The female half of the population of this nation are utterly powerless to strike an unjust law from the statute books. It is difficult to justify the notion that women are inferior, and thus incapable of voting rationally, when some of us can move objects with our minds, while others have displayed the constitution of ten strong men. Can you display any such feats, your honor? Do not tell me I am out of order! I already know you cannot, because I can read your thoughts.
—Elizabeth D. Carlyle,
Trial on the Charge of Illegal Voting, 1873
Bell Farm, Virginia
The farmhouse was quieter with Jane and Lance gone. Too quiet, and that just made him restless. Sullivan poked sullenly at his breakfast and wished that he could be doing something useful, but that was difficult when you were Public Enemy Number One.
Their rings had woken them up in the middle of the night. Francis had been hysterical. Then another call had come from a young knight that none of them had met before named Whisper. She’d told them about the battle in Oklahoma. One knight killed and two injured, including Faye.
Francis had wanted to fly down there himself, but Lance had talked him down. Since the OCI had seen him talking to Faye, that meant that there was now no doubt as to his membership in the Society. Francis needed to lose his tail and go to ground before he got rolled up too. Francis hadn’t liked that at all, but the kid was smart, and knew that Lance was talking sense.
Faye’s group was on the run and heading east, but that left about thirty plus hours of driving ahead of them. Jane had volunteered to go and meet them half way. They could certainly use her Power. Faye had some cuts and had been scalded by demon smoke, and another knight named Ian had been burned and inhaled too much smoke. Of course, Dan wasn’t about to let his wife go do something potentially dangerous without him, and though his name had shown up in the papers, Sullivan wasn’t about to try and talk him out of going. He let Jane do that. Their Healer was hard to argue with when she set her mind to something, and she really didn’t want Dan getting arrested.
Since Grimnoir always tried to work with backup, Lance had volunteered to go with her. He’d promised Dan not to flirt with his pretty young wife, and had gotten out of there before Dan had a chance to turn too red.
That had left Dan Garrett and Jake Sullivan to come up with their next move. Dan, being the much less recognizable of the two, had taken Lance’s truck into town to pick up the morning papers, and Sullivan read while he ate. His picture was on page one again, the dangerous public face of the Active menace. They’d put his picture right next to one of the assassin, like they were best buddies or something. Sullivan almost threw the paper down in disgust, but he forced himself to keep reading. Questions were being raised about how someone so obviously dangerous had been given an early release from Rockville. J. Edgar Hoover had been unavailable for comment.
There was nothing about Oklahoma yet, though a high profile Active battle against a greater Summoned in front of witnesses surely wouldn’t help their case very much. Roosevelt had been Healed, though he hadn’t made a public statement yet. The inauguration was still on schedule. The people were up in arms. Active businesses had been put to the torch and many had been hurt. Some Shard kid had killed a few mobbers in Brooklyn, in what read to Sullivan like a clear cut case of self defense, but the editorials were screaming for his blood. Hearings were being convened about addressing the “Active problem”. Anti-magic groups were holding a gigantic march on Washington.
The real bad news was an article six pages in, so small he almost missed it.
Dan came into the kitchen. “Hey, pass me the funny pages if you don’t mind . . .” He trailed off when he saw the look on Sullivan’s face. “Oh no. What’s wrong now?”
“Imperium ambassador dies of heart attack.”
“Heart attack? Let me see that.” Dan adjusted his glasses and read. “They killed him! They killed him to keep quiet about the fake Chairman.”
“Looks like it.”
“You think they’ll spread the word to the Iron Guards about being on the lookout for this Pathfinder? They have to . . . Even they couldn’t be that stupid.”
Their effort had been for nothing. Taking his warning seriously meant that the real Chairman was dead. Whoever was leading the Imperium now would kill their own and risk the coming of the Enemy to stay in power. Sullivan put the paper down and walked outside without another word.
They were on their own. He would have to stop the Enemy himself.
Deep in thought, he wandered for a bit. There was a wood pile behind the house. Physical activity helped him think. He found an ax in the shed. It would be like breaking rocks. Just like old times.
