A brief History of Noimore, by Chris Zinn: The results of banning almost twenty percent of all deckbearers from owning their cards was nothing short of disastrous, with six armed rebellions against the central government and thousands of terrorist acts. The country as a whole backed off in 1937, but an entire generation of powerful men and women have passed their distaste and distrust down to their descendants, and legislation over the rights to cards seized by the government, either from dead people or at gunpoint, continues to this day.
Nowhere was this felt more than in Noimoire, which in the 1920’s was a massive transportation hub with numerous parties sympathetic to the plight of the outlawed deckbearers—most notably, the already existing rum runners. It has been estimated that Noimoire had almost 25% of America’s Infernal and Elder deckbearers at one point, and almost all of those became involved in illegal activity beyond just owning their cards.
The city was ungovernable by all except the crime bosses for almost twenty years, and that dark legacy has reverberated through its streets to this very day.
Wolfe blinked at Rhett’s knowledge of his girlfriend but recovered quickly. “What are you doing here, Shel?”
Shel gave a glowing smile. “I came here to collect William—my boyfriend.”
It was Rhett’s turn to blink. “This man is the William you’re dating?”
Shel nodded. Then she walked over and put her arms around Wolfe’s chest from behind and kissed his cheek. “Yes. This is the man I’m with.”
“I… see…” Rhett said. He dropped the folder flap. “You… vouch for him?”
Shel tilted her head slightly. “That’s an odd phrase, Lieutenant. But this man has always had my back, if that’s what you mean. Always.”
“Even though he’s way older than you?”
Shel smiled brilliantly. “I like to think of him as more experienced. Besides, what difference does it make, really?”
“I suppose that’s as fine a way of looking at it as any,” Rhett said slowly.
“Why’s he here, though?” Shel asked.
“I had some questions for him, but I think I’ve asked enough,” Rhett said. “I mean, he just saved twenty people, nearly singlehandedly, and now I’ve learned he’s dating our cadet class’s top student. I suppose that’s all the answer I need, for now.”
Wolfe grit his teeth at the implication that Rhett might ask more questions later.
Shel smiled again and kissed Wolfe on his other cheek. “Just like I’d expect him to do. He’s free to go, right? I need to get him home and make sure he’s okay.”
“He has a twisted ankle that’s pretty swollen, but otherwise, he’s untouched.”
Wolfe grit his teeth. “I can let her know how I’m doing without help, thanks.”
Rhett nodded. “Sure. Let me get your number in case I have more questions, okay?”
Wolfe was tempted to refuse, but with Shel here, he didn’t want to make a scene with the man who was apparently her instructor. She didn’t need that shit. He grabbed a pen from the desk and wrote it on the outside of his file.
Rhett frowned—at Wolfe’s disrespect for police property, probably—but didn’t address it directly. “Well, take him home, Shel. I look forward to seeing you in class tomorrow, at a less infernal hour.”
Shel nodded with her cheek pressed against Wolfe’s.
Wolfe stood, almost shrugging out from Shel in his irritation with the situation. “Let’s go.”
He glanced over at Rhett and gave him sarcastic finger-guns. “Well—catch ya on the flip side.”
Wolfe turned and walked from the room, Shel following. He headed out through the door and into the cheap police lobby, walking fast and fuming as he went.
Once they were outside, Wolfe turned to Shel. “That dick is your instructor?”
Shel raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you don’t like him—you guys have a lot in common.”
“Pfft,” Wolfe said. “I seriously doubt that. He’s a goody-two shoes cop, for fuck’s sake.”
Shel touched his arm. “Well, no need to worry about it now. Let’s get you home, where I can take care of you.”
She led him out into the parking lot, to the replacement car he had purchased—cash only again, like his house. It was a slightly older Subaru Outback. Black like his old car, and it had the same set of modifications as his old car, minus the smuggling compartment. There were bulletproof windows and reinforced siding, and he had, of course, sprung for the turbocharged engine. It wasn’t actually an amazing car, but it was one that appeared totally normal while being higher performing and more protective than it ought to have been—which he needed, since he wasn’t ready to reveal to Damian that he had survived, not yet. Nor could he afford to be pulled over by curious cops. It would lead to too many encounters like the one he had just had.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“Wait, if he’s your instructor, is he a member of the card police?” Wolfe asked as they got in the car, Wolfe in the driver’s side, Shel in the passenger.
Shel nodded. “Yes. Although not all my instructors or fellow students are card police.”
“What kind of deck?” Wolfe asked.
He pulled out of the police station and onto Jules Street, honking at someone in a Volvo who’d nearly clipped him.
Shel smiled nervously. “Don’t drive angry! I think that guy had the right of way.”
Wolfe didn’t answer, and Shel returned to his question. “Rhett has a Divine and Golem deck, he says, but he’s never shown it. I don’t know the cards or anything. That’s just what he told us.”
Fuck.
Wolfe looked sideways at Shel. She was still quite small, at about five-foot-four, with red hair and green eyes. But she wasn’t the complete pale waif whose life he had saved in a bar fight nine months ago. She had some muscle—more tone than bulk—about her body, and a decent tan. Her gaze was steadier, and she smiled more.
When Wolfe had first met her, she had been hunting her brother’s killer, and fresh out of living with family who’d beaten her. Now she was almost a year from that tragedy, in a new life as a deckbearer, with a partner in Wolfe, who, while by no means perfect, was certainly not abusive of her.
Shel probably wasn’t someone the police would have recruited under normal circumstances, despite her good grades in high school—except for the fact she had a deck. That meant that as soon as she graduated the police academy, she would be going straight to the elite—and well-paid—card police, which were exactly what they sounded like: police officers with decks. For handling a lot of situations where you needed something that could go into hostile territory, or to fight criminal deckbearers.
She’s young, she’s beautiful, and she has a deck. Why the hell is she still with me?
Hell, her instructor even had a divine deck as well.
As Wolfe drove through the cool, night air, he pondered his situation. He didn’t want to burden Shel with anything, but they were partners now…
He came to a decision. “We might have a problem. Your good buddy Rhett was looking over files on the Grimm family—including a file for me. Me Ethan Wolfe, I mean, not William Madison.”
Shel grimaced. “There’s nothing to connect you, right?”
“I don’t think so,” Wolfe mused slowly. “But I can’t be sure. Some of the guys at the train station would know me on sight.”
“Who? Were they Grimm family members?” Shel asked.
Wolfe shook his head, then stopped. “Actually, I’m not sure. Piper was there, and they took him into custody. He might be working for Damian. He might not. I don’t know. But Tracy—Tracy d’Ordinii, an assassin for hire—would also know me. I don’t think either one saw me in the dark, but I can’t be one-hundred-percent positive.”
Wolfe turned off Jules street and onto Persimmon, the only entrance to a small subdivision that contained his new house—a moderately wealthy subdivision with neighbors who were mostly boring and left him alone, the way he liked it.
“What are you going to do?” Shel asked.
Before Wolfe could answer, his phone rang. Since he didn’t have a good answer for Shel, anyway, he picked up the phone instead. “Yeah?”
Emmett’s voice came through the phone. “William? That you?”
Wolfe frowned. “Yeah, it’s me. I mean, you called me. Who did you expect it to be?”
“I can’t be too careful,” Emmett said, his voice going low and soft. Wolfe could imagine him glancing around with shifty eyes wherever he was. “I need to talk to you.”
Wolfe rolled his eyes. “Well, I have fantastic news for you, then. You’re talking to me right now! Tada! For your next trick, try to breathe. It’ll also be an easy item to cross off your to-do list.”
“Always with the sarcasm. I meant I need to talk to you privately. About what happened tonight.”
“You mean the part where you dragged me into a blind gunfight—gun and card fight—in a trainyard without warning me?” Wolfe growled out.
Shel raised her eyebrow and mouthed, “Emmett?”
Wolfe nodded to her during the brief pause.
Then Emmett cut in again. “Look, I’m sorry about that. But you saw what was going on—I needed to put a stop to it.”
“So call the police,” Wolfe said.
“I can’t trust anyone except you. I know that you aren’t with them, or I’d be dead.”
“You can’t trust the police? Seriously?” Wolfe asked.
“Please, just come talk to me!” Emmett said again. “I can make it worth your while.”
Wolfe sighed. He doubted Emmett would make it worth his while, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk. “All right, tomorrow evening. It’s practically morning already and I haven’t been to sleep. I’ll come talk to you. But I’m not promising a gods’-damn thing.”
“That’s fair. And thank you. I’ll tell you everything once you get here.”
“I’m waiting with bated breath,” Wolfe said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, then he hung up the phone before Emmett could say anything else.
“What did he want?” Shel asked.
Wolfe pulled into the driveway of their new home. In the darkness, even with a streetlamp a single house down, he couldn’t make out many features, but it had an honest-to-goodness white picket fence, waist high, around the front. “To talk to me. Probably to ask me to do a bunch of dangerous shit for him since he got himself shot. He says he can make it worth my while.”
Wolfe opened the door and stepped from the car to the sounds of paws hitting a fence over and over. Wolfe smiled as he looked at his two new dogs, then scowled as Shel got out and glanced at him.
“James and Jason are happy to see you,” she said, nodding her head to the two twenty-pound apricot fluff balls masquerading as dogs that were waiting for him. Their tails were wagging so furiously, Wolfe thought they might have had motors in their butts.
"Ridiculous things,” Wolfe muttered. “Their attempts to trick people into thinking they’re real dogs are half-assed at best.”
But he opened the gate and petted and scratched the two dogs as they jumped on him, licking at him when he bent down. The two dogs were cavapoos—a mix between King Charles Cavaliers and poodles. They were hyper-friendly, hypoallergenic, and cuddlier than the teddy bear from the detergent commercials. They were also faintly ridiculous and utterly non-threatening, with almost nothing that Wolfe would consider a normal ‘dog’ skill.
Wolfe glanced at Shel, who was smiling down at him as he petted and cuddled the little mop heads.
"Hey, I’m just saying hello. These guys are still utterly ridiculous.”
“So you’ve said,” Shel murmured, then she walked up and put her arms around Wolfe. She leaned up and licked his ear, murmuring, “Care to waste another thirty minutes before we go to sleep?”
Wolfe’s heart rate quickened, and he nodded. He went to the front door, the dogs running ahead and jumping on it, and then let everyone into their house.
He pulled out his deck and touched his companion card, Cereboo.
The giant, three-headed, black-furred boxer appeared, and the two cavapoos—who had been terrified when they’d first met him—began to leap at him happily, play-bowing and then racing around.
“Keep these two idiot excuses for canines out of trouble, huh, buddy?” Wolfe said as he reached down and scratched Jason behind his floppy ear again.
Cereboo woofed, and Wolfe stood, then picked Shel up, slinging her over his shoulder. She squealed and batted at him playfully. “Put me down!” she demanded, but there was laughter in her voice as Wolfe walked to their bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.