Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (53 page)

As much as he didn't want to think it, Luke was right: he was responsible in all of this. He'd allowed himself to play a role in the trafficking, murder, and cover up of a young girl who was innocent. In the end, no matter what he told himself, he'd done nothing to save her. Whether he found Taitt, whether he cracked the case and arrested all the conspirators against the Anon family, it wouldn't bring Zeika back.

He stood up from his crouch, looked into the stacks, and pulled her file. A glossy picture of her was paper-clipped to the front. Her long braids had been pulled up into a ponytail, and she was actually smiling this time, her doe-like eyes lit up. The photo was from the shoulders up, and he could tell she was wearing a ballerina's leotard. He hadn't known she was a dancer, a ballerina, even. This must've been taken right after practice because she actually looked happy in this one.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

He stood there for a long moment before he finally opened the file and read it. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon, 16 years old. African-American. Female. Deceased as of May 2
^nd
, 2155. He skimmed over her details, his gaze feeling listless and heavy with guilt. Languages: Modern-standard Arabic, Egyptian, English. Known associations, Iemanja Omaya Anon: sister. Merconius Anon: father. Mikaela Anon: mother. Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn: friend.

Jonathan Quinn. Why did that name sound so familiar?

He tucked Zeika's file under his arm and walked the aisles of the cold room, looking for the Civilian files beginning with Q. He flipped through them until he found Johnny's.

Quinn.
Right.

He'd pulled this file months ago when he started to chase up the missing ghosts of war. Quinn was one who had gone missing two years ago. Caleb lifted the file to the light, to look at the photo attached. He was a handsome kid, dark-eyes, curly hair, stubble just beginning to appear on a square-set jaw.

"Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn, 17 years old. Hispanic. Male." Caleb murmured, skimming over his bio. "Languages: Spanish, English, Arabic. Dropped out of school and started work in 2149 at age 11. Missing as of January 23
^rd
, 2153. Known associations, Jorge Espinoza: father. Regina Quinn: mother. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon..." Caleb's eyes went wide. "Girlfriend."

But that wasn't all. Quinn had a record. A few petty burglaries and pickpocketing charges, mostly from burglarizing Azure farmers' markets or shopping malls in the Seventh Demesne. No armed robberies. Lists of things stolen included jewelry or expensive hard-to-find foods, like meats and imported fruits. He had even broken into a pharmacy for medicine-- hemostatic medicine, no less, which was weird...

Not weird. Zeika had said that Manja had hemophilia, didn't she? Quinn might have stolen the medicine for her. A huge sacrifice... and yet Zeika hadn't breathed a word about Quinn...

Aside from that, the details in Quinn's file were typical of most Civilian teenagers growing up during the war. Johnny had worked to help his family. He'd grown up with lingual training in Arabic like most Civilians and Azures did, in case the ban on the Civilian practice of alchemy was ever lifted. He'd raised a bit of hell, but nothing too crazy-- at least, that was what Caleb was thinking until he saw the last charge on Johnny's file.
 

Assault and attempted murder. Victim: Sal Morgan.

Shocked, Caleb leafed through Johnny's file to find the details of the case. What he found in the case summary though, didn't make him any happier.

On December 11
^th
, 2152 at approximately 3:19 pm, the defendant, Jonathan Espinoza-Quinn, entered the office of the victim, Salvatore Morgan, and sat down at Morgan's desk, presumably to hold a meeting on the family taxes.
 

According to witnesses, Quinn began to accuse Morgan publicly for the harassment of various
 
women and young girls in the lot in which Quinn lived. Among
 
Quinn's allegations was the accusation that Morgan was harassing and criminally stalking Quinn's then-girlfriend, Ezekiel D'jihara Anon...
 

"Jesus..." Caleb muttered. He could already see where this was going.

The argument escalated into threats from Quinn who swore he would "cut his [Morgan's] throat open" if he even so much as looked at his girlfriend again. When Morgan rose to defend himself, witnesses claim Quinn pulled out a concealed butcher's knife and slashed Morgan across the face. Morgan was rushed to the hospital, and Quinn was arrested and charged with aggravated assault. Azure District Attorney Mason Young pressed for the added charge of attempted murder...