Sullivan pondered on their predicament while he methodically split the logs. The Enemy was coming, but they didn’t know how much time they had. They’d failed to alert the one government that did believe in the creature, and they were fugitives from their own. The ax rose and fell, and then Sullivan would drag over another log. The process repeated itself. He worked until his shirt was damp with sweat and the pile of split wood had grown large.
There were three possibilities. Defeat the Pathfinder themselves, or convince either the Imperium or the US to do it for them.
First off, he didn’t know if they could defeat the Pathfinder. The Chairman had been scared of the damn thing, and the Grimnoir had spent decades trying to kill the Chairman. It was only through treachery and luck that they’d finally taken him down. They didn’t know enough about this thing to trick it, and they sure as hell couldn’t count on getting lucky.
The Imperium . . . Somebody was playing Chairman, and doing a fine job of it from all accounts, but he wasn’t the real Chairman, and that meant he could die. If the false Chairman was killed, then they’d have no choice but to believe. The issue then became travelling to the other side of the world and murdering a head of state, who was surely protected by a legion of Iron Guard, demons, and ninjas.
There were other Grimnoir in that part of the world, though . . . Something could be arranged. Ironic. This had begun with an accusation of them being assassins, yet their best chance to save the world would make that label a reality.
Sullivan smashed the ax cleanly through a gigantic log.
The last possibility was getting his own nation to pay attention. Sure, this Pathfinder was tough, but it couldn’t possibly be a match for might of the US military. Sullivan was no politician. He had no idea how to get the powers-that-be involved. Those things were way over his head. After Mar Pacifica, the Grimnoir had tried to get the truth in front of the right people. Some had believed, some hadn’t, but nobody had acted on it because to do so meant war. And though many could tell it was coming, no one was ready for war with the mighty Imperium.
The Enemy was even more dangerous than the Imperium. They had to know. He had to figure out how to make them believe. It would be difficult, even more so because Actives were so hated and feared right now, which was partially understandable considering what had happened over the last few years. The Grimnoir in particular were being cast as criminals, and the OCI was out to destroy them . . .
Why?
Sullivan paused mid swing. Why was the OCI so motivated? Who’d created them? What was their purpose? Their only contact with that shadowy organization had been violent. The Society had sources that he was unaware of, they were a large group after all, and those knights were trying to figure those questions out. As long as the OCI was hunting them like animals, then they’d never stop the Enemy. Why had the secret police fixated on the Society? He smashed the next log into splinters without thinking.
The Grimnoir had to clear their names first. Only then would the government listen.
“Jake, come here for a minute,” Dan shouted from the edge of the barn. He stuck the ax into a log and walked over. Dan was sitting in the truck with the door open, listening to the radio. “It’s about you.”
The newscaster was just finishing up. “—tor of the Bureau of Investigation, J. Edgar Hoover, denies that Heavy Jake Sullivan ever worked for, and was in fact paroled specifically on behalf of, the Bureau. Mr. Hoover has stated that these lies are simply slander against his brave agents.”
That made Sullivan smile. Hoover always had hated bad publicity. He had berated and punished his men after the Maplethorpe case in Detroit and the time they’d let Delilah get away in Springfield. And then it clicked . . . “The OCI screwed Hoover. They’re who put my name in the papers and connected us.” Hoover never would have done anything that could have splashed muck on his precious bureau.
“Former Illinois senator, Bradford Carr, is demanding a full investigation to find out if the Bureau inadvertently released a member of an Activist anarchist group. Senator Carr’s close friend and mayor of Chicago, Anton Cermak, was one of the murdered in Friday’s attack. Mr. Hoover will be holding a press conference this afternoon at the Department of Justice building.”
They weren’t that far away. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Dan frowned. “Apparently not, but you’ve got that crafty look.”
“Hey, I trusted your last plan. I just want to go say hi to an old pal.”
OCI Headquarters
“You fool. You incompetent! What in the hell were you thinking?”
