Vengeance Moon Page 14

I tossed the flower away and walked back to the transfer station to catch the bus back to the Barrows. Answers to all my questions would be there, including what to do about Michael.

  I caught the next bus and the driver was my new friend Jim.

  “Thought you worked four to twelve,” I said.

  “Working a double today. Driver out sick.” He glanced over his shoulder at the almost empty bus. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Got three hundred for that piece. You want part?”

  The gun I’d given him was worth more than I’d thought. “No. You keep it.” I did need money, but I suspected the disabled vet needed it worse. Three little brown prescription bottles of pills sat in a tray by the steering wheel.

  I showed him my murderer’s picture.

  “Yeah. I see him. Sometimes he begs a ride. I let him on if we’re not too crowded. Kinda pitiful. Always looking over his shoulder. ’Course, that happens a lot here.”

  Now I had a picture of a timid, pitiful man who worked in kitchens and begged for food and transportation. Certainly not the vision of a killer my mother had left me.

  When the bus passed the Archangel, police cars still filled the lot. I didn’t get off.

  “Wonder what happened there,” Jim said.

  “An attempted robbery, I think.”

  When I climbed off at Harry’s, the pawnshop across the street had a CLOSED sign on the door. There was no sign of activity. I went back to my room.

  Grace slept and Spot was not around. They’d cleaned up the chicken. I really didn’t know what to think of these strange little creatures, other than they were harmless and relatively intelligent. But some communication had passed between our little trio on an extrasensory level, though I’d never thought of myself as sensitive to such things, except earth magic. Spot and Grace were capable of some humanlike emotions. I hoped I could protect them. I’m not sure what arrangements they made about personal hygiene, but I hadn’t had to clean up after Grace.

  Two o’clock passed and no Michael. He was probably dealing with cops. I figured I could kill some time, ask more questions, and look for my man. This time, though, I put on the gun. The shoulder harness fit well enough with some adjustments. It would be okay unless I hesitated on whether to draw the gun or the knife.

  Cassandra had loaded the gun and given me an extra magazine with bronze-coated bullets. Handmade, she said. Maybe they wouldn’t blow up in my face. I shoved the extra magazine in my jacket pocket.

  I thought of the cell phone Michael had offered to me. I’d left it at the Archangel. I hoped I wouldn’t need it.

  I worked my way down the street. The grocery store, hardware store, nothing. One possibility formed in my mind. What if my man no longer had the Portal? Michael had mentioned that he was unstable.

  The Earth Mother was sure it was here somewhere. The endless possibilities frustrated me. Why couldn’t she see it if she could see into the Barrows? Why wouldn’t she lead me directly to it?

  A few doors down from the hardware store I went into Amalee’s Bakery. Red-checked cloths covered a few small tables for patrons, and the smell was heavenly. The woman behind the counter gave me a glorious smile. She wore a pink dress trimmed in lace, hair as white as mine, with soft green eyes and only a few wrinkles.

  “Welcome. Come in. I just made coffee.” She pointed to a small table in the corner. “Oh, sit, please. I have fresh donuts. I’m Amalee, by the way.” The words came out in a rush, as if she feared I’d leave before she served me. Her bakery case had very few items for sale. I hated to tell her no. I asked about the sesame rolls and the next thing I knew I was sitting at the table with them, butter, and a few fresh strawberries. She also set me up with a glass of lemonade. I asked her to sit with me.

  Amalee had seen my man, fed him because she pitied him. She couldn’t remember when. “He was very timid,” she said. She smiled with kindness I couldn’t feel.

  So many people had seen my man, but no one could say where he might be at any given time. How frustrating.

  Étienne met me as I walked out the door. No visible gun, but he too wore a vest over a T-shirt, probably concealing one. He was a fine man. Slim, tight, graceful.

  I smiled at him. “Hi. What are you doing here?” What else could I say? Oh, by the way, how’s old Clark?

