Page 9 of Night in a Waste Land

Bedlam whirled on her. “What did you say?”

The knife in question lay on the desk, glittering beneath even the dull, energy-conserving lamps mounted to the walls. Rose gestured toward it with two fingers. “It’s not a pocket knife, ma’am. And it was forged in hell. It’s a dagger that has the power to expel an angel from a conduit.”

Bedlam blinked at her a moment, dumbfounded – no one ever contradicted her. When her scowl returned, Lance could tell she struggled to contain her curiosity. “I don’t care what the fuck it does. You went off book, and, judging by this little bit of insubordination, you’ve not even learned why that was a problem. You aredismissed, Sir Rose. You’ll be lucky if I don’t take your wings.”

Rose nodded, and though her gaze lingered a moment too long on the dagger – wanting to take it back – she turned and slipped silently from the room.

“Andyou.” Bedlam whirled on Lance the moment the door was shut. “You lost your last young oneyesterdayand you’re letting this one go Rambo on a room full of conduits?”

Lance took care to ensure that his exhale was not a sigh. “Technically–”

“Don’t youtechnicallyme.”

“There were two conduits in the room – it wasn’t a room full of them. And they were fighting with one another. To be fair, none of us have ever seen anything like that. We were momentarily shocked. Greer reacted on instinct, and it’s my fault that I didn’t prevent her actions. If you want to blame anyone for it, blame me.”

“Oh, I’m blaming you alright.Instinct?”

“Greer isn’t some fresh-faced kid off the farm.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Bedlam shot back.

“She had a lot of prior combat training.” He wondered what had made Arthur Becket look at her and decide she’d make a worthy soldier. Shewas…but it was hard to imagine his thought process. “And she’s dealt with conduits before – at least one that I know of. She knew they could be killed, and she knew that dagger would do the job.”

Blind, superior anger warred across Bedlam’s face another moment – and then gave way to exhaustion. She thumped down inelegantly into her chair. “Where did she get it?” She nodded toward the dagger; Lance wondered if she was afraid to touch it.

“Anthony Castor.”

“The mobster back east?”

“The same. Or, well, his conduit had it. They used it to perform a ritual – one I’m guessing Tony thought he’d walk away from.”

She nodded.

“But before that, I have no idea. It’s supposed to be hell-forged. All I know is it kills conduits when nothing else can.”

“Wraith Grenades,” she countered.

“Messy. Inexact. And lots of potential for collateral damage.”

She lifted a hand – and then folded it into her lap. Her gaze sought his, penetrating and sharp. She missed nothing. “You recognized her. Yesterday in my office.”

“Ma’am?”

Her mouth twitched. “You walked in here and looked like you’d seen a ghost. One you wanted to see. She’s the girl you rescued from Castor’s place, isn’t she?”

Lying rarely paid off in these situations. His mouth felt dry with sudden nerves, though. “Yes. She is.”

Bedlam folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, expression going thoughtful. “Arthur Becket’s little pet.”

“I wouldn’t saypet,” he said, a kneejerk defense, and his captain’s mouth twitched again. “And how do you know about Becket?”

“You think I don’t read your reports just because I’m up to my fucking ears in them? Also: everybody keeps up with the Eastern crime scene. Everybody who does knows about King Arthur.” She lifted a single brow. “Is he really dead this time?”

“I watched it myself. If he’s not dead, he’s definitely no longer on this plane of existence.”

Bedlam nodded, and sighed. “The girl’s fucked up, du Lac. If I can see it, then you can, too.”

He nodded, with no small amount of regret.

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