Queen of Nothing (Marla Mason Book 9) (9 page)

“Humans are traditionally born of woman
and
man,” Cole said. “Could one of those be Marla and Jason’s father?”

Rondeau whistled. “I always assumed her old man must be dead, but I don’t know why
I assumed that. I’m actually not even a hundred percent sure her and Jason have the same father. I got the sense their mom was a little bit, uh, let’s say, less than discerning when it came to romance. Among other things.”

“We’ve got two leads to check out, anyway.” Bradley flipped through the atlas to more specific entries for Florida and Arizona, and both were marked by red droplets, narrowing the geography further. “Huh. Hey, Cole, is there any of that blood left? I’ve got an idea....”

Desert Recon

Pelham and Rondeau flew to Florida, while Bradley and Marzi headed for Arizona. They drove in a sleek, black, low-slung sedan, which happened to be sentient, self-driving, and mysteriously magical: the car called herself Sierra, and she liked Bradley and Marzi because they were psychic enough to hear its nonverbal voice. (To communicate with other people, Sierra was pretty much limited to honking in Morse Code.) The three of them had been through battles together, and road-tripped out west from Felport after the fight with the Outsider, and had formed a pretty tight bond in the process. Sierra had been languishing, bored in one of Cole’s garages, and was happy to get out, take the air, and go on an adventure.

They set out first thing in the morning, and Sierra was adept at eating up the miles. Bradley had used Jason’s blood to magically infuse both his phone and his apprentice’s: their map apps now showed a steady red dot where their target waited, in a little place that was less a town than a series of freeway amenities for truckers and road-trippers.

For the first few hours of the journey they’d chatted about Cole’s idiosyncrasies, Marzi’s training, and what she might want to do in her magical career once that training was done—Sierra wanted them to drive around the country as freelance monster-hunters and supernatural problem-solvers, which had a certain appeal. As they drew nearer their target, though, the conversation turned inevitably to Marla.

“You think we drew the lucky straw, or Rondeau and Pelham did?” Marzi said.

“That depends on whether Marla’s hiding out willingly, or being held captive. If she’s trying to avoid notice, then I’d say Florida’s more likely. She crawls out of the ground in Death Valley after she returns from Hell, and she’s spent a lot of time in the Southwest lately as a result. I don’t think she’d hide out so close to a place where she’s been operating. But if she’s being held against her will... well, I imagine it’s easier to keep Marla captive if you don’t have to transport her too far. I’d put our odds at about fifty-fifty, honestly.”

“I wish I’d gotten to know her better,” Marzi said.

“Maybe you still will.”

“She’s so badass, it’s hard to imagine
anyone
holding Marla captive, you know?”

Bradley nodded. The thought had occurred to him, too. “I know. If we find her, and she’s not in trouble, and she tells us to buzz off, we will. Maybe being kicked out of the Hell was the best thing to happen to her, and she’s happy. But we need to know she’s okay.”

“She can’t be all
that
captive, if she’s our red dot.” Marzi poked at her phone. “She’s moving around. Looks like she left a trailer park and... went to a diner by the interstate.”

“Good. I could use some lunch anyway.” They covered the ground to the appropriate exit in another forty minutes, and Sierra slowed to get off the freeway. There was nothing in the dusty vicinity but a cluster of fast-food restaurants, gas stations, a big truck stop, and a diner, clearly the oldest building in the area, set a little bit apart. The parking lot was half full, drawing those passing customers who wanted to sit for a while instead of hitting a drive-through or settling for eating a gas-station-adjacent burrito while they fueled up.

Sierra parked herself in a corner of the lot.
Don’t leave me here long
, she said in Bradley’s mind.
I’m a bird of paradise among sparrows here.

“We’ll be mindful of your dignity,” he said aloud. “Well, ready to see Marla? Or possibly a weird old man who fathered her? Or her totally unknown niece or nephew?”

“Can’t wait.”

