J.L. Doty - Dead Among Us 01 - When Dead Ain’t Dead Enough (19 page)

Wearing the glamour of a middle-aged businessman, Anogh watched the Old Wizard’s daughter emerge from her office building, chat for a moment with another woman, then turn and walk up the street. He might not have noticed the young man with the shoulder length hair had the fellow not walked right past him on the sidewalk. Mortal practitioners of such strength were quite rare, maybe no more than a few dozen in all of North America, and to run across one so near the Old Wizard’s daughter stretched the bounds of coincidence no end. Anogh had known he could count on the connection between the two young mortals.

At the parking garage he had to decide which to follow. But he already knew where the young lady lived and worked, and he had no idea where the young man had chosen to hide, so the decision was an easy one. He followed the young fellow back to a cheap motel in the Mission District.

Chapter 12: A Friend

Paul couldn’t just loiter inside Katherine’s parking garage, or out front for that matter. So the next day he donned his wig, strapped on the shoulder holster with the Sig, loaded some extra clips into slots in the shoulder holster, donned the windbreaker, and a few minutes before six sat down at a bus stop across the street from the garage. Sure enough, fifteen minutes later he saw Katherine walking up the street, carrying a folded magazine, her attention focused on some article within. Today she wore an expensive looking pants suit, gray, and again the high heels. Yesterday he’d been focused on following her and hadn’t noticed she walked with a slight limp. Obviously, neither of them had escaped last week’s mess without injury.

He did a little mental calculation to pick the right moment, then stood, jaywalked across the street and walked into the garage entrance, got there about ten feet behind her. She stopped at the elevator, pressed the up button and only gave him a cursory glance when he stopped next to her. When the elevator arrived she stepped in and to the right, turned her back to the wall and pressed the button for the fourth floor. He followed her in, stepped to the left and put his back to the wall facing her.

He suddenly doubted everything he was doing. She’d been an ally in so many ways, but she was the daughter of a man trying to kill him. He stood there paralyzed with indecision.

She gave him another cursory glance, but returned her attention to the magazine. A second later she looked at him again and frowned, and this time she didn’t look away. She stared at him intently and her eyebrows narrowed. Then her eyes widened with incredulity, she said, “Conklin?” and started laughing, emitting deep throated hoots while she pressed a hand against her chest and gasped for air. “You look ridiculous,” she said as the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor.

He marched up to her indignantly, closed the distance between them to a hand’s breadth. “Until you and your friends came along, nobody ever tried to kill me before. And your father still wants to. So forgive me if I choose paranoia over death.” The elevator doors started to close and he blocked them with an arm.

“That’s not true,” she said. “He’s trying to help you.”

They both stepped out of the elevator sidestepping and still facing each other. He lowered his voice. “As far as I’m concerned, among all you magic people, you’re the only one hasn’t tried to kill me. That’s why I’m here. I need help with this crap, and you’re the only one I can trust.”

She considered that for a moment, then tossed her head toward her car. “Ok. Get in my car. We’ll go to my place.”

He followed her to her car, a rather expensive looking Jaguar. She got in behind the wheel and he climbed into the passenger seat. She fumbled in her purse for a moment, came up with a cell phone and flipped it open.

He grabbed her wrist. “Who’re you calling?”

“My father. He’s been looking all over for you.”

“Of course he has. He wants to kill me.”

“Let me call him and I’ll prove that’s not true.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No. No one knows where I am until I know I can trust them. If you don’t like that then I’m out’a here. I’ll disappear on my own.”

She looked at his hand holding her wrist and her eyes narrowed unhappily, clearly demanding he let go, so he did. “I mean it,” he added.

She nodded. “All right, as long as you’re with me I won’t let anyone know where you are without your permission. Girl scouts honor. But I do have an idea. I might be able to prove to you my father’s not trying to kill you.”

Mikhail watched the Jaguar pull out of the garage, right on time like every weekday evening. Except this time the young woman had a passenger, a man with shoulder length hair. He hadn’t paid particular attention to the fellow that walked into the garage only a few feet behind the young woman. After all, the fellow had come from a different direction and was probably just another patron of the garage. And he hadn’t gotten a good look at the fellow’s face, just his backside and the shoulder-length hair. And, because of the glare from the car’s windows, he hadn’t gotten a good look at the passenger’s face as the car sped past. But he was almost certain it was the same fellow who’d followed her into the garage.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Karpov’s number. “Da,” a heavy voice answered. Alexei. The man was a stupid bear, though stupid bears could be quite dangerous, could maul you rather badly.