Crow kept his eyes down. Partly to avoid his superior’s rage, and partly because he was so exhausted he could barley lift his head. He wasn’t allowed to bring one of his better bodies into the inner sanctum, so he was stuck with the weak one he’d been born with. “The Traveler is one of our prime targets. Intelligence suggested that she’s—”
“Not that, imbecile. I know how important the girl is. I’m aware of the Warlock’s handiwork. I saw his body with my own eyes,” his superior shouted.
“When word came, I decided to capture her myself.”
“That would have been splendid if you had. Instead you lost her and caused a spectacle.” He placed a telegram in the center of the desk and slid it over. “This is going to make the evening papers.”
Crow took it and read. Crow swallowed hard when he got to the part where the witnesses reported that the demon had said it was from the government. “Is there any way we can squash this in time?”
“Squash it? That Crackler blasted you so hard it ended a drought. They’ve got more rain today than they’ve got in the last six years. Six years! That part of the country has been suffering because of magical government meddling since ’27, and as far as the people there are concerned it was ended by someone who proclaimed himself a Grimnoir, who then sacrificed himself to stop a government demon.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Crow. You’ve single-handedly made our enemies into folk heroes. Squash it? No . . . A few days ago, the only time the public had heard the name Grimnoir was as a criminal cabal. Now they fight demons and make it rain.”
“Maybe it’s just temporary?” Crow asked hopefully.
The boss shook his head. “A Weatherman’s already checked and said that it feels like the patterns there have returned to normal. There was only a magical blight there before, but it was too strong to break, and nobody was willing to kill themselves trying to drain it. Until you came along.”
“I apologize for my actions. Things got . . . Out of hand.”
“Explain yourself.”
Crow placed the telegram back on the table. He knew that he had to tread carefully. If his superior realized how close he was to the edge, he could easily end up in Rockville. “It’s the Summoned. When I take them over, their minds are still inside. Usually that’s no problem, I just push them out of the way, but some are stronger than others. Their personality can start to seep through.” He didn’t mention that it was getting worse all the time. “The Greater Summoned especially . . . I needed something strong and that could travel fast. That particular one was . . . aggressive.”
In reality, its rage had consumed him. When he’d forced the form to appear as a man, it hadn’t been too hard, but when he’d let its form free . . . His mind had still been intact, but the demon had taken over his personality. He’d wanted to eat the Grimnoir that had dared to fight him, and he’d wanted to gloat about it.
“Show me your spell,” his superior commanded.
Crow reluctantly opened his shirt to show off the intricate design tattooed on his chest.
The boss shook his head. “My work is perfect. The spell seems to be intact.”
“Of course,” Crow said. Before he’d received that magnifying mark he’d been an ordinary Summoner. It was frightening to think that the boss might have wanted to take that away from him. Being able to put his consciousness right into the body of a Summoned and being truly free was intoxicating. He quickly buttoned his shirt back up.
“Do you think the Dymaxion nullifiers here are affecting you?”
“I can’t Summon while they’re running, but if I’m already in the body of one, I can come and go as I please.” The nullifiers did seem to make his control a bit more tenuous, but the boss didn’t need to know that. The devices were an integral part of their security. He was careful only to be around the Dymaxions while in the body of one of his weaker Summoned, and even then it made it hard to separate himself from the weak creatures. It was hard enough to use one of his powerful demons; possessing one with a nullifier working could be disastrous.
“Fine, fine . . . I would reprimand you but I fear it would do more harm than good. You’re my most effective man. I expect better from you. I’ll overlook this, but I want you to be more careful in the future. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Crow had figured he would be all right. He was an integral part of this new operation. Even before the boss had gifted him with such an epic spell, Crow had been a useful clandestine operative, going clear back to disappearing war protestors for the Wilson administration. His talents, ability to keep a secret, and complete lack of moral compunction made him a valuable asset.
“What’s your next move?”
“Francis Stuyvesant ran, as expected. I put two layers on him. He’s lost the first, but doesn’t suspect we’re still tracking him. We’ll see what he gets up to. Otherwise I’m prepared to begin phase two.”
