“Good luck.” I walked over and, careful not to get icing on the suit, gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Not that you’ll need it. You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” He gave me a crooked smile. Grabbing his keys from the counter he started out the door. His parting comment was “Take it easy today. It’s going to take a while for the drugs to work their way completely out of your system.”
“Right. Will do.”
He gave a half-hearted growl. On his way out the door he turned to Tom and said, “Don’t let her overdo.”
“I’ll do my best, but you know how she is.”
“Hey!” I resented that. It might be true, but I still resented it. Besides, I did intend to be careful. For one thing, I still didn’t feel “right,” and honestly, the doctor had actually managed to scare me. But there were simply so many things that needed to be accomplished, and some of them needed doing in a short time frame.
“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?” Tom asked.
I didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead I grabbed the telephone book my brother had left out on the counter and started looking up some of the numbers I’d need.
I started with a couple of phone calls. First, to the airport, to see if they knew yet what had become of our luggage. Next, I called the insurance office. No one was there yet, so I left a voice-mail letting them know I was back in town and giving them my cell phone number. That accomplished, Tom and I took the cordless phone and went out to brave the mess in the garage.
The minute I opened the door I was hit by the smell of mildew and a wave of depression. This was it. Everything that was left of my home. Stacked in molding boxes with the logos of various brands of liquor, boldly emblazoned with magic marker words such as “books,” “pans,” and “linens.”
“Are you okay?” Tom stood behind me, his hand outstretched, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he should try to touch me.
Hell no, I wasn’t okay. Straight ahead of me, nearly buried under three layers of boxes, was my mother’s hope chest. It had a long, splintering gash like a wound cutting through the polished cedar surrounded by innumerable smaller scratches. To the left, leaning lopsidedly against the wall, was the family coat of arms I’d paid a small fortune for. It was dented, scratched, and the hand-calligraphed write-up that went with it was in a smashed frame and had significant water damage.
“We dropped most of the clothes off at the cleaners. They said they thought they’d be able to salvage all of it except the leathers.”
Something in his voice, an odd inflection, made me turn around. There was something he wasn’t telling me. I met his eyes, my mind brushing gently against his, asking permission to join his thoughts, but he had his shields clamped down tight. I couldn’t get in unless I tried to force it, and I didn’t want to do that.
“What aren’t you saying?”
His hand dropped to his side, and he sighed. He looked around the garage, not meeting my eyes. “The leathers weren’t ruined in the collapse, Katie. They were shredded to ribbons. It was like someone had taken a utility knife to them.” He gave me a long, steady look, assessing how I was taking the news. “There wasn’t much scent: too much water. But I checked the weapons safe. Your guns, your knives, all your weapons are gone. So is the neck brace and all your meditation stuff.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, blinking stupidly at him for a long moment.
“I didn’t tell Joe. I wasn’t sure how he’d react. I did call Brooks about whether I should file a police report about the weapons being gone.”
“What did he say?” My voice was a little breathy from shock. I felt shaky all over. Enough so that I had to stick my hand out and balance myself against the wall.
“He asked me if I was sure, that maybe you’d taken them with you.”
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t think so.” He stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. I could feel the strength of those hands, could almost feel him willing that strength into me. God help me, I needed it. I’d told myself I was ready, I’d understood intellectually what it meant to have lost the building, my home and belongings. I’d even known the authorities were pretty sure the building had been deliberately sabotaged. But intellectual knowledge and actually seeing the damage up close were two very different things.
“He told me to have you call him, let him know what was missing. He’ll talk with the right people to get the process rolling. He said he owes you that much.”
“There’s an inventory in my safe deposit box at the bank.”
“Good. We’ll go there, then stop by the cleaners. After that, we’re hitting the leather shop at the mall.” He started to lead me back out the door we’d came in through. I didn’t fight him. In fact, a part of me was downright grateful.
“What about this?” I waved wearily at the mess.
“It’s not going anywhere.” He sounded resigned. “And I don’t like you going around unarmed when the Thrall are up to something.”
“The Thrall are always up to something.”
“Exactly.”
