Boreal and John Grey Season 1 (11 page)

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The Gate

Episode 2

In Aelfheim, the land of ice, two elven races live in permanent conflict: the Ljosaelfar, pale and quick, and the Dokkaelfar, dark and wise, who’ve claimed the underground caves, abandoning their brethren to the frozen surface. Great metal smiths and crafters, the Dokkaelfar have kept the secret of longevity, Gate traveling and fate reading to themselves, while their brethren long to conquer other worlds.

Chapter One

Bone

Ella Benson stared at the body laid out on the morgue drawer, her eyes burning. Bile rose in her throat. “What the hell did that to him?” She gestured at the torso, clawed open so that the ribs stuck out, the bloody ruin of a face.

“We don’t know.” Detective Morgan gave her a steady look. “Agent Benson, I’m in charge of this case and I need to you to confirm—”

“Yeah, it’s him.” They were going to check the dental records, but there was no doubt. Her partner.
Dead
. One side of that familiar broad face was intact — the wide mouth and square jaw, his skin paper white against the unzipped, black body bag.

He nodded and started his digital recorder. “State his name, please.”

The representative of the medical examiner’s office stood aside, her suit pressed and formal, her hair in a tight chignon. She eyed Ella as if she were something she’d found under the sole of her shoes.

And it didn’t matter one bit.

“Simon Esterhase.” Ella pushed out the name. Her partner. Ex partner. Her chest was a ball of tension. She drew a shaky breath. “Where did you find him?”

“Corner of Madison and Connegut, around midnight last night,” Morgan said. “Agent Benson, state your relationship to Simon Esterhase please, for the records.”

“We work together.”

“Paranormal Bureau, right?”

Ella gave him, and then the woman, a sidelong glance. The Bureau didn’t officially exist, but hey, if he was asking... Someone was clearly keeping track of all departments, secret or not, and the world was going to hell anyway. “Yes.”

“He was a psychic?”

“Yes.” A voyant, in fact, but she wasn’t going to elaborate.

“Anything else you’d like to state for the record?”

“I’ll catch the son of a bitch who did this to Simon. Make sure you report I said this.”

Morgan took a step back, brows lifting. He pressed the pause button. “Thank you, Agent Benson. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Yeah
. She wanted to smash something, and if she didn’t get out of there, it might just be his sorry face.

“Oh, I almost forgot. David Holborn said he wants to see you.”

The boss
. “Of course.” She swallowed a sigh. It was just as well. She wanted some answers too. “On my way.”

“Agent Benson... The department will cover the funeral.”

She didn’t dignify that with an answer. They’d damn well better. As far as she was concerned, it was the least they could do.

Finn waited outside the morgue, leaning against the vomit-green wall of the empty hospital corridor. The bruises around his neck had blossomed to an angry purple. He kept his arms folded over his chest, cradling his swollen wrist. The handles of his bowie knives jutted over each hip. Though he said nothing, he cast her a questioning look.

“All done here.” Her voice came out rough and clipped. “Let’s go.”

She walked out of the hospital and he limped along. Stubborn bastard had insisted on tagging along, although he should have stayed in bed. Well, on the sofa. He was showered and dressed in clothes borrowed from Mike and his boyfriend Scott — a black shirt, light fatigues and low boots, the ever-present green bandana twisted in a rope and wrapped around his head.

Together they crossed the avenue back to the HQ, but when they entered the lobby, she gestured at the rows of chairs.

“Just wait here for a moment. I need to talk to my boss. Alone.”

Finn glowered daggers but he turned to the nearest wall —
hello, peeling blue paint
— and leaned against it. What was it with Finn and walls...?
Ah, of course
. A clear path to the nearest exit and an unobstructed view of the entire lobby.

Just like Finn. Prepared for anything; always ready
.

Shaking her head, a chill dancing up her spine, she set her steps in the direction of the elevators and rode down to sublevel six. Automatically she ran her hands over the knives sheathed in her belt and her gun. Simon had carried his weapons, too. Hadn’t seemed to help.

Rage was building inside her chest, which was much better than the cold pressing so hard it felt like it could shatter her ribs. Her ponytail whipping her back, she marched down the dim corridor under the flickering lights, her boots thumping on bare concrete. Her heart boomed. Reaching Dave’s office, she rapped on the door, managing not to smash the glass — but only barely — and entered without waiting for permission.

David Holborn looked up from a document he’d been reading and pushed the glasses back on his forehead. His desk was neat as always, every surface clean and polished, his folders stacked. “Seen Simon, I presume.”

