The Eldritch Conspiracy

* * *

The interrogation room was grim. The cinder-block walls were painted a funky pinkish-tan. Brick red trim surrounded the one-way mirror familiar to anyone who has ever seen a crime drama on television. A battered table was bolted to the floor. On it, untouched, rested two glasses and a sweating plastic pitcher of water.

Again, anyone who watches television knows why the water is there. But you’d be surprised how many people actually drink it. It’s impossible to sit in a room like this and not be nervous. Nerves make a person thirsty. But a full bladder, when there’s no possibility of emptying it, is damned uncomfortable, and pissing yourself is degrading, humiliating, and puts you at a disadvantage with the interviewers. The clock on the wall, with its big, easy-to-read numbers, is there so that the prisoner can’t help but be aware of the seconds, minutes, and hours passing.

If any of this was having an effect on the prisoner, I couldn’t see it. He sat calmly, his arms resting on the table, breathing slow and easy.

He’d obviously played this game before.

So it was time to change the rules.

A large man in a very high-end suit handed me an earpiece. Baker had introduced him as the secretary of Siren Security, Gunnar Thorsen. It was evidently a cabinet post, but with active duties. Very active lately.

He looked about as you’d expect from the name: big and Nordic. His long blond hair was pulled back into a braid, revealing chiseled features and eyes the ice blue of a winter sky. His expression was just that cold. “We have a psychic on duty,” he explained.

As if on cue, the psychic began speaking in my ear. “Testing, one, two, three, testing.” I heard her loud and clear.

“It works.”

“Good. You’ve fed?”

I blinked a little at the directness of the question. “Yes.”

“Right. We need him alive and talking.”

Um, wow. Okay. I’ve come close to losing control a time or two, but I have never actually fed off of a human. Nor do I intend to. It would send me over the edge, make me fully a vampire. I am not, and will never be, a bat. Ever.

I looked through the glass at the prisoner and felt a fine burning rage fill me. He was a terrorist. He’d tried to kidnap my gran. I had no idea what he’d intended to do with her, but I assumed it would have been bad. As it was, she’d wound up in the hospital.

I wouldn’t feed on the bastard, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to hurt him.

I beat down my rage by force of will, calming myself with slow, deep, breaths. After a moment, I was back in full control. “I’m good. Let’s do this.”

The psychic nodded in approval, so Thorsen led me out into the interrogation room.

“You!” The prisoner leapt to his feet, sending the chair crashing to the floor behind him.

“Yup. Me.” I gave him my sunniest, most saccharine smile.

He stood, snarling, breathing as heavily as if he’d been running. It was obviously all he could do not to leap across the room and attack me.

“He wants to kill you.” The psychic’s voice came clearly through the ear bud. “He’s not striking because he knows he can’t make it past Thorsen. But if he sees an opening, he’ll take it. You will need to be very careful. He’s hoping that if he kills you, we will kill him. It will keep him from revealing anything and having the curse take him. He wants to die a martyr to his cause.”

Oh great, a cause. As if any religion justified murder, or the kidnapping of little old ladies. I stared at him and tried to put my finger on what it was about him that seemed so familiar. Who the hell was this guy?

“Why do you look so familiar?”

“You don’t recognize me?” He spat the words.

“Should I?”

“He’s thinking about a brother. Something about a desert and a demon. Damn it, he’s shutting it down. Keep him engaged.”

A desert. And a demon.

Just like that, I knew. I had never seen him before, but I knew him all the same. The psychic was right. I’d met his brother. His name was Barnes. He’d delivered me to Eirene shortly before she called up a greater demon to devour me and my friends. To save us, I’d used my siren powers, engaging Eirene in a battle to control the men working for her. It had been too much for them. Their minds were destroyed, snuffed out like candles in a hurricane.

I shuddered, my stomach roiling at the memory. It had been an accident. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, much less kill them. But I’d done it.

He must have seen my expression. The memory was still raw in my mind. He nodded and sneered. “So, you do remember. You remember what you did to him. Good. I want you to know that you and that other siren bitch are the cause of this. You reminded us why sirens have no place in this world. We will wipe you out like the vermin you are.”

He wasn’t foaming at the mouth, he was smiling. That was even more terrifying. Because while I’d done something hideous and evil by accident, his actions were absolutely deliberate.

The tattoo on his forearm was beginning to glow, the colors shining like light through stained glass, like sparkling jewels. He was talking, and that was starting to activate the death curse that was part of the binding oath he’d taken to keep their secrets. I could feel the magic coming off of him in waves of heat. “The first real blow is tomorrow. But it won’t end until you’re dead. Every last one of you.”

