Technomancer (16 page)

McKesson climbed up the damaged stairs, leaving me in the cellar. “I’m calling in backup from my car,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll have to make an official statement.”

“Official statement? You mean a work of fiction, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. He left me staring at the mess in the cellar. Half the wine racks and a section of the stairway were wrecked. The cellar was full of a strange stink—a mixed smell of blood, wine, and expended gunpowder.

I picked up one of the bottles, noticing that it was cracked and the contents had leaked out. I picked up a second bottle, which was intact. At first I’d been hunting for another drink, but after I saw the dates on the bottles, I lost my nerve. These bottles must have cost a thousand dollars each. Shaking my head, I walked to the center of what had, moments ago, been a desperate gun battle. I still had
a bottle in each hand, but was uncertain what I planned to do with them.

There was the finger, still lying on the floor. I realized that it was the only solid piece of physical evidence proving the Gray Men had ever been here. One look at that finger would convince anyone it hadn’t come from a normal human hand. The fingernail was purplish with an iridescent shine to it, like a pearl. The shark’s-tooth spur on the joint was the same unusual color. I supposed the Gray Men grew these spurs the way we grew fingernails and toenails.

I paused, staring at the dead, alien finger. An idea slowly formed in my mind. I didn’t like the idea very much, but I acted upon it anyway.

I gazed up the stairs toward where McKesson had disappeared. Then I looked down at the finger again. It was the only solid piece of proof left—but McKesson was sure to make it vanish before the night was over. They would spray down the concrete and wash away the syrupy blood. The finger would go into a jar or a bottle and vanish somewhere on the way to police headquarters.

I stooped quickly and used a broken bottle as a scoop. I chased it with the intact bottle, and after a few moments that made me grimace, I had shoved the thing into the broken bottle. I straightened and it fell against the glass with a tiny thump.

I mounted the stairs with the finger resting in the broken glass bottle. I heard McKesson walking back toward me. I thought of a hundred excuses, but I felt sure he wouldn’t fall for any of them. I needed a hiding place for my prize, and I needed it fast. I thought about just dumping the finger into my pocket, but he might well search me if he noticed it was missing. I had to make him believe it had vanished in midst of all the action. I looked around, and
saw that the stairs themselves might work. I found a split area of wood and slid the broken bottle inside. It clinked once, then lay quiet.

I marched up the stairs with the other bottle in hand.

“What are you doing with that?”

“It’s a souvenir,” I said, grinning.

He snorted and led the way back up. I followed him. He never searched me, but he didn’t leave me alone in the cellar either. I figured I would have to come back for it at a later date. Uniforms arrived and worked on the place. They weren’t taking pictures and bagging things, they were cleaning up. They eyed me unhappily.

After a half hour I was released. I used my cell to call a cab, which drove me to a gun shop first so I could confirm what I thought was likely—I had a gun permit already, and it applied to any weapon. I still needed more ammo, though, after the encounter with the Gray Men, and I picked up enough for an entire war. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Then I had the cab drop me off at the Lucky Seven so I could check up on Jenna Townsend. I still had the intact wine bottle with me. I took the elevator up and tapped on Jenna’s door. I had to tap a second time. Finally, the door clicked open a crack. She regarded me from the crack with a single, critical eye.

“Are you drunk?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” I said.

“You smell like a gallon of cheap wine.”

“I’m offended,” I said. “It’s very expensive wine.” I held the bottle up for her inspection.

“Chateau Ausone?” she asked. “Bottled in nineteen twenty-six? Are you kidding me?”

“It’s the real deal.”

She let me in after that. She was wearing a tank top and jersey-knit shorts. I admired her while she gathered two clean glasses from the bathroom. I opened the bottle and poured carefully.

“Was it insanely expensive?” she asked.

“The wine?” I asked, shrugging. “It was on sale.”

Jenna shook her pretty head disbelievingly, but she took her glass. I tried mine and found it tart but drinkable.

“Is this some kind of apology?” she asked.

“For what?”

“For not calling me.”

“I didn’t know we were that close.”

She laughed and savored her wine. I took off my coat and went to use her bathroom. When I returned, I saw she had my pistol in her hands. She was inspecting it critically.

“Um,” I said, “is there a problem?”

She sniffed the gun barrel. “This thing has been fired. Did you kill someone?”

I tilted my head quizzically. Holly had asked me a similar question. Jenna had gone as far as digging the gun out of my pocket to have a sniff. How did these women come to suspect these things?

“When was I voted ‘most likely to commit murder’?” I demanded.

“When you showed up late looking banged-up, scared, and soaked in fine wine.”

Women never liked it when you wandered back to them late at night smelling of booze.

“Can’t you just drink your wine?” I asked.

“Did you do something awful, or not?”

“Sort of,” I said.

Jenna frowned and pulled her legs up onto her chair with her.

“Sort of?” she asked, hugging her knees and looking over them at me. “What the hell do you mean,
sort of
? How do you
sort of
kill somebody?”

“When you’re not sure the victim was a person in the first place,” I said. “I mean, when you aren’t sure they qualify as human.”

Now I had her full attention. I gave her the story then, leaving out the part about stealing the finger. She was particularly interested in my description of McKesson’s watch.

“That’s how he’s been doing it,” she said. She rested her chin on her knees and stared at nothing intently. “He always knows where one of these doorways is going to open.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but apparently he doesn’t know exactly when. This time they showed up hours after he’d been given the clue.”

“Still, it’s a great power to have. My wedding ring looks unimportant by comparison.”

“Well, his watch hasn’t paid any hotel bills.”

She put her hand on my wrist while I poured a fresh glass of wine. I looked at her in surprise.