11
« ^ »
It had been a busy day. The cab pulled into my brother’s driveway at 9:15 P.M., just as he was coming out the front door. He was wearing a heavy turtle-necked sweater and jeans, without a jacket or gloves. The night was warm enough for him to get away with it. One of the nice things about Denver is that even a major blizzard is normally followed by warmer weather to melt it away. There was still snow stacked up along the curbs and piled high on the grass, but it was dissolving fast.
Watching him, I realized just how hard it was for him to walk, even with the leg braces hidden beneath his trouser legs. He moved stiffly, and had to hold tight onto the railing just to stop himself from falling down the two small steps from the front door to the sidewalk. I hurt just watching him.
I climbed out from the back seat and walked up to meet him at the door of his car. It left Tom and the cab driver to take care of our packages and luggage, but I didn’t think they’d mind. Besides, I could tell something bad had happened.
“What’s up?”
“Bryan called. Something went wrong. He’s stranded in a little town downstate by the name of Beaver Falls. Ever heard of it?”
“Nope.”
“Me either.” He shook his head. “Thank God for MapQuest. Apparently, it’s in the mountains west of Pueblo—one of those new pop-up towns. Anyway, I’m headed down to pick him up.”
“How far is it?”
“About four hours, assuming I don’t get lost.”
I fought down a snort of laughter. Unless somebody else does the navigating Joe always gets lost, even with directions, maps, and an on-board computer. I know why, and I even understand it. Joe questions everything. Nothing can be taken at face value. He can’t just take the computer’s word for it—or anyone else’s either. So he questions, and doubts, and ends up not following the instructions and, consequently, lost. At least he doesn’t adhere to the old saw about not asking directions. If he did, he’d probably still be wandering around somewhere in Kansas from when he left to go to medical school.
“Nice jacket, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I smiled at him and turned from side to side to model it for him. It had taken Tom and me most of the evening to find this. The leather store at the mall had biker-style jackets, but the leather had been cheap, and too lightweight to offer any protection at all. The goth shop had some really cool trench coats, but, again, too lightweight. We’d ended up taking a cab to an actual biker shop on 38th Avenue. Once there I’d had the challenge of finding a coat big enough to fit my shoulders. I’d wound up with a men’s extra-large, which had the added bonus of having sleeves large enough to slide over the cast if I left the zipper undone.
I’d had to special order the matching boots. My feet are long, but narrow. Nothing in stock anywhere ever fits. It’s a nuisance, but I could live with it. Especially when I stepped up to the cashier’s counter and saw a perfectly lovely selection of knives.
“I’m glad you replaced it. Did you get any weapons while you were out?”
In answer I moved my arm a little so he could see the hilt of the knife I’d slid into my cast. “I just have to be careful not to cut the gauze.”
He nodded, approvingly. “Nice.”
“Tom thought you hadn’t noticed about the weapons.”
Joe shook his head. “I noticed. I’ll make you a new neck brace this weekend. I don’t like you doing without.”
“Neither do I.”
Joe had worked with a friend years ago to invent an acrylic shield to protect the neck and chest from vampire bites. He’d given it to me when I’d gone into Queen Larry’s lair to save Dylan. That neck brace had saved my life that night, and on more than one occasion since. I didn’t like that it was gone. I don’t wear it often, but not having it available made me feel naked, vulnerable.
“This time I’m going to line it with something. Then maybe it won’t itch so bad.”
I didn’t know how he knew about the itching. I’d never dared complain to him. It would’ve been too ungrateful. Still, now that he’d mentioned it, I certainly wasn’t planning on arguing. “That would be lovely.”
We turned at the sound of a car door slamming. The cabbie was taking off. Tom was gathering up the packages to take them inside. I knew I ought to help, but I was afraid if I did Joe would drive off and leave without us. I didn’t want him doing that.
Tom walked up to us, juggling parcels like a pro. “So, where are we going?” The smile he gave my brother was calm, confident, pleasant, and still managed to convey a complete and total lack of compromise. God, how I wish I could master that look. It would save me so much trouble and unnecessary arguments. Joe’s expression grew pained. He looked from me to Tom, and back again. He started to open his mouth to argue, changed his mind, and closed it, all in a matter of seconds.
