Брайан Макклеллан - Uncanny Collateral

“And when a shade dies?”

“It sends my realm into chaos.”

Something in Ferryman’s voice set off alarm bells in my head. I wasn’t the only one. I could sense Maggie’s presence listening carefully from within the ring. “What do you mean?”

“Imagine…” Ferryman picked up a single playing card and tapped it against his chin. “Imagine that you own a home, and the ground shifts very slightly beneath it. Not a proper earthquake, but a definite shift. Cracks appear in the drywall. Pipes come out of alignment. Now imagine that as the shifting intensifies, so does the damage. As the keeper of this place, I’m tasked with maintenance.”

“You’re running around with a can of stucco trying to keep things looking nice?”

“Something like that.” Ferryman gave me his wan smile again. “Now imagine that your house has a mind of its own, and when the maintenance isn’t properly kept up, it likes to lash out against the mortal realm.” He began to lay out a new game of solitaire. “The last time my realm became unbalanced was when it was affected by a war between minor gods back in the fourteenth century. It lashed out in pain. Humanity got the Black Plague.”

My eyes widened. “Didn’t that kill two hundred million people?”

“One hundred seventy-three million, eight hundred forty-two thousand, six hundred and one, to be exact.”

That number was way too specific for my liking. My goose bumps intensified. “You’re saying that if shades keep dying, your realm is gonna murder humanity?”

“Oh, it won’t be anything that large. It’s more likely to be an earthquake or a flu epidemic or something relatively minor. But it’ll still hurt. A lot of people will die.”

I ran through my hair. “That’s a damn lot of pressure you’ve put me under.”

“There’s a reason I didn’t tell you this in the first place.”

“Thanks,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. I began to pace. “Okay, so what’s killing the shades?”

“All of those two hundred seventeen missing souls should have been processed into my realm over the new year.”

“You mean that all the original owners died?”

“Yes. It’s their shades that are dying.”

A light went on in the back of my head. “It’s because they’re putting the used souls into other people’s bodies?”

“I couldn’t figure it out myself until you brought me the information on Judith Pyke, but I suspect that is the case.”

“And what do we do about it?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re doing it.”

I threw my hands in the air. “You’re Death! Can’t you just deal with this?”

“You of all people should know how important the Rules are. This is as involved as I can get in the mortal realm.”

“Then you should have handed it straight to OtherOps. The actual cops should be doing this this, not me.”

Ferryman snorted. “OtherOps might get results, yes, but they’re a bureaucracy. Those results will come in six months, or maybe a year. That’s not quick enough. And even if I convince OtherOps of the severity of the situation and they move lightning fast, they will let it slip to the public. It’ll cause mass panics, suicides, and humans and Other turning against each other. The Lords of Hell will see their business dry up overnight.”

“This is corporate protectionism?”

Ferryman stared at his newly laid out game. “I suppose it is.”

“You’re a prick.” For once, Maggie didn’t scold me. She floated on the edge of my awareness, still quiet, still listening.

“I’ve been called worse,” Ferryman said as he leaned over his game and began to move cards. “I do think I have time, though I’m not sure how much. A couple of weeks? A month? I’m giving you ten more days before I pull the contract and alert OtherOps.” He looked up, fixing me with those black, galaxy-speckled eyes. “I do have faith in you, Alek. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered. OtherOps may have resources, but you know this world. You know the clients and their customers and the equipment being used. A reaper is a far better agent to deal with this than an entire OtherOps office.”

“Kind of you to say,” I responded wryly. If Ferryman pulled the contract, I would have failed to stop a disaster, and Ada would be pissed as hell over losing out on however much Ferryman had offered her. Millions, no doubt. The two different sets of stakes seemed immeasurably imbalanced. But one would happen to the other people. The other would happen to me .

I took a few calming breaths and tried to pull myself together. Nothing to do now but go through with my investigation. I pointed at the mirrors on Ferryman’s table. “I’m on the right track.”

“It seems you are. As I said before, I am very pleased. You mentioned imps. Do you think they’re behind this secondhand soul business?”

“I know they’re involved . I doubt they’re behind it. Imps are rarely behind anything but petty theft and drug dealing. I think they’re working for someone both bolder and stupider.” I paused, massaging the gums of my lower canines. “The truth is, I need the resources of someone like OtherOps. I haven’t even explored where they’re getting all these souls – how they’re stealing from reaper agencies or the Lords of Hell. Unfortunately, I have a thousand different angles to work, and it’s just me.”

“Keep on this trail of dead imps,” Ferryman advised. “As I told you before, the Lords of Hell have conducted their own investigations and come up with nothing. Searching around in their trash cans isn’t going to help.”

That reminder tickled something in the back of my head. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “That’s… discouraging,” I said. “It’s possible that whoever is running this business has already figured out that we’re on to them. He killed a whole bunch of his imps and tried to destroy some soul mirrors. If I had to guess, I’d say we have a few days at best before he finishes liquidizing his business and skips town.”

“You’d better hurry, then.”

“Thanks for the advice.” I turned around, searching the darkness for the other side of the stepping mirror I’d come through, expecting a glint in the darkness. Nothing stood out. “I’ll try to pick up the pace. In the meantime, make sure that Lucy and her friends answer their damn phones the moment I call.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Ferryman promised.

“Good. Now, how the hell do I get back to my–” I hadn’t finished my sentence when I found myself sitting back at my desk, my fingers still pressed to the stepping mirror. “Office.” I blinked at the bright lighting and sighed, wishing I could go back and undo that whole conversation. My stomach was a knot now, a ball of stress that might just kill me before Death’s realm could lash out at humanity like an angry child.

Answers aren’t always fun, are they? Maggie asked.

No. Definitely not. The thought tickled the back of my brain again. There was something there, just outside of reach.

I do have some good news, Maggie told me. I managed to find out how to put draugr to rest.

At least that’s something. How long until they show up and try to kill me again?

Based on the last time, you’ve got two more days. Maybe less. If we catch them while they regenerate, we might be able to get some information out of them.

I like the sound of that. Okay, tell me what we need, and we’ll go have a talk with our undead friends.

Maggie hesitated. My anniversary starts Friday afternoon.

I know, I told her, feeling a flash of guilt. That’s why I want to get info out of them. If I can’t spend your anniversary with you, at the very least I can give you a lead on who it is that knows you’re still alive.