“You can’t blame me. Lone killers have so few opportunities to talk shop.”

“Probably because you’re always busy killing people.”

“Not true. I haven’t killed anyone since landing in Houston.”

“Will wonders never cease?"

The knot of traffic finally dissolved, and we crawled forward, first slow, then faster.

“What about the legs bothers you?” he asked.

“In your professional opinion, was this a contract hit?”

“No. A contract killer would’ve set up in the swamp and put a bullet through his brain. Clean, efficient, and quick. The point is to ambush and get out fast.”

I had to stop looking at him. Every time I glanced at him I felt a little stab.

“Nobody murders anyone by burning their feet. The burns could mean he was tortured, but I have two problems with it. First, the burns are too severe.”

Physical torture was cyclical: pain followed by relief followed by pain until the subject broke. The promise to end the pain was the incentive to talk. Felix’s legs were practically burned off.

“Agreed,” Alessandro said. “Let me guess the second problem. He was a powerful geokinetic.”

“Yes.”

Geokinetics controlled the mineral component of the Earth’s crust: rocks, sand, some ores, and all gems. They excelled at raising defense barriers, they created sinkholes and earthquakes, and they were hard to kill when on the ground, because a geokinetic Prime could literally open the earth under his feet and vanish into it only to resurface a hundred yards away and drop his opponents into a bottomless pit.

“I just don’t see him sitting on his hands while they tortured him,” I said. “The method of murder had to be fast and sudden.”

“The preliminary report shows no water in the lungs,” Alessandro said. “That leaves us with the animal bite or the broken neck, which is the only thing that fits. It’s simple and instant: loop the power cable around his neck and shove him off the building. His weight would do the rest. Everything else, the drowning, being bitten, being burned, all of that takes too long.”

“Agreed.”

Unfortunately, none of it helped us. A broken neck required no magic. Literally any able-bodied adult could have done it.

“So they break his neck and then they dip him into water, so he is bitten, and then they burn his legs, and hang him back on the cable? Why?”

Alessandro spread his arms.

I glanced at him. “It would be really hard for one person to do.”

“Perhaps we’re looking for multiple killers,” he said.

“That’s good,” I told him.

He gave me an odd look.

“The more people involved, the more vulnerabilities to exploit, the higher the chances one of them will talk.”

He shook his head. “Sometimes you scare me.”

“That’s right, Prime Sagredo. Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

The old way to get to Jersey Village from the tollway meant taking the Senate Avenue exit. Two miles before that a bright new sign screamed a warning.

SENATE AVE EXIT CLOSED

USE PIT EXIT

They must have given up on all subtlety and just called it the Pit exit.

Another sign.

PIT EXIT

1 MILE

PERMIT REQUIRED

“Do we have a permit?” Alessandro asked.

I pointed at the sticker in the corner of the windshield. “Augustine gave me one before I left MII.”

PIT EXIT AHEAD

RIGHT LANE MUST EXIT

TURN AROUND

DON’T DROWN

PERMIT REQUIRED

“I’d hate to drown without a permit,” I murmured.

“You do like following the rules.”

“My following the rules is the only reason you are in my car.”

“And here I thought it was because of my charm and looks.”

I rolled my eyes. “There was a time when that would have been true, but now I’m immune.”

He grimaced. “I don’t think it ever worked on you.”

Oh, but it did. There was a time when I would’ve given anything for just a few minutes in his company.

The exit curved under the tollway and morphed into a low, long bridge. The man-made swamp spread out on both sides of us, the water dark like stout beer. Islands of floating algae dotted the surface, shockingly vivid, blue, orange, and brilliant green. Between them huge lilies bloomed, the scarlet petals glistening, as if dipped in blood. To our left, the husk of a building thrust up out of the water. Vines as thick as my leg gripped it like hands joined into a single fist, their dark-green heart-shaped leaves hiding the structure completely, except for the trademark orange ball at the top. A former Phillips 76.

