An Excerpt from Ginn Hale's "Such Heights" in Hell Cop

James handed the memory card over to Captain Kippling, without bothering to apologize for giving him the wrong one in the first place. Both of them knew he’d done it on purpose; that was obvious.

It was also obvious that he and the captain were playing nice for Rupen, Lanna, and Suzy’s camera. James knew why he was smiling and keeping his mouth shut. If he made a fuss then the captain or Rupen could have him removed from the Storm Palace. But he wasn’t sure why Captain Kippling seemed so willing to indulge him.

Could the documentary really be that important? James knew it was expected to boost support for the Storm Palace being recognized as an environmental sanctuary, but it couldn’t just be that, could it?

James tried to remember what kind of funding the Storm Palace might receive as a sanctuary, but his mind only seemed willing to focus on the fact that Moran was here. Longing surged through James, and for a moment, it required all of his will not to leap out of his poolside chair and race down the service stairs after Moran. He wanted so badly to feel Moran’s body against his own, to touch him and watch that cold indifference melt away…

And then maybe he could shout, My cop boyfriend is here, working undercover!

Yeah, chasing after Moran would be an extra special genius move. And Moran would be sure to thank him for it too.

Come on, Sparky, James admonished himself. Stop thinking with your dick for a minute here and get your act together.

Rupen’s heir was dead. So, why had Rupen pretended not to recognize his picture; why had he lied? Because he killed the young man or could he be shielding someone? Protecting the reputation of the Storm Palace itself?

Damn, he wished he could talk this out with Moran. Like old times, when he’d been Moran’s informant and Moran hadn't seemed to give a damn how much trouble he got himself into so long as he got useful evidence.

“I brought something for you as well, James.” Lanna tossed him a pair of tiny red swim briefs. She’d already changed in the women’s locker room, miraculously transforming from elegant socialite into a bikini-clad swimwear model. “Come on, the pool is lovely.” Lanna dived into the sapphire blue water. The splash sent a cloud of butterflies swirling up from the recesses of water lily blossoms.

Rupen’s eyes followed Lanna’s every motion. Then suddenly he glanced to James.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Rupen commented.

James nodded, although Lanna’s beauty was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

“Ah, to be young.” Rupen gave a wistful sigh as he stared at James. “All of you children are beautiful, really. So much energy and so much life ahead of you.”

“Do you have any kids of your own, sir?” James inquired, and he hoped it sounded casual.

“No, no.” Rupen shook his head and dropped his gaze down to his tanned, wrinkled hands. “I have—I had an adopted son, but he’s…gone now.”

“Oh?” James felt his heart beat quicken.

“Marcus Saro,” Rupen said the name softly, almost tenderly. “Or at least that’s who he claimed to be, but it turns out he was a con man.” Rupen looked up into James’s face, his expression distraught. “He murdered the real Marcus Saro.”

“Pardon?” James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected, but a revelation nonetheless. This would be the one time Suzy and her camera were off somewhere else: recording Captain Kippling releasing the phoenix back into her flock.

“You aren’t just a photographer, Mr. Sparks,” Rupen said evenly. “You’re an investigative reporter, aren’t you?”

“Well,” James hedged, knowing it was always worse to be caught in a lie than to tell the truth, but not by much. “I’ve worked freelance for a number of news agencies…”

“You’re too humble, my boy,” Rupen objected. “Lanna’s told me all about you.”

James gave a noncommittal shrug. Lanna knew very little about what James really did—certainly nothing of his involvement with the police, but she’d seen enough the night Tony had been killed to make a few informed guesses.

“She told me that you inherited a fortune but you’re so dedicated to justice and the truth that you still insist on investigating criminals.” Rupen’s tone was almost curious.

“Lanna has a tendency to romanticize these things,” James replied.

“Maybe. She certainly is taken with you,” Rupen replied, and he sounded a little sad. “But I don’t think she was exaggerating when she described you. She made me feel certain that I should be honest with you, because you’ll find these things out soon enough anyway.”