She stood by the door, hands clenching on the hilts of her knives. “What the hell got him?”

“Have a seat.” She didn’t budge. Dave waited, then sighed and flipped the file closed. “Or not.”

She gritted her teeth and stepped closer. “What was Simon doing there last night? He had no business in that part of town.”

“Ella...”

“His girlfriend didn’t know about it, we didn’t know either. What does that tell you?”

“Absolutely nothing. A private call? Maybe he was on his way somewhere.”

“Yeah, where?” She threw her hands in the air. “When did Simon get a secret life?”

“Look, Ella.” Dave steepled his fingers on the desk. His hands were calloused; he still headed out regularly with the agents, especially with so many of them gone missing.
Or dead
. “We’re looking into it, okay? And you need to be careful.”

Ella rolled her eyes. “You’re going to tell me again that I need a partner.”

“It may sound harsh, but it’s for your own good. Simon was alone when he was attacked, and so were the other agents who got killed. Our strength lies in numbers.”

“And knowledge,” she bit out. “Tell me about the Gates, Dave. Are they opening?”

“I don’t think so. We’d have seen the usual signs.”

“Which are?”

Dave hesitated. “Elf circles. Fairy rings. Moving lights.”

“Maybe in the city it doesn’t work that way.”

“Ella, Simon was killed by the Shades. Stop looking for other explanations.”

Simon was a cold body in the morgue above their heads, and he was... “Whatever got Simon wasn’t a Shade.”

“Fine, if you say so.”
Sarcastic as hell
. “I assume you know what it was?”

“No, but I bet you do. I need to know what’s going on. I suppose the overlords are keeping a tight leash on you, but all this business with Simon getting killed,” she swallowed, “and with the Shade attacks getting more frequent...”

“The Veil seems to be getting thinner,” Dave said flatly, and it grated on her jangled nerves.

Was he kidding her?

“Dammit, Dave, stop dancing around the topic!” She slammed her fist on the desk, rattling cups and pencil holders, shaking the computer screen. Hell if it calmed her. Fiery sparks jumped behind her eyelids. “I’m one of your best, aren’t I?”

Dave hadn’t even flinched, damn him. He observed her, his face blank. “You’re the first one I call when things go haywire. You know that.”

She sucked breath after breath, trying for calm. “Then let me in.”

Moments trickled by. Would he report her? She’d never gotten into Dave’s face like this before.

“What do you want me to say?” He sounded tired. Not as tired as Ella felt though. “The disturbances in the Veil are unlike any we’ve seen. The oracles report increased volume in Noise. The Shades are becoming stronger, more varied and organized, and the name John Grey keeps popping up. But you know all this.”

“Who’s John Grey?”

“The name is mentioned in an old Norse epic — well, John Grey is the translation of it, of course.” Dave sneered. “Beware of John Grey, that’s all we know.”

“And
Aelfheim
?”

“Well, if the Gates ever open again...” He shrugged. “That’s where they opened to last time, more than five hundred years ago.
Elfhame
. It’s the world closest to us.”

“I know.” She waved her hands in the air, exasperated. “What separates us is only...”

“...the Veil.” Dave nodded, opening his hands palms up. “That’s all I can tell you. Don’t give me that look, Ella. Would I hide anything from you?”

“Of course you would.”
Half truths and lies
. She thought of the code on Simon’s paper. “I’ll find my own answers.” She looked at her watch — a gift from Simon, dammit — and turned to go. “Oh, and tell Detective Morgan to pack his bags. Simon’s case is mine.”

“No, you can’t—”

“It’s mine, Dave, or I quit.” She hadn’t intended to say that and wasn’t sure she meant it — the Bureau was her life — but now it was out, so she clamped her mouth shut and waited.

He chewed on that for a long moment, his eyes hard and angry. “So that’s how you wanna play it. Fine, you can take on the case. But only if you find a partner.”

Fuck you, Dave
. But she didn’t say it, didn’t dare push his buttons more. She nodded. “I’ll bring you someone. A temporary partner. And you’ll approve him, no questions asked.”

“Now wait a minute.” Dave rose from his seat and planted his fists on the desk. Anger radiated off him in waves. “You’re not calling the shots here, remember. I’ll decide if I approve of him and I
will
ask questions. There are rules for this sort of shit. I’ll need his transfer files.” When she shrugged, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t tell me he’s a civilian.”

“You can find a loophole and get him into the system,” she said, matching him glare for glare. “You’ve done it before.”

“Damn.” He straightened, snorted incredulously. “And why him?”