“You’re not supposed to drive that far with your leg anyway,” I pointed out helpfully.
“That’s rich. You lecturing me on following doctor’s orders.”
He had a point. A very sharp point. And I was absolutely determined to ignore it. I turned to Tom. “We’re going to pick up Bryan. He’s stuck in some podunk town in southern Colorado.”
Tom gave Joe a puzzled look. “I thought he was taking the bus?”
“He was. The vampires tracked him down. He went across the street from the bus stop to grab a bite to eat, and saw them drive up. He got away by hiding in the back of somebody’s pickup truck underneath the tool box and wound up in Beaver Falls. He told me he was heading up to the church to see if he could get the information sent off to Mike. I was going to meet him there.”
“Does he know how they found him?” I asked.
“No.”
“They may have just checked all of the public transportation hubs. It’s what the cops do,” I suggested.
“In that case he should be safe.” Tom tried to sound hopeful.
Famous last words.
12
« ^ »
It was a little after midnight and we were nearly there. I’d driven the first two hours, but Joe had insisted on taking over when I’d pulled over to get gas and give everybody a bathroom break. Tom was in the back seat. I was riding shotgun for this leg of the trip. I had the window partway down to get rid of the stale greasy smell of french fries left over from the food we’d picked up at the stop.
I was scared, and trying not to show it. Almost a half hour before I’d felt a burst of panic, but before I could trace it, find out if it was Bryan, and determine the cause, it just disappeared. Now all I could see in my head was a smooth, solid white wall.
My stomach tightened into a knot of fear as we passed a green-and-white sign announcing that we were four miles from Beaver Falls. Something was wrong. I knew it. I just couldn’t pinpoint what. Tom sensed what I was feeling, or maybe smelled the change, because he reached over the seat to give my arm a reassuring squeeze as Joe hit the brakes to take a curve.
There, just ahead, I could see the hint of light pollution above the trees. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. I watched the speedometer dip below the triple digits for the first time in a while. When we cleared the next corner I got the first glimpse of the outskirts of the town. On the left, a brightly lit convenience store and gas station that boasted of being open 24/7. On the right, at the bottom of a hill, an old church cemetery with an elaborate wrought-iron fence surrounding one large mausoleum and several other, more modest monuments to the honored dead. The SUV slewed sideways as Joe slammed on the brakes. He’d almost missed the narrow gravel drive that wound past the cemetery up to the small stone edifice that was St. Michael of the Archangels Catholic Church. I had to brace myself, one hand against the dashboard, the other on the door as the vehicle bucked and lurched on the rutted track. Up ahead I could clearly see the church, a well-lit gravel parking lot, and what looked like a tool shed for the construction site of a new building or addition in what had once been an empty field between the church and the mesquite woods edging the burial grounds.
They’d used earthmoving equipment to create a plateau of sorts to build on, but it was in the early stages. The rip in the topsoil was like an open wound, the ground rocky and uneven. The area was marked with surveying stakes, their pink plastic banners hanging limp in the still night air.
I did not see Bryan, anywhere. There was no movement, no sign of a light coming on. My stomach tightened into a hard knot. Something was wrong. We’d made a lot of noise pulling in. He would have heard us coming. Joe hit the horn as he pulled the vehicle to a stop in front of the steps leading up to the arched doorway. The church wasn’t large, maybe twenty-five feet across, probably a hundred feet or so deep. It was two stories tall at the pitched roof, with the steeple rising a few feet above that. The main structure had been built of tan and caramel colored stones, fitted together with minimal mortar by expert craftsmen from generations past. The wooden steeple gleamed with a fresh coat of brilliant white paint that matched the trim around the stained glass windows spaced along the length of the building.
I threw open the car door and climbed out. Tom was right behind me, in wolf form. I wasn’t sure when he’d changed, but I wasn’t sorry. Tension rode the still air, and I could taste metallic fear on my tongue even over the gravel dust that was settling from our passage.