The boss stroked his mustache. “I see . . . So you plan to take them in one fell swoop?”
“I do.”
“Very well. Carry on and keep me appraised of your progress. Meanwhile, I have newsmen to talk to. There’s damage control to be done. Dismissed.”
Crow rolled his chair away from the desk. “I apologize again for my behavior.”
The boss waved him away. “No need, Mr. Crow. Epic changes take epic work and sometimes lead to epic mistakes. Once every Grimnoir is imprisoned or dead, we’ll look back on this day and laugh.”
Fairfax County, Virginia
Toru had finally relented to the concern of his men and eaten. They had brought him rice and fish. Then he’d dismissed them to return to his brooding. The more that Hattori’s memories found their place and became clear, the more concerned he had become.
The final year of Hattori’s life had been troubled. The ambassador had been privy to reports that a mere Iron Guard had not been allowed to see. The destruction of the flagship Tokugawa had come as a complete surprise. There had been no word from the Chairman. Some had begun to question . . . Was it possible that a Tesla weapon could destroy even the Chairman?
This was a great cause for concern. There was still an organization in place, but why would an immortal need to chose a successor? Even in the council there were factions vying for different outcomes. If the Chairman was truly gone, there would be a battle between them for supremacy. The matter was discussed. Lots were drawn and sides were chosen, and for one brief instant the future of the Imperium stood balanced on the edge of chaos.
But in the end, it had not mattered, because the Chairman had come back. Three days after the Tokugawa, he had walked right into the council chambers and taken his customary place to the right of the empty chair that was always left for the emperor, as if nothing had happened. He had gently chided his questioners for their lack of faith, but there was no doubt from his answers that he was truly the Chairman. A direct hit from the most powerful of all Tesla weapons had been but a temporary inconvenience. The Imperium had continued on its mission of purification.
Yet a few men had retained their doubts. Hattori had been one of them. He was one of Okubo Tokugawa’s oldest friends, and something had seemed off about the returned Chairman. Their few conversations had been strange, as if the Chairman had all of the information, but was processing it to different conclusions than he had in the past. Hattori was stationed in a distant land, and thought that perhaps he had just been away from home far too long. He had never spoken about his doubts to anyone, for the good of the Imperium.
Until the Grimnoir came, and then Hattori had been forced to face the truth. He could no longer afford to ignore what he’d secretly believed himself for some time. The danger presented by the Pathfinder was far too great. Hattori knew that he had been a coward, unable to face his doubts until it was too late.
And now his shame had fallen onto Toru.
The young Iron Guard had just finished his rice when the mirror flexed and the glass rippled like water. The time was at hand. He put his bowl aside, adjusted his uniform, and prepared himself. Toru was mindful of his duty in all things and despite the doubts that Master Hattori had cursed him with, Toru would conduct himself as an Iron Guard should. He went to his knees and put his head to the floor, fully expecting that his death would be ordered.
The Chairman appeared before him. “I have heard your report, Iron Guard Toru. I am displeased that the Grimnoir escaped, but they are crafty foes. However, you did as I expected with Ambassador Hattori?”
“No. I have failed in that as well, Chairman.”
“I see.” He sounded very displeased. “In what manner?”
“I was commanded not to speak with him, however he used his Power to send information directly into my mind. He took me by surprise and I was unable to stop him. There is no excuse for my failure.”
“What did he show you?”
“Memories of his time with you in Dark Ocean . . .” Toru could not help himself. He glanced up in order to see the Chairman’s face. “And his more recent doubts as to whether you were really alive.”
The Chairman gave a little smile. “And did he think me an imposter?”
“He was unsure.”
“A waste of a good man, demented in his old age. What of you, Iron Guard? What do you think of this tale?”
His next few words would determine if he lived or died. “His doubts have damaged my faith, Chairman. I do not know the answer.”
The smile died. “I see . . . You are a brave one, aren’t you, Toru?”
“No, Chairman, but I am honest.”
“Have you spoken of these doubts with anyone else?”
“No.”
