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  “What? No… I mean, I can just fill you in over the phone.” My sleep-deprived mind wasn’t doing me any favors in the roll-with-the-punches arena. There wasn’t any real reason we couldn’t do this thing in person, but I’d spent part of the night going over what I wanted to get across to Luka during our call, and I hadn’t pictured us doing any of it face-to-face.

  “That would not be best,” he said. “Fifteen minutes?”

  “Uh, yeah, I’ll be there—here. I’m there already.”

  “Good.” He ended the call.

  I walked back into the bar feeling like I had been wrong-footed, when in fact things had worked out for the better. Luka was being cautious, which meant there was a reason for caution. He obviously figured it was at least possible someone might be listening in on our call—that someone might hear that I was still working on the case that he was supposed to have scared me away from… That was exactly the kind of situation I needed for my fishing expedition to be a success.

  But still, something about the call didn’t sit right with me. Luka had sounded more than cautious. Worried, maybe? I didn’t know, and it was a little hard to tell with him. He wasn’t exactly the type to quaver with fear or anything.

  I couldn’t worry about that now. There were still too many real problems for me to start introducing imagined ones. Luka didn’t want to be found out by the person or persons within the Congregation that were trying to sweep this case under the rug, but I needed him to do a complete one-eighty and leak what I was about to tell him to any and all of his superiors.

  It was very likely the people or person behind this already knew about my encounter with Ada and Tomás last night. But they might not know how much Ada was able to tell me before things crumbled down on her. They also wouldn’t know how much I was able to deduce on my own. So, if I could get Luka to let slip all of the stuff I had actually found out—the revenants, the elimination of Linus and Ada, and the blood of The First—and mention that I was still sitting on information about who was behind it all until I had corroborating evidence, I figured the worms would crawl out of the woodwork faster than you could say conspiracy. So much for my fishing analogy…

  A knock came at the bar’s door less than ten minutes after I made the call to Luka. I wasn’t sure where he lived or worked in the city, but he had obviously been in the area for some reason.

  I pulled open the door and stared out at a little old man in a greenish-gray tweed suit. I think my mouth must have been hanging open for a while because he tilted his head to one side and grinned politely.

  “May I come in?”

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry, the bar isn’t open yet. You’re welcome to come back at noon.”

  It was a little odd that the guy was ready to start his bar hopping before eight in the morning, but I wasn’t going to judge him. He was dressed better than I was and seemed to have a clarity in his twinkling blue eyes that I wouldn’t have figured for a chronic drunk. So, maybe the poor old fellow just had a really bad week and needed to reset. I had been there before.

  “If you need something before then there’s a little place on East Parkway that opens at nine, I think. It’s a hole in the wall, but it should get you where you want to go.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” the man said. “But where I want to go is here.”

  “Like I said, we’re not open—”

  “I’m not here for your bar’s services, Ms. Bale. I am here in the stead of our mutual… colleague.”

  “Mutual colleague?” If the guy hadn’t called me by name, I would have been sure he had me mixed up with someone else. He looked like any of his colleagues were likely to work in the tax department for an elvish shoemaker… which didn’t exactly overlap with any of my social or professional circles.

  “Mr. Grimm,” he said.

  “Uh, is that your name or the mutual colleague’s?”

  “Luka Grimm,” the man said with a fatherly patience. “He will not be coming, so I am here in his place.” He swept through the doorway and past me, and I found myself scurrying along behind him, trying to figure out if I had stepped aside to invite him in under my own power. His calming Bob Ross voice and unassuming exterior seemed to be working a number on me.

  “Why isn’t Luka coming?” I asked. “We just spoke on the phone… he didn’t say anything about not being able to make it here.”

  “It was a last-minute shuffle. My fault entirely. But his considerable talents were needed elsewhere.” He stopped abruptly and looked at me with a pained expression. “My word, but where are my manners? You work in this world of ours for any length of time and you simply forget the common civilities. My name is Carl. Carl Rogers. But you can call me Cappy, everyone does.”

  “Ca—Cappy?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s silly, but I captained a barge a lifetime ago. Something like that sticks with a person, I guess.” He pulled his tweed jacket off and folded it neatly on one of the barstools, before hopping onto one himself. “Would I be imposing too much if I asked you for a glass of water? For some reason that I have never quite understood, my mouth is always parched right up until midafternoon.”

  “Flat or sparkling,” I asked, walking to the other side of the bar.

  “Surprise me.”

  I filled a glass with some ice and seltzer and slid it over to Carl. He accepted it with thanks and sipped at it delicately, his clean-shaven top lip twitching with pleasure.

  While he savored his drink, I put the coffee pot on for myself. The process gave me time to ponder. Plus, I needed the caffeine anyway. The sleepless night was doing cruel things to my brain, and it seemed this day was going to continue throwing curves at me.

  “Will you excuse me a moment,” I said when I had finished setting up the coffee maker. “I just need to hit the little girl’s room. Won’t take a minute.”

  “Take your time, dear, I’m enjoying the peace of this place. There’s something truly calming about a quiet room that was made for noise.”

