Dean Koontz - City of Night

This was a bright boy, imprisoned by his disorder vet acutely aware of the world, a boy who saw more deeply into things than did many people who were not shackled by his inhibitions. The quantum travel from New Orleans to Tibet had not alarmed him, had instead electrified him. Upon arrival, he looked directly into Deucalion’s eyes and said, less with astonishment than with understanding, “Oh.” And then, “Yes.”

Arnie tracked the coins with uncommon alertness, but he listened intently, too, and he did not seem to shrink from the dark potential of pending events half a world away. Quite the contrary: The more that he understood of the confrontation growing in New Orleans, and understood his sister’s commitment to the resistance of evil, the calmer he became.

Upon their arrival, when he heard that Arnie had not yet eaten dinner back on the dark side of the globe, Nebo ordered a suitable meal for this morning-bathed hemisphere. Now a young monk arrived with a capacious basket, from which he began to lay out generous fare on a trestle table by the only window.

In place of the Lego castle on which the boy worked much of every day, Deucalion had suggested to Nebo that jigsaw puzzles be brought from the monastery’s collection of simple amusements, and in particular a one-thousand-piece picture of a Rhineland castle that he himself had worked more than once, as a form of meditation.

Now, as the boy stood beside the table, gazing at the appealing spread from which he could make his breakfast — including some orange cheese but nothing green — another monk arrived with four puzzles. When Deucalion reviewed these with Arnie, explaining that a jigsaw picture could be considered a two-dimensional version of a Lego project, the boy brightened at the sight of the castle photograph.

Kneeling in front of Arnie to bring them as eye-to-eye as possible, Deucalion took him by the shoulders and said, “I can’t stay with you any longer. But I will return. Meanwhile you will be safe with Nebo and his brothers, who know that even the outcasts among God’s children are still His children, and therefore love them as they do themselves. Your sister must be my paladin because I can’t raise my own hand against my maker, but I will do all in my power to protect her. Nevertheless, what will come will come, and each of us must face it in his own way, with as much courage as he can — as she always has, and as she always will.”

Deucalion was not surprised when the boy hugged him, and he returned the embrace.

Vicky’s sister, Liane, whom Carson had spared from prison on a false murder charge, lived in an apartment in Faubourg Marigny, not far outside the Quarter.

She answered the door with a cat in a hat. She held the cat, and the cat wore the hat. The cat was black, and the hat was a knitted blue beret with a red pompom.

Liane looked lovely, and the cat looked embarrassed, and Michael said, “This explains the mouse we just saw laughing itself to death.”

Having regained consciousness in the car, Vicky could stand on her own, but she didn’t look good. To her sister, as she patted the cat and stepped inside, she said, “Hi, sweetie. I think I’m gonna puke.”

“Carson doesn’t allow that sort of thing at her house,” Michael said, “so here we are. As soon as Vicky pukes, we’ll take her home.”

“He never changes,” Liane said to Carson.

“Never. He’s a rock.”

Vicky decided she needed a beer to settle her stomach, and she led everyone to the kitchen.

When Liane put down the cat, it shook off the beret in disgust and ran out of the room to call the ACLU.

She offered drinks all around, and Carson said, “Something with enough caffeine to induce a heart attack.”

When Michael seconded that suggestion, Liane fetched two Red Bulls from the refrigerator.

“We’ll drink from the can,” Michael said. “We’re not girly men.”

Having already chugged half a bottle of beer, Vicky said, “What happened back there? Who was Randal? Who were those two that switched off my lights? You said Arnie’s safe, but where is he?”

“It’s a long story,” Carson said.

“They were such a cute couple,” Vicky said. “You don’t expect such a cute couple to squirt you with chloroform.”

Sensing that Carson’s It’s a long story , though containing a wealth of information, wasn’t going to satisfy Vicky, Michael said, “One thing those two were is professional killers.”

No longer in danger of puking, Vicky acquired that red-bronze hue of Asian anger. “What were professional killers doing in our kitchen?”

“They came to kill us professionally,” Michael explained.

“Which is why you’ve got to get out of New Orleans for a few days,” Carson said.

“Leave New Orleans? But they must have come to kill you, not me. I never antagonize people.”

“She never does,” Liane agreed. “She’s the nicest person.”

“But you saw their faces,” Carson reminded Vicky. “Now you’re on their list.”

“Can’t you just get me police protection?”

Michael said, “You’d think we could, wouldn’t you?”

“We don’t trust anyone in the PD,” Carson revealed. “There’s police corruption involved. Liane, can you take Vicky out of town somewhere, for a few days?”

Addressing her sister, Liane said, “We could go stay with Aunt Leelee. She’s been wanting us to come.”

“I like Aunt Leelee,” Vicky said, “except when she goes off about the planetary pole shift.”

“Aunt Leelee believes,” Liane explained, “that because of the uneven distribution of population, the weight imbalance is going to cause a shift in the earth’s magnetic pole, destroying civilization.”

Vicky said, “She can go on for hours about the urgent need to move ten million people from India to Kansas. But otherwise, she’s fun.”

“Where does Leelee live?” Carson asked.

“Shreveport.”

“You think that’s far enough, Michael?”

“Well, it’s not Tibet, but it’ll do. Vicky, we need to borrow your car.”

Vicky frowned. “Who’s going to drive it?”

“I will,” Michael said.

“Okay, sure.”

“It’ll be a hoot spending a few days with Aunt Leelee,” Liane said. “We’ll drive up there first thing in the morning.”

“You’ve got to leave now,” Carson said. “Within the hour.”

“It’s really that serious?” Vicky asked.

“It really is.”

When Carson and Michael left, the four of them did the hugs-all-around thing, but the humiliated cat remained in seclusion.

In the street, on the way to the car, Carson tossed the keys to Michael, and he said, “What’s this?” and tossed them back to her.

“You promised Vicky that you’d drive,” she said, and lobbed the keys to him.

“I didn’t promise, I just said ‘I will.’”

“I don’t want to drive anyway. I’m sick about Arnie.”

He tossed the keys to her again. “He’s safe, he’s fine.”

“He’s Arnie . He’s scared, he’s overwhelmed by too much newness, and he thinks I’ve abandoned him.”

“He doesn’t think you’ve abandoned him. Deucalion has some kind of connection to Arnie. You saw that. Deucalion will be able to make him understand.”

Lobbing the keys to him, she said, “Tibet. I don’t even know how to get to Tibet.”

“Go to Baton Rouge and turn left.” He stepped in front of her, blocking access to the Honda’s passenger door.

“Michael, you always moan about me driving, so here’s your chance. Take your chance.”

Her surrender of the keys suggested despondency. He had never seen her despondent. He liked her scrappy.