Rupen accepted a glass of sparkling green liquid from a demonic servant. James took one as well but didn’t drink. If this was about to become a murder confession, James needed to record it, somehow. He slid his thumb across his camera’s function dial, flicking on the low-grade video option. He had no way to inconspicuously focus the picture, but at least he could hope to record Rupen’s words. He felt like an asshole, taking advantage of the old man’s trust, but he couldn’t stop himself. Moran had trained him too well.

“So, your adopted son wasn’t Marcus Saro?” James asked carefully.

“No. His name was Finlay, and he murdered Marcus Saro.” For a moment Rupen’s proud expression almost crumpled, but he set his jaw and met James’s eyes with a firm gaze. “The young man I knew these last nine years was an imposter. He stole Marcus Saro’s identity and his money and came here. I suppose it was part of a larger plan to take the Storm Palace, but he really did seem to care about the old place and all our people. He even took to the phoenixes. Used to feed them on the ledges and do drawings of them.” Rupen’s voice broke and he looked away from James.

His physician drifted nearer. Rupen waved him away with an irritated frown.

“Up this high we sometimes intercept transmissions. A week ago Captain Kippling picked up a police alert. Apparently some hikers near the Dros Commune discovered the body of the real Marcus Saro. I quickly realized that my boy, Finlay, was a wanted man.”

Rupen sniffed hard, locking his proud features into a stoic frown.

“I should have turned Finlay over to the police, right then and there,” Rupen stated. “But I couldn’t. Not my son… I told him I knew what he’d done and I told him that he couldn’t stay here any longer. He wasn’t my son anymore. I ordered him to pack up… I was going to leave him in Parmas City, but—” Rupen scowled hard, biting down on his trembling lips.

He was silent for several moments and James didn’t try to prod him.

“I believe he took his own life instead. He jumped from the phoenix ledges.” A tear slipped down the old man’s cheek. And then another. James felt sick and sorry, and at a loss for anything to say.

Across the pool, Lanna had stopped swimming and frowned at the two of them.

“He did a terrible thing,” Rupen murmured. “But I wouldn’t have wanted him to die. I…” Rupen put his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry,” James said. “I really am.”

Rupen wiped at his eyes, with an almost angry roughness.

“No,” Rupen sniffed. “I should be sorry. I behaved very poorly to you this morning. When you showed me that picture… When I saw my son’s face…” He just shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it until after you left and Captain Kippling told me that the boy was missing.”

“Captain Kippling knew.”

“He didn’t want there to be a scene in front of the camera,” Rupen explained. “He still sees me as his lord and would do anything to protect my dignity. So many of the demons here on the Storm Palace are so dedicated to me, to my family. He was just trying to protect me. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” James replied. Though he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how far the captain would go to protect Rupen’s dignity. And what would he perceive as a threat?

“James, seriously, you won’t get cooties from swimming with a girl.” Lanna waded to the edge of the pool and splashed him. James jerked his camera back from the water.

“Get changed and come swimming with me, or I will keep splashing you until you and your precious camera are soaked.” Lanna slapped the water again.

Rupen laughed, looking relieved. “I’d do as she commands, my boy. Go on, enjoy yourself.”

James sighed. He knew it was futile to argue with Lanna, and Rupen wasn’t likely to tell him anything more at this point. The old man’s attention had turned completely back to Lanna.

James felt obscene parading across the marble floor in the tight red swim briefs Lanna had picked out for him. Someone far up on the stairs whistled, and James dived into the warm water.

He came up with a salty taste on his lips. Silky, red sand squished beneath his feet and sulfur yellow fish darted around his legs in bold sweeps. After a few minutes of swimming, he realized how soothing the water felt, especially for his aching right knee.

“You and Gregory looked like you were having a serious heart-to-heart,” Lanna commented, and she bobbed in the water beside him.

“Yeah,” James agreed. He still wasn’t quite sure of what to do with the information or what to think of it being offered so directly.

“Was it about me?” Lanna asked.

“About you?” James frowned. “Why would it be about you?”

“Aside from the fact that a girl likes to think that every conversation between two dashing men is about her,” Lanna responded with a teasing smile. “Gregory’s sure that you and I would make a perfect couple.”

James almost choked on pool water, and Lanna scowled at him.

