don’t tell him where we are, just that we’re in town and ready to meet.
And then we wait.
I clean my gun. Eisfanger leaves to grab some takeout, and Charlie goes with him for backup. They’ve been gone all of ten minutes when my cell phone rings.
It’s coming up as a private call, number blocked. I answer.
“Jace,” Stoker says. “You came.”
“You knew I would.”
“I did,” he admits. “But I’m not playing you. I don’t expect you to take that at face value—but try to remember what happened the last time we met.”
“You did your best to kill everyone I know.”
“Well, yes. But it was only a bargaining tactic.”
Which, weirdly enough, is true. “Won’t work again. I had that chronal spell thing nullified. And you know that sooner or later I’m going to take that damn sword away from you.”
“True. Because it’s already happened in the future and will have happened in the past. Don’t you love time-travel magic?”
“Not even a little. What’s your point?”
“That I promised not to kill any of your friends if you let me go, and I’ve kept that promise. Doesn’t that get me a little credibility?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And so is Mr. Aleph, I assume. How was the border?”
“Better than being force-fed rocks before being beaten to death with my own intestines. Theoretically.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. But that’s what it’s like for human beings here—even when they work for the NSA.”
Hang on. How does Stoker know I didn’t just flash my badge and sail right on through—is he even better connected than I thought? Was the whole ordeal with Delta just another hoop he wanted me to jump through so I’d empathize with him as a fellow non-supernatural?
No, that’s not it. I just forget how smart Stoker is, sometimes. Smart enough to deduce I might try to slip across the border incognito—which I’ve just confirmed. He knew what kind of reception I would get in that case, and that I wouldn’t miss a chance to grouse about the experience. Now he knows that I’m here and that I have no official backup. God damn it.
“The real hassle was waiting for them to process the whole team,” I say. “You’d think they could bypass a little paperwork for National Security, but cross-agency cooperation has a long way to go. You ever run into that in terrorist circles? One cell just has to prove its equipment is bigger than another’s?” I hold my breath.
“Nice try. I know you brought a shaman along to verify my story, but other than Charlie that’s all you have.”
“Interesting theory. Doesn’t make much sense, though. Why would I—”
“Jace, please. As much as you’d like to come after me with all the resources you could muster, it’s politically unfeasible. And while my own resources aren’t terribly robust at the moment, it’s not hard to keep an eye on a single entry point for a day or two.”
I curse silently. He saw us come across—or had someone else who did. Which means he knows exactly where I am right now —
“Calm down, Jace.” He sounds amused. “Yes, I know where you are. But if we’re going to be working together, sooner or later we have to establish a certain level of trust, don’t we?”
“I suppose.” I’d prefer a level that didn’t involve him knowing where I sleep, though.
“Look, we should meet. I’ll let you pick the spot, all right? The three of you and just me. Would that make you feel a little more secure?”
“I’ll get back to you.” I hang up on him, which might seem petty but in fact sends an important message: I can still walk away, anytime I choose.
But I won’t. And Stoker knows that, too.
When Charlie and Eisfanger come back with the food I tell them about the call. Charlie nods as Eisfanger unpacks Styrofoam containers from a white plastic bag; he doesn’t seem surprised that Stoker’s one step ahead of us.
“I know a place,” Charlie says. “Hard to set up an
And then we wait.
I clean my gun. Eisfanger leaves to grab some takeout, and Charlie goes with him for backup. They’ve been gone all of ten minutes when my cell phone rings.
It’s coming up as a private call, number blocked. I answer.
“Jace,” Stoker says. “You came.”
“You knew I would.”
“I did,” he admits. “But I’m not playing you. I don’t expect you to take that at face value—but try to remember what happened the last time we met.”
“You did your best to kill everyone I know.”
“Well, yes. But it was only a bargaining tactic.”
Which, weirdly enough, is true. “Won’t work again. I had that chronal spell thing nullified. And you know that sooner or later I’m going to take that damn sword away from you.”
“True. Because it’s already happened in the future and will have happened in the past. Don’t you love time-travel magic?”
“Not even a little. What’s your point?”
“That I promised not to kill any of your friends if you let me go, and I’ve kept that promise. Doesn’t that get me a little credibility?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And so is Mr. Aleph, I assume. How was the border?”
“Better than being force-fed rocks before being beaten to death with my own intestines. Theoretically.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. But that’s what it’s like for human beings here—even when they work for the NSA.”
Hang on. How does Stoker know I didn’t just flash my badge and sail right on through—is he even better connected than I thought? Was the whole ordeal with Delta just another hoop he wanted me to jump through so I’d empathize with him as a fellow non-supernatural?
No, that’s not it. I just forget how smart Stoker is, sometimes. Smart enough to deduce I might try to slip across the border incognito—which I’ve just confirmed. He knew what kind of reception I would get in that case, and that I wouldn’t miss a chance to grouse about the experience. Now he knows that I’m here and that I have no official backup. God damn it.
“The real hassle was waiting for them to process the whole team,” I say. “You’d think they could bypass a little paperwork for National Security, but cross-agency cooperation has a long way to go. You ever run into that in terrorist circles? One cell just has to prove its equipment is bigger than another’s?” I hold my breath.
“Nice try. I know you brought a shaman along to verify my story, but other than Charlie that’s all you have.”
“Interesting theory. Doesn’t make much sense, though. Why would I—”
“Jace, please. As much as you’d like to come after me with all the resources you could muster, it’s politically unfeasible. And while my own resources aren’t terribly robust at the moment, it’s not hard to keep an eye on a single entry point for a day or two.”
I curse silently. He saw us come across—or had someone else who did. Which means he knows exactly where I am right now —
“Calm down, Jace.” He sounds amused. “Yes, I know where you are. But if we’re going to be working together, sooner or later we have to establish a certain level of trust, don’t we?”
“I suppose.” I’d prefer a level that didn’t involve him knowing where I sleep, though.
“Look, we should meet. I’ll let you pick the spot, all right? The three of you and just me. Would that make you feel a little more secure?”
“I’ll get back to you.” I hang up on him, which might seem petty but in fact sends an important message: I can still walk away, anytime I choose.
But I won’t. And Stoker knows that, too.
When Charlie and Eisfanger come back with the food I tell them about the call. Charlie nods as Eisfanger unpacks Styrofoam containers from a white plastic bag; he doesn’t seem surprised that Stoker’s one step ahead of us.
“I know a place,” Charlie says. “Hard to set up an
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