They got out of the car, pushed through the diner door, and looked around. There was a tall, cadaverous guy behind the grill, a pretty young blonde waitress flirting at the counter, and an older waitress taking an order from a family of four in a booth –

“Marla.” Bradley’s heart surged, ripples of elation flooding his body. He rushed across the diner toward her, calling her name, but he stopped three feet away when she turned her head and looked at him with eyes entirely bereft of recognition. He knew her well, and he was supernaturally perceptive, besides, and it was clear that Marla wasn’t just pretending not to recognize him—she had no idea who he was. “Sorry,” he said. “I, uh, thought you were somebody else.”

She narrowed her eyes—that look of suspicion was
pure
Marla, her essential self shining through despite the superficial changes: longer hair, red lipstick (had she
ever
worn lipstick before?), the pencil tucked behind her ear, the yellow waitress uniform. Her nametag read “Mel,” which was just close enough to right to make his heart break. “Have a seat anywhere,” she said. “Someone will help you in a minute.” She turned back to her customers.

Bradley retreated to a booth, where Marzi was already sitting. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he leaned forward. “She doesn’t know me.”

“So what do we do?”

“I... I don’t know.” He’d been prepared to rescue Marla from danger, or to endure the sharp side of her tongue and be driven away, but to have his former teacher and longtime friend—the one person who’d had the single biggest impact on his life—look at him with a total lack of recognition wasn’t an outcome he’d considered.

“Let’s eat while we think about it, then,” Marzi suggested.

Bradley smiled despite himself. His apprentice might have pink hair, but she had a practical streak Marla herself would have admired.

Marla appeared, notebook in hand. “Something to drink? Know what you want to eat?” Her tone was brusque, but whether that was because of the way he’d greeted her or just her natural mien, he couldn’t tell.

Marzi ordered coffee. “Just water for me,” Bradley said. “What’s good here?”

Bored, now. “Everything’s about as good as everything else.”

They ordered fries and burgers, and she went behind the counter to put in their order.

“Maybe she’s in, like, supernatural witness protection,” Marzi said.

“Something was done to her mind.” He frowned, looking at Marla with his psychic vision. Her inner landscape was full of mists, blind alleys, locked doors, dead ends. “Something pretty extreme.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Mmm.... given sufficient time, probably, but I don’t know if she’s going to sit still while I poke through her mind.”

“So squeeze her brain a little and make her pass out.”

“When someone’s got psychic trauma, inflicting
more
psychic trauma isn’t an ideal first step. I think... let’s keep an eye on her. She has to sleep sometime, and when she does, I can see about breaking down some of the blocks in her mind—maybe we can get her to remember enough that she’ll remember who I am, and let me finish the job properly.”

“Stake out!” Marzi said.

•

Bradley called Rondeau from the parking lot to let him know they had eyes on Marla, and to convey what he’d learned of her condition.

“Oh, good,” Rondeau said. “We were about ninety percent sure this old man drinking in the middle of the day in the most horrible bar in the world wasn’t actually Marla in disguise, but it’s good to have confirmation. You want us to join you?”

“If you like,” Bradley said. “I still don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with, but maybe having more familiar faces around will help.”

•

Some hours later, they sat in Sierra in the parking lot of a convenience store and the adjacent laundromat, across from the trailer park where Marla—or “Mel”—apparently lived. They had a view of her trailer, which she’d entered about an hour ago after finishing her shift at the diner, and they were just waiting for the lights to go out so Bradley could poke at her dreams.

Marzi yawned, exhaling cheese puff-laden breath into the car. “Stake outs are boring.”

“Yeah, they go a lot faster when you see them in the movies. Though filming them is pretty dull, too, as I recall. Then again, filming just about everything is pretty dull, in the aggregate.”

Marzi shifted her feet, moving around the litter of candy and chip wrappers at her feet. She’d attempted to combat boredom with snacks, with only temporary success.

You’d better clean all this up
, Sierra said.
I don’t fill your bodies with garbage.

Marzi nodded. “Sorry, Sierra. I’ve gotta take a leak anyway.” She gathered up the trash, stuffed it in the biggest of the empty potato chip bags, and Sierra opened the door. “Call me on the ol’ brain-link if anything exciting happens, B.” She disappeared around the back of the convenience store, where the bathroom was located. The store itself had closed at eleven p.m., but the lock on the bathroom door was busted anyway, so it didn’t inhibit access.