“James, seriously, aren’t you at least curious about how good it could be with a woman?” Lanna leaned close and ran a wet finger over his chest. James had to suppress a shudder. He’d thought Lanna had gotten over this.

“Gregory and I were discussing his heir’s death.” James stepped back out of Lanna’s reach before her hand could slither further down his body. “It turns out I did see someone plummet from the Storm Palace this morning.”

Lanna’s expression froze for a moment as she processed what he’d said. Then her jaw dropped.

“Oh my god!” Lanna gasped. ”What happened?”

“The details aren’t exactly clear,” James replied. “Rupen says he thought it was suicide.”

“Oh, poor Gregory.”

James followed Lanna’s gaze to where Rupen leaned back in his chair with his physician kneeling at his side. The pale physician administered an injection and Rupen closed his eyes.

“Is he sick?” James asked.

Lanna paused and studied James for a moment as if appraising just how much she should trust his discretion.

“He’s dying,” Lanna whispered. “He told me yesterday. It’s some kind of cellular disorder.”

“I remember reading something about osmotic deaths running in the Rupen family,” James suggested.

Lanna shook her head.

“Gregory isn’t a blood member of the Rupen family. He was adopted by Garen Rupen when he was twenty-seven. He wasn’t even from a sorcerous family. He was just the son of some common industrialist. Nouveau riche.”

James frowned at that.

“So Rupen isn’t actually a Rupen?” Odd then that he took such pride in his sorcerous heritage but made no mention of his real family. Maybe there had been a falling out with his biological family. Maybe it had been something to do with him accepting a sorcerer’s guardianship…at the age of twenty-seven? James couldn’t help but wonder if the term Sugar Daddy might not have been more appropriate than guardian.

“I think that’s why Gregory chose to adopt his own heir,” Lanna said wistfully.

James nodded. But again he wondered what exactly the relationship between the old man and his young, handsome, and unrelated heir was. Certainly a man as wealthy and attractive as Rupen could have found a wife and fathered children if he’d been the least bit inclined.

This string of wealthy older men adopting handsome, full-grown sons to live with them on their private floating island certainly made more sense if the term heir were replaced with lover.

Except that James had seen the way Rupen watched Lanna. He obviously wanted her in a way that a man like James never would.

“So Rupen is dying and his heir is dead,” James mused. “Any idea who stands to inherit the Storm Palace when Rupen checks out?”

“What a mean thing to ask,” Lanna replied. “I’d think you’d spare at least a moment to feel a little compassion for the poor man.”

James shrugged. He supposed he’d gotten too used to talking to Moran.

“The Storm Palace would revert to Garen Rupen’s closest blood relative,” Lanna said at last.

“Any idea who that would be?” James asked.

“I have no idea,” Lanna replied, and she gave James an annoyed pout. “You know, I’d expect a gay to be a little more sensitive. But I swear, James, you can be as much of an asshole as a straight guy.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice and cultivate an interest in women.” James smirked and received a splash of water in his face.

“I don’t know why I even bother trying with you.” Lanna laughed.

“I don’t know either,” James replied. “I have it from a very dependable source that I’m an ass and a troublemaker.”

“At least you’re not boring.” Lanna gazed absently at a cluster of tanned men at the edge of the pool. “Of course there’s also something to be said for men who appreciate the fact that I don’t have a five-o'clock shadow.”

James smiled at that, but Lanna’s attention had drifted to Rupen. She returned Rupen’s wave and then waded out of the water to bask in the older man’s charm and tease the young men looking on.

James dived beneath the water and swam out to the deep end of the pool. He knew that Moran was here on the Storm Palace and that he ought to go to him, tell him about Marcus Saro’s and Finlay’s deaths; at least one was a murder. That was definitely police business. On the other hand, he couldn’t just go crashing through the bowels of the Storm Palace shouting Moran’s name.

He’d have to wait for an opportunity. So for now James swam, allowing the steady rhythm of exertion to soothe away his anxiety.

It felt good to push himself hard, right up to his limit. Often when he went running, the pain in his right knee would stop him before he could really challenge himself, but then that became a test of its own. The few times he’d kept running through the hurt, his knee had swollen up like a balloon. Moran had always soothed away the pain, gentling his flesh with strong, hot hands while also informing James that he had acted like an idiot and an ass.