Now he was foaming at the mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head. He made thick, wet choking sounds, his body spasming so strongly that he tripped over the chair. It was like a grand mal seizure, but magical, not physical, in cause. A strong smell of sulfur filled the room.

“Medic!” Thorsen’s bass bellow was loud enough to hurt my ears. He rushed to the still form on the floor and began giving CPR. No artificial respiration. The smell of sulfur and bitter almonds hung too heavy on the body. But he kept working to keep the prisoner’s heart pumping until the EMTs arrived and pronounced him dead.

23

I sat in Thorsen’s large, airy office, shivering in reaction, huddled over a cup of steaming coffee. Thorsen had personally taken charge of my debriefing. Undoubtedly the psychic was being debriefed and writing a report somewhere else.

Emotions swept over me in waves. Guilt: I was the one who caused this. I personally had caused an entire terrorist organization to be formed. People were dying, and it was all my fault. No, not all mine. Eirene owned a share of the blame. Of course, she was already dead, and even half the blame was more than enough for me.

Anger and frustration: that man had been a terrorist and an asshole, but he shouldn’t have had to die like that. The guys we were up against acted as if people were as disposable as used tissues. That was just so wrong. That they were heating it up and serving it as religion only made it worse.

“When he was dying, the psychic got the impression of a cross, and the tattoo on his arm was of a cross as well. It’s obviously a symbol with some importance to them. Do you have any idea, other than the obvious, of what it signifies?”

“Nope.”

There was a tap on the door. A petite brunette with a crisp uniform and a no-nonsense attitude peeked in. “Sir. We ran his prints through the system. They came up for a minor infraction in Detroit, USA, under the name Jason Barnes. I’m running the name Barnes through our database. We’re getting a ton of results, but none of them seems relevant.”

“Stay on it.”

“Yes, sir.” She ducked back out.

“The clairvoyants kept saying that you were the key to what is going on, but they couldn’t tell me why. The queen insisted that you were loyal and had saved her and Adriana at the bridal shop. I wanted to judge for myself.”

“And?”

He answered my question with a question. “What happened in the desert? How did you know Jason Barnes’s brother? What do you know about the Guardians of the Faith?”

I was being interrogated. Oh, we weren’t in a cinder-block room with a one-way mirror, but this was an interrogation nonetheless.

Fair enough.

I straightened in my chair. “Are you taping this?”

He arched a single blond eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you what little I know. Lives are at stake. But I don’t want to risk some of what I’m saying to leave this room.”

“I can’t promise you that.” He shook his head. “I have to pursue my investigations, to protect Queen Lopaka and the others.”

I hadn’t expected any less, but he was missing my point. “I know that. But I have enough problems with the press, and with law enforcement officials thinking I’m a monster. Use the information any way you need to, but be discreet. I don’t want to see it on the news.”

He nodded his approval. “You have my word.” He gave the words weight and I felt magic building behind them. He made a quick gesture with his right hand and I heard a sound like the ringing of a bell, saw a flash of color as red runes flickered to life in the ceiling and walls.

“Now, talk.”

I wasn’t sure what was relevant, so I told him everything that had anything to do with the sirens. I started with the curse Stefania had laid on my sister and me—when I showed him the mark in my palm, he said “Hmm” in a quiet voice. I went through the incident in the desert, my encounters with Okalani, and everything else, including what Hiwahiwa had told me regarding the clairvoyant’s vision.

He asked many questions.

Most, I answered. Some, I couldn’t—because I flat out didn’t know. He didn’t seem upset or disappointed, just accepted my lack of knowledge and moved on.

Finally he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled to tap against his lips. His expression was serious and thoughtful.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think,” he said, leaning forward and setting his hands, palm down, on the desk, “that this is a fucking mess.”

Well, that was honest.

“And while I don’t think you should be held responsible for it, your actions were one of the root causes of recent events. Still, I can’t see what else you could’ve done under the circumstances, and you can’t be held responsible for your enemies’ terrorist actions.” He sighed. “Your aunt wants me to keep you safe, but you’re caught right in the middle of this mess. I don’t see that there’s anything that can be done about that, either. The death curse has something to do with that, no doubt. If Queen Stefania wasn’t already dead…” He let the sentence dangle. He didn’t need to finish it. I knew exactly what he meant. I felt pretty much the same way. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">