Page 118

I go to his desk. His phone is lying on top. I throw it against the wall and it shatters into a thousand pieces.

“You’re going to have to shout pretty loud for the Augur to hear you in here.”

“My men will be up here in a minute.”

“Maybe. But the ones without broken legs will take a while to get inside. In the meantime, we’re going to talk.”

“About what?”

“The dead man. Well, two dead men. One you took away from Murphy Ranch and one you left to rot.”

“I never heard of Murphy Ranch.”

He picks up his cigar and sticks it in his mouth.

I go over to him and pull Vincent’s knife from my pocket. Tamerlan freezes. I stick the tip of the knife into the glowing end of his cigar and push it through the full length of the stogie until it bumps into Tamerlan’s teeth.

“You remember anything now? Or do I keep pushing?”

He lets go of the cigar. I shake the knife so the smoke falls on the floor. Tamerlan picks up the cigar and tosses it into an ashtray so it won’t burn the pretty rug.

“What exactly is it you think I did?” he says.

“You and the White Light Legion—­which is where I’m guessing your pet poodles downstairs came from—­you did a ritual to corral and bind Death into a human body.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Once you control Death, I figure that you were planning on making a fortune selling life-­extension policies to ­people who don’t want to die.”

Tamerlan leans back in his chair again, a little more relaxed now that he knows I’m not just here to kill him. He shakes his head.

“That’s cute, but it’s not much of a business model. I’m a necromancer. Death is my bread and butter. Anyway, the life-­extension idea wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too obvious. A bunch of rich jerks stick around too long and ­people start getting suspicious. And tampering with death itself? That’s heavy baleful magic. We both know that if the Augur or his ­people find out, you can get put in a box in the ground for that kind of thing. It’s not worth the risk.”

I watch his eyes as he talks, waiting for a change in his pupils. They dilate a little with tension, but that’s it. He’s not lying.

Time to shift gears.

“Are you Wormwood? Admit it. Wormwood is a front for your Dead Head business and any other shit you’re into. It’s a way to launder all your money so it can’t be traced to you.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, briefly putting a hand over his face.

“Oh man, you don’t know anything about anything, do you? I don’t have to launder money because, whatever opinion you might happen to have about my business, I’m legit. I make plenty of money from spirit conjurations for a few select clients and from my franchises. That’s it. It’s not that I have anything against being crooked, it’s just that I don’t have to be.”

“But you know ­people who need money laundered.”

“That’s neither here nor there. Sure, I work with Wormwood, but I’m not them.”

“What exactly is Wormwood, then? Do the White Lights launder their money? They have enough muscle they could run it.”

“Now you’re just guessing.”

“Okay. Let’s back up a little: What is Wormwood?”

Tamerlan sits back and squares his shoulders.