There was a long, painful silence. “I am moved by your sincerity, Iron Guard. You are one of my finest warriors. You were once considered a possibility to be First Iron Guard. However, you have failed me too many times, first in Manchuria and now in America. Your martial skill is unmatched, but your spirit is weak. Some of your brethren have been dispatched from New York to assume your command. You are to remand yourself into the custody of the captain of your guard until then.”
“Am I to die then?”
“Yes. I give you permission to take your own life. That would be for the best. Should you not, your brothers will do it for you.”
Toru’s ears flushed hot. The shame was greater than his fear of death. “Yes, Chairman.”
“Farewell, Iron Guard Toru.”
Teeth clenched so tight that his jaw ached, a sudden unexpected anger bubbled up from deep within. It was as if the spirit of Hattori was inside, shouting, demanding to be heard. “Father, wait.”
“Yes?”
“So that both Hattori and my spirit may go easily into death, restore my faith, that I may know it is truly you.”
“For your courage, I grant you this last wish.”
The real Chairman would know the words of Dark Ocean, from the time shortly after the defeat of the second Pathfinder, while they were all so devoted to taking power by any means necessary. They’d been forced to work in secret, recognizing other conspirators only through codes and tricks, often in the form of poems personally written by Okubo Tokugawa.
“The life of an echo.
Perfect sky and mountain firm.
Fires of purity burn,”
“On a dark ocean,” the Chairman finished automatically. “I wrote that myself, a very long time ago.”
That was correct. “But what does it mean?”
“I . . .” The briefest look of consternation crossed his handsome face. “It means . . .” For the briefest of instants, the Chairman looked away, thinking, and then Toru knew the truth. “We were an image of the warriors that came before, as pure as air yet unyielding as rock, together we would make the empire pure.”
Toru touched his head to the floor. His father, the poet samurai, would never debase himself by explaining one of his poems. The poem’s meaning had to reveal itself. To explain it was to make it impure. The Chairman had told Toru that himself the very first time they’d met.
His real father was dead.
“Thank you, Chairman. I am at peace with what I must do.”
Prince William County, Virginia
Sullivan was so close that Hammer could smell him.
Not literally. Though that certainly would’ve been a strange Power to have been born with. She’d been compared to a bloodhound a few times, thankfully for skill rather than looks, but what she did was really much different than just following a trail. As a Justice, Pemberly Hammer could see the real truth of things.
She’d been exhausted after driving straight through from New Jersey and using her Power almost nonstop. Having picked up the spot where Sullivan had left the ambassador’s house, it had either been stop and rest or fall asleep at the wheel and crash.
The little roadside motel was quiet by the time she woke up late in the afternoon. A few hours of sleep and a bath worked wonders for her. Soon the chase would be on again, but Hammer needed some quiet time to relax. She really didn’t want to finish this job, but didn’t see much choice in the matter.
Luckily for her, Sullivan had tended to pick a road and stay on it. You could learn a lot about a man by observing their path. Sullivan was straightforward. When she’d first started looking for him to take the call on the Spirit Phone, some folks had told her that the Heavy was dumb. They’d mistaken his directness for simplicity, and they couldn’t have been more wrong.
A few times she’d driven right past a choice that he’d made and not realize it because she was tired and giving her Power a rest. Then she’d had to backtrack and try again. It wasn’t an easy trick, but it was why she got paid the big money. Sullivan’s choices had led her to some strange places, the spot where the Bonus Army had been driven out, and then out to the country to what she’d quickly realized was an Imperium owned compound.
Toru Tokugawa had been remarkably truthful for an Imperial. That made her distrust him even more, especially since there was no way that he could have known that she could tell the instant he lied. She couldn’t read thoughts, though she could try to push people into spilling the truth. The man had struck her as so particularly dangerous that she hadn’t dared try. She got the distinct impression that he was someone that could take a human life as easily as a slaughterhouse butcher could plug a steer between the eyes.
Sadly, the Jap was only the second most unnerving person she’d met in the last few days, with Crow taking the grand prize for creepiness. She’d tried to tip the scales to be absolutely certain he was telling the truth, and instead she’d found something alien. Crow was a human shell filled with something nasty, like a rotten egg that looked edible until you cracked it.
