Secondhand Souls (Grim Reaper 2) - Page 14

“Different,” said Rivera. “This one didn’t have any bird features. She was just pale—­dressed in black rags, like a shroud. I didn’t see any claws.”

“How you know she wasn’t just a raggedy woman?”

“She disappeared. Puff of smoke, while my partner watched. Locked door. And she told me. She said she was called Bean Sidhe. Had a really thick brogue, I can’t say it the way she did.”

“Banshee,” said Minty Fresh. “You pronounce it banshee.”

“That makes sense,” said Rivera. “She did a lot of shrieking. You’ve seen her, then?”

“Until ten seconds ago I thought the banshee was a myth, but I recognize the description. My ex—­woman I know—­did a lot of research on Celtic legends after that last—­”

“Then you know what she’s doing here?”

“Not being a detective like you, I can only guess, but I had to guess, I’d guess she the sound the Underworld make when you throw shit in its fan.”

Rivera nodded, as if that made sense. “She did call herself a ‘harbinger of doom.’ ”

“That’s all I’m saying,” said Minty.

“There’s more,” said Rivera.

“Of course there is.”

So Rivera told Minty Fresh about the Emperor’s quest to record the names of the dead, of his insistence that they would be forgotten, and how in the past, the kindhearted madman had been somewhat ahead of the police on supernatural goings-­on in the city. When he finished he said, “So, do you think there’s anything to it?”

Minty Fresh shrugged. “Probably. You broke the universe, Inspector, no tellin’ how bad.”

“You sound happy about that.”

“Do I? Because I don’t like that the universe is broken, I keep all my shit there.” For the moment, he did feel a little better, because as much as he had convinced himself that he was losing his grip on his cool, here was someone who was clearly worse off than he. Then he looked at Rivera, standing there easy in his Italian suit, his lines and aspect sharp as a blade, and he realized that the cop, or the ex-­cop, had not lost his cool. The world might be unraveling around him, but Rivera was chill as a motherfucker.

“So what do I do?”

“I’d start with doing your job.”

“I’m retired—­semiretired.”

“I mean picking up the soul vessels.”

“You think they’d still be there?”

“You had better hope they are.”

“How do I find them?”

“I’d start with your date book full of names, Detective Inspector—­that was your title, right?”

Some of Rivera’s chill seemed to slip a bit. Rivera undid a button on his suit jacket, evidently to show that he was in action mode.

Minty smiled, a dazzling crescent moon in a night sky. “Did you just unbutton your coat so you could get to your gun?”

“Of course not, it’s just a little warm in here. I carry my gun on my hip.” Rivera brushed back his jacket to show the Glock.

“But you’re still packing, despite your retirement?”

“Semiretirement. Yes, I started carrying my old backup. The banshee took my stun gun. She zapped me with it.”

“So she can just appear out of nowhere and knock you out?”

Tags: Christopher Moore Grim Reaper Fantasy
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