“I have important information for Mr. Karpov,” Mikhail said in Russian.

“You can tell me.”

Stupid bear, dangerous bear. “Mr. Karpov instructed me to talk to him personally if I had news of the young man. I don’t want Mr. Karpov to be unhappy with me. Do you want him unhappy with you?”

There was a long moment of silence then the bear growled, a low rumbling from deep in his throat. Again, silence for several seconds, then Karpov said, “Mikhail, what is it?”

“I think I just saw the young man leave with the Old Wizard’s daughter, a passenger in her car.”

“You think?”

This was a dangerous moment. If he didn’t say this properly, Karpov might assume he’d been negligent, and other men had lost their lives for less. Mikhail told him about the young man with long hair that followed her into the garage.

“Describe him,” Karpov demanded.

“Thirtyish, six feet, two hundred pounds, trim waist, looks like he’s in good shape. I’m certain it was the same fellow in her car. But he had long hair, shoulder-length, nothing like the man you described.”

“Any fool can buy a wig. It’s him. Get your car and go to her place, don’t let him leave until I get there. If he tries to leave, stop him, but don’t kill him. Not yet.”

“Yes, Mr. Karpov.”

“And Mikhail  . . . you did good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Karpov.”

Belinda was an excellent sorceress, and Baalthelmass was quite pleased with her. It took considerable power to retrieve Trogmoressh from the Netherworld, but she was up to the effort. Of course, since the Tertius had spent more than a week in the Netherworld it had lost all its power, but more importantly it had lost all control. It could no longer maintain a glamour, and a ravenous need to feed ruled it completely. It would’ve gone on a killing spree as soon as she released it from her circle, devoured her and perhaps a half-dozen more souls before gaining any self-control. But by then it would be too late. The local mortal sorcerers would be alerted to its presence, would band together and hunt it down, and they’d do more than merely banish it, they’d destroy it, annihilate it completely.

But when Belinda released her circle the outcome was different because Baalthelmass was there to subdue the Tertius. Belinda had acquired, and Baalthelmass had enthralled, a half-dozen mortals for Trogmoressh’s initial feeding. Baalthelmass locked them in a cellar with the Tertius and released their enthrallment so they could experience the feeding without its sedative effects. And the screams as the Tertius devoured their souls awakened Baalthelmass’ own hungers, but It suppressed Its desires, keeping the greater prize in mind. It had taken a full day, but the Tertius was now ready to maintain a glamour, and to hunt.

“You’ve tasted the young witch before,” Baalthelmass said. “At the hospital.”

Trogmoressh had chosen to adopt the image of the young Lord-of-the-Unliving.

Baalthelmass made the Tertius meet Its eyes. “You may taste her again, but only a little. Only enough to weaken her, enough to subdue her, to enthrall her and bring her back to me. If you lose control and consume her, or you fail in this task in any other way, I’ll feed you back to the Netherlife myself.”

The Tertius bowed its head. “I’ll not fail you, master.”

With a light touch Baalthelmass imparted to the Tertius the knowledge of the location of the young witch’s home. “Go. Night approaches, so you may hunt without hindrance.”

When the Tertius had gone It turned to the sorceress. “You’ve done well, my dear Belinda.” It reached out and touched her cheek. She quivered, threw her head back and gasped. Trembling in the throes of ecstasy, she so completely lost control she slowly sank to her hands and knees rather than fall to the floor, then laid down. For several seconds she laid there grunting and panting as waves of pleasure washed through her, and when it finally ended she laid there struggling for breath.

Baalthelmass said, “A little reward for you, my dear. But when you’ve recovered enough, I want you to bring the young Lord to me. Use whatever resources you have. By all means use your body, if you so choose, for certainly the mortals find you attractive enough, and that is one of your best assets. Use your body and take enjoyment of it, but bring him to me. Bring him back whole and only a little damaged and your reward will be ecstasy beyond imagining. Fail and I’ll feed you to the Tertius.”