Caleb skimmed through the rest of Quinn's file, which was packed with newspaper clippings, interviews, and witness reports. The whole attack on Sal Morgan had been a big story in the Fifth, apparently, and it had been followed even after Quinn had gone missing. Quotes and headlines all told the story in bits and pieces:
Assault victim Salvatore Morgan shows benevolence by posting bail for attacker.
 

Charges dropped in attempted murder case. Quinn to be released.

Despite Johnny's attempt on Morgan's life, Morgan had advocated on his behalf, claiming that Johnny was an unfortunate victim of PTSD due to the war in the beyond. Morgan had even posted Quinn's bail and had helped him get
 
legal representation. Even as the Civic and Alchemic Orders pressed charges against Quinn, Morgan had fought the courts for the kid's freedom, which he'd actually won in the end. Yet, shortly after the charges were dropped and Quinn had been released from prison, he disappeared.

"Oh Morgan..." Caleb shook his head, finally understanding. "You son-of-a-bitch."

Civilians had Civilian justice, and Azures had theirs. Morgan had introduced Quinn to that fact personally, it seemed--

The door to the cold room opened, and Caleb ducked smoothly behind one of the stacks, tucking Quinn's files under his arm with Zeika's. Voices and shoes entered the room, both agitated in sound and step.

"Drop it, Councilman." The voice was strained, annoyed, and familiarly accented. It was Luke, and Caleb could hear the wavering growl in his voice. "I already denied you once. Don't make me do it again."

"This request isn't academic. I need more manpower."

At the sound of the second voice, Caleb clenched his teeth, and he had to stop himself from reaching for his gun. Morgan.

"More manpower. Are you mad? You have more muscle than you know what to do with. Muscle that you can't even control. What's happening out there is barbaric!"

"If barbarism is what worries you, then you'd help me to enforce the repeals, not stand in my way with your petty bureaucracies."

"You're a pencil pusher, Morgan. A tax man. Not a man of the law."

Caleb heard Luke walk further into the cold room. He was here for something work-related, most likely, and Sal had probably followed him down from the office. Either way, despite the fact that the two obviously weren't fans of each other, neither of them would be too happy to see him. So Caleb crouched motionless against the cold steel case, barely breathing and listening hard.
 

"I am whatever the Order needs me to be, Councilor," Morgan said. "Much like the rest of us. When I am called into duty, I respond."

"Much too forcefully. These 'vigils' you've been holding are unconstitutional--"

"Almost as unconstitutional as having a police officer suspected of murder still roaming the world as a free man. Or should I tell the press that this has slipped the notice of Guild 40's top internal investigator?"

"Let me worry about Caleb Rai."

Luke was in the aisle of the R stacks, right next to Caleb's row. He was leafing through the files, looking for something. Caleb felt a dull thud reverberate through him as Morgan leaned against stack Q. Caleb slowly moved for his weapon.

"I misunderstand your skepticism on the matter," Morgan said. "His guilt is clear. If a man can slaughter his own brother for the throne of his House, what makes you think that murdering a teenaged girl is somehow out of his range of fare?"

"His range of fare. Peh. As though the girl wasn't on your menu. It's no small secret that Caleb stole that bone off your plate, so don't speak to me about duty and justice."

Morgan scoffed. "So you aspire to be both uncooperative and offensive. As if I would ever--"
 

"Cut the shit, Morgan! This goes beyond Civilian exoticism, even for you! What in bloody hell do you want with this Demesne?!"

Caleb paused, his ears perking up at the sudden snarl. He'd never thought Luke capable of getting angry, but he'd clearly misjudged him.

"I want justice. And I will make anyone pay who stands in the way of it," Morgan said.

"Then do it without me. If you want more manpower that badly, then you'll have to stand before the council tonight and convince
them
to give you your toy soldiers. I'll have no part of this." Luke snatched a file from the R stacks and then walked back towards the door, Morgan on his heels. Caleb breathed.

"Perhaps another time, McKeller. I'm traveling tonight. Give the Ethics Council my regards."

"Yeah. Right, my regards--"

The door slammed closed behind them, shutting Luke's last words out. Caleb leaned back against the stacks, his body relaxing, his mind whirling with new thoughts.