Moran wasn’t likely to do any of that now…well, maybe tell him he was an idiot.

James dived deep beneath the water and kicked off against a polished marble wall. He turned lap after lap while exotic fish darted and flashed around him and exhaustion slowly overcame restless loneliness.

Overhead the ambient light dimmed, and people drifted away to enjoy the music, drinks, and dancing on the floors above. James vaguely noted that the portal center had closed for the night. Rupen escorted Lanna to his glass elevator. Rupen’s physician disappeared soon after them. The darkness of night crept in.

James rolled onto his back and floated. Stars shone through the skylights and reflected in the dark water. The light danced across the distant walls, breaking and rippling with James’s motions. Far across the marble promenade, James noticed a dark shadow creeping between the silhouettes of potted trees and climbing vines. The stealthy advance put James suddenly on guard. The guy was taking care to be quiet and keeping to the shadows.

James’s heart began to hammer at his ribs. He’d been hunted before, and he recognized those slow careful motions. Then to his far right, James saw a cluster of luna moths startle into silent flight from a bower of potted persimmon trees. A second man lurked there.

James fought against the panic rising in his chest.

They’re obviously taking pains not to startle you, Sparky. James imagined Moran whispering the words and he grew calmer. Don’t let them know you’re on to them and they’ll keep their approach slow. That’ll give you time to get your ass out of this water.

James swam slowly into the shallows of the pool, searching the shadows around him while trying to look casual. A third big form prowled down the stairs toward him. A beam of starlight gleamed along the sharp curve of the demon’s horn. The demon looked a lot like one of the Storm Palace security officers. All three could have been security for all he knew. Which meant they were probably armed and trained for combat.

No way was James going to try to take all three of them on. He was built for flight not fight, though even running looked tricky right now.

Getting up the stairs was out of the question. The portal center was locked. The changing room, where James had secured his camera and clothes, was a dead end.

That left the maintenance door. And it had to be now because the men were getting closer.

James vaulted out of the water. His wet feet slipped on the marble, but he kept his balance and sprinted for the maintenance door. Behind him he heard a pot crash to the floor as someone lunged through the decorative foliage after him.

“Stop him!” a man hissed.

James felt something whip past his head and crack against the wall ahead of him. They were shooting at him.

Terror surged through him, and his muscles went hot. He hurtled across the promenade, leaping over benches the way he’d cleared hurdles in college.

His hands were slick with sweat as he wrenched the maintenance door open. Bright yellow light flashed over him. Half running, half falling, he took the narrow stairs in a blind rush. Two flights down he heard the door behind him screech open and knew that the men had followed him down.

The first door he reached was marked KITCHENS. James shoved it open loudly but didn’t go through; instead he raced down the stairs, praying that the men chasing him heard the door and took the bait assuming he’d gone through it.

As he descended the air turned hot and a smell of machine oil pervaded. The staircase walls and steps felt slick, as if they were sweating. From above again James heard a door. At least one of the security men must have gone into the kitchen. He prayed all three had, but it seemed unlikely.

At last he reached a landing with two huge, iron doors and no more stairs. He took the door on the left, marked QUARTERS, and found himself scurrying through a series of crowded hallways full of people, demons, and cages of nesting chickens.

Hundreds of pipes snaked overhead, and between them drooped thick red wires that appeared to both power dim lanterns and provide lines for drying underwear. A cacophony of languages—demon and human—echoed over the strains of music, engine drones, and laughter. Four half-demon children playing tag bustled past James’s legs, and two women dressed in rumpled servant’s uniforms shoved him aside as they struggled through the winding corridor with heaping loads of laundry.

As James moved farther into the crowds, he noticed open doors, offering views of small cots, alcohol burners, and the prone, half-naked bodies of sleeping humans and demons alike. The place smelled like old shoes, cooking oil, and hot metal.

James couldn’t run in the tight confines, but he didn’t dare stay still. Mumbling apologies, he stumbled through the bustling crowds. He dodged a flock of brilliant blue hens as well as the flurry of raggedly dressed children chasing the creatures. All around him bodies pressed and jostled. At one point he felt a strong hand grab for his arm. He jerked away and plunged ahead faster.

