Kelly Gay - The Better Part of Darkness

Hank and I shared a large desk. Our flat-screen monitors backed into one another, making a nice barrier and giving us some private space in which to work. We had to lean sideways and crane our heads over the mounds of files on either side of the monitors in order to make eye contact.

Tonight, we both settled into serious work mode, Hank writing a report and then in his notebook, jotting down conversations and his own gut feelings about the encounter, while I logged on to the ITF database of known felons, suspects, and immigrants, looking for a match. I sipped on the hot coffee I’d made in the break room before we sat down, sighing at the comforting taste of coffee bean, half-and-half, and Splenda. I didn’t like it overly sweet, but just sweet enough to cut the harsh nicotine taste of straight black. Most of the detectives and officers drank it black whether they liked it that way or not. But then, I’d never been a conformist, and they still made fun of me. Oh, well. Black tasted like tar and made my tongue fuzzy.

I’d had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t find the two Charbydon nobles under felons or suspects, so I did a search on legally registered nobles aged five hundred years plus, male, living in Atlanta.

Bingo.

“Found you, you bastard,” I muttered, refusing to be fearful of a JPEG.

“Which one?” Hank came around the desk to hover over my shoulder. He let out a low whistle. “Damn.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and then rested his hand on the back of my chair. “Can you say roadblock?”

We were looking at one of the most influential Charbydons on the planet. I let out a heavy sigh. It would make our investigation a heck of a lot harder. But at least now we had a name. Mynogan, High Elder of the House of Abaddon. I tapped my pencil against my chin. Mynogan. The monster finally had a name.

“So,” I began, thinking out loud more than anything, “what were three nobles doing in Veritas?”

Hank returned to his side of the desk. “Well they sure as hell weren’t knitting booties for needy babies.”

I decided to start with Otorius and did a Google search on the Charbydon Political Party in Atlanta. In the last year, the party had tried to move away from the stereotypical unlawfulness that had at first characterized most of the Charbydons. While they wanted entry into our world along with the Elysians, they had a difficult time conforming to the rules put in place to guard us and them, and they really had a difficult time coming to accept peace with the Elysians. They still didn’t follow all of the Federation’s policies. But, lately, many of the nobles had been trying to rectify this, and they’d started by forming their own political party, getting the message out that they wanted to be part of a law-abiding society and to contribute as law-abiding residents.

“Says here, there’s a political rally tomorrow morning at Centennial Olympic Park.” I clicked through a few more pages, looking for any information on the other noble. But there was nothing. Easing back in my chair, I let out a tired sigh. “We’ll need to get a member list of everyone in Veritas. Auggie’s death and the ash point straight to that place. He wouldn’t have given me those matches otherwise. If the CPP isn’t involved, then someone on the roster is, or at least knows something.”

“I’ll talk to Zara, see if she can dig up the names.”

On a hunch, I pulled the names of the jinn who’d attacked me in Underground. There wasn’t much in their file, but the employment listing confirmed my suspicion. At one time or another, two of the three jinn had worked as bodyguards to members of the CPP. I printed out the records and handed them to Hank over the monitor. “Take a look at this.”

Hank scanned the records. “None of them were working for the CPP when they attacked you, though,” he said, echoing my own thoughts.

If we took this to the chief now, he’d say the same thing. It didn’t prove anything. But to me it was like a big neon sign. The CPP wasn’t as law-abiding as it pretended to be.

Hank’s gaze met mine. “Says two of them were members of the local tribe.”

I nodded, knowing my look was as somber as his, but then I offered him a small smile and a shrug. Nothing I could do about that now.

We both knew it was only a matter of time before Grigori Tennin, the jinn boss, leader of the Atlanta tribe, issued a summons. A debt would have to be paid. And if I couldn’t afford the monetary value attributed to those two jinn, to reimburse the tribe for their loss, I’d be required to pay a blood debt.

I stood, stretching my arms over my head and yawning, too tired to think of jinn retribution. “Let’s go home. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And, before my head hit the pillow tonight, I had decided to pay a little visit to the doctor who’d saved my life.

After Hank dropped me off at the house, I paused briefly on the porch steps, waiting until the taillights of his Mercedes disappeared around the corner before getting into my old Chevy Tahoe. Mott Technologies owned a massive research facility just off I-85 outside of Atlanta. It was way late, but common knowledge said Titus Mott kept late hours working in his lab.

The guy was Albert Einstein smart, and he was something of a celebrity here in Atlanta and beyond. Many thought he’d hightail it to DC once he and his team discovered the other dimensions, but he’d elected to stay and, with massive government funding, he’d built a research empire. I was also privy to some juicy family gossip, courtesy of Marti when she’d sit at my kitchen table and chat on days when she dropped Amanda off to babysit Emma.

After thirty-five minutes behind the wheel, my headlights illuminated the large gatehouse and landscaped grounds of Mott Technologies’ headquarters. Two guards stepped out of the gatehouse as I came to a stop in front of the yellow-and-black barrier. One of the guards walked around the back of the SUV and shined his flashlight into the backseat and then into the passenger side window as the other one approached my side and shined his light rudely in my face. Jerk.

“The facility is closed, ma’am,” he said. Lucky I didn’t snag said flashlight and clock him over the head with it.

“Yeah, unfortunately crime doesn’t take the night off, fellas.” I propped my elbow on the window ledge and showed him my badge. “I need to speak with Doctor Mott.”

The guy’s expression didn’t waver, my badge having little effect on him. He was probably Atlanta PD or ex-military moonlighting for a few extra bucks. “Sorry, no visitors.”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I leaned closer, too tired to deal with this crap right now. “Number one, I’m not a visitor, and number two, just tell him I’m here. He’ll want to see me.”

Lines wrinkled his forehead, but he took my ID and told me to wait—like I was going anywhere with the other guard at my passenger window holding a semi-automatic and a gate in front of me.

Fingers tapping the steering wheel, I waited as the guard went into the small gatehouse and picked up the phone. Finally, the gate began to lift, and he waved me through as I snagged my ID from his outstretched hand. “Just drive on to the visitor entrance. Someone will meet you there.”

Honestly, I hadn’t really expected to get in, and I wasn’t even sure Mott remembered me. The last time I’d seen him was a chance encounter at the station when he’d unveiled the new and improved Nitro-gun to the chief. Mott had remembered me then. He’d even asked how I was getting along after my ordeal.

By chance, he’d been at the hospital the night they brought me in. And when the emergency room doctor pronounced me dead, Mott had stepped in, claiming a person could be brought back to life much longer after having been dead than traditionally thought. He’d worked on me until he proved himself right, after all the others had left him alone in that dim, sterile room, thinking it was a lost cause.