But he also had leverage on her.
It was difficult enough to become a real professional peace officer as a woman. If word got out about how her Power worked, then that would be the end of her dreams. Considering the level of corruption in the world right now, no real department was going to hire somebody that could sense the internal rot.
As one who’d made a life out of figuring out the truth, being blackmailed to keep her secrets safe was particularly galling. So now she was hunting somebody that she had a distinct impression was a completely innocent man on behalf of somebody who, near as she could figure, was completely evil. Daddy would be ashamed. He wouldn’t have let some Yankee thug bully him into dishonest work.
Hammer sighed and got back to work. She might not have inherited her father’s integrity, but she had certainly inherited his work ethic. Used to living on the road, packing her bags only took a few minutes. She made a little ritual of checking each of her handguns before stashing them about her person. As somebody who knew just how dishonest the world was, she never went anywhere without protection.
There was another choice. Hammer pulled her car off to the shoulder and got out. Pretty country here, all farms, fields, and patches of trees wherever it was too bumpy to cultivate. It was greener than where she’d grown up in Texas. There was no traffic, which made her job easier. She walked to the middle of the crossroads.
Sometimes when her quarry had to make a choice, she didn’t even have to use her Power to tell which was the true way. Some roads passed by, but there had been no real choice to make there, so her quarry had just kept on going. Sometimes she just knew, because she understood the people she was hunting. Other times, when it wasn’t clear, where there were a few possible paths, that was when her Power came in.
Hammer slowly turned in a circle. West, south, east. She’d come from the north. She pushed her Power, and could feel it inside her chest, ready to hunt. It was like she could hear her daddy’s words, clear and true as the day he’d taught her. Know the outlaw. Know his mind. Know what he wants. Then your magic will show you the truth.
She opened her eyes and knew that Sullivan had gone south. Hammer started walking back to her car.
There was a sudden noise, like the rustle of a vulture’s wings.
She turned to see a man in black standing behind her. The Bisley Colt came out of her coat in a flash.
Crow tipped his hat in greeting. “Hammer.”
She didn’t lower the gun. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was born in Philly,” he lied. He saw her frown. “Just testing you. Put that away before you hurt somebody.”
Reluctantly, Hammer lowered the revolver, though she kept it in her hand. There were no cars in view. He had come out of nowhere. How had he found her? “You scared me.”
“That’s my job.” That time he was telling the truth.
“Are you a Traveler or something?”
“Or something.” Truth, and Hammer cursed herself for wasting it on a stupid question. “Your current assignment can wait. I’m assuming you can pick up the trail later.”
Truth was harder to see, the older it got, but he didn’t need to know her limitations. “Sure.”
“I need you to meet me at the courthouse in Alexandria. I want you to listen to something.”
“Can’t you just tell me here and save us the trouble?”
“I need your professional opinion. Can you tell if somebody is lying from a recording?”
“Usually . . . How did you find me?”
“Trade secret. Meet me there in an hour.”
Hammer turned and gestured at her car. “How’re you—” but by the time she’d turned back, Crow had disappeared. She turned in a quick circle, but he was nowhere to be seen. Feeling stupid, she put the Colt away.
“Well . . . Looks like I’m working for Old Scratch,” she muttered.
Daddy would not be proud.
The OCI agent manning the courthouse door knew right away who she was and led her to a small room by the judge’s chambers. Crow had been there waiting for her with an audio tape already threaded into a complicated player. He didn’t bother to greet her and she didn’t bother asking how he’d gotten there so quickly. There were already four fresh cigarette butts in the ashtray. “Close the door.” Crow gestured for her to pull up a chair, then he flipped a lever and started his machine.
Hammer had to tilt her head closer to the speaker horn. She could recognize Crow’s voice. “I want to talk to you about the Grimnoir Society.”
“I do not know this thing you speak of.”
“Spare me the lies, Fade. I’m familiar with your little club and my assignment is to destroy it.”
