Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (34 page)

"Yeah. Sorry it's not a girl bear. They had one in some glittery pink get-up, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to question my manhood quite yet. But its yours, kid. Maybe it can get married to your other bear, or endure whatever torture you kids inflict on your toys nowadays."

Manja ran over and grabbed the bear, just loving the hell out of it.

"Thank you," Zeika murmured, smiling.

Caleb rose to his feet. "See you two later."

The door closed behind him, and Zeika stared at the doorway, becoming increasingly aware of how calm and warm she felt. Somehow, it made it harder to focus. Made her reconsider staying...
 

Nope. Gotta get Manja out of the Protecteds. Gotta find Mama and Baba.
 

The cold voice of reason snuffed out the warm glow in her chest. It was time to get back to business. Besides, Caleb was an Azure, and as much as he wouldn't admit it, he probably wouldn't be caught dead hanging around with two Civilian kids. There was no reason to believe that any friendship could emerge between them. He was just doing his job. Now it was time to do hers. It was time to get the hell out of Demesne Five.

She turned from the door, already in thought. That dickhead Officer Kirk said smugglers had already started to pop up around the edges of the demesnes. She didn't need them for travel between the Protecteds, though. Sneaking across the borders herself would be hard but not impossible considering her powers.
 

Getting onto the Island, however, was a different matter entirely. Over five miles of water stood between them and the Island, and they wouldn't even be able to skirt through Demesne 18 on the eastern border. The Eighteenth was solid Azure territory, both war-torn and now locked down, even to passing refugees. It would be impossible to gain access to any direct routes unspotted, even
with
her powers.

Smuggling it was, then.

Finding out who the smugglers were was the first priority. Getting up the cash was the second. Knowing shipping rates, getting trafficked to the Island would probably set them back about five thousand Azure dollars. The Anon trade name still carried a little weight, though, enough so that Civilian runners might be happy with three thousand instead. The
only
thing in her way was the money.

She looked at the rubber-band of blue bills on her desk. A good start, but they'd need way more than that. They could wait until Caleb came back. Fix his hardware, get the rest of their money, get closer to their goal--
 

But would he let us leave?
 

She smiled, already knowing the answer. Mr. Captain-Save-Em would build a settlement in their asses just to make sure she and the kid were "safe and sound".

Yeah, that'd be an issue. Then, she'd also have to feel guilty the day they'd have to trick Caleb, the day they'd have to lie to him and say they were coming back, when really they were leaving for good. She wouldn't feel badly about it, no, just a little... off-kilter. Yeah.

She gazed at Manja, who was snuggling with her "Butch Bear" (as she had just christened it) and brushing its hair. Caleb wouldn't be able to stay away for too long, not with the kid growing on him the way she was. They had to move quickly, had to survive the world they'd been given before they could take the life they wanted. If they were going to get themselves to the Island, they'd need more money. To get money, they'd need metal... and Zeika knew exactly where to get it.

Caleb groaned as he walked up to the cold room. Instead of Persaud, Sal was waiting for him, smiling from ear to ear. The good ole bait-and-switch. Great. The man was a specter. Not scary to him, but no less annoying. He wasn't sure what Vassal Persaud had to gain from this, but he didn't have time for it. Sal probably wanted to discuss the unique "signature" Caleb had left on the repeals petition a few days ago. Whatever this asshole had to say, though, he wasn't changing his mind.
 

"A word, Detective. If you will--"

"I won't, actually." Caleb scowled at him before turning to the cold room door.

"This doesn't concern the Articles39. You've made your position clear, and I won't press the point. However, I've just received a troubling call from an associate of mine. I believe you know the whereabouts of a ward of mine. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon."

Caleb's fingers were already wrapped around the doorknob when he stopped short. He turned back around, eyes dark. "What's she to you?"

Amusement flickered across Sal's face. "Ah, but the words to be exchanged between a father and his daughter are of no concern to you, now are they?"

"They are if I suspect that your investment in her is anything but fatherly."

Sal blinked. Then Caleb watched as it happened, Sal's slick smile untucking itself from its dark corners.
 

"Now where in the world would you get a depraved idea like that? She is now my child, and it's my duty to provide for her. Very frightening times we're in with all this business of disappearing children, walking demons, and all manner of strange death. Is not a father to be concerned for his children? Your time in prison seems to have made you pessimistic, my friend."

"It's only made me wiser to the desires of wicked men."

"So I've heard. Prison is such the cruel society. Poor sweet lads like you so often go in as jelly rolls and come out as donuts--"

"Fuck you, Sal."

"--but you're nobody's jail wench, now are you, Detective?" Sal folded his arms. "It seems prison is so much like the real world: you are either the top or the bottom."