  “I understand you’re looking for someone,” he said.

  “I am.” I pulled the drawing out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. As I did, I flashed the gun.

  He raised an eyebrow, skeptical and slightly amused. “Can you use that piece?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you good with it?”

  I grinned at him.

  “Why didn’t you use it on Clark?”

  I shrugged. “Didn’t want to waste a bullet, makes too much noise . . . the usual”

  Étienne smiled before he stared at the photo I offered to him. He frowned. “He’s been around.”

  Damn, damn. Been around. Why couldn’t he be around when I was?

  “What do you want with him?” Étienne asked.

  I decided I had little to gain by lying here. Everyone in the Barrows had experienced violence in their lives, some as victims and others as aggressors. “He killed my mother and father.”

  Étienne gazed at me, his face blank. “Haven’t seen him in a while. I’ll keep an eye out for him. May I walk with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “What do you plan to do if you find him?” Étienne asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I’d think it would be obvious.”

  He was silent a moment. “His name is Hascomb. Kenny Hascomb. He worked for me for a while last year.”

  I stepped away to face him, a bit shocked. Étienne offered the information a little too late in the conversation—and too casually—for my taste. “Is he a friend of yours? Is that why you’re protecting him?”

  “No. He’s a homeless vagrant.” A soft accent rolled through his voice. A cultured accent, one that might have come from an education and refinement associated with wealth and privilege. Whatever he did now, it stood far apart from his earlier years.

  “It sounds like you feel sorry for him,” I remarked. “What if he’d killed your mother?”

  “I would stake him out somewhere in the woods, soak him in syrup, and let anything that wanted to come along munch on him. Of course, I’d be sure he had plenty of water. He’d last longer that way.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay. Speaking from personal experience, are you?”

  Étienne chuckled. “Maybe. Does it bother you?”

  “Not really.” This place was filled with violent creatures, myself included.

  I noticed that the few pedestrians on the streets stepped wide around us. People in the Barrows seemed preternaturally aware when danger walked in their midst.

  “How long have you been looking for Kenny?” Étienne asked.

  “Awhile.” Silence followed. I didn’t feel like elaborating on my story.

  “Did you see what happened at the Archangel today?” The way he asked the question made me think he knew the answer.

  “I did.”

  “So, you saw Michael take several bullets without harm.”

  “Yes.” I tightened up. “Only two bullets. Not several.”

  Étienne stopped and turned to face me. “You care about him, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have time. A noise, footsteps on the sidewalk, made me look back. At least ten Bastinados were closing in on us.

  “Étienne,” I whispered.

  He followed my eyes and turned to look over his shoulder.

  “Run,” he said.

  Chapter 23

  As Étienne and I raced away, I quickly realized these were not undisciplined animals barreling into the ruins behind us. I risked a brief glance back. They advanced quickly but purposefully, like stalking wolves. The clinking chains that might have exposed them were tucked into their T-shirts. Athletic shoes muffled footsteps.

  Étienne ru
shed through the open door of a crumbling building. I followed close behind. The single-story building had reached its final stages of decay and would not afford safety for us. Significant holes in the roof produced a patchwork of sunlight on the floor. Great blooms of mold spread on the walls in places never blessed by the sun. Seepage made the carpet under my shoes fray and tear at the slightest hint of friction. It seemed less a place for demons than for disease and putrefaction.

  Étienne set a sure, effortless pace. Did he know this desolate place so well? We exited the back of the building into an alley. We crossed into the next abandoned building, a multistory, drier at least on the bottom floor. Upholstered furniture appeared substantial, but I’d bet dry rot would make it burst into lung-clogging dust if touched. The furniture was lined up in orderly rows, as if someone had planned to move it, then ran out of time.

  “What happened here, to this place?” I whispered. I knew I shouldn’t be talking. The desolation disturbed me to the core. The businesses and streets in this section of the Barrows looked as if some approaching catastrophe had caused people to abandon them overnight. But why hadn’t they returned for their belongings? Had their memories of their lives in the Barrows faded once they left? Was the Earth Mother’s spell that powerful?