  “Uh, okay, enjoy… I guess.”

  I beelined into the restroom and whipped out my phone before the door had completely closed behind me. I redialed Luka’s number and it went straight to voicemail.

  “Luka,” I hissed, “where are you? I’ve got a little old hippy at the bar with me, and I don’t know what to do with him. Call. Me. Back!”

  I waited for a few minutes, but Luka didn’t call back. And I had no way of knowing when or if he would. I was going to have to find a way to politely get rid of my visitor and regroup with Luka later.

  I walked back out to the bar to find Carl still sipping his water.

  “Back so soon? You needn’t have hurried on my account.”

  “It’s no trouble,” I said, reassuming my place behind the bar.

  It was odd, really. I was solely used to being on the patron’s side of the bar, but with Carl there, it felt more natural to be the server. I didn’t know what the man did for the Congregation, and I highly doubted he filled the same enforcer role as Luka, but I could imagine he had an easy time prying information from people. There was a quality about him that made you want to tell him your secrets.

  Which was precisely why I wasn’t going to tell him a thing.

  “No luck in reaching Mr. Grimm?” Carl asked.

  “No, it went straight to voicemail.” I didn’t see any sense in lying about it. He had to know I was going to check in and not simply take what he said for gospel. He also had to realize I knew there was more going on here than one colleague filling in for another. Unless he thought I was a total idiot. Of course, it wouldn’t have been the first time someone came to that conclusion about me…

  Carl nodded and took another sip of his water. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to get with you. I know about you, which is to say I’ve read some of what others have written about you. But a case file doesn’t tell a whole story.”

  “There’s a case file about me?”

  He nodded again. “And, as I said, it doesn
’t tell the story. Gifted with a petty criminal past. There’s your summary.”

  “Huh, it’d be a catchy inscription for my tombstone.” I could see some of Carl’s façade falling away with each second. It wasn’t any one thing, not like he looked different or anything, but he seemed to hold himself just a little straighter. And the energy he gave off became less that of a kindly old man and more of someone who was used to being in control of the situation.

  “Indeed,” he replied. “I always figured mine would be a bawdy limerick. Guess that’s a holdover from my captaining days.”

  “So, that much was true, then?”

  His eyes twinkled. “I bet you’ve never had anyone underestimate you more than once.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “Yes, that part was true. I haven’t deceived you about anything, but I may have insinuated some things… and let you draw your own conclusions.”

  “Like the whole being colleagues with Luka,” I said.

  He shrugged. “I am his colleague in a manner of speaking.”

  “Yeah, in the same manner of speaking as saying the president is a colleague of a deputy sheriff.”

  Carl’s smile widened, making his blue eyes sparkle even more.

  “You’re part of the Congregation,” I said. It wasn’t something I needed to ask.

  Carl tipped his head in my direction. “At your service.”

  Chapter 19

  “So, why even make the attempt at deception?” I asked. I poured some of the freshly brewed coffee into my mug and offered some to Carl, which he declined with a shake of his head. “And what did you do with Luka?”

  “As I said,” Carl responded. “I simply knew some facts about you—a distillation of what makes you you.”

  “And based on that, you concluded I was a moron who would spill her guts to someone filling in for a person I know?”

  “Perhaps that’s a little harsh. Let us say I believed you may have discussed things more freely with a person on Mr. Grimm’s level…”

  “A prince in pauper’s clothing, then? Come to rub elbows with the commoners?”

  “If you like. I’ve always had a soft spot for Twain.”

  “I notice you still haven’t answered my second question,” I said.

  “Mr. Grimm is fine, of course. He works for the Congregation, and I am a part of that hallowed institution. Which means, in essence, he works for me. I simply asked him to sit this one out.”

  “You managed to do that somewhere within the ten minutes between when I called him and when you knocked on my door? Takes me longer than that to pick out a bagel from the place on the corner…”

  Carl took a sip of his water but didn’t appear particularly interested in addressing my question. “So, onto the business at hand…”

  I studied Carl for a moment without replying. On the one hand, this was just what I wanted—a sit-down with a member of the Congregation. But I had wanted that meeting on my terms, and Carl here was blindsiding me to the extreme. Still, I needed information about the Congregation and its major players, and one was sitting right across the bar from me…

  “Decide to play the cards you were given?” Carl met my gaze with his unwavering stare.

  Carl’s perceptiveness startled me for a moment before I remembered who and what I was dealing with. “That isn’t insight, is it? What’s your gift?”

  “There was a time not so many years ago when that wouldn’t have been considered a polite question.” Carl shrugged. “But I suppose it is a reasonable one. In a sense, you are new to our world, so I will let you in on a little secret. Not everything is black and white, and there isn’t a single label that fits everyone. Your friend Hiram is called a Necromancer, and Mr. Grimm is a Primal… Those labels fit as well as any and describe the majority of their abilities well enough. But the Gifts bestowed by the Source are many and varied, and they cannot always be pigeonholed so easily.”

  “So, some people have gifts that don’t fall into one category?” I asked. “Like a Seer crossed with a Primal, or something?”