At last he found himself in what appeared to be a public toilet and bath. The floor was nothing but drains and the walls were studded with lime-caked spigots and yellowed hoses.

A tiny woman wearing a dingy gray bathrobe asked him if he’d lost his pants. Her accent sounded familiar but James couldn’t quite place it. He shook his head mutely. Two young men laughed at each other under a spurting water spigot, and directly in front of James, a large red demon appeared to be soaping a small camel while a woman collected the animal’s droppings in a copper bucket. Beyond the bath stood an open courtyard of what looked like a market of some kind. Cramped stalls displayed bright banners and raucous music poured from barred windows high up in the walls.

James just stared around him in dazed wonder and exhaustion. It was like he’d crashed into a whole other world. Sooty little birds swept past, flying between the tangled pipes running overhead.

James suddenly felt like he needed to sit down.

His rush of adrenaline was fast fading. In its absence he became aware of the grinding pain in his knee and also a strange, dull ache in his shoulder. He reached back and jerked a small red dart free.

He hadn’t even notice he’d been hit.

“Well, shit,” James slurred. He made three steps clear of the copper bucket full of droppings and then his leg buckled. A strong, hard grip caught him before he hit the floor. James expected to see one of the Storm Palace security men, but instead Ben Moran held him.

He wore dark canvas pants and a heavy work belt. Sweat and machine oil stained his deeply tanned chest and bare arms. He smelled dirty and good at once, James thought deliriously.

“The boy, he lose his pants!” the old woman shouted to Moran.

“Yeah.” Moran hefted him up to his feet. “He’s lucky he didn’t lose a whole lot more.” Moran’s blue eyes seemed to blaze against the subterranean gloom surrounding them. “You okay, Sparky?”

James wanted to claim that he was fine just for the sake of his pride, but his body betrayed him, buckling forward into Moran’s warm arms. The edges of his sight were getting oddly dark, and his head felt like it was packed with wadded cotton.

“They shot me,” James admitted. Cradled against Moran’s bare chest, he felt Moran’s heartbeat jolt.

“Where? James—”

“Just a tranquilizer or something.” James clumsily proffered the dart. Moran glared at the red projectile and then snapped the dart away into some plastic case hanging from his work belt.

“I’m okay,” James mumbled.

“Oh yeah,” Moran replied. “You’ve never looked better.” Then he glanced to the old woman and said something that sounded like gibberish and birdcalls, and she responded in kind. Belatedly, James realized that they were speaking West Islander. James felt the low words rumbling in Moran’s deep chest. He closed his eyes. He’d missed the feel of Moran’s arms around him so badly. It was stupid and naïve, but he felt calm and safe.

“James,” Moran said softly.

James opened his eyes. The old woman had left, as had the couple with the miniature camel. The young men were dressing.

“Earlier, I spotted two men tracking you in the gear hall,” Moran spoke softly but very clearly. “Were there any others?” The question floated through the cotton in James’s brain for a moment.

“One guy but I think he’s in the kitchen.” James’s voice sounded strange, even to himself, and the lights seemed to have dimmed even further.

“Can you walk at all?” Moran asked.

“Sure.” James limbs responded slowly and weakly but he managed to stumble a few steps through the gloom. Happily, the grating pain in his knee had gone numb; unfortunately, that didn’t keep his limbs from giving out under him.

Moran braced him and led him ahead into a dim, jostling chaos of crowds and wild noise. Spicy scents rolled over James, as did the odors of caged animals. They wove between stalls burgeoning with caged birds, weird fruits, and vials of strange fluids. Vendors called out sweetly, their voices melding with animal cries and bar music. James thought hazily of childhood stories he’d read of goblin markets. He wished he had his camera and then laughed at the thought of the photos he’d produce, half-blind with hands too numb to move. Even fully cogent he would have been challenged to capture a comprehensible moment in all the color and movement of the demonic crowds and winding corridors. The place smelled like a circus, sounded like a carnival, and twisted like a maze.

“How did you know I was in trouble?” James murmured into Moran’s bare shoulder. The heat of his skin never failed to attract James. Which was stupid, because he was pissed at Moran.