"Charming. You should make that a slogan in your next campaign. Or throw it on your next Father's Day card."

"I'm sure Zeika would be more than happy to."

Caleb bristled, stepping forward.

"Ever the blowfish," Sal chuckled. "You haven't changed one bit. But I'd advise you to leave your former convictions in the 52
^nd
Demesne where they belong. We run a different game in the Fifth. So save yourself the trouble, and loosen your tongue. Where is she?"

Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the cold room door. "You know, her location slips my mind at the moment. Long hours, job stress, and all that jazz. Screws with the short term memory, you know how it is."

"I already know that you've got her and the little one suckling a tab at the Lobon. How long do you think it'll be before they come up for air again, Caleb? Wouldn't you prefer that they are taken into my warm welcoming arms as good children? Or do you fancy them being dragged off the streets by some lawless AP? I hear that some ungodly things happen to little girls in the back of police cars, nowadays. The Fifth's truly going downhill."

Caleb clenched his jaw. Forget the Articles39. This guy's general "ick"-factor was off the charts, way worse than rumored. It was no wonder that Zeika freaked when she heard about his adoption of her and the kid. No matter how smoothly he talked, it was clear he had way more on his mind than just taking her and Manja to the park. The more poetry that oozed out of Sal's mouth, the more Caleb felt a powerful urge to check in on them, make sure they were okay.

Sal smiled as though he could see his wheels turning. "Whatever hole you're hiding them in, you'd better hope they stay there. For their sake, and for yours. By law, they belong to me, and as Councilman of the Fifth Demesne, I am charged with the protection of all wards of state. You illegally removed two minors from a social service institution without the express permission of their guardian or of the Civic Order. It would displease me to charge you with the crime of kidnapping and obstruction of the Articles39."

Caleb glared at the stack of signatures under Sal's arm. "And irony abounds."

"Indeed it does. And yet the law as it currently stands binds me. I will bring the Articles39 down on your head if I must. Your time in jail was difficult. Do not force me to recreate that reprehensible microcosm here in your... sanctuary." Sal looked around the grungy halls with a pointed disgust before his eyes settled back on him. "You have 24 hours to deliver Zeika and the little one. After that, I will turn your life into a scatological cesspool if I have to."

"A scatological cesspool! Wow. Sounds like one hell of a vacation, and one I've already taken, but thanks, Sally, I could use the R&R."

"Couldn't we all, Detective. Yours may come sooner than you think. Ah, that we were all so lucky as you." Sal eyed his abs, looking right at the seal on his powers. "Some men just have it all, don't they?" A smile on his lips, Sal nodded and then walked away, his stack of signatures cradled under his arm.

As Caleb watched him strut off, he resisted putting a hand to his diaphragm. Did
everyone
know? He felt a second of lingering bitterness-- then he let it go, deciding he wouldn't dwell on it. In prison, he'd spent a long time looking up at the odds stacked high against him, until he realized that shitting where you stood did nothing for anyone. After that, his situation hadn't bothered him for months, really.
 

Not until now...
 

Caleb was sure there were worse times to be alchemically barren, but not one came to mind. The situation in the Fifth was, for lack of a better phrase, fucked beyond reckoning. The Koan raids, the Ninkashi, and now, Sal Morgan and his repeals. How Civilians were still standing, much less fighting back, was beyond him. And yet Caleb was sure that Sal, if unchecked, would deal the death blow to to Civilian resilience and to the Protecteds. Much as he was a loathsome ass, he was an Azure on the rise, favored by the Alchemic Order.

And now, Caleb stood between him and what he wanted.

That problem--
all
the problems, actually-- didn't bother him as much as his lack of solutions did. Weak fiscal support, few resources, and failing law enforcement had put him in a holding pattern with no landing in sight. All he could do was investigate the Koan cells, but never really stop them. Look for the monsters but never find them. And for Zeika... all he could really do was keep her hidden, keep looking for her family-- neither of which would last long depending on how deeply Sal was backed by the Alchemic Order.
 

Not that the tax collector needed the Order to do damage... he was dangerous on his own. Cunning. He'd already exposed the nerve of the Demesne Five police force, and he'd used it to scatter them. Officers' differing opinions on the Articles39 repeals had fractured the precinct, which was something they couldn't afford if any of them were going to survive. None of the APs, except him and Cotch, were alchemically trained beyond the status of a Dilettante, which meant they were of little use to the Order. They were expendable. All they'd had was one another, and now, they had nothing.

And you, Rai? Who do you have?

He sighed, already knowing the answer. Or lack thereof. With the Promethean seal blocking his Alchemy, he was on a short leash, with only defensive techniques in his arsenal. Aside from his skills as a trained officer and field tactician, there was nothing shielding him except his pedigree... and even that was hanging by a thread.