . . . Not a hive mind, but a single enormous consciousness extending a narrow tendril of itself to me.

Ice slid down my spine. I was looking into the proverbial Abyss and it stared back at me.

I slammed my mental defenses shut.

The mind shifted, fluid, reaching for me, trying to reforge the connection.

An explosion punched the air behind the building. The flower snapped closed, and the tentacle vanished under the water.

I spun around and swam to the ramp, faster than I ever swam in my life. My hand closed on the metal rail. I pulled myself up onto the ramp and ran, dripping, up the walkway and around the building.

Alessandro was on the walkway, pulling the chain up with both hands. Under him, the water boiled. A neon green stain spread over the swamp.

Alessandro yanked the chain, the muscles on his arms bunching. The chain gave and Marat popped out of the water, caught under his arms by the chain’s loop.

A tentacle of plants and metal burst from the water, slithering after Marat. Alessandro lunged forward, a flamethrower materializing in his hands. A jet of fire licked the tentacle, scorching it.

Marat drew a long, shuddering breath. Magic boomed from him, like the toll of a giant invisible bell. A swirl of darkness unfurled ten feet above us and spiraled out, blue lightning flashing at its center.

A summoner portal.

The darkness exploded into brilliant white. Fishes rained out of the portal into the water, five feet long, silver blue, with blunt heads armored with bone plates. Their huge mouths gaped, flashing jagged bone teeth long enough to bite through my leg.

They fell into the water, and the swamp erupted. Dayglow green blood fountained to the surface. Chunks of plant matter and strange white flesh floated up and vanished as the fish snapped them up in a frenzy.

Alessandro tossed the flamethrower aside, straightened, and saw me. Surprise slapped his face. He turned, saw the guard impaled on the spike, and bared his teeth. “What happened?”

Marat climbed onto the walkway. “That’s it. That’s fucking it!”

All around us things moved. At the shore something slid into the water. On the left, far in the swamp, a sinuous thing stirred. I reached out with my magic and saw the Abyss moving, flowing toward us, like a glowing amoeba sensing its prey.

“Catalina?” Alessandro spun me around.

“There is a creature in this swamp,” I whispered, trying to track the enormous consciousness floating around us. “It’s everywhere. It’s coming. We have to go.”

“Get it!” Marat yelled at the fish creatures, banging his fist on the railing. “Get that fucker! Rip it all up, whatever it is!”

Alessandro grabbed my hand and sprinted down the metal walkway.

“Hey!” Marat roared.

We kept running. A moment later Marat’s heavy footsteps followed.