“Torture me all you want, I have nothing to say.”
Crow turned a knob and stopped the player. “This is one of the Grimnoir we captured, a German immigrant by the name of Heinrich Koenig. He was there at the assassination attempt. The rest of his gang think he’s dead. I want you to tell me when he’s lying.” Crow turned the knob and the tape began to turn.
Hammer listened carefully. Detecting lies was the easiest use of her Power. She’d practiced it so much that it was automatic, unconscious, and barely even drew on her supply of magic. The Grimnoir was truthful. He was scared for his friends and loyal, but she didn’t need magic to tell her that. Crow, as usual, was a bundle of deceit.
“That is ridiculous. I tried to save the man, not kill him.”
Crow’s voice came on next, but the man quickly turned the knob and stopped the tape before she could hear what he had to say in response to that. “So, professional opinion?”
“Magic evidence isn’t admissible in court, but this man’s innocent. That’s plain as day.”
Crow took out another cigarette and a matchbook. “I’ll pass that along.”
“So what are you going to do with him?”
“He’ll get a fair trial.” Another lie. Crow sighed, “All right, you got me . . . Can’t lie to a Justice . . . The German is to be executed as soon as my superiors are certain that he’s outlived his usefulness. National security matter. It’s out of my hands.” He struck a match with his thumb and lit up. He shook the match out and tossed it in a waste pail. When he returned the pack of cigarettes to his pocket he made a big show of finding something inside. “Reminds me . . . While you’re looking for these Grimnoir, watch for these.” He produced a ring and handed it over.
Hammer tried not to let her surprise show when the gold and obsidian ring landed in her palm. She’d seen this exact type of ring before.
“This was found on the assassin. The German wore one of these, too. All the Grimnoir have one. Even if they don’t have it on, they’ll have it nearby. Keep an eye out for anyone wearing one of these. If they’ve got this ring, they’re the enemy.”
Reluctantly, she gave the ring back.
There was a hard knock on the door. “Come in,” Crow ordered.
One of the OCI men stuck his head in. “Mr. Crow, you’ve got an important call from headquarters.”
“Got to take this . . .” Crow muttered. “This might take awhile.” He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. He’d left the ring on the table.
Hammer stared at it. There was no mistake. Though he had never worn one himself, her father had told her about the men that wore these.
She picked the ring up. It had carvings all along the inside. Crow had said that it was the assassin’s ring, so she pushed her Power a bit to see if that was true. The impression she got was that Giuseppe Zangara had been the last man to wear it . . . Only he hadn’t worn it for very long at all. Before Zangara, another man had died wearing that ring. She pushed harder, trying to see the true history of the ring. The image was fuzzy. The actors were strange. The ring’s true owner had been shot in the back and the ring had been stolen off his dead hand. It had been on so long that they’d broken the finger prying it off.
The truth faded and she put the ring back on the table.
She had to let Crow know the assassin was not a member of the Grimnoir Society.
But Crow was made of lies. Hell, he was a lie. Whatever he really was, he was certainly no normal man. He couldn’t be trusted either . . . Hammer’s gaze turned to the tape player. He had been in a mighty hurry to stop it. The door was still closed. The machine was still running. Hammer turned the knob.
“I know! You should be getting a medal, not rotting under OCI headquarters. Heh, just between you and me, I know you Grimnoir didn’t do it. We’ve already got conclusive evidence upstairs. But nobody in charge is going to see that evidence until I’m done cleaning house. I’m sure as hell not going to let a good crisis go to waste. My office just got a blank check to do whatever we needed to do to get you people under control. You know how rare that kind of pass is? In a little while, congress will go back to getting cold feet and fretting about overstepping its bounds, but by then it’ll be too late for your kind.”
For once, everything Crow had said there was completely true. He knew these people were innocent and he had the evidence to prove it . . . The rat bastard. Hammer heard a noise from the hall so she quickly stopped the tape.
Crow came back in, shaking his head. “Politicians riding my ass . . .” He looked at her suspiciously. “Why the long face?”
