The Naughty List (14 page)

Rosalie peered out the windshield. How the hell would she get to New York? Other than a vague northern direction, she had no idea of the roads. She glanced around the interior and zeroed in on a GPS system.

One problem solved. She leaned over, opened the glove compartment and found Billy’s registration with an address. Relying on the hellhound sent to capture David in the first place was risky, but the E.L.F. treated Billy like a close friend which was good enough for Rosalie. She only knew David a short while, but her instincts told her to trust him completely. Besides, she patted the steering wheel, she had to return this cool car.

According to the GPS, the route was around 1200 miles. Rosalie stifled a huge yawn. No way could she drive straight through. The lack of sleep and the stress from the last two days had already taken a toll. She decided to go as far as she could and then pull over and catch a nap.

Rosalie set the cruise control and leaned back in the leather seat. For the first hundred miles she shot apprehensive glances out the rearview mirror, but saw no sign of Anthony or any other drivers on the highway who took special interest. Rosalie relaxed. If luck held, by sometime tomorrow she’d bang on Billy’s door with The Book in hand.

****

Billy unbuckled his seatbelt as the private jet landed at the airfield. The pack made good time. Less than four hours had elapsed since Anthony placed a call to Dominic. The four hellhounds exited the plane. Liang gave the demon her formal greeting and then requested the target scent. Anthony tossed her an elf hat. The pack clustered around. They focused on the lone article of clothing, eliminated all other scent distractions, and inhaled.

As the first burst of scent slammed against his receptors, Billy steeled his expression.
Damn it. The quarry is Rosalie, all right. What the hell happened down here?

As one, the pack members faced the same direction. “Target is locked in,” Liang stated. “Heading north, but too far yet for a specific route.” She turned to Anthony. “How much of a head start?”

“Four hours.”

“Considering wind direction and distance covered, if the destination is still New York, the quarry’s most probable track is Route 85 through Atlanta.”

Anthony motioned to a large black SUV parked behind him. “The girl will eventually stop to rest. We should have no problem catching up with her.”

“We?” Liang said.

“No disrespect,” Anthony stated coolly, “but, I’m going with you. The Baal’s orders.”

Liang glared. “As you wish.”

Billy hid his scowl. Liang was really pissed. Judging by the expressions of Ramesh and Sonia, they shared the distaste for the demon’s high-handedness. No one ever tagged along with a hunting pack. Even the suggestion was insulting.

As Billy slid into the back, he spied an out-of-place bulge under Anthony’s arm. He disengaged from Rosalie’s scent long enough to search for another one. He drifted around for a few minutes before locking in a harsh acrid mixture of gunmetal steel and black powder. Anthony was definitely packing.

Ramesh took the wheel. He opened the vents to allow fresh air to circulate inside the car. Within moments all the hellhounds recognized the faint trace of Rosalie drifting through the passenger compartment. Ramesh turned onto the highway and headed north. From the back seat, Billy whipped out his phone and sent an urgent text to his aunt.

****

David hunched in the corner, trying to will his pounding heart down from the machine gun beat to a more steady rhythm.
Nope. Not working.
He clenched his fingers and flinched as sharp pain from the manacles bit into him.

From down the hall came the sound of a heavy door opening and then closing. The silence now echoed with the soft click of boot heels on concrete. Carlos had started his rounds.

“Get ready,” whispered Brian.

David pretended to sleep as the flashlight beam played over him. He sent a mental apology to the medusa for the next few minutes. As Carlos sauntered over to his father’s cell, David slipped silently off the cot.

“You still awake?” Carlos asked Brian, who lounged against the bars.

“Can’t sleep,” Brian replied with a grunt. “Damn manacles. Don’t suppose I could finagle an aspirin or two?”

Carlos leaned in, full of sympathy. “Sorry, man, I—”

In a flash, Brian’s hands shot out, wrapping the medusa’s bared wrist so the manacle touched his skin. Carlos let out a roar. David saw him jerk spasmodically as the excruciating pain of the manacles detonated every nerve ending in both men. His father clung like grim death, fighting to remain conscious. If he let go now, the medusa would use his stun power to bring both prisoners under control.

