Greywalker - Kat Richardson [126]
I shivered and balled a fist over my sternum. “How funny that this thing I don’t even want—that one of you stuck in me—is going to kill me. But what if your theoretical dam doesn’t break?”
The darkness in Carlos’s eyes raked me as he shook his head. “It can’t be stopped without dismantling the artifact.”
“What happens if the ghost gets to the organ first?”
“Then he’ll execute his plan.”
I dragged my feet up onto the seat in front of me and huddled like a struck child.
“We’ll have to destroy it,” Mara said.
Carlos chuckled, the sound of bones rattling. “As if it were that simple. It must be done with great control. You and I together, witch, would not be sufficient.”
“How many more would you need?” she asked.
Carlos thought aloud. “We require mages adept at unweaving the strands of death. Of necromancers, we’d need only one more—but there are no more nearby. Witches’ strength runs in the wrong direction. One could hold it, but we’d need a dozen to break it.”
My brain wasn’t entirely frozen, however cold I felt. “How many vampires would it take?”
Carlos and Mara both stared at me.
“What?” Mara asked.
“How many vampires?” I repeated, my mind filled with a shape of information but not the information, itself. “They must have some powers over death, since they’re the undead,” I reasoned.
Carlos frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought . . .”
“Why not?” Mara responded. She turned and stared at Carlos. “Would it work?”
“After the spirit is released . . . it might.”
I laid my head on my knees, drained and battered by ideas conversely helpful and unwelcome. Wygan’s voice echoed through my mind, saying that his “gift” would keep me alive, and I gave a bitter laugh.
We parted ways to plan and prepare. I chose to drink and sleep and make my preparations in the morning.
By Wednesday evening, my choices had dwindled down to what to wear for my meeting with Edward. I ended up in a slinky dress and heels and felt I was a bit overdressed for my own funeral. I’d discovered that my evening jacket wouldn’t cover the holster, but the pistol would do me no good against vampires. I missed it, though. I felt less my own master than Sergeyev—whatever his real name—must have felt.
Cameron was waiting outside my office building. His eyes widened and he gave me an appreciative smile. “You look terrific.”
My voice came out cold. “This is not a date, Cameron. I feel like a tethered goat.”
He followed me up the stairs. “Are you nervous?”
“Why?”
“You just seem upset or something. You look funny, too.”
“You just said I looked nice.”
“I mean, you look . . . hard. Armored, maybe.”
I threw myself into my desk chair. “Lovely.” I felt anything but. “OK, here’s the deal. I said there was something new we had to discuss.”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“Things have changed.”
“You’re dumping my case, aren’t you?”
“Would I be dressed like this if I was? No. I admit I wanted to, but it’s no longer an option. And it’s ethically repugnant.”
He started to get up from the client chair. “But you don’t want to work for me anymore. I understand.”
I snapped, “No, you don’t. We have something in common. We both had no idea what vampires were really like when we made our contracts. I’ve had some of that reality thrust upon me in unpleasant ways. But I am not becoming like you. I still have to live in a human world, by human rules. What you are and what you must do to survive are things I cannot stretch my mind over without going crazy.”
He whispered, “That’s what I felt,” and sat down again.
“I know. That’s why I’m not quitting. Besides having a contract, I’m as screwed as you are, and I need your help as much as you need mine.”
I told him about Wygan and the Grey thread. He stared at me in shock.
“It’s all my fault.”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone wants to take credit. It’s my own fault. It can’t be undone—or I don’t think it can—but that doesn’t mean it can’t be dealt with. But that’s for later.