“Aren’t you always in trouble?” Moran replied. He suddenly drew James back into the shadows of a balcony and eased him down onto a crate. James’s muscles felt disturbingly lax. He gazed at his own hands, amazed to see them lying like dead things at the ends of his arms.

“But how did you find me?” James slurred as if he were drunk.

“I was looking for you, and then I realized that I wasn’t the only one.” Moran scowled at the passing crowd. The multitude of bodies looked like a dim jumble of rolling shadows to James, but something in Moran’s expression warned James to be quiet and remain still. He thought he recognized the scarlet silhouette of a tall demon with large curving horns and another big shadowy figure moved next to him.

They’d tracked him all this way. James’s heart gave a sluggish flip in his chest. There was no way on earth he could run now. He could hardly move.

“Are you still with me, Sparky?” Moran gave him a hard, assessing look.

“Where else would I be?” James just managed to flash a crooked smile.

“Funny.” Moran’s expression was grim and he looked tired. He pushed an unruly clump of James’s hair back gently. “All you have to do is stay quiet and wait here. Understand? Don’t look for me, don’t call for me. Just stay here.”

He was leaving? Now? Again, James’s heart seemed to stumble in his chest like a clumsy drunk.

“They’re coming…” James’s voice failed him as he tried to tell Moran that the demons hunting him were only a few feet away. Then Moran melted into the shadows of passing bodies. Everyone seemed to be moving too fast, and then James realized he was losing bits of time, lapsing in and out of consciousness.

And suddenly two big demons loomed over him. His eyes skidded and slipped across the alien expanses of the scarlet scales and black spines that covered their bodies. The red one with horns glared at James, while his thorny companion sneered, revealing a mouth full of ivory fishhooks.

“Not so fast now, is he?” the horned demon remarked.

“Not a bit quick,” the thorny demon agreed. He dropped his moist palm against James’s bare forearm. A rush of panic gave James the energy to knock the demon’s hand back.

“Hands off, Mr. Prick!”

Both the demons jumped, clearly not expecting James to still be conscious, much less capable of movement.

“You have no idea who you’re fucking with here.” James smirked at them, bluffing for every second he could keep them off him.

Where was Moran?

Darkness edged in to James’s vision and he fought it, focusing on the horned demon’s pale orange eyes. He’d gotten decent at fighting his way up through sedation after having most of his right knee rebuilt in surgeries. But James knew his moment of control couldn’t last.

A shadow emerged from behind the demons. A strange luminous smoke floated in the air, coiling and rolling like a cloud; James thought of ghostly vipers. His vision dimmed.

He blinked.

When he opened his eyes he was sprawled back across the crate. A scarlet hand waved over his face and then fell to the side. James rolled his head to see the black thorny demon flopped on the gravel floor like a broken toy. Next to him, Moran crouched over the horned red demon’s prone body with his scarred right hand clamped around its throat. Something twitched beneath Moran’s fingers. The horned demon went pale, and a sick gurgle burbled from its lolling mouth. Moran jerked his hand back and a glistening purple thread ripped from the demon’s throat. The thread thrashed like a living thing, and Moran snarled some grating word as he crushed it in his fist.

Steam rose off Moran’s hand. The thread burned to white vapor. The demon lay still, though its eyes were open and staring.

“Is he dead?” James wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be.

“He’ll live.” Moran straightened. “But they’re both going to have a hell of a headache come tomorrow. They won’t remember much either. I burned through the binding spells that controlled them.”

“Binding spells?”

“Yeah, old-school enslavement. They’re everywhere up here. Even in some of the animals.” Moran glanced quickly behind him. “We need to get moving, sleeping beauty. You up for another walk?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just lying here like a rag doll to lull my predators into a false sense of security.”

Moran laughed dryly, then he hefted James up to his feet, and amazingly, James managed to stay upright. Maybe he was getting better at this. Maybe he could walk.

Another flicker of darkness swallowed him, and when he came to he was flopped over Moran’s shoulder, drooling against his hot, strong back.

So much for dying with dignity, he thought, and then darkness closed in again.

© Ginn Hale, June 2009
All Rights Reserved