  Étienne drew me close into an alcove.

  “In 1947 and ’48, a lot of the supporting infrastructure of the Barrows collapsed. Parts of the sewer system caved in. The water supply was cut off, and people left, abandoned everything. Then the inevitable atrophy set in.”

  I thought about Michael’s story of the earthquake. But when I looked around, most of the objects in the room looked newer. They couldn’t have been here for fifty years.

  A faint scrape caught our attention. Étienne motioned across the room. “Run to that door over there.”

  I ran.

  Gunfire rang out behind me.

  I raced through the door and slammed right into one of the pursuers in a spectacular collision. I bounced back and crashed ass first into a table, then to the floor. I raised my head to see the man climbing to his feet, staggering. He had a gun in his hand. Thankfully, Eunice had taught me to shoot lying flat on my back.

  I drew and pulled the trigger first. A single bullet slammed his chest. The shock knocked him off his feet backward and into a chair. At impact, the chair sent billows of toxic dust and mold spores into the air. The echo of the shot reverberated in my ears like a monster firecracker.

  Étienne arrived. He offered his hand to help me. I accepted it, but he had to grab me to keep me from toppling over.

  He held me steady. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head. I stared across the room at the Bastinado. “I had to shoot him.”

  “Of course you did.” He started toward the door.

  I didn’t follow. I went to the man I had killed. The intensity and chaos of the moment had stunned me, but not enough to blind me and keep me from observing things.

  My assailant slumped in the chair, his arm casually falling across his lap. Blood poured out of his chest and down his clothes in a gruesome dye job. As I watched, his fingers relaxed and his gun clattered to the floor. A bit of unease shimmered through me. This close, he didn’t look like a gang member. His clothes were new; he was clean shaven, as if he were a professional hit man dressed in a Halloween costume. A brand-new villain, not like the Bastinado on the bus.

  “Madeline?” Étienne called from behind me.

  I went to him. “That’s not a Bastinado.”

  “If you insist.” Étienne sounded annoyed, not surprised. “Let’s go.”

  He avoided my direct gaze. What was he hiding? The bastards had been shooting at him, too.

  We played musical chairs with buildings—until we found four of our attackers climbing into a window to get to us. Two for each of us. I nailed my two, Étienne one, but he missed the second.

  Étienne stepped in front of me. Two shots fired simultaneously. He staggered back. Blood smeared down his right arm.

  “Go!” he said.

  We hurried on. His breathing grew ragged. We had to stop. He leaned against a wall, eyes closed. He held his injured arm tight and I could see him fighting the pain.

  “Let me see.”

  I tore the arm of his shirt and peeled the bloody mess away to survey the damage. The bullet had skimmed his upper arm, close to his shoulder. Nothing that would kill him, but it left a nasty trail of broken flesh across one of his intricate tattoos.

  “Screwed up your tat,” I said.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need it anymore.” Strain filled his voice.

  He wrapped his good arm around me and drew me close.

  “You okay?” He spoke softly in my ear. “You’re a little pale.”

  “I’m fine. You’re the wounded one, not me.”

  “First time in battle?”

  “Yeah. It’s not the same as training.”

  “Now you know. Good lesson.”

  It was. Practiced as I was, it surprised me. I thought I performed well enough, but I was glad he was with me. I would live and learn.

  He winced with the effort to reach his back pocket. “There’s a cell phone there,” he said. “Get it out for me.”

  “Will it work here?”

  “Maybe. We ran parallel to River Street. We’re not too deep.” Shouts and curses came from outside of the building we were resting in. I got his phone and he made a quick call. He gave a set of coordinates to the person on the other end. “Hurry,” he said. He closed the phone.