“Nothing. Ready to get back on the case is all. You need me for anything else, Mr. Crow?” She wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.
“Naw. We’re good here . . . You know, Hammer, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. You’re one hell of an investigator and you’ve got a rare gift. We’re both professionals here. Once you’ve found Sullivan, maybe you should think about coming to work for OCI as a full agent. We’re not the BI. That was your original goal wasn’t it? No place for girls there though. OCI don’t care. Looks, brains, Power, somebody like you could go far with us.”
Snowflake’s chance in hell of that. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
After Hammer left, Crow checked the player. Sure enough, she’d played the rest of the tape. People with integrity were so easy to manipulate. They were like reading an open book. Especially when because of the rarity of their Power the OCI had been gathering information on them for years. Even with somebody you couldn’t lie to, you just had to figure out which truths you wanted told, and then steer them into filling in the blanks themselves.
One of the men reported in awhile later. Just as expected, after getting away from the courthouse Hammer had pulled her car over and spent twenty minutes searching through it and her bags. Perfect. He had wanted her unnerved and thinking about how he’d been able to find her in the middle of nowhere so easily. She’d found the tracking rune that he’d had scratched into the paint just under the bumper and destroyed it. He had specified that it shouldn’t be made too hard to find. That would make her feel like she’d won, like she’d outsmarted him. A small victory would make her more confident that he could be outwitted, and that would make Hammer brave enough to make a hard decision.
Which was right where he wanted her.
Hammer found herself back at the crossroads.
Her father had taught her how to track, magical or otherwise, how to defend herself, how to listen to her magic, and all of the other useful skills that she’d used to make a good living. He’d also taught her about right and wrong, and how sometimes the truth can be somewhere between the two.
If the OCI’s mission wasn’t evil, then it was damn close. An innocent man was going to die for a crime he’d tried to prevent, and if Crow had his way there would be many more to follow.
She thought of the ring. She’d been a little girl then, gone to her father’s office to bring him a lunch basket. A stranger had been there, wearing that same ring, and so she’d waited outside. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d listened through the crack as the stranger talked about trying to find someone that was using magic to commit crimes, and how he wanted to catch the criminal before it drew too much attention to their kind.
Afterwards, her father had talked to her. Of course he knew that she’d been spying. You can’t lie to a Justice. He told her that such men were a force for good, and that though their existence was to be kept a secret, they were on the side of truth.
She knew that he’d helped them a few times. He’d done things over the years that were outside the scope of his duty as a Marshall, dangerous things, and when he’d come home he’d never spoken about them. In a family where lying to your children was impossible, sometimes you just had to say nothing at all.
Lee Hammer had been a good man. Tough, quiet, hard as rawhide, but always kind to his family, fair to his people, and unyielding to his enemies. She’d grown up knowing that her father’s reputation as an impossibly dedicated lawman had been well earned. He was the one they called when you had a dangerous fugitive that absolutely had to be found. She knew that it was because he could always see the truth of things, but that had been their secret, one Active to another. He was careful to teach her to only use her Power for good, to serve others and not just herself. She’d never been as good at that as he’d been, though.
Then he’d been gunned down by a gang and carried home on a plank. She still wore his star from a chain around her neck. Her dream had been to follow in her father’s footsteps, but nobody was going to hire a young lady for that kind of work. Marshalls said no. Rangers hadn’t wanted her. The BI had laughed at her. The only places that had female police relegated them to pushing paper as glorified secretaries.
So instead she’d used her skills in other ways, greedy ways, helping anyone that could pay her enough to get an edge over those that couldn’t. Corporate espionage wasn’t the same as catching crooks, but it had some of the same thrill and it certainly paid better than working for the law, but it had always felt hollow.
So, trying to follow her dreams again had roped her into something even worse.
Jake Sullivan had turned south here.
If she found him, she’d be rewarded. If she betrayed the OCI, then Crow would ruin her life, or from what she’d seen, probably end it. She knew she was being manipulated, but Crow’s oddness kept her from getting a good reading as to what his endgame was.
When surrounded by lies, what would her father have done?
She went south.
