Author: Heather Marie Adkins
Category: Literature
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/heather-marie-adkins/page,7,478501-relics_and_s_anthology.html
“Glad we ran into each other,” Warren said. He flipped a cigarette from his never-ending pack and lit up. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I stared up at him. He was leaving me with more questions than I’d had a chance to ask. Instead of letting them out, I stood and offered him a hand to shake. “Thanks. For being there. For saving me.”
Warren shrugged, tucked the cigarette between his kissable lips, and clasped my hand. Power moved beneath his skin, so strong my knees buckled. “It wasn’t your time yet.”
Beneath the afternoon sunlight, I watched what I’d been unable to see clearly in the shadows the night before. Warren shimmered, a mirage in the desert, and disappeared.
Like any good mirage, I wondered if he’d really been there at all.
10
Lila sat behind her giant desk, her dainty cat-eye spectacles perched on her nose as she made notes on a legal pad. I’d always liked that about her: that old-fashioned aspect, where she eschewed her fancy computer in favor of dead trees. Unlike Shana, who ignored technology because she disliked being beholden to the fae, Lila did it because she came from a world before. When even the fae used paper and pencils for the sheer joy of creation. I may have never known that world personally, but it had existed, like living legend of my race.
I plopped down across from her and put my boots on her desk, sinking into the comfort of her plush armchair. “Senka?”
Lila didn’t look up from her ledger. “Nothing further. I’ve got three guards on the crevice.”
“Everett?”
She sighed and finally looked up, shoving her glasses into her mass of honey-blonde hair. Lila’s blue eyes always had a kind of hardness to them; I doubted a fae could live as long as the Reina without developing the hard coating it took to survive in a hostile world like Senka Hollow. Though the hardness was still there, it was accompanied by a weariness I’d never seen before. “I don’t know where he slept last night.”
I grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s been a long time coming. He’s... different.” She rubbed her hands vigorously over her face. A vicious bruise spread over the knuckles of her right hand, presumably from when she’d broken his nose yesterday. “I don’t know why I’ve held on so long.”
“Because he’s your husband, and you’re both rulers of this Hollow.”
“He doesn’t have to be my husband to be my comrade.” She sighed. “I just wonder if that’s even what he wants anymore. He takes no notice of current events. Casts no votes when the council convenes. It’s like he isn’t even there, even when he is.”
“Do you think it’s a survival thing?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you kick a turtle, it’s going to retreat into its shell.”
Lila chuckled. Even though I hadn’t said it to be funny, I liked that I’d made her smile. “Ah. Because I punched him, he retreats when I’m around.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just not the same person anymore. How old are you guys?”
“Older than I’d like to be.” She shoved back from the desk and walked to the cabinet that housed her wet bar. “Would you like anything?”
“No. I’m meeting Shana for dinner in about twenty minutes.”
Lila dropped three ice cubes in a tumbler and covered them with an amber liquid. “Recreation or work?”
“Both. She’s got some info for me to help with the investigation.”
“How you holding up?” Lila turned to lean on the bar, cupping her glass in one hand as she regarded me.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not. But I know you feel it necessary to pretend, which is why I don’t coddle you.”
I grinned. “I like when you don’t coddle me.”
“You get enough of that from your infuriating mother.” Lila rolled her eyes. “The Navajo council sent me a cease and desist last week, did I tell you?”
I knew my mother was an irritation to my life with her constant need to redirect my energies to ventures better suited to her goals. But she was just as much an irritation to Lila, who had to volley declarations from the tribe at least once or twice a month.
“A cease and desist on what?”
“We had a dry summer. Our main source of water has evaporated to a trickle. We used diviners to find an old well and dug into the groundwater.”
“Let me guess. On Native land.”
Lila groaned and returned to her desk, sinking wearily into the chair. “I’ve got people dying from Acura’s darkness, likely because our princess is dead, too—”
“Fuck, don’t say that.”
“–and if we don’t maintain the water supply, we’re going to have people dying from thirst. So of course I have to do what’s best for the Hollow. I always do what’s best for the Hollow. If that means calling imminent domain on Native land...” She trailed off.
“The spirits don’t believe in imminent domain.” I shrugged.
Lila bared her teeth. “Can you at least talk to her? Explain to the spirits how there are twenty thousand people in this Hollow who rely on me to make sure they have access to the basic necessities of life?”
“Sure I will. But you’re asking for my mother to place logic over her people, and I can already tell you how that’s gonna end.”
“When Rasha gave us Senka, things were so simple,” Lila murmured. “We were all one people. We were all bound together by our survival of the Undoing. But ever since, it’s as if the Undoing has continued on an organic level. Inside us all.”
I didn’t have a response, because I knew she was right.
I arrived at the bar at five-after, since it’s impossible for me to be anywhere early or on time. Through a haze of smoke and the din of revelous diners and an old jukebox blasting the Rolling Stones, Shana’s arm waved me over to a corner table.
She already had a dark bottle of beer condensing on the scuffed, sticky table, and a basket of fried potatoes with the hot-honey sauce I liked.