  We stood there, silent, waiting. He held me close and I let it happen. The man had, in any case, stepped between me and a bullet. After an indeterminable amount of time, his phone buzzed faintly in his pocket. He answered it.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Come in, but be careful and ready to fire.”

  After a moment there came a shout, followed by a burst of rapid gunshots.

  “Down!” Étienne commanded.

  We dropped to lie on the filthy ground. He grunted as he moved his arm, but he covered me with his own body.

  “Get off of me,” I muttered between clenched teeth.

  He chuckled and rolled off.

  “Étienne.” A male voice shouted outside the building.

  “Over here.” Étienne and I climbed to our feet and headed to the front room.

  Five men waited for us, all dressed in fatigues, much like Eunice often was. All carried automatic rifles. Eunice had let me shoot one once. The rifle had felt powerful, noisy, and lacked finesse. A little practice would probably change that. I’d bet these men practiced often.

  Across the street I could see a couple of others dragging bodies out of sight and deeper into the deserted buildings. None of them spoke, and neither did Étienne until we walked outside and climbed into a giant SUV. Étienne ordered the driver to take us to Harry’s.

  Chapter 24

  “Who are those men?” I asked after we climbed out of the car and walked to the doorway of Harry’s. The SUV remained parked, waiting for Étienne to return.

  “Part of my security force.”

  “Aiakós’s security force?”

  “He pays for it.”

  “And the fake Bastinados? Who was the target? You? Or me?”

  “I don’t know, Madeline.” He sounded irritated. “But I’ll try to find out,” he said, recovering his calm composure.

  Sure he would. He knew things, or suspected things that he wouldn’t tell me. “How’s your arm?”

  “It hurts. I’ll get a bandage and some antibiotics. Will you take this?” He handed me his cell phone.

  I took the phone reluctantly. I didn’t really want it. I am not a technology fan. I grew up with far more subtle communication and a slower-paced life. “I don’t know anyone’s number. Who would I call?”

  “You could call me.”

  I shook my head and handed the phone back to him. “No. Michael gave me one. I just forgot to pick it up.”

  He flipped the
phone open to show me a number. “Can you at least remember this?”

  “Sure.”

  I stared at the screen, then looked up at him. “Étienne?”

  “Yes, Madeline.”

  “Thank you for sparing me a bullet. But your leave-things-to-me, mysterious-man act is shit.”

  He laughed and a kind of warmth filled me. “My pleasure. You’re worth saving. Please get that phone from Michael.”

  I paused. “Why am I worth saving?” He’d completely surprised me.

  “You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to the Barrows in a couple of years. You have an aura of importance about you.”

  He caught my chin in his fingers and kissed me lightly on the lips. A sweet kiss, but while I liked him, I felt no desire.

  He knew it. He sighed and released me. “Maybe in another life.”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  He grinned and waved good-bye with his uninjured arm.

  I started up stairs and then remembered Spot and Grace. Tony’s Grocery had some meat, and I bought two nice-sized steaks. Cheap cuts, but it had to be better than rats. I was filthy and desperately needed a shower, but I’d accepted responsibility and they needed to eat.

  There was no sound when I entered my room. “Grace?”

  Grace stuck her head out of the drawer and barked.

  I lifted her out and checked her wound. It seemed a little better. The skin had not split and the wound had a dry hardness to it. She was healing, I hoped. She crawled up and nuzzled my neck. I remembered that mouthful of excellent pointed teeth. “I like you too, Grace.”

  I set her on top of the dresser and gave her the steak. She picked it up with delicate paws and tore off a mouthful. She barked again, then made little chirping sounds.

  “Quiet, please.” I tapped my finger on the dresser.

  She immediately fell silent as she continued to eat. Spot popped in the window and I gave him his steak. He wasn’t as delicate, but he seemed to relish it.

  I knew I shouldn’t feed them. It brought them closer to people and they needed to be wary. Anyone with a gun might kill them, never knowing or caring that they were intelligent creatures. “You need to hide,” I said. “You remember that, don’t you?”