Travel plans, huh?

Guildmaster Taitt could wait a little while longer. Too many questions had stacked up with too few answers. Did Morgan know Zeika was a Civic Alchemist? Or was he just a power-drunk Azure with an unworldly obsession? It was time to get the hay right from the horse's mouth. If Morgan had plans tonight, Caleb was definitely going to crash the party.

The soft kiss of tissue on tissue was the only sound in the room. Zeika had paced. And paced. And paced. She'd gone through the fridge. Sat on the floor. Leaned against the wall. Stared at the headlines on her life. Manja had remained quiet, mostly. She'd asked Zeika what she was thinking a few times, but after the fifth time of not getting an answer, she'd given up. Yet the girl had continued to watch her, nervous as a puppy.
 

That's when Zeika had found Franz' colorful bath tissue, in the corner by his rag bed. The tissues were dyed in carnival colors: pink, blue, green, orange, yellow. She'd sat down with them at Franz' work table and had begun to knead. It was a very acute, very precise process. The careful tearing of each square of tissue. The folding. The creasing. Her fingers and palms pressed hard into the tabletop as she then rolled forward and backward. She'd kneaded until each tissue became a perfect needle. Four inches long, half a centimeter thick, each end whet to a point. Then she'd tested it, forcing her power through the fabric, turning it to steel and back again.

Every needle helped her disentangle a thought. She hadn't realized her mind had been holding so many. Mama got rolled out 24 times. Baba, 16 times. Caleb, 18 times. No matter who or what got worked out beneath her fingers, though, each needle had one thought in common: kill Franz and take the hovel, or don't. Needle number one had said to do it. Needle number two had said otherwise.

She came to a final decision at needle 112, and she put her head into her hands.

"I thought you said you didn't dine naked with the devil."

Words she had spoken over a month ago at the Guild, after the Ninkashi attack. The voice that said them now sounded so mature that she thought someone had slipped into the room with them. When she whipped around, though, she saw Manja. The little girl was standing there, glaring at her.

Zeika couldn't hold her sister's gaze. "You heard that?"

"Yes."

"Why'd you pretend to be asleep?"

"Mama said pretending keeps you alive." Manja pinched a finger and looked away. "The Koko people are bad. They hurt you, and me, and Mama. They took our stuff. Why are you helping them?"

"Manja." Zeika walked over to her and knelt, grabbing her shoulders. "We need shelter, food. Your medicine is running out. I have to help them, or we will never see Mama again."

"The last time we trusted someone he burnt us."

"He didn't have a choice--"

"Everyone has a choice!" Manja whimpered. "And me too. I choose-- I'm not going with you! I want to find Mama and Baba! The
right
way!"

Zeika snatched her by her lapel, her grip tightening. "No. You
are
coming with me," she snarled. "We're staying together, whether you want to or not."

Manja's hand was the last thing she expected to feel on her cheek, but the little girl hit her, and while the blow was light, the pain was worse than any Zeika had ever felt. She let go of her and staggered back, the slap like fire on her skin.

"You're gonna do bad things," Manja said, sobbing. "This is
haram
. This is not what God's children do."

Zeika set her jaw. "We are not children of God."

The brick wall was rolling back and melting, this time right next to the table where Zeika had been working. She and Manja quickly broke company. The little one pretended to rummage through her teddybear pack, and Zeika whipped around to face the table of colorful needles. After a second, Franz slipped into the hovel sideways, toting his concealed shotgun and a bag of vegetables and roots. The brick door closed up behind him.

"Still here I see," he grumbled, eyeing her work as he brushed past. "Origami?"

"Something like that." Zeika stared at the needles, feeling shame. She couldn't bring herself to face him.

"Fantastic. You can sell them on the road." He gangled towards his mini-fridge. "Better get going soon before curfew comes 'round. You're gonna need to find shelter."

"Franz," she whispered, her shoulders sagging. Her fingers rested on the table, only inches from her neat pile of needles. "I'll do it."

She could hear him pause behind her. His bag crackled as he lowered it to the floor, the sound of it like a silent snicker. She could feel his slow smile on her back. "Do what, exactly?" He asked.