In the distance other buildings hunkered down, some still recognizable; others were just mounds of crumbling concrete and vegetation. Ahead and to the right, the water rippled. A scaled body, bright orange and two feet long, leaped into the air. Behind it, long, toothy jaws broke the surface, snapped like scissors closing, caught the scaled creature, and dragged it under.

“My mother would love this,” Alessandro said.

“Does she like swamps?”

“She used to paint.” His expression softened slightly. “She loves color, the more vivid, the better. This is a nature riot.”

“You could take a pic for her. Perhaps she could paint from that.”

His face shut down. “We aren’t talking right now. Besides, she hasn’t picked up a paintbrush since my father died.”

What the hell was going on in his family?

Alessandro pondered the Pit. “How did this happen?”

“Politics.”

He glanced at me, a question in his eyes. I would have to explain.

“About fifteen years ago, a man named Thomas Bruce decided to run for mayor. He presented himself as a successful businessman, rich but humble enough to be called Bubba by his friends, and he ran campaign ads featuring himself at different backyard barbecues drinking beer, telling jokes, and promising to return Houston to the ‘good ole days.’ Somehow, he got elected. Then it came out that he hadn’t even finished college and most of his businesses nose-dived because he drove them into the ground. He was a joke, and one of the city councilmen told him that in public.”

“You elected a clown?”

“Don’t look at me. I was too young to vote. Bubba Bruce became desperate to be remembered for something, so he decided to build a subway system. Unfortunately, Houston is built on a swamp. Do you know the easiest way to get a pool in Houston?”

“No.”

“Dig a basement.”

He grinned. “So, it’s American Venice?”

“It’s not quite a lagoon, but it’s close. Many smart people told Bubba that his plan was stupid. But he dug his heels in and assembled a team of mages who were supposed to ‘push the water out.’ The city paid them a ton of money, they took six months to research, then another month to prep, and on the groundbreaking day, they pushed the water out.”

Ahead our bridge ran into an island, a small chunk of dry ground with a section of the street a few blocks long and some ruined buildings.

“So, Bubba’s plan worked?” Alessandro said.

“In a manner of speaking. Jersey Village, where we are now, was built on top of an empty oil field, and once the water was gone, parts of it sank. The containment failed, and the area flooded.”

I slowed Rhino and we rolled from the bridge onto the island.

“What happened to Bubba?”

“He was booted out of office. The city tried to fix this mess, but nobody knew how and there was no money left for it. People lost everything. Businesses went bankrupt, homes were destroyed. It took years for insurance claims to be paid out while the insurance companies sued the city.”

A large abandoned building loomed on our right side. The bottom floor was all glass. Dried algae stained the walls above it, an odd contrast to the building’s ultramodern lines. A grimy sign marked it as a Nissan dealership. This area must have been recently drained. Ahead the island ended, and a big yellow sign advised us to turn left, directing us to another bridge.

“Meanwhile, drug addicts and the homeless started squatting in the Pit and having turf wars. Then people began dumping arcane hazmat and—”

A wall of green hurtled from the left and smashed into Rhino. The SUV rocked, the suspension compensating with a groan. A mess of plants, pale metal, and strange bone pressed against my window.

I stepped on the gas. Rhino lurched forward and slid sideways, to the left, where dark water lapped at crumbling asphalt. Something had clamped on to our front axle and pulled us toward the mire.

I stood on the brakes. Rhino slid, wheels spinning.

Six inches toward the water.

Another six inches.

The green mass against my window drew back, contracting. A sharp metal beak surfaced from within it and punched my window. The armored glass held. Rhino slid another foot toward the swamp.

We had to break free or we’d drown.

“Into the building,” Alessandro said.

I took my foot off the brake and threw the vehicle into reverse. The SUV spun to the left. I stomped on the gas. Rhino jumped backward, crashing through the glass wall of the dealership. Shards rained all around us. I kept going backward, past the individual offices, through the showroom.