M. Hanover - Darker Angels

That someone as confident and powerful as Karen might give a rip about my feelings was the most flattering thought I’d had in weeks, and as I lost consciousness, I let myself be comforted by it. It wasn’t so bad feeling vulnerable when people had my back. I didn’t analyze what Ex had said with any particular care.

If I’d understood what he’d actually been trying to say, it would have saved us both a lot of pain.

The inside of my new house in Pearl River was pretty in a Spartan way. Without any furniture, the rooms echoed a little, and the space felt bigger than it probably was. It smelled of fresh paint and bleach. The five of us walked through it in the wandering but focused way people get when they’re planning a defensive position. There were big picture windows in the front living room and back in the kitchen that looked out on the green grass and trees on the verge of popping out new leaves. Those would be a problem. On the other hand, both front and side doors were solid-core with double dead bolts and interior latches.

The Realtor was an older woman, her hair dyed a soft auburn and her face caked with too much makeup. I thought she looked a little stunned. I tried not to say anything spooky about riders or kidnapping teenagers.

“The former owner was a very dear man,” she said. “Lived here for thirty years.”

I nodded. There were deep marks in the living room carpet. The couch had gone here, the coffee table there. Something wide and heavy along the wall, the line of crushed nap the only evidence of its passing.

“It looks great,” I said. “Do you have the key to the shed too?”

“Of course,” she said, fumbling with her purse. Chogyi Jake took the key from her, smiled, and went out the back door toward what would soon be our holding cell. I signed a few papers, shook the Realtor’s hand, accepted the bottle of cheap celebratory champagne she’d brought, and ushered her out.

I’d spent two days sleeping, eating, talking to Karen and Aubrey, Ex and Chogyi Jake, and then sleeping some more while my lawyer cut through the red tape, waived the inspections, and sent me the papers I needed to sign. I had inherited dozens of properties around the world, but this was the first one I’d bought myself. It was mine, free and clear.

Ex stood at the front window, watching the Realtor’s car wind down the drive, past a stand of trees to the road. His white-blond hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, his face had the focused, almost angry look that seemed most comfortable on him. I hadn’t brought up his drunken visit to my room, and neither had he.

“Well,” he said. “I guess we’d better get to work. Aubrey, can you help me haul that box?”

“Sure thing,” Aubrey said from the kitchen.

“I need to put this in the fridge,” I said, hefting the champagne.

“No fridge,” Aubrey said as he walked past.

“What?”

“No fridge,” he said over his shoulder. “Range. Oven. Sink. No refrigerator, no freezer.”

“Well, little tomato,” I said to the small black bottle, “I guess we’ll have to drink you warm. That sucks.”

Karen Black walked down the narrow stairway from the second floor, the stairs creaking with each step.

“It’s not great in a firefight,” she said. “Too many windows. And there’s no back way off the property except by foot.”

“If it gets to a firefight, we’ll already have screwed the pooch,” I said. “The whole idea is to not get seen.”

She nodded, giving me the point. Chogyi Jake came in the back as Aubrey and Ex, black wooden chest between them, came in the front. The chest had arrived at the hotel that morning. Ex and Aubrey put it down, and Aubrey stretched his back with a grunt.

“We’re going to need to get some things,” Chogyi Jake said. “Fresh salt. Charcoal and oak for ashes. Local honey.”

I nodded.

“Can you pick up a couch and refrigerator while you’re at it?” Aubrey asked.

“And groceries,” Ex said. “Lots of them.”

“DVD player and TV,” I said. “I don’t guess the place has Internet access?”

“The order’s in,” Aubrey said. “It probably won’t be up for a week, though. No phone service either.”

“And again with the suck,” I said.

We had all spent time in hiding before. The long days besieged in a warded house had taught all of us what we needed. Karen caught the mood. She was wearing dark silk slacks and a pale yellow blouse, but she shoved her hands in her pockets like they were blue jeans.

“I don’t think we’ll need to stay underground too long,” she said. “A week. Ten days at the most. Once the rider’s lost its victim, it should be more vulnerable. All this is more for Sabine than for us.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It seemed pretty butch when it came after me.”

“We can take it,” Karen said. I bristled a little at her dismissive tone, but I let it pass. She knew what we were up against better than I did.

“Okay,” I said. “What’s the next step.”

Karen leaned against the wall, her hands still in her pockets and twitching restlessly. The rest of us gathered. Aubrey sat on the chest, Chogyi Jake on the floor beside him. Ex stood by the front window, his posture unconsciously mirroring Karen’s. I put down the champagne.

“We have to find the girl,” Karen said. “The rider knows we’re here, and it knows its own vulnerabilities. It’s kept Sabine well hidden.”

“You got to the little sister through her school,” Ex said. “What about trying that with Sabine?”

“She doesn’t go to school,” Karen said. “Dropped out three years ago. After the hurricane, it was easy to fall between the cracks. As far as the system knows, she might be one of the people that evacuated and never came back. Or she might have died. There were thousands of people reported missing after the storm. No one knows how many were unreported. If the bodies got washed out to sea…” She shrugged.

“But someone must be checking up,” Aubrey said, though his voice didn’t have the weight of conviction. Ex coughed.

“Okay,” I said. “How do we find her?”

“We follow her grandmother or the little sister,” Karen said. “Daria is still in school, and I’ve met her so I know what she looks like. The downside of that is that she’s precognitive, and the things that affect her directly are going to be easier for her to foresee.”

“So the closer we get to her…” I said.

“The more likely we are to walk into an ambush,” Karen said. “Which leaves the grandmother.”

“Hanging out with the evil serial killer lady seems a little problematic,” I said.

“It is,” Karen said. “But there are advantages. For one thing, we know that in a showdown, the two of us together can beat her. We already have.”

“I had a question about that,” Chogyi Jake said. His smile might have been apology or accusation or anything in between. “From what Jayné said, I’m not perfectly clear on how the attack at the hotel happened. Or how it was turned aside.”

Karen nodded.

“I’ll admit that I was surprised at how well Jayné fought,” she said.

“Eric put some sort of juju on me,” I said. “We haven’t found his notes to know all the details.”

“But the way the rider seemed to stop time…” Chogyi Jake said.

Karen took her hands out of her pockets. Her eyes were focused on the back wall, as if she were reading something there.

“The rider we’re fighting is the god of the crossroads,” Karen said.

“Legba. Opener of ways,” I said. “I’ve been reading up. It’s supposed to belong to a bunch of relatively benevolent spirits. Radha?”

Karen shook her head.