Kat Richardson: Downpour

Quinton let go of me and flopped into the nearest chair, blowing out a long, slow breath. “Yeah. Am I going to have to get used to that?”

“I don’t know. What do you see now?”

He glanced around. “Um . . . the living room.”

“Look very attentively out of the corners of your eyes. Sounds crazy, I know, but give it a try.”

I watched him struggle with it, shifting his eyes as he turned his head.

“This is giving me a headache. . . .”

“But do you see anything . . . unusual? Sort of sneaking up in your peripheral vision.”

“Some flashes, but nothing I can identify or focus on.”

I heaved a sigh. My relief was almost embarrassing. I smiled. “I think you’ll be fine. Well, normal at least. Most people can see the Grey once in a while, just around the edges. If you start seeing it easily, right in front of you, then you need to worry.”

He looked up at me and cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know if I’m pleased or disappointed.”

“I think I prefer you normal.”

“I object to being called something as boring as ‘normal.’ ”

“Will you settle for ‘within a standard deviation of deviant’?”

He gave it a token thought. “I guess,” he replied with a shrug. “Now I’d better go shut that generator down so we can go back to hunting killer mages.”

The parking area in front of the Newmans’ house was crowded once we added my Land Rover to the mix. The sleet and rain had hardened into ice as the sun had tilted down, but this time there was no red flash across Blood Lake at sunset; the clouds were too heavy and black overhead, leaking fine flakes of ice-sharpened snow. Even in the premature night, I recognized Ridenour’s park service pickup, carefully turned tail in so leaving would be easier. Beside it was a pale blue truck I recognized as Shea’s, its paint so oxidized it looked dusty, the low white shell over the bed gone rusty at every corner. As we headed for the door, I wondered where Willow was, and, not seeing any sign of a sheriff’s car, if she’d bring Faith with her whenever she arrived. There were a couple of small boats tied up at the dock now, too, and I didn’t envy their owners the cold trip home.

A wind had started up as the clouds blackened and the lake seemed to boil, throwing harsh reflections off wave tops where the light from the living room windows fell on the water. Even if there hadn’t been random streaks of energy and the fog of discorporated spirits all around, the lakeshore would have seemed haunted and dark with menace. I shivered and tightened my red scarf around my throat—red was lucky, wasn’t it? I hoped so.

Quinton’s coat flapped, giving him the aspect of a crow as we climbed the steps to the porch. Geoff Newman opened the door before we reached it, staring out at us with anxiety clear on his face. He rushed us inside, taking our coats and whispering into my ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Jewel’s so wrought up, I don’t know what she’ll do.”

I frowned at him but couldn’t get a word out before I heard his wife spitting out angry words behind us. I kept my scarf, draping it over one shoulder like a sash of rank. These were people used to having their way and I hoped the bloodred cloth would warn them off trying it.

Turning, I stepped down into the living room. Jewel was seated in a large high-backed chair deeper into the center of the room, dressed regally in long layers of silk dyed the colors of evergreens and strong tea. She swore at Costigan, who stood nearby in his sarong and cross. He glared at her as the words fell like red thorns between them.

At first I couldn’t see him, but I soon spotted Ridenour hunched on a piano bench near the windows as far from Jewel and Costigan as he could get. He looked so miserable, I could almost imagine the ghost of his demon wife hovering at his shoulder, pouring crocodile tears. Beyond him, hidden from the doorway, Shea leaned against the curve of the walnut baby grand and watched them all, looking incongruous in his Noel Coward pose while wearing grubby work clothes. The energy in the room strobed and banged against the walls in dizzying colors. Through the huge windows I could see a tower of coruscating light far to the south that seemed to reach and bend toward us. The ley weaver hadn’t left his creation, but he was watching everyone in the room nonetheless.

And they were all, suddenly, watching me. Quinton kept to my side but a step back, letting me lead and giving the strong impression no one would get to me without going through him first.

Jewel sent me an imperious glance that was only a little spoiled by the sickly olive color of her aura and a sudden fit of coughing. Geoff darted to her side and tried to help, but he only got pushed aside for his pains.

Costigan cackled.

“Shut up,” I advised him, stepping closer to the middle of the room. I leaned a bit sideways and waved out the window.

“What are you doing?” Jewel sputtered, covering her mouth with a handkerchief that was already spotted brown and red.

“Just making sure everyone’s paying attention,” I replied. The light of Beauty flushed blue and then gold. I turned around. “But we are still missing someone, so let me start with the easy part.”

“Sure of yourself . . .” Costigan started.

“I generally am,” I lied, cutting him off. “You can take it up with your loa, if you feel slighted . . . Elias.” I swept them all with an unblinking stare before I started in again. “You all came to the lake for the same thing: power.”

Jewel began to object, “This is my lake.”

“Only by theft. This was Sula’s lake and it should have been her daughter’s lake, but Sula died and you grabbed the power while you could. Because you were the oldest and the biggest bully.”

“You can’t talk to her like that,” Newman sputtered.

“I wouldn’t have to if you did it. She bullies you the most, Newman. She bullied you into marrying her so she could build this house on the nexus, and she bullies you every day until you’ve forgotten what it’s like not to be pushed around. Except for you and the rightful owner, the lot of you are a bunch of opportunists and johnny-come-latelies. There used to be just one lake keeper—that’s the way the system was meant to work since Storm King threw his peak down and drowned the whole valley. When the magic got loose, you all came to feed, like vultures on carrion.”

I noticed Ridenour staring at me, a sick, dazed expression on his face. I turned to him. “Even you. You didn’t see it that way, but you still grabbed onto the power with both hands when it was offered, even when you didn’t know what it was or how to use it. You didn’t really care what May did to get you promoted so fast; you were just glad she did it.”

“No!” he croaked, starting to rise but sinking back down as if his legs wouldn’t hold him.

“Oh, you did. You all did. But none of you latecomers were so greedy that you tried to get it all for yourself. You didn’t challenge Jewel, not at first. You just gathered what you could and used it. That was enough for most of you.” I could feel the energy in the room flux and change as someone opened the door. I hoped it was Willow, but I couldn’t look back to be sure. Then a burst of confidence that wasn’t mine pushed through me and seemed to ground me against the rising fury the spell-flingers were building as they stared at me.

Quinton must have seen Willow come inside, I thought, but there was more to the sensation of solidity, a vibration in the floor that was different....

I went on, shifting my subject and hoping Willow had brought Faith with her.

“But one of you was a lot more ambitious than he let on. He wanted everything, and, when he couldn’t have it, he found ways to steal it. When Darin Shea thought someone would take it away, he killed that person. Killed Steven Leung, killed Alan Strother—”