  “Or something,” Carl agreed. “Maybe a Necromancer who isn’t only that?”

  “You’re talking about me?”

  “Am I?”

  “Don’t go all headshrinker on me, man. You said yourself that I’m new to this world… I barely have a clue about some of this stuff.” It was true I was pretty firmly in the dark when it came to my abilities, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know more than I was letting on. Ada had claimed to sense something un-Necromancer about me. And in my vision, Linus had referred to me as Eldritch-touched. So, maybe I didn’t have all of the answers yet, but that didn’t mean I was going to just feed what little I did know to Carl. If I had my way with things, the information was going to flow in only one direction.

  “In this case, I don’t know the answers,” Carl said. “I simply know the questions to ask.” He seemed to watch me a little too closely. It was like an artist who was hyper-focused on the details of the painting in front of him.

  “But you seem to know there are answers to be had,” I challenged. “Doesn’t that suggest that you know more than you’re letting on? Is there something I should know about myself?”

  Carl chuckled. “I know this PI thing was supposed to be a sham to keep you under our thumb, so to speak, but you really are cut out for this line of work.”

  I took a sip of my coffee, which had already begun to go tepid. “You’re deflecting.”

  “I can understand how you might think that, but what you are reading is my Gift.”

  “Your gift is not giving a straight answer?” I asked.

  “Ouch. No, my Gift is seeing the patterns in what everyone else sees as the unending flow of chaos and randomness. It allows me to make predictions about what is and what will be. What might be. What has been.”

  “I stand corrected,” I said. “You don’t even know what a straight answer is… Are you trying to tell me you’re a psychic, or what?”

  “I have been called that, but that label doesn’t fit well. I can see the variables that may lead to a certain outcome. And I can read the variables that are caused by an event in the past and trace them back. Practically, that means I can sometimes see how things unfolded in the past and how they may unfold in the future.”

  “So… psychic?”

  Carl sighed. “If you like. But let me show you something so that you might be able to make the distinction for yourself.” He pointed to a stack of cocktail napkins on my side of the bar. “Would you care to lend me one of those?”

  I grabbed one and slid it across the bar to him, then watched as he pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and began scribbling something on it.

  “No peaking. You’ll ruin the surprise.”

  I leaned back and sank down onto my stool to give him some privacy. Only, I missed the stool by a few inches and found myself falling back into empty space. My arms flailed, and I just managed to catch the edge of the bar before going down hard on my backside. Unfortunately, I also caught the edge of my coffee mug and sent it tumbling, leaving a trail of mostly cold liquid down my pant leg.

  The episode didn’t do a lot for my overall dignity.

  “I don’t suppose you’re taking notes on my unparalleled grace and poise,” I said, pulling my stool up to where I thought it was in the first place.

  Carl finished his scribbling and slid the napkin over to my side.

  I flipped the napkin over. There were three lines of neat script: Spills coffee onto right leg and boot. Mug is face down and undamaged. Phone is wedged under the left side of bar.

  I patted my jacket pocket to check for my cell. It was empty.

  “I’m not sure how that’s supposed to prove you’re not psychic,” I said, stooping to retrieve my phone from under the bar.

  “Because I merely observed and manipulated the variables,” Carl said. “Earlier, while you were making your call to Mr. Grimm, I shifted your stool back a couple of inches. And when y
ou handed me the napkin, I slid your mug over a few inches so that it would be in your way when you fell. I also noticed how your phone drooped out of your jacket when you leaned over. These are simple variables, of course, that are layered atop tens of thousands of others… but I see them all. I could see that you would use your right hand to catch the bar’s surface, and where you would catch the mug and send it down onto your boot and not the wooden floor…”

  “Okay, I get it.” I was trying to figure out if I was annoyed he almost made me crack my tailbone on the floor or impressed that he knew I wouldn’t. “I also get that you’re making a point.”

  “Am I?”

  “You seem to think so,” I said. “How about you just spell it out, though. Just so we’re on the same page.”

  Carl smiled. “Okay, I can admire the direct path, even if I so rarely get to take it. My point—or points, really—are these. I have been part of the force that directs the flow of this world of ours for a very long time.”

  “And by this world of ours, you mean the Gifted world?” I asked.

  “I mean this world,” he said, not bothering to clarify further. “I am uniquely qualified to know where and how things need to be to achieve their best state. People always claim to fear change, but I know change to be a universal constant. Nothing is static. And I simply make sure the deck is always stacked in the favor of our interests.”

  “And point two?” I asked. I already had a sense of where this was going, but I could use the time to stall. Carl seemed to like the sound of his voice, and the more I could keep him talking, the better my chances might be.

  “Point two…” His face took on an expression of exaggerated seriousness. “Point two concerns those darn variables again.”

  “I had a feeling.”

  “Indeed. Do you know what the two events are that affect our world the most—the ones that send ripples through every facet of this precarious reality of ours? Ripples that even I can’t see through to their full impact?”

  “Uh, just a guess, but I’ll say the American Idol finale and the two-for-one sale over at Shady Jake’s.”