Bradley fiddled with the radio, keeping his eyes on the lights still burning in Marla’s trailer, as two minutes became five became ten, and uneasiness set in. Maybe Marzi was having intestinal distress due to the diner main course followed by junk food dessert, but... “Sierra, can you reach Marzi?”

Direct mind-to-mind communication was tricky, and Bradley couldn’t speak to Marzi psychically without some preparation, but Sierra could hear both of them as long as they were within a hundred yards or so of the car, so his apprentice should have still been in range.

She doesn’t answer
, Sierra said.

Crap. “I’d better check on her.”

You realize it’s a trap?

“I had roles in a couple of thrillers back in the day. I know how it goes. I’ll be careful.” He got out of the car, and cautiously circled the convenience store, reaching out with all his psychic senses, feeling for signs of life and active minds—and there
was
something, a blur of bad energy, in the bathroom.

Marzi just woke up
, Sierra said.
She’s panicking about something, she says someone grabbed her.

He went to the door, pushed it open, and saw Marzi, bound and gagged with rags and clothesline on the filthy floor by the sink.

Uh oh
, he thought, but before he could turn around, he felt something cold press against the back of his neck.
Now
he could sense the other mind behind him, cool and controlled: all the mental blocks and barriers erected in her mind served to mask her general psychic signature, especially with Marzi’s panic jamming his frequencies.

“Why are you two watching me?” Marla said. “Who are you?”

Bradley swallowed. “I’m pretty sure the question you really want to ask is, who are
you
? I can tell you, if you want. But I promise, we don’t mean you any harm. We’re your friends. At least, we used to be, back when you remembered us.”
The cold thing against his neck didn’t move. “I don’t know why I can do these things. Sneak around in the dark. Set an ambush. But I can. As soon as I saw the threat, as soon as I met you in the diner, I knew just what to do.” She patted him down with her free hand as she spoke, but didn’t find anything but his keys and phone and wallet—she took them all away. She stepped back. “Turn around.”

He did. She’d changed out of her uniform into dark gray sweats, perfect for hiding in shadows. She pointed a gun at him, and
that
was bizarre, because Marla had never bothered much with guns—in a world of magical warfare they were about as much good as a pointy stick. “Pick up your friend. We’ll go somewhere and have a talk.”

Bradley knelt beside his apprentice. She looked dazed. “What did you do to her?”

“She’s fine. I just came up behind her and put her in a sleeper hold. I knew how to do it—how to cut off her blood supply without crushing her throat. I’m full of surprises. Pick her up, come on.”

He heaved Marzi up over his shoulder, though his spine protested, and she grunted. “Ugh. I should work out more.”

Marla directed him out of the bathroom and told him to start walking into the darkness behind the convenience store. There was nothing that way but flat land, scrub, and the dim shapes of distant, unlit buildings. He had the terrible feeling he was being marched toward a grave.

“Your name is Marla Mason,” Bradley said, though carrying his apprentice was using up a lot of his breath. He should have prepared some spells of strength and endurance. “You –”

“Shut up.” That offhand voice, expecting to be obeyed: that was pure Marla, too. After a few minutes of silence, she said, “There are pictures of me on her phone.”

Bradley grunted. “You guessed her lock code? Or did you beat it out of her?”

“Ha. She was looking at her phone in the bathroom when I crept up on her. I get the sense you two haven’t done this sort of thing too often before. These pictures. When were they taken? How long have you been watching me?”

“Why don’t you look through
my
photos?” He told her his code.

Another silence, and then a long hiss. “You’re in pictures
with
me.”

“We hung out a few months back. We hadn’t seen each other for a while. I wanted a few snapshots to remember the occasion.”

“Stop, and don’t turn around,” she said. He obeyed, and a moment later heard a few hard
cracks
.

“Did you just break our phones?” he said.

“Phones are just fancy tracking devices. I don’t like tracking devices. Keep walking.”

They moved on for a while longer, until she said, “Here is fine.”

“Here” was nowhere in particular, just a couple of big stones surrounded by scrub brush. “Sit on those rocks.”