I nicked a potato as I sat, fully soaking it in the sauce before I popped it in my mouth. “Long wait?”
“It’s always a long wait with you.” Shana sipped her beer. “I didn’t know what you were in the mood for, liquid-wise, so I haven’t ordered anything.”
I caught the attention of our usual server—a guy I grew up with on the Res, who escaped about the same time I did. “No worries. I’m not in a beer mood.”
“Because we have so many options?” Shana laughed.
Which was entirely too real. Senka Hollow was a bubble, and alcohol was pricy, no matter what flavor you picked.
Ahiga sidled up to the table, a pen tucked behind his ear and eyeliner around his big, brown eyes. “Hey, girl. What you want?”
He was two or three years younger than me. A baby, really. I wondered if he regretted leaving the Res, but I was never brave enough to ask him. Life was hard enough without adding tribal guilt.
“Cider, I think.”
“Good choice. It’s on sale.”
“Apple season?” I guessed.
“Almost over.” He made a note on his pad and flitted away.
One of Shana’s best qualities — in my opinion — was her inability to beat around the bush. She extracted a manila folder from her bag and slid it over the table. “We figured out what the perp took from your brother’s pocket.”
“Really?” I said, floored. I flipped open the folder and gazed down at a blurry, pixelated image of fingers and a dark, blocky shape. “If I’m supposed to be able to tell what this is, we’re going to assume my eyes are broken.”
Shana laughed. “Nah, I can’t see it, either. Not without one of the tech guys standing over my shoulder, pointing shit out.” She sobered and tapped one long finger on the image. “It’s a camera.”
“What?” I looked closer. “We don’t own a camera.”
“You don’t, maybe. Your brother did.”
“But they’re... We couldn’t afford that. I’d know if he bought one.” Rice a
nd I shared a bank account, just like we shared everything else.
Cameras weren’t completely archaic, but they were rare and expensive, like old smartphones that didn’t work.
“Well, he had one. And that dude took it.” She closed the folder and leveled a hard, chocolate gaze on me. She looked like an avenging angel with a halo of wild, afro curls and a heart of steel. “What was on that camera, Relle?”
I froze. Not because she intimidated me. Not because I thought Rice had done something wrong, or I’d done something wrong.
But because her tone had triggered the truth in me. She had that effect on everyone; I’d never been able to keep anything big from Shana.
I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “I might know. But I have no proof.”
Shana mimicked my pose so that we were almost nose to nose. “Lay it on me.”
“That camera might hold pictures of a shadow touched councilman.”
Shana was a master of her emotions, so I didn’t see any visible reaction as she said, “Explain, please.”
I told her about my visit to the offices of the Insurgentia, though I left out my harassment and illegal jaunt inside Josiah’s mind. I told her about Rice’s mission, and my conversation with Clare outside Collier & Sons.
When I finished, Shana leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers on the sticky table. Her beer and my cider were already half-empty, and the fries were gone. I motioned for Ahiga.
We ordered our meals—a turkey club for Shana, a rack of ribs for me. And two more drinks. Our bill was going to be astronomical, but it wasn’t like we were short on cash. Law enforcement in the Hollow, whether human or fae, was high paid. Part of the reason we were so loathed. Not high-paid enough to justify the expense of an antique camera, but high enough to afford a couple beers.
“So what now?” I asked when her silence became grating.
Shana shrugged. “I don’t know. Without that camera, we don’t have proof of anything. Chances are if it did hold incriminating evidence, it’s long gone now.”
“Your optimism thrills me.”
She grinned wolfishly. “I know how to rev your engines.”
“No backup files on his laptop?”
“No. The team scoured the thing front to back. Whatever is on that camera is gone.”
“What about his Com?”
Shana stared at me.
“You took his Com as evidence, right?”
“Are you telling me your civilian, anarchist brother had a Com?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah. If he needed me, I wanted him to be able to reach me. Was he not wearing it?”
Shana shook her head. “If he had been, I would know about it.”
We sat in silence for a few moments. Ahiga coasted by with our food, and we thanked him, but didn’t pick up our forks.
“So his Com is missing,” I remarked.
“Appears so.”
“It has to be in the apartment. Your guys obviously didn’t search hard enough.”
“I can send a team back out.”
“Or I could go home and look.”
Shana’s thick lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t do that, Maurelle. It’s a crime scene.”
“I’m a cop.”
“You’re not CSI. Don’t argue with me on this.” She keyed up her Com and waited as the line rang to dispatch. “Any idea where he could have hidden it?”
I blinked innocently. “Of course not. I’m not my brother’s keeper.”
Except I am. I was.
And I knew exactly where he’d hidden that watch.
11
My Comwatch alarm broke into a series of obnoxious beeps in the middle of the night. I opened my eyes and blinked into the darkness of my old room, stuck somewhere in the twilight of waking. Cool night air floated through the open window, and the bed was so warm. The Com glowed bright on the nightstand. I wanted to ignore the fucking thing. Roll over, cover my head, go back to dreams.