David gripped the bars of the cell, pressing his face tight against the metal, straining to see. Carlos’ face turned ashy white. He slammed against the cell, desperate to break the older man’s determined hold. The medusa’s legs shook. He had difficulty standing. Finally, his knees buckled and he sank to the floor, collapsing against the bars with a thud.

“Dad,” called out David. “Are you all right?” The only sound was a stifled groan. “Dad!” David stretched his arms through the bars struggling to reach Carlos. He strained with all his might, but his fingertips only brushed the tip of the medusa’s boot. “Dad, I…can’t…reach...”

He heard a shuffling movement from the next cell, and then a barely audible raspy croak. “Keys…”

Something metallic slid across the floor and touched his fingers. David snatched the key ring. He unlocked the door and bolted from the cell, pausing only to yank Carlos’s phone off his belt. David knelt by the body of his father, crumpled against the bars, wanting to touch him, knowing he couldn’t. “Dad?”

The Santa’s eyelids fluttered. He caught his son’s eye and smiled weakly. “Damn. That hurt.”

“I’ll get you out.”

“No. Can’t move. Save The Book...and your girl.” His eyes closed.

“Hang on, Dad,” David whispered.

He could do nothing more, and staying blew his one chance for escape. The E.L.F. darted away. Holding his breath, he slipped out of the cell wing and listened. Muted voices echoed down the hall. David pressed flat against the wall. He crept up to the half open door of the guard room and peeked through the crack. Three guards sat around a table chatting about a football game while a fourth spoke on the phone; two medusas, a gwai lo, and a valkyrie. The prison wing had special shields to only allow guards or officials to use their Integral powers inside. Without the ability to dash-away, David was stuck.

The manacles’ keys were in a locked cabinet on the wall. Not exactly heavy-duty security, but no one ever expected a shackled Integral to get this far. Carlos’ usual station was at the prison camera monitors, directly in front of the cabinet. Time was short. David knew any minute one of the others would check to see what kept the medusa. He snuck back down the hall and dialed Sadhri’s number.

“What the hell do you want, Carlos?”

“It’s not Carlos, it’s me.”

“David, how—”

“No time for explanations. I’m outside the guard room, but can’t get to the manacles’ key.”

Sadhri’s voice came out in a rapid sputter as if running. “Hide down the nearest corridor. Do a slow count to three hundred, then duck and cover your ears.”

David did as told. When the E.L.F. got to two-sixty-eight, a voice called out. “Where did Carlos go? He’s supposed to relieve me.” David’s heartbeat ratcheted up.

Sadhri made good time. When David hit two-seventy-five, a massive explosion echoed far down the corridor. An alarm instantly blared with a deafening shriek. The four guards, armed to the teeth, raced at top speed away from David to the front entrance of the prison wing. The E.L.F. bolted into the room as a second closer explosion shook the floor. He hurled a chair at the cabinet, smashing in the door. David grabbed the key as Sadhri burst in.

“This way.” They took off at a run.

“What did you do?”

“First explosion was at the main entrance to draw out the guards. Next explosion made a secondary exit for us. Always leave a back door open, kid.”

“They’ll be so pissed at you.”

She snorted. “What do you think I am—a dryad? I know how to avoid security.”

As they ran, the hall filled rapidly with smoke. David unlocked the manacles and threw them aside. “Take my hand,” he shouted over the alarm.

She shook her head. “Shields extend over the whole area. We have to get outside.”

Behind them came angry shouts and the sound of more footsteps than the four guards stationed in the guard room. Their pursuers closed in fast. Sadhri pulled up short before a gaping hole in the wall. Never expect a shiva to do anything halfway, thought David.

Sadhri squeezed though. David followed. An instant later a valkyrie battle axe sliced through the opening, missing his head by inches.

She grasped his hand. “Now…before they shield the entire building…your parents’ apartment.” As footsteps pounded up, David and Sadhri dashed-away.

****

Grace anxiously paced the living room carefully avoiding the one corner always kept clear for David or Brian. A cd owid puff of air batted her face. An instant later she wrapped her son in her arms. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t want to leave Dad behind, but it was the only way to escape. Rosalie has The Book. The connection is strong again.”

“The Book isn’t all she has, David,” Sadhri growled. “A pack of hellhounds are on her tail with Anthony Pearce holding the leash.” She quickly filled him in on Billy’s phone call.

