Брайан Макклеллан - Uncanny Collateral

I froze, my eyes moving around the office and blood pounding in my ears. The whole thing had happened so quickly that I could still feel my tusks growing in reaction to the adrenaline. I forced them to retract, rubbing my gums with my left hand and trying to blink through the daze brought on by such sudden violence.

I checked the imp just outside the door, then did a quick circuit of the other three I’d shot. Every one of them was dead, or would be within a few minutes. I didn’t even bother checking for a pulse on the one Maggie had gotten her claws into. He lay in the corner, his bare skull smoldering through the end of his unintended Ghost Rider impression. Thankfully, the sorcerous flames hadn’t lit the carpet.

I headed to the couch to get my first look at Judith Pyke. Judith, it seemed, had seen better days. She was deathly pale, her body emaciated and frail. She looked like she could barely stand, let alone fight off a group of imps. She lay still, her eyes open and her breath wheezy as she stared at the bodies scattered around the room.

Jesus, Maggie whispered. She’s rotting from the inside out.

For real?

Yeah. I’ve never sensed anything like it. I could hear the revulsion in Maggie’s voice.

“Miss Pyke,” I said gently, “are you okay?”

She trembled, her eyes continuing to move from imp corpse to imp corpse before finally settling on my face. She managed the barest hint of a nod. I heard a noise beyond me and turned quickly to find the secretary standing in the doorway, his eyes wide. “Were there only five of them?” I asked, even though Maggie had already given me that answer.

“Ye… ye… yes,” the secretary stammered. “Sh… sh… should I call the cops?”

“I am the cops, remember? Don’t call anyone.” The last thing I needed was the real OtherOps showing up to ask questions. “Has she always looked like this?”

“No, sir. Only for a few months or so. She’s been going to doctors, but no one seems to know what’s wrong.”

I already had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what was wrong, the same way a mechanic can tell when a clunky engine has been fixed with substandard parts. “Ma’am,” I said in a low voice to Judith, “did you purchase a secondhand soul?”

Another barely perceptible nod.

Has she been sedated? I asked Maggie.

Not as far as I can tell. This is all her.

I did another circuit around the room and found the soul mirror that had been dropped by one of the imps. It looked like my own standard-issue gear – equipment procured directly from the soul dealers. I put it in my pocket, then opened up my wallet to find one of my own. Most soul mirrors had fingerprints on them – mirrors waiting to be used on debtors – but I was able to dig up a blank one. I sat down on the sofa beside Judith. “I’ve got to get it out of you,” I told her. “I’m sorry.” Moving quickly, I used two fingers to hold open her right eye and held the mirror above it. She shuddered once, and the mirror warmed to my touch. When I took it away, her eyes were closed.

I checked her pulse.

“Is she going to be okay?” the secretary asked. He still stood in the doorway, wringing his hands, studiously avoiding looking at the corpses.

“Of course she is,” I told him. In truth, I had no idea. I’d never seen anything like this before. Maggie mentioned a rot. If it was caused by the secondhand soul, there was no telling what kind of side effects might remain. Any idea if she’s going to wake up soon? I asked Maggie.

I can’t tell. Her heartbeat is regular, and she’s still breathing.

If she doesn’t wake up…

You’ll be in deep shit?

I was going to say that I’d feel terrible if I killed her with a soul mirror, but yeah, I’d also be in deep shit.

I looked at the secretary. “Go back to your desk. I’m going to make some phone calls and get the proper people here to deal with the bodies. If anyone comes to the office asking questions, get rid of them. And don’t call anyone, not even her partner.” Once the secretary had withdrawn, I took out my phone and dialed Ferryman’s answering service.

“Hello. This is Alek Fitz. Tell Ferryman that I need five bodies gotten rid of quietly and quickly. Yes, I’ll wait for a call back.”

I hung up, turned on my camera app, and began to take pictures of the dead imps.

Much to my surprise, Judith was sitting up within half an hour. She stared despondently at the bloodstains on the carpet, her eyes avoiding the pile of imps I’d stacked neatly in one corner and covered with a blanket from the sofa. Even in such a short time, she already looked improved; some of the color had returned to her face, and she seemed to be able to move – if painfully – under her own power. Her secretary brought her a cup of coffee, then retreated, after which Judith returned her gaze to me.

“Why are you pretending to be an OtherOps agent?” she asked.

I’d already introduced myself for real, and I gave her a tight smile at the question. “If I’d shown up and told the secretary I was a reaper, you wouldn’t have seen me.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’d assume I was either here for a client or for the secondhand soul. You wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me about either. Reapers might have some pull, but nobody says no to OtherOps.”

She sniffed, took a sip of her coffee, and then held it in both hands to hide their trembling. Despite her condition, she still had sharp eyes, and she managed a stern, disaffected air. “You’re not wrong. I suppose I shouldn’t report you, considering the circumstances.”

I heard Maggie laugh in the back of my head. She’s an arrogant old broad. Should you point out that if she reports you she’ll go down for soul fraud?

I don’t think that’s a thing, I told her.

It will be if she calls OtherOps on you.

“I appreciate that,” I said to Judith. “This secondhand soul – what can you tell me about it?”

She hesitated before answering. “I’ve suspected that it was killing me since I first got it.”

“And how long have you had the soul?”

“Four months or so.”

“And how long until it started to do this to you?” I asked, gesturing at her emaciated body.

Judith shook her head. “I started to feel strange within a week. The physical changes became apparent after a month.”

“If you suspected something was wrong, why didn’t you just call the guy you bought it from and ask to have it removed?”

Judith rasped a chuckle. “Denial, I suppose. I wanted to believe I was just sick. Do you know what it’s like to not have your soul?”

“I wouldn’t, no.” A better reaper might have injected a little sympathy into their voice. With my background, I have a hard time relating to anyone who willingly makes deals with the Other. “But I’ve heard it starts to hurt after a while.”

“Not hurt,” Judith explained. “Not exactly. You just start to feel… empty. Like a shell. It’s like a really bad breakup, where no amount of joy can fill the void left behind. Nothing – money, food, sex, power, thrill. Life becomes tasteless. I sold out to LuciCorp fifteen years ago. I paid immediately. None of those damned deferment plans that eventually find the reapers at your door. It took almost a decade for the emptiness to hit. After a while, it was all I could think about. Then…” She gestured to the pile of dead imps. “One of these little bastards showed up at the office and offered to sell me a used soul. Claimed it would feel just like my old one, and I’d be back to normal within weeks.”

“How much did you pay?” I asked.