The door opened, and my mother loomed in the half-light. “What is it, shich'é'é?”
“It’s my Com,” I croaked, pushing my sluggish body up. No ignoring the Com now. “Go back to bed.”
She remained in the doorway, the angle of her head daring me to argue her presence.
I answered the call. “Talk to me.”
“SEB 277. Shots fired at the 10th encampment. Com-trace places you within range. Are you able to respond?”
As a runner, I had special status in the Bureau that kept me from being a responding officer. I worked my own hours and cases, and checked in with dispatch every so often to let them know I was still alive.
So if they were waking me up in the middle of the Senka-damned night because I was close enough to respond quickly, then this was big.
“On my way.”
My mother watched me dress, her enigmatic face telling me nothing. When I tried to pass her to exit the room, she blocked my way.
“Move, Mama. I have to work.”
“You don’t have to do anything, shich'é'é. You choose your path. Is this the path you choose? To spend your days and nights chasing the darkness while your family suffers?”
“How do you suffer, Mama?” I snapped, shoving past her.
“I am burying your brother without you.”
I stopped in my tracks. The long hall ended at the front door. Mama never closed that flimsy piece of wood. Beyond the doorway, the desert waited beneath a blanket of stars.
During Creation, the holy people chose perfect spots for the mountains, as if painting a work of art on the horizon. Then they placed the sun and moon upon the sky. After that, they took their time choosing exactly where each star should shine in the night sky, placing them carefully upon a blanket they would then hang upon completion.
But Coyote, the Trickster, could never wait patiently for anything. He shoved his way in and grabbed the corner of the blanket. With one violent throw, he flung the rest of the stars into the sky.
And isn’t it beautiful? I thought as I stood in my mother’s house and tried to not think of it as a prison. The blanket hadn’t been placed as perfectly as the holy people wished, but Coyote’s intervention had ruined nothing.
Plans didn’t always execute perfectly.
“My brother is gone,” I said without turning. “Do what you want with his body. He isn’t there anymore. And I have work to do.”
The 10th encampment was a trash hole, one of the furthest from the Core, where the worst of the shadow touched resided. The pleasant aspect of the encampment being so far from the city is that these residents tended to remain where they were, living a kind of half-life subsistent on the desert and on each other. Which meant even though the 10th encampment was a cesspit, it wasn’t usually a problem. Distance had a way of containing problems in the desert.
I roared into the camp and let dispatch know I was on scene. Requesting further information was moot, because flames licked the sky in the center of camp, silhouetting a crowd of people against the night. Clearly, I’d been invited to a marshmallow roast.
Or a lynching.
I slid from my bike and drew my gun, leveling it on the crowd as they turned to look at me.
“Agent Maurelle Nez, SEB!” I barked. “Everybody down unless you want the sting of a bullet in your brain.”
Most shadow touched knew my name. I’d heard rumor once they called me the Reaper. Whether or not that was true, I couldn’t say. Reaper or not, I was still one agent against what looked like hundreds of shadow touched. Not good odds, especially in the middle of the night and running short on sleep.
For a moment, I thought they were going to ignore me. Anticipation hung over the crowd, and I couldn’t be certain it wasn’t anticipation of my death. But then black shadows began to drop to the dirt without a word.
“Face down, hands behind your head!” I braced myself for noncompliance. Somebody in this crowd was itching for a fight.
As I treaded into the minefield of shadow touched, I hea
rd sirens approaching in the distance. Nobody moved as I navigated their prone bodies, carefully avoiding limbs and heads with my steel-toed boots.
Only one person in the crowd hadn’t fallen to the ground. He sat in a metal chair, so close to the fire that sweat dripped down his face. As I drew near, I recognized him in the halo of firelight: my new pal, Warren.
“Relle. So nice to see you.” He grinned that wolfish, white smile and leaned back in his chair as if he were simply resting by the fire and not chained like a naughty dog. “Please excuse me for not following your instructions. I’m a little... tied up.”
I snorted. Couldn’t help it. Didn’t lower the gun, though.
Car doors slammed on the edges of the dark, an encouraging sound considering I was one officer among a mob of shadow touched. Backup had arrived.
“Nez?” a deep voice boomed.
“Present!” I called in a singsong. I leveled the gun on Warren. “What happened?”
He eyed the business end of my Taurus. “Is that really necessary? Aren’t we friends?”
“I don’t know you, and the shadiest people in the fucking Hollow have you chained before a bonfire bigger than my mother’s pueblo. Now answer my question.”
He took a deep breath. “There seems to be a misunderstanding.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? A chains-and-death-by-immolation misunderstanding?”
“Ah, no, they weren’t going to kill me, were you guys?” Warren directed the question to the prone shadow touched spread around the fire. Nobody replied. He turned his hundred-watt smile back on me. “See? Nothing untoward here.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Warren’s gaze drifted to his thigh where a small, perfect hole oozed viscously. “Flesh wound.”
“Looks like a bullet hole.”
“Same thing.”
I rolled my eyes and lowered my gun as Officer Jake Nesbitt sidled up beside me.