“Pearce is an adept, too,” the E.L.F. spit out. “I should have suspected a spellcaster is involved. It would take an expert in magic to cloak The Book. He must be in this up to his eyeballs.”

Sadhri made a look of disgust. “Along with the Baal.”

“There’s no point in speculating,” Grace argued. “Proof is in The Book.” She hugged David hard. “Go now.”

The hair stood on the back of David’s neck as the very air crackled with electricity.

Sadhri shouted, “They’re shielding the building. Hurry!”

With a last glance at his mother, David dashed-away from the apartment. For an instant something tugged at him as the half-formed shield tried to pull him back. He battered his way through and reappeared on the roof of the skyscraper across the street. He knew hellhound packs were already in the garage filing into vehicles. All he had to do now was keep moving and get out of the city as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, that’s all,” he muttered, “with the best hunters in creation on your tail.”

David concentrated for the connection to The Book. The signal came loud and clear, southwest of his location. He glanced down below, as a black SUV pulled out of the parking garage. The E.L.F. looked away, maintaining line-of-sight on a building bordering the Hudson River. The dash-away kicked in. Five jumps later he landed across the water in Hoboken, New Jersey. He paused only an instant before taking a bead on another rooftop and adjusting his direction due south.

Chapter Nine

“Mrs. Dunkel.”

“Nice List,” intoned The Book.

“Are you serious?” Rosalie griped. “That woman was a gargoyle. I mean, what teacher gives second graders two hours of homework each night? You sure she’s on the Nice List?”

“Sandra Dunkel volunteers to foster cats from the animal shelter. She runs errands for her elderly neighbor, Lionel Krebs, without expectation of payment. Last Thursday after work she baked a casserole for co-worker, Missy O’Brien, who recently gave birth and is on maternity leave.”

“Aren’t you ever wrong?” she groused.

“No. Whether Integral or human you cannot lie to The Book. You cannot hide from The Book. The Book sees all and judges accordingly.”

“All right, all right, I get the point. Mrs. Dunkel is a peach.” For the past eight hours Rosalie had entertained herself by shooting names to The Book. She started with famous people. Surprisingly enough, many of Hollywood’s elite were on the Naughty List. A bunch of narcissists lived in La-La Land and The Book hated self-indulgence.

“She never killed anyone,” argued Rosalie, when a certain person with a reality TV show came up. “She does all kinds of charity work. You always see her name listed at some event or another.”

“She only attends functions arranged by her publicist with extensive media coverage so her name will appear in the news. She has no concern for the individuals the charities su fd owied bpport. She will not volunteer to assist an organization unless she benefits in some way. Her primary concern for any action is to feed her ego.”

Rosalie then moved on to people she knew from her past. Most of them landed on the Nice List, even the hated Mrs. Dunkel. The Book was fairly lenient with judgment. Assigning excessive homework didn’t count as naughty. Neither did occasionally losing your temper or little white lies. They were all part of the normal existence of both human and Integral. You had to earn a consistent record of naughtiness to piss off The Book.

Stephanie made the list, of course. So did Randall Penrose. Mittens was right, he cheated on his wife, although not with Stephanie. She merely used the time, dates, and places supplied by The Book to blackmail him for the promotion.

The Book offered lots of dirt on Randall. He lied about his golf scores to win bets, underpaid his taxes, had no interest whatsoever in his employees, and pilfered from the company. Other than those two people, the only other acquaintance Rosalie uncovered on the Naughty List was a retired minister who lived down the street from her childhood home. Apparently, he was close-minded, overbearing, and believed everyone who didn’t follow his narrow-minded philosophy was destined to go straight to hell. He even cut ties when his gay son came out of the closet.

“The Right Reverent Alden Sikes,” intoned The Book. “Naughty List.”

Yup, a superior attitude got you sent to the wrong side of The Book every time. Not that there weren’t more serious offenses. Al Capone made the Naughty List. So did Osama bin Laden, Idi Amin, and John Wilkes Booth. Although the rules of judgment were a little murky, everyone on the Naughty List to Rosalie’s mind was imbued with underlying arrogance, unwillingness to compromise, coupled with an egocentric outlook and complete disregard for others’ feelings. Nothing like the disposition of a pompous ass to send you down the wrong path in life.