“Likewise. Another reason why Martin’s insights could prove invaluable.”
“Fred Ash is one of the NYPD’s investigators assigned to Brimstone,” Ian said. “We’ll share information as needed. Even though we don’t have a solid and proven connection between Sar Gedeon’s killers and the drug, it’s a coincidence we can’t ignore. Fred said that as far as they know, Gedeon wasn’t connected to Brimstone manufacturing and sales, but it’s possible he could be a link in the chain.”
“What effect is it supposed to have?” Ms. Sagadraco asked.
“Unknown,” Ian replied. “Fred said they haven’t been able to get a sample for analysis.”
“Then that should be our first priority. If it is a drug that is not of this dimension, we are most qualified to locate a supply and track down its source. Our lab facilities and technicians are better qualified to analyze a drug of extra-dimensional origin, and determine what effects it has on mortal, immortal, and supernatural alike. That being said, our colleagues of the NYPD could ascertain the reason for its popularity as well as we could. I can’t imagine anyone paying any amount—exorbitant or not—to be scared out of their wits.”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” I said. “We humans can be a pretty flaky lot.”
She almost smiled. “I have observed this on occasion. The same can also be said of immortals and supernaturals. Alain, have our agents with connections in the city’s drug industry find out what they know about this Brimstone. Have any new underworld elements recently arrived here? And by underworld, I mean criminal or demonic—or both. If this drug is of extra-dimensional origin, it is bothersome to me that mortal law enforcement discovered its existence before we did. In the light of a possible connection between this drug and today’s murder, I would like to know why.”
“I will take care of it, madam.”
“Thank you, Alain.”
I gave a silent whistle. I was glad I wasn’t on narcotics detail. For their sakes, I hoped they had a good reason why the NYPD had beat them on this one.
SPI had detectives and investigators the same as any mortal police department, and those who had contacts in New York’s drug industry would be set on Brimstone’s trail.
We didn’t have enough evidence to connect Brimstone with the murder of Sar Gedeon, but someone involved in that murder, whether or not it was the actual killer, had set a trap for any necromancer who tried to have a chat with their victim.
Bertram Ferguson was SPI New York’s only necromancer.
The murder was committed in New York.
Therefore, Bert had been targeted.
Again, we had no evidence to turn my hypothesis into a fact, but my friend nearly died—or worse—and I was fully prepared to take that personally. So I was going to investigate anything that might lead me to the asshole responsible.
I had a source. And as long as Ian bought a lottery ticket later today, he would talk to me.
9
I never liked hospital rooms.
Though I imagine not many people do. No one wants to sit in a tiny room watching someone you care about unconscious and with machines hooked up to them. Aside from the birth of a baby, there is no happy reason to be in a hospital.
Bert wanted to see me and Ian.
Now.
When we got to the infirmary, Bert was wide awake.
For a man who was zapped only an hour or so ago by a trap set in the mind of a dead body, Bert was looking pretty good. His color wasn’t the best, but he was conscious and sitting up in bed. I was glad to see both.
Not only was he awake, he looked pissed. Really pissed.
It appeared that Bert was taking the attack personally. Since he was the only necromancer in SPI’s New York office, I couldn’t imagine who else the killer thought would go poking around in Sar Gedeon’s head.
“Looks like you went one round too many with one of the boys downstairs,” Ian told him.
My partner wasn’t talking about the guys in SPI’s motor pool.
Bert just nodded. “After what you two saw in that apartment, I was an idiot for getting in the ring.” The big guy shrugged. “But taking punches is part of my job.”
I nearly said, “It shouldn’t be,” but he was right. We knew the risks of the work when we’d signed on. It was just that some of us risked more than others. I merely pointed out warded supernatural criminals. Bert talked to dead people, and most of those people had gotten themselves dead by violent means. To me, that was the psychic equivalent of going around and sticking your bare hand in a hole in the ground. You never knew what you were going to find.
Or what was going to find you.
I had a good idea of what had found Bert.
The same thing that’d seen me from the other side of that portal.
“I need to talk fast before Doc Stephens comes in here and tries to give me a sedative.”
I didn’t miss Bert’s emphasis on “tries.” I could see the necromancer being a bad patient.
“What did you see?” Ian asked quietly.
“For starters, I can confirm that class-five demon.”
“Too bad.”
“Yeah.”
I concentrated on taking air in and blowing air out.
Today was my first experience with demons. Like many Southerners from small towns, if someone asked you if you thought demons were real, you gave the Sunday school answer of “yes.” But they weren’t something you thought about on a day-to-day basis. Even working at SPI, you knew certain things were real, but you never really put religion together with anything you might run into on the job. At least I hadn’t.