Clearly, money ran in the McGowan family. Katherine owned one of the larger places in the Sunset district south of Golden Gate Park. It was one of those three-story fifties homes, with half the bottom floor taken up by the luxury of an enclosed garage. From the outside, even in the dark, Paul could tell the place had been extensively renovated. And the inside looked like it had been gutted, then completely rebuild and redecorated.

Katherine marched across the living room, threw the magazine and her purse casually on a large couch, then turned and pulled off her coat as she disappeared through a doorway that must be the master bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” she shouted at him from the bedroom. “There’s beer and wine in the fridge, or make a pot of coffee if that’s your preference. I’ll take white wine. Pour me a glass while I change into something more casual.”

Paul found some white wine in the refrigerator and glasses in the cupboard. He poured two glasses, but hesitated to pull off his windbreaker. At the prospect of letting Katherine see the gun and the shoulder holster, he suddenly had doubts about his new motto, began to wonder if perhaps he was overreacting.

“What’re you thinking about?”

He jumped at the sound of Katherine’s voice. He’d been standing at the kitchen counter staring at the wine in one of the glasses, and hadn’t heard a sound as she’d walked right up to him.

“Relax,” she said. She reached out, and before he realized what she intended she grabbed the zipper on the front of his windbreaker and tugged, pulling it down. “Get rid of the coat,” she said as she pulled it open. But she suddenly froze with her mouth open, and slowly her eyes widened. “Is that a gun?”

He turned away from her, pulling the coat out of her hands, and carried his glass of wine into the living room. She followed him, saying, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I mean a gun! Really! Or did you always carry a gun?”

He pulled off the windbreaker and the wig, tossed them on the couch next to her purse. “No, I didn’t carry a gun before all this. And maybe I am overreacting. I don’t know.” He popped a buckle on the shoulder holster and dropped the whole rig on the couch with his windbreaker.

She’d changed into a long-sleeve, white cotton blouse and shorts, and he noticed the black and blue and yellow splotching of the bruises on her legs. “I see you picked up a few bruises too.”

She looked down at her legs. “Ya, isn’t that atrocious? I’m covered with them.” She slid one of the sleeves of her blouse up, exposing a forearm also covered with bruises. “It’s going to be long sleeves for a while, and pant suits, or fully opaque stockings. And I like tight skirts. I look good in them.”

A piece of him agreed with her on that point and he almost said so. But he thought of Suzanna and guilt silenced him. So to get his mind off that line of thought he asked, “So what’s this idea you’ve got? How’re you going to prove your father’s not trying to kill me?”

She gave him a secretive smile. “Simple. We’ll just call him and ask.”

Trogmoressh dropped Its glamour, unfurled Its wings and took to the skies. The knowledge Its master had provided concerning the location of the young witch’s abode confused It a bit. But since It had tasted her once already, all It needed to do was get close, then It could find her by the scent of her magic. Tonight It would feast on her. It would find her alone and feed slowly, a banquet of power like nothing It had ever tasted.

No! It must remember It was only allowed to taste a bit of the young witch’s soul. It must not consume her, for then It would face the wrath of Its master, Its very cruel master.

“I’ll admit, Katherine, if he’d turned out to be a rogue, and I couldn’t get him to stop summoning demons voluntarily, I probably would’ve had to kill him.” McGowan’s voice, coming from the speaker in the phone in Katherine’s home office, seemed sincere.

Katherine’s plan was simple. She called her father from her home office, put him on the speakerphone, and didn’t reveal Paul’s presence while she asked him a few simple questions. They’d agreed in advance Paul would make the decision. If he gave her a thumbs-up, she could reveal his presence. But thumbs-down meant she was to finish the conversation in a normal fashion without mention of Paul.

Katherine had opened up with, “Father, I need to know what went on that night in Paul Conklin’s apartment.”

McGowan had, in turn, activated his own speakerphone so Colleen could join the conversation at that end. Paul guessed Colleen was the older hippie, and intended to confirm that at the end of the conversation. McGowan and Colleen described their confrontation with the Russians in front of Paul’s apartment building, and their description of the incident in Paul’s apartment fit the events, as he knew them. Paul had seen Colleen blast Joe Stalin with some sort of lightning an instant before he pulled the trigger on his howitzer, and had to admit if she hadn’t, it would’ve ended there with his brains splattered all over his apartment.