“I want that watch,” she said.

I studied her face. “It might not tell you where to find Robert,” I said.

“It’s better than sitting here, doing nothing. If I’d been swallowed by the tornado, I’m sure Robert would be risking everything to find me.”

I nodded, distracted by her fine legs. Maybe he would.

“Will you help me get that watch, Draith?” she asked.

“He’s got a gun and a badge, you know,” I said. “He’s got a police force backing him up. Maybe other organizations, as well.”

She sipped her wine. “I know.”

I yawned. It had been a long night. “What about your plan to camp out here until Robert returns?”

“McKesson isn’t here. He’s never even called or questioned me since that first night. I think he’s following the watch. That means there is no way this spot will open up again soon. I’m wasting my time, while Robert is—someplace else. I’m haunted by the idea he’s screaming my name right now.”

“What could you do, even if you had the watch? Even if you found the next connection point? Would you jump through into the unknown?”

Jenna hesitated, biting her lip. “I would if you went with me.”

I shook my head. “You haven’t seen these guys—if Robert is even in the same place. McKesson indicated there are several possible places that might connect with our world.”

Defeated, Jenna studied her hands. I figured she was about to start crying. I’m a sucker for that, so I stood up and took a step toward the door. “I suppose I should go for now. I’ll call you.”

“Don’t go,” she said.

“I need to find a place to sleep.”

She flashed her eyes at me, then looked down again. “Stay here.”

I looked sidelong at the king-sized bed. It was inviting. There wasn’t a couch in the room, so I supposed she meant I could lie down there.

“Um,” I said, “OK, I guess.”

She nodded, not looking at me. She got up slowly and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute,” she said.

I removed my coat and put the gun and phone on the nightstand. I stretched out on the bed and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I saw a few swirling half dreams. I
thought to myself that the gun battle had combined with the wine and really exhausted me.

I felt a hand touch my cheek, and snapped awake.

Jenna was there, kneeling on the bed beside me. She had nothing on but a gauzy, see-through nightgown. It was pink and made of sheer silk. When my eyes focused, they were drawn inexorably to her breasts, which filled out the nightie perfectly. My mouth and eyes opened wide.

She smiled at me with trembling lips. A single tear wet her left eye. “Is this what you wanted?” she murmured.

I realized immediately that there had been a gross misunderstanding. She had thought I needed convincing in order to help her find her husband. I was surprised and uncertain as to how to handle the situation—so I did it badly.

“Hold on,” I said, scooting backward and lifting myself into a sitting position. “I didn’t mean—you’re a married woman, Jenna.”

Her eyes searched mine in surprise. She quickly realized her mistake and crossed her arms over her breasts. She turned away, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she snapped. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“No, no, no,” I said, giving my head a shake. I tried to wake my mind up, to get a coherent thought out of myself. I knew a bad moment like this could ruin everything with a girl. I frowned at myself for having such ideas. I reminded myself she was a desperate bride, not a pickup from a bar, and I didn’t know anything about her past relationships with men.

I sighed and patted her knee clumsily. “All right,” I said. “I’ll give it a try.”

Her eyes slid back to my face. “You’ll try to get the watch for me?”

“Yeah,” I said, “or find Robert some other way. Why not?”

She thanked me with a quiet kiss on the forehead. I heaved another sigh. How did I get into these things? I was a sucker, I thought. There wasn’t any other explanation.

Jenna slid into the bed next to me and we turned out the lights. We lay there quietly without touching each other. The bed was big, but I could still sense her presence nearby in the darkness. I listened to her breathing until it became slow and even.

I thought about the sexy, see-through nightie she was wearing. It must have been meant for Robert. That poor bastard was really missing out.

Falling asleep again was hard to do, but I managed it eventually.

The next day, I treated Jenna to breakfast—even though it was early afternoon by then. In return, she treated me to a small shopping spree. I had very little in the way of personal possessions. She dragged me from store to store in the clothing level of the mall that adjoined the hotel lobby. I’d soon dressed myself in a random fashion. I chose a baseball cap that was essentially an advertisement for the Lucky Seven, a T-shirt with a cactus on it, and a pair of gray slacks.

“That’s not going to work,” she said, eyeing me critically. “That’s just not acceptable.”

“I like the hat,” I offered. “It will make me fit in as a tourist.”

She laughed quietly at me and dragged me back into the stores. I soon found myself wearing jeans, a hoodie, and running shoes.

“This looks like what I got from—I mean, it looks like the outfit I came in with,” I said. I’d almost brought up Holly,
but decided I didn’t want to answer any questions about her right now. When she had asked anything about what I’d been up to, I said I’d spent my nights hanging out with McKesson—which was technically true. But I’d spent the
days
sleeping on a stripper’s couch. Somehow, I figured that detail wouldn’t uplift Jenna’s opinion of me. How strange it was to be drifting from place to place—mostly from one woman’s borrowed bed to another. At some point I needed to find a place of my own. And some memories.

“At least this outfit is new and doesn’t reek of wine,” she said. “Besides, it suits you. You aren’t going to pass for a tourist anyway—you look a little too dangerous. But this outfit will let you blend in, which will make our mission easier.”

I eyed myself in a mirror, thinking about what she said. Apparently, I appeared somewhat thuggish in her opinion. I saw short dark hair and dark, serious eyes. I was average in height, but with broad shoulders and a strong chin. I needed a shave. I pulled the hood up experimentally. I had to admit, I looked like I might rob the store. As if to confirm it, the Asian woman who ran the small clothing place stared at me with a clear mixture of worry and suspicion. I put the hood back down, smiled, and paid with Tony’s money. As I did every time I spent